Tag Archives: narration

Faces in the Crowd – What Did I Just Read???

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“Faces in the Crowd” was undoubtedly one of the most challenging books I have ever read in this class. This novel requires immense attention and sophistication as the narrator constantly switches back and forth from the perspective of the narrator to Gilberto Owen, a Mexican poet who is featured mostly in the latter half of the novel. Initially, I thought that the narrator and Owen have separate storylines featured in the same novel. However, upon further reading and reflection, I noticed that this trend has become more complex. On several occasions, I had to rewind and re-read the parts that I had overlooked, but seemed rather significant to the plot. For instance, Luiselli writes, “But the days those things begin to arrive – the blindness, the cats, the ghosts, the pieces of furniture… I knew it was the beginning of the end” (37), and “All novels lack something or someone. In this novel there’s no one. No one except a ghost that I used to see sometimes in the subway” (38). As for Owen, he says, “He replied that I was a ‘subwanker’ and that instead of going around looking for ghosts where there weren’t any, I should send him a poem about a subway…” (48). The multiple references to ghosts from both voices evoke a sense of unconsciousness and the blurred boundaries between fictionality and facts. The element of “ghosts” is shared by both voices as if they form a parallel narrative with one another. The fragmentation of memories from both characters brings about realism; at the same time, I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate for me to categorize Luiselli’s novel as a work of fiction. This novel transcends the conventional boundaries of what constitutes fiction or not.

The convergence of the two voices is most prominent toward the end of the novel, especially when the narrator and Owen seem to be in conversation with one another. The narrator says, “Autumn leaves are falling down and Papa’s missing” (76), and this is instantly replied by Owen “I feel the blazer that covers my eyes rising, the heart of the room entering and shaking my body, the excited voice of a little boy beating my face: Found!” (77). I think that this key scenario is when the two storylines ultimately converge as one; no one is stealing anyone’s light here. As the narrator’s son plays hide and seek in his own space, he discovers Owen, as evident by Owen’s line above. It seems that Owen has even become the father in the narrator’s storyline. Owen physically senses the boy beating his face; this makes me wonder if the characters finally perceive each other’s existence in the same space now. The idea of space alludes to the constant references to ghosts that I have previously mentioned since ghosts are not constrained by time and space. Hence, this allows Luiselli to deconstruct the linearity of time and utilize the idea of space to develop a parallel plot.

My question for this reading is: How does the anonymity of the narrator contribute to the idea of fictionality and fact featured in the novel?

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 Lover – Where Does Duras Situate Herself in Her Relationship?

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“The Lover” left me in a state of perplexity long after I had finished reading the novel not because of its plot, but because of its power dynamics between Duras and her lover, the Chinese man. I find the title “The Lover” intriguing because it seems to me that Duras refuses to be identified as the lover of the man; instead, she reverses the narrative by establishing the Chinese man as her own lover, thus asserting possession and power in their relationship.

Initially, I was inclined to pass judgment on the older man as a despicable person because of his willingness to be in a sexual relationship with Duras, who then was just a young girl. However, as I progressed through the novel, I became increasingly confused as to whether Duras feels she has control over the man. For instance, she writes, “She tells him she doesn’t want him to talk, what she wants is for him to do as she usually does with the women he brings to his flat… And she, slow, patient, draws him to her and starts to undress him…” (38). This sentence makes me reflect on the power dynamics in their relationship. Duras lacks a tone of condemnation, nor does she resist the man. This corresponds to the part where she describes how outsiders would view her relationship with the man. Duras says, “Don’t tell me that hat’s innocent, or the lipstick, it all means something, it’s not innocent, it means something, it’s to attract attention, money…” (88). Contrary to conventional societal norms, it seems to me that Duras embraces her identity and behaviour in the sense that she deconstructs people’s conception of what should be deemed as “decent”. I find her alienation of people’s obscene judgement powerful because it only reinforces Duras’ centrality in her relationship with the man. Duras also writes, “I discover he hasn’t the strength to love me in opposition to his father, to possess me, take me away… his heroism is me, his cravenness is his father’s money” (49). Her contemptuous tone enables her to attribute cowardice to the grown man. By doing so, Duras displays authority by belittling her lover since bravery is usually one of the qualities that is associated with males.

Another element that I want to explore is Duras and her relationship with her mother. On multiple occasions, I find it sinister when she mentions how her family is depicted as dysfunctional. She writes, “She shouts, for the whole town to hear, that her daughter’s a prostitute, she’s going to throw her out, she wishes she’d die, no one will have anything to do with her…” (58). However, later on, her mother personally asks the head of the boarding school to let Duras return to the dormitories whenever Duras wishes. This is the part where I got confused. Her mother’s decision seems to give Duras a moral license to remain in her relationship with the man; it also makes me wonder if Duras’ mother is torn between financial pressure and moral boundaries, or if she knows that she cannot possibly “restrain” her daughter in a conventional sense.

My question for this week is: The ending of the novel illustrates the scene where the man phones Duras and expresses his love for her. How might the sense of irresolution enhance our analysis of Duras’ relationship with the man?