Tag Archives: life

Death with Interruptions – Power and Violence

Saramago, , View all 2 comments

“Death with Interruptions” has to be the most complicated novel that I have read so far in this course, not because of its content, but its exploration of death. Apart from philosophical works by Kant, Descartes, Plato, and Aristotle, I have rarely come across novels that centre on philosophical matters, so it took me quite a while to unpack the novel. The first observation that I made was the narrative style and use of punctuation. The lengthy sentences that are only connected by commas, and the lack of quotation marks when dialogues are in place made me wonder why Saramago writes in this way. Perhaps he intends to invite readers to reflect upon the content as well as the theme of death with him as readers read along the lines.

The absence of periods may also symbolize a collective stream of consciousness that knows no end; the characters in the novel yield a sense of urgency to me. For instance, Saramago writes, “But things would not stop there, People, without having to make any perceptible effort, continued not to die, and so another popular mass movement, endowed with a more ambitious vision of future, would declare that humanity’s greatest dream since the beginning of time, the happy enjoyment of eternal life here on earth, has become a gift within the grasp of everyone” (6). This line stuck with me the most regarding the connection between excessive commas and the sense of urgency because it seems to me that humans are always in pursuit of something seemingly daunting, resembling the ongoing flux of sentences, yet when they think they have attained it (in this case, immortality), they don’t settle. The quote that I have picked above hints at another popular movement arising from newfound immortality. Our unfulfilled desire seems to be inherent in us, and I think Saramago does a brilliant job of unveiling human nature.

Moreover, I find the conversation between the Prime Minister and the cardinal evokes a strong sense of violence in me regarding human nature. Saramago depicts the scene where with temporal immortality, the cardinal feels threatened because immortality means no resurrection, which in turn diminishes the power of the church. Saramago writes, “The church has never been asked to explain anything, our specialty, along with the ballistics, has always been the neutralization of the overly curious mind through faith” (12), and “The advantage of the church has is that by managing what is on high, it governs what is down below” (12). The unquestioning authority of the church enables the cardinal to situate himself at the top of the hierarchy to manipulate the people “down below”. These lines bring out the idea of chaos and violence to me because the authorities seem to care about their own political interests when it comes to a national crisis, but not as much about the people. The lack of collectiveness and communal support alludes to the idea of flawed human nature.

Toward the end of the novel, I find the humanization of death interesting because Saramago deconstructs the dualism of life and death. He writes, “… For the first time, death knew what it felt like to have a dog on her lap” (172), and “Death went back to bed, our her arms around the man and, without understanding what was happening to her, she who never slept felt gently closing her eyelids. The following day, no one died” (238). By attributing human-like qualities, such as external sensory impressions and thoughts to death, death’s omniscience and horror seem to be undermined. The parallelization between death and humans reverses my understanding. Maybe it is humans’ fear that strengthens our image of death as something detestable and daunting. Instead of treating it as something formidable, embracing death might even bring peace of mind.

One major aspect that I am confused about is the gendered depiction of death, so my question for this reading is: Why does Saramago assign death as a female character?

Money to Burn – Criminality and Justice

Piglia, , , , One Comment

Among all the novels that I have read so far, “Money to Burn” is definitely unique in the sense that its narrative style is not constrained to one single genre. Though I know that the novel is based on a true event that happened in Argentina, I find the constant switching of narration interesting; I don’t think I have ever encountered similar works before. There are times when I feel like I am watching a movie; other times an informative documentary. For instance, the scenes where the gang flees from the pursuit of the police after the robbery very much resemble a movie-like scenario. Piglia writes, “The gang sought refuge at a flat in apartment number nine at 1182 Herrera and Obes Street” (111), and “They had to go back across the 200 metres that separated the Bank (on one corner of the square)…” (21). The specific details, coupled with the live actions of the gang, evoke a strong sense of realism, which is something that I find refreshing.

Though Piglia is describing a scene based on a true event, I think he inserts these thrilling scenes subjectively, making them suspenseful. At the same time, Piglia depicts the scenario objectively by constantly making references to primary and secondary sources, which makes me feel like he is speaking from the perspective of the public. Piglia writes, “Two guys leapt on to the pavement and one pulled a woman’s stocking over his face (or some witnesses said)” (22), and “According to one version, armed guards in a building opposite the Town Hall managed to exchange fire with the gunmen, but this remained unconfirmed” (28). I also notice how Piglia switches the lens from the public to the lens of a detective, as evident by the line “From inside the car they recovered” one long-sleeved grey pullover, one hand towel… There were traces of blood on the car floor, as well as several syringes…” (39). The multi-faceted approach to illustrating a true event truly deconstructs my understanding that every literary work must fall into the category of a specific genre.

Expanding on Piglia’s distinct narrative style, I think this connects to the element of criminality and justice in the novel. As mentioned above, Piglia brings in multiple perspectives and perhaps enhances readers’ understanding of the event. This may even prompt people to contemplate the question regarding who is the real perpetrator here, the corrupt authorities, or the violent gang? There are times when I find myself torn between supporting the gang and condemning their behaviour, particularly the scene in the end when Dorda talks about how he killed the girl because of the voices in his head. Piglia vividly portrays Dorda’s resentment to the police in the line “He’d killed him, that Gaucho Dorda, not because the policeman posed a threat but just because. He killed him because he loathed the police more than anything else in the world…” (26). His resentment is thus tied to his sense of justice as he strives to overpower the authority by literally annihilating the person who executes the law. While Commissioner Silva portrays the gang members as “dangerous individuals, antisocial elements, homosexuals, and drug addicts” (72), the El Mundo journalist states that the gang’s courage is “directly proportional to the willingness to die” (144). I find the stark contrast unveils the complexity of their power dynamics. Though the police and the gang diverge from one another because of their dichotomous roles in society (law enforcers vs. criminals), it seems to me that the two parties are not so different after all. Piglia talks about the normalization of police brutality, such as torturing inmates with lashes and electricity on page 121. In this case, both parties exhibit immense violence to society and themselves as they have to endure the repercussions of their horrifying behaviour for the rest of their lives. Hence, Piglia’s narrative style consolidates people’s conceptualization of the event.

My question for this reading is: How does violence manifest in society, the gang, and the authorities?

The Time of the Doves – Motherhood, Femininity, and Perspectives

Rodoreda, , , View all 4 comments

At first glance, the title “The Time of the Doves” immediately reminded me of peace, hope, and freedom; however, having read the novel, I find this contrary to what Natalia endures in reality as she unfolds a feminine perspective of the Spanish Civil War, and the effects it had on her life. I view Natalia’s relationship with Quimet as a strong indicator of her constraint, just like the consistent imagery of how the doves are caged. Quimet is portrayed as a dominant and manipulative man who imposes his desires on Natalia. Rodoreda writes, “He called me Colometa, his little dove… and when I said my name was Natalia he kept laughing and said I could have only one name: Colometa” (18). In this sentence, the idea of doves parallelizes with the title and perhaps shows how in the eyes of Quimet, Natalia will always remain a “little dove”, which is something to be possessed and controlled.

I noticed there were multiple biblical references as well as the imagery of nature, which I think are connected to Quimet’s dominance in the household. Rodoreda writes, “He talked about Adam and Eve, and how woman was made from man’s rib… Because Adam, who was the father of all men, desired only the good” (40). Quimet emphasizes the causal principle of women, and how their existence is contingent on men, hence women’s compliance to men. Biblical references help Quimet reinforce the centrality of his doctrine as he has a preconceived plan for their lives, with Quimet being the carpenter and Natalia being the caregiver. In this way, Quimet parallelizes religion and the idea of singularity with his beliefs, thinking that his ideas are the sacred way to be obliged, just like biblical teachings.

At the same time, I was also a bit confused about the dynamics of their relationship because it seemed to me that Natalia yielded to Quimet’s psychological abuse and authority, even after his death. When Quimet refuses to apologize for his tardiness and claims that he has seen Natalia with Pere, her former fiance, Natalia displays passivity and obedience by adhering to his manipulation, leading her into thinking that she has truly gone out with Pere. Moreover, after Quimet’s death, Rodoreda writes about how the pigeons remind Natalia of Quimet. “So It turned back to the door and took my knife and carved ‘Colometa’ on it in big, deep letters” (197). Natalia may still have an emotional connection with Quimet, and I wonder if this means that Natalia embraces her identity of “Colometa” even more after Quimet’s death. It is interesting to see the transition from being conditioned to be referred to as “Colometa” to her carving “Colometa” voluntarily.

The scene where Natalia contemplates how to kill her children is something I find interesting because it allows me to see the unique point of view illustrated by Natalia, a mother and a widow. I interpret her decision to kill her children as a sign of motherhood guilt rather than despair, though both play vital roles in her decision. “…With their ribs sticking out and all their bodies all lined with bright blue veins, I decided to kill them” (145). The war devastates her life with the loss of her husband. Coupled with her failure to provide for her children owing to their financial constraints, this manifests her guilt since she is inclined to fulfill her role as a loving mother who cares for her children. She first loses her identity as a wife, then is stripped of her identity as an adequate mother. Both losses have a detrimental effect on her life, and it seems that she sees no purpose in living anymore, now that they have been taken away from her.

My questions for this reading are: What is the symbolism of doves? How do they relate to the idea of motherhood and femininity?

Agostino – A Shattered Dream

Moravia, , , View all 3 comments

In the beginning, Agostino’s jealousy toward his mother’s lover immediately reminds me of Proust, since he also yearns for his mother’s kisses. Both characters coveted attention from their mothers; their identities are partly contingent upon their mothers’ affection. For instance, the kisses from Prosut’s mother give him satisfaction and a sense of connection with her. As for Agostino, Moravia writes, “…Agostino was filled with pride every time he got in the boat with her for one of their morning rides” (3). Agostino’s sense of pride is attached to his mother’s presence, and this, in my opinion, helps mould his identity. Later on, when the boys mock him and say, “…Go back to your mamma” (22), this reinforces how Agostino’s sense of self is inseparable from his mother.

Agostino’s romanticized image of his mother may exacerbate his mingled feelings of devastation, loneliness, and betrayal when he knows of the presence of his mother’s lover. Moravia says, “He would dive into the mother’s wake and even feel as if even cold compact water conserved traces of the passage of that beloved body” (4). His mother, a feminine figure, is characterized by flawlessness in the eyes of Agostino. Everything is in harmony, and it seems to me that Agostino does not want any of that to change. The appearance of the young man is described as “a shadow obstructing the sunlight shining down on him (Agostino)” (5). The juxtaposition of light and darkness, with Agostino’s initial relationship with his mother as “light”, and the presence of the young man as “a shadow” highlights his abrupt appearance. Just like how the shadow “obstructs” Agostino, the young man breaks the harmonious cycle between Agostino and his mother.

I am saddened by Agostino’s failure to successfully become a mature “man” in the end because it is something that he has longed for since he was acquainted with the gang of boys. What stuck with me the most was Agostino’s conflicting perception of his mother. “All of these gestures, which had once seemed so natural to Agostino, now seemed to take on meaning and become an almost visible part of a larger, more dangerous reality…” (69). His mind is torn between his initial understanding of his mother as a nurturing mother and his newfound perception as a woman. The transition of his understanding becomes evident when his mother is reduced to “the woman” on page 88. Referring to Agostino’s mother as merely “a woman” toward the end strips her identity from a loving figure to an ordinary woman, alienating the intimacy between Agostino and his mother. At the same time, I find Agostino’s determination to become a “man” when he thinks that visiting the house with Tortima will affirm his identity only shows his immaturity. His identity is again partly contingent on other people’s expectations to perceive him as a mature man. The fact that he is rejected from entering the house and is told to “be home at this hour of the night” (97) highlights his failure to be recognized as a man. Similar to his humiliation when he sees his mother getting cozy with the young man, Agostino still feels humiliated when he is rejected from entering the house. In both cases, Agostino is still deemed as a “boy”. Hence, I don’t think that Agostino has fully transformed into a man, the one that he has longed for.

My question for this reading is: How does the setting at the beach and the seaside help bring out the themes of growth and adolescence?

Robert Arlt, “Mad Toy”

Arlt, , , , , View all 2 comments

Reading Arlt’s “Mad Toy” left me with a heavy heart. As I read through the chapters, I feel that Arlt’s narration of his life only gets more depressing. It seems to me that Arlt has never had a genuine connection with anyone before he met Rengo, yet he loses him in the end. From joining the band of thieves, and working at a bookstore, to his attempt to commit suicide, they all ended in failure; toward the end of these chapters, they all manifest loneliness in Arlt’s life. Just when I thought that Arlt finally had a connection with other people, as evidenced by Rengo’s disclosure of his plan to rob Vitri’s place, the chapter ends with Arlt’s betrayal of Rengo, which makes me feel more upset. He says, “…inside of me there is joy, a full, conscious kind of joy” (150). After everything that he had been through, I feel his calmness in the end makes the atmosphere even more sinister.

I like Arlt’s structure of his novel into four different parts, with the previous three ending with illicit behaviour, and the last one ending with a seemingly righteous act. I also interpret that Arlt centres his novel on the idea of justice, and its relationship to society. In the first chapter, Arlt says, “I don’t remember what subtleties and twisted reasoning we used to convince ourselves that robbery was a noble and beautiful act…” (29). He also mentions, “Don’t talk about money, Mama, please!” The financial pressure he is burdened with diminishes his happiness in his childhood. Coupled with his critique of the affluent young ladies who exploit the working class yet call them “riffraff” on p.40, arson, and the insults that he has to bear while working at the bookstore, they all instigate his deep-seated resentment of the highly classist society where people in the working class, like Arlt, have scarce social mobility. The oppression that Arlt feels channels to retaliation, hence his criminal behaviour as he seeks justice for himself. I see Arlt’s behaviour not only as a symbol of rebellion, but a desire to deconstruct the system that almost everyone he encounters seems to adhere to. The sarcasm in the end is that the righteous act, which is normally embraced by society, in his case entails a brutal betrayal, which makes me question the binary opposites of righteousness/betrayal, and whether they are in fact interconnected.

Another feature that I noticed was the dysfunctional relationships between people and their constant reference to life in the novel, which I found interesting. For instance, Maria shouted at Don Gaetano multiple times, “I was beautiful. What you done with my life” (68). This reminds me of Senora Naidath as she tells Arlt’s mother about her arguments with her husband and says, “What a life, Frau, what a life…” (87). Toward the end, Arlt says, “I know that life will always be extraordinarily beautiful for me…” (162). Though Arlt does not have a partner, all these people seem to detest their stages in their lives, and they all feel repressed in different ways, thus depriving their abilities to express their true identity. Despite being an adolescent, I think the case for Arlt is more complicated than the adults. At a young age, he already knows that poverty is despised by society, the harshness of reality, and the volatility of life while he is still trying to make sense of where he is situated in society.

My question for this reading is: How does Silvio’s tranquillity toward the end reveal his outlook on life?