Tag Archives: reality

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?

Robert Arlt, “Mad Toy”

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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?

Marcel Proust, “Combray”

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Proust’s “Combray” was definitely challenging for me to follow along, with its lengthy sentences and extremely detailed descriptions of his own memories. I found the plot dreary at first. That said, I appreciated how Proust depicts the scenes where he drowns in his own thoughts, creating a gloomy atmosphere right from the start that signals readers that they are about to immerse in his mind. The constant references to darkness and light, exemplified by the blown-out candlesticks, midnights, and moonlight connect with both Proust’s and readers’ sense of sight, hearing, and imagination, enabling readers to visualize Proust’s struggle to make sense of everything. Proust writes, “I would go back to sleep, and would sometimes afterward wake again for brief moments only, long enough to hear the organic creak of the woodwork, open my eyes and stare at the kaleidoscope of the darkness…” (4). Proust also evokes a sense of loneliness which I deemed as a key feature in the section.

I noticed that the setting of the novel is almost always centred on his bedroom and his childhood residence. This made me think about how we would associate bedrooms with comfort and solace, yet Proust’s portrayal of his bedroom is somewhat depressing. It becomes the place where Proust ponders the question of his state of mind; specifically, whether he was in the state of wakefulness or unconsciousness.

The blurriness of memories is another theme, and I liked how Proust inserts fragments to express his confusion about identity, instead of simply outlining his memories chronologically. “I lost all sense of the place in which I had gone to sleep, and when I awoke, not knowing who I was, I could not even be sure at first who I was…” (5). Proust delves into his own mind, and it seems to me that he is tangled by his own thoughts. His mind was like a labyrinth. While reading Proust’s work, his boundless mind intrigued me because when it comes to memories of his mother and his times spent in Combray, he regains consciousness again.

I adored how Proust depicts his relationship with his mother. Proust rarely uses phrases such as “love” and “affection”, yet he effectively conjures up heartwarming scenes of intimacy. He writes, “So much so I reached the point of hoping that this goodnight which I loved so much would come as late as possible…” (15). The fact that they were written from a child’s perspective was interesting to me because they contrasted with Proust’s delineation of the adults as a world of hypocrisy. For instance, his great-aunt and others are portrayed as opinionated adults as they often gossip about Swann, such as his love life and his social circle. Such a contrast thus magnifies the simplicity of Proust’s childhood life and innocence since he only ever covets for his mother’s love. Also, I loved how Proust seamlessly injects the complexity of emotions, rejecting the binary assumptions of love/misery. He says, “My body, conscious that its own warmth was operating hers, would strive to become one with her… I would abandon myself altogether to this end” (5). While I interpreted the use of strong diction as his way of connecting with his memories, I thought this could be viewed as misery emerging from love. His sense of longing features both melancholy and love in the section, and I must say that Proust’s sophistication in his writing was inspiring.

Hence, this leads to my question: What is the significance of sensorial experiences to Proust’s depiction of his memories?