Author Archives: katherine

Final Post

4 Replies

Well, here it is- the final post! Firstly, I want to thank Jon and Daniel for directing such a great course that was truly one of the highlights of my semester. I have a bunch of stressful courses this semester and it was nice to always have a book to read so I could feel relaxed and productive while procrastinating doing work from other courses. Thank you for organizing a well-structured course that facilitated learning while avoiding grade anxiety! Although I didn’t love all the texts (I actually didn’t mind Borges, surprisingly enough), the text selection was quite good and diverse for such a broad scope of course. I feel like I “travelled” across Latin America reading books from many different parts of the continent.

SPAN312 is definitely a good introductory course to Latin American literature precisely because it leaves you with the curiosity to read more. Through my reading I have found connections- not fundamental characteristics- between texts. I never felt scared of finding the “correct” interpretation of the texts. SPAN312 encouraged me to explore, even if I didn’t always get it right or immediately understand challenging things.

Next, I would like to thank all of you- readers and fellow SPAN312 students! I have had a great time reading your blogs and engaging in conversation with you all. Many of you have brought up interesting points in our discussions that I would have never picked up on independently. You guys all have unique perspectives: from different countries, majors, years, and literary tastes. I think the choice involved in book selection allowed many of us to interact with new people every week, which I really appreciated. I hope my blog posts weren’t too boring and derivative- all of yours definitely weren’t!

Like many of you, I picked up this course because of the mandatory literature requirement. As someone who genuinely loves reading, I was quite overwhelmed by the choice of courses available to me. I chose SPAN312 because I felt I had read far too few books outside of the Anglosphere. I wanted to read from the big names- García Márquez, Borges, Mistral- but also read works from lesser-known authors. SPAN312 has encouraged me to achieve exactly that and learn a lot in the process. Thank you!!!

Final question of the semester: It’s unlikely that you will remember many details from the books you’ve read. What is one memorable thing from any book that you read this semester that you think will stick with you for a very long time?

Fever Dream

2 Replies

To be honest, I really am not the biggest fan of this book… I suppose I expected more based on the international praise it seemed to receive. I remember Fever Dream appearing on one of the featured shelves at my local library- I had no idea at the time that it was a translated work, nor what it was about. Indeed, Fever Dream‘s premise is promising with an eerily plausible tale of environmental disaster, but to me it just fell flat. I didn’t really gain much from this book aside from confusion and frustration. This might be because my #1 pet peeve in books is excessively long chapters– this book didn’t have any! Fever Dream is short (my ebook clocked in at under 150 pages) so it could be read in one sitting. Perhaps it is meant to be read this way to create a seamless fever-dream like effect, but I personally found it really difficult to motivate myself to read even small chunks.

That criticism being said, I do not think that Fever Dream was a “bad” or “disappointing” end to SPAN312 as the novel encapsulates and mimics the style of authors we have previously read. In true Argentinian literary fashion, the science fiction elements of Fever Dream are reminiscent of Borges’ Labyrinths. The eerie feel of Pedro Páramo‘s Comala also reappears. Even the tranquility of Mama Blanca’s Memoirs are transplanted to rural Argentina. The play theme is also strangely represented by the inquisitiveness of David and the innocence of Nina, two of the very few child characters we have read about in this course.

In response to the lecture question, I did find it a bit unexpected that the environmental disaster was not directly mentioned in the book. I do think that was the right choice, though. The message is more effectively conveyed through allusion or suggestion than explicit mention; subtlety makes the reader piece together the causal connection between the health crises and the environment rather than forcing the point.

The hyperobjects discourse is fascinating. I am interested in learning more about environmental health- I took a course about it last semester. Pesticide pollution is an environmental threat that can only be properly addressed using the tools of our institutions, “hyperobjects” like government who can impose regulations or cut down the influence of other hyperobjects- namely, massive agro-corporations.

Question: Do you think Amanda is being overly cautious by ensuring that Nina is within “rescue distance” at all times? Is this an appropriate response to maintain her child’s health in a potentially poisonous setting?

My Tender Matador

3 Replies

When I was contemplating which books to choose between earlier this semester I was conflicted between this one and Papi. Ultimately, I made my choice somewhat vacuously based on name. More precisely, the difference in name between the Spanish and English version of the text listed on the UBC Library website. The English My Tender Matador sounds much more like a love story than Tengo Miedo Torero (“I Have Bullfighter/Matador Fear”?) which I have also seen written as Tengo Miedo, Torero (“I’m scared, Bullfighter/Matador”). Apologies if the direct translations aren’t exactly accurate, but the impression remains the same: the English title seems like a light romance, whereas the Spanish version appears quite grave and grim.

Indeed, My Tender Matador straddles both the romantic and historical fiction genres making it difficult to determine which one takes precedence over the over, if such an arrangement exists at all. I think the setting of the novel- 1980s Chile under the militantly homophobic Pinochet regime- is essential to contextualize the romance between La Loca and Carlos. However, the relationship between these two characters equally informs the reader of the sociopolitical context of 1980s Chile.

Given this balance between its historical and romantic elements, why would the Spanish title differ so greatly from the English one? My first thought is that it simply a marketing matter. Perhaps English readers are more susceptible to a love story. So, my question for this week is: Why do you think the English title My Tender Matador isn’t a direct translation of Tengo Miedo Torero? Which title do you prefer? Do you think the title you chose better conveys the “spirit” of the novel?

In response to this week’s question, I think the “real” nature of actual people is impossible for others to find, let alone that of fictional characters. I believe people can only know their own self enough to determine their “real nature”- even then a warped perception of self can ruin the whole endeavour. From my understanding, queer theory disproves of essentialism. The identities of La Loca and Carlos are mutable, and can change in both invisible and visible ways. Hence, there is no “real” La Loca nor Carlos. They definitely play and blend between roles for survival to disguise themselves in some way. I just don’t think this acting necessarily says anything about their inherent selves in this particular case, especially as their “roles” are borne from societal obligation. Really only they can figure out their “true selves”, if such a concept exists.

Yo-Yo Boing!

5 Replies

Yo-Yo Boing! is one of the most unique books I’ve ever read. It is certainly the only bilingual book I’ve read, simultaneously written in English and Spanish (or written all at once in Spanglish!) My notes for this books are rather jumbled, containing a lot of question marks and uncertain language. Even upon some lengthy reflection I can’t really piece together a traditional plot nor astounding takeaway for this novel. Nonetheless, I still appreciate its stream-of-consciousness style of writing and the boldness of Yo-Yo Boing!.

I agree with the notion that you cannot translate Yo-Yo Boing! because it erases so much of its effect and significance. I am not a native speaker of Spanish, but I would say I experience some of the friction produced when switching languages. If I’m in “English mode” (which is nearly all the time living in Canada) I especially need a few moments to adjust to speaking Spanish. That time is eliminated when I’m situated in a Spanish-speaking environment, which I think is generally the case for anyone who learned a second language. Aside from switching up a few words, I wouldn’t classify myself as a “Spanglish” speaker, so it was somewhat jarring to read it on a page. Yet it added so much character to the novel, especially among the dynamics between the narrator and others who engage in code-switching. This might be a bit of a cop-out, but I think I would decline to translate Yo-Yo Boing! for this reason!

The idea of mixing the languages (e.g. English/French, French/Arabic) is compelling but I doubt it would fully convey the Nuyorican experience. It’s clear that Braschi is purposeful in her use of language, although her characters might unconsciously slip between English and Spanish. Their more measured speech is in English, which is the language they likely associate with the American establishment. Spanish is used more emotively, it seems. This code switching is impossible to translate.

Braschi mentions in the interview that Yo-Yo Boing! was extremely difficult to write because of a “war of values” between English and Spanish. This may point to a bigger dissonance between mainland American and Puerto Rican culture. I think there is a great irony here, given the fact that Puerto Rica is literally a part of the United States (why it isn’t a state is another unfortunate reminder of modern imperialism) and more Puerto Ricans live on the mainland than on the island itself. The characters in Yo-Yo Boing! shouldn’t feel unwelcome in their own home.

Question: Can you give an example from the text in which Spanglish is used particularly effectively? Would the passage have the same effect solely in one language? Why or why not?

 

 

I, Rigoberta Menchú

2 Replies

I, Rigoberta Menchú is an enormously significant book that recounts the story of Rigoberta Menchú, an Indigenous activist in Guatemala and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. To my knowledge, it is also the first non-fiction or biographical novel covered in this course. Menchú, in conversation with the Elisabeth Burgos-Debray, verbally narrates her and her community’s tragic fight against discrimination. When I did a bit of research after reading, I was shocked to find Menchú’s age: she is only 64. The atrocities described only occurred a few decades ago. I would consider myself fairly cognizant of late 20th century history, but I had never heard of the extent of anti-Indigenous repression in Guatemala- let alone the courageous story of Rigoberta Menchú- from school or media.

The original Spanish version of the book is titled Me llamo Rigoberta Menchú y así me nació la concienca (my name is Rigoberta Menchú and this is how my conscience was born), which is quite different from the English title. I think the original title, although wordier, best portrays the profoundness of the events detailed in the book. What does conscience mean in this context? I think it refers to a sort of collective conscience among her community, who rose up together to resist the tyranny of local governments through unions and advocacy groups. Menchú displays immense pride for her community, culture, and land. The work of her family to resist neo-imperial and capitalist pressures seems to be about regaining this collective conscience.

The lecture asks us about the presence of secrets in the book. Menchú is selective about what she shares, and is somewhat blunt in her account of traumatizing events. Ultimately, I obviously don’t know what Menchú decided to withhold. Like all autobiographies, some details are never revealed to the public. I would say that Menchú was very transparent and vulnerable in her discussion. Perhaps she won’t reveal certain things for safety reasons or to preserve the memory of some individuals. It is simply impossible to know.

I think the discourse and controversy surrounding the exact accuracy of Menchú’s depiction of her life misses the point. I, Rigoberta Menchú clearly has brought substantial awareness to the repression of Indigenous people in Guatemala and the world. That is most important.

Question for the week: Disconnect between languages is a recurring problem in this book. What does using Spanish as a lingua franca symbolize as a result? Why is Menchú reluctant to learn Spanish?

The Hour of the Star

3 Replies

I am so glad this course introduced me to Clarice Lispector- an author who seems to be relatively unknown in the Anglo-sphere- as I can confidently say the writing in The Hour of the Star was my favourite of all the books I’ve read for SPAN312. My edition contained a translator’s note describing Lispector’s word choice and syntax as “weird” and “strange” (132), but I found it compellingly charming. The translator continues to note the peculiarity of The Hour of the Star, a book he claims to be more easily read in Portuguese by a learner rather than a native speaker. Personally, the eccentricity of the prose kept me on my toes and provided meaningful emphasis and pause.

As discussed in the lecture, the role of the narrator is also quite unusual for Western literature: The Hour of the Star is told by a man who laments the burden of telling the story of the protagonist, Macabéa. I still am not certain if this man ever met Macabéa, but he observes her entire life up until her unceremonious death and even claims that “Macabéa killed me” (114). I honestly cannot tell if the narrator constitutes an elaborate metaphor, perhaps my classmates could help me here? I am breaking precedence by asking the question earlier in the blog: who do you think the narrator in The Hour of the Star is? How does his life intersect with Macabéa’s, if it does at all?

The Hour of the Star is tragic, but not at all unrealistic. Not many books focus on the most unfortunate in such an honest and uncensored manner, and even fewer deliver their protagonists an irredeemable end. The novel is named after the glory of death, when a person “becomes a shining movie star” (42)- in the case of Macabéa, a Brazilian Marilyn Monroe- but its protagonist dies a death of a forgotten extra. People like Macabéa never receive their deserved fate. Throughout her life, Macabéa is belittled and teased, tossed around like dust. “It seems to me that her life was a long meditation on nothing” (44), notes the narrator. The interjection (explode) frequently used in the book implies a sort of dramatic destruction, yet Macabéa remains composed until her death. Does a star always have to be obnoxiously bright? There are many stars who (excuse the cliché) never shine only because of the shadows cast by their surroundings. If Macabéa were simply born in better circumstances, would her brightness be visible and not dampened?

One Hundred Years of Solitude II

1 Reply

I think the latter half of One Hundred Years of Solitude is its best: when the utopian sheen of Macondo begins to wear off and fade rapidly, revealing a deeply flawed and potentially doomed town at its surface. Here the major themes of the novel become apparent, including some commentary on the nature of human civilization. Macondo, like many towns in the Americas of its time, was founded upon the expectation that its settlers would build themselves a better life from the ground up. One hundred years later, it becomes clear that this is not true of at least the descendants of the initial settlers, who find themselves relegated to disaster. The novel ends with the destruction of Macondo, its memory wiped from history.

The tension between the desire for innovative change and relapses to old, ill-advised ways is introduced with the origin story of Macondo. Its founder, José Arcadio Buendía, establishes the town after murdering Prudencio Aguilar and fleeing. José Arcadio Buendía is haunted by the image of Prudencio for the rest of his life. It would be appropriate to observe, then, that Macondo was cursed from the start.

José Arcadio Buendía acknowledges how difficult it is to erase the stain of old mistakes and start afresh by calling Macondo “a city of mirrors” reflective of the society and people that surround it. Macondo is only as good as its residents- who inevitably turn out to be just like their ancestors. Recurring behaviours across generations continually hold the town back from progression. Although signs of modernity arrive like the train or agricultural development, the habits of the Buendía family remain. As mentioned in the lecture, the characters of One Hundred Years of Soliltude are repeatedly given opportunities to change- but they never do. In the final pages of the book, Amaranta Úrsula considers naming her son a unique name after generations of Aurelianos and José Arcadios, only to be overwritten by her husband. The natural impulse here is to think “well, what if she went ahead with calling the child Rodrigo”?, but I think of that outcome as an impossibility.

The characters of One Hundred Years of Solitude do not have free will. What I mean by this is that they are simply unable to deviate from the behaviours of their ancestors. It is prescribed in their DNA, so to speak, that they innately repeat the mistakes of the past. What delivered this unfortunate, inflexible situation? One can place the blame on José Arcadio Buendía’s curse, but I would more generally shift it to the founding of Macondo itself. Readers may deny a similar ancestral pattern in their own family- after all, massive technological and social innovations part generations- but this defensiveness is not what García Márquez wants us to consider. The appeal of One Hundred Years of Solitude is based on its mirror-like reflection of universal human behaviour. We may think that we are approaching utopia, but age-old human habits- greed, dishonesty, envy- will always pervade.

Do you agree with my interpretation of the free will of the characters? Do you think there could have been a possibility for a Buendía to break the generational cycle? Are we just as flawed as the characters of One Hundred Years of Solitude?

 

One Hundred Years of Solitude I

3 Replies

One Hundred Years of Solitude is truly fantastic, in both senses of the word. I think it deserves much of the acclaim that it gets, if not more: I find it puzzling, for example, that it did not feature in any of my high school classes. Unfortunately, I think there is some implicit fear among the general public for the translated or international novel. This may be for a variety of reasons, such as the accuracy of translation, relatability of storylines, or simple prejudice. Although imperfect, One Hundred Years of Solitude does capture universal human experiences in ways which few other books have. While I am skeptical of claims of it being “required reading” for everyone, I do appreciate it as being the figurative centrepiece of this course on Latin American literature.

I am a big fan of sagas stretching decades and generations of family members. At first, I was fairly uncertain of which century One Hundred Years of Solitude was located. The rudimentary technology and pioneering plans placed it anywhere from the 16th to early 20th century. For some unjustified reason, I thought of Macondo existing in the the mid 18th century; naturally, I was shocked when the railroad arrived. If anything, I think my impression added to the timelessness of the town. Modernity- as represented by new technology and attitudes- seems to approach Macondo but is always kept somewhat distant from it. The mistakes of early characters are reiterated by their descendants, echoed by their matching names. The insomnia plague that reaches the town halts time to a standstill. Time should, in theory, pass yet everything remains the same. Everything is cyclical.

It is easy to get lost in One Hundred Years of Solitude. This is an intentionally isolating experience I think, one that makes you confused by patterns of repetition or bizarre events. I often come across this feeling while reading and- honestly, I feel used to it. I won’t understand everything that happens in an archaic book, for example, but I’ll catch its gist. Here, this feeling is designed to pass through every reader. A reader will inevitably be confused by the numerous José Arcadios and Aurelianos, but that is just part of the One Hundred Years of Solitude experience. They will be just as perpetually lost as the characters in the novel.

I think Macondo’s insomnia period is its most interesting era. How does a lack of sleep contribute to a sense of timelessness and memory loss in the novel? Is this depiction accurate if you yourself have ever experienced bouts of insomnia?

Pedro Páramo

2 Replies

This week’s reading was Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo, a relatively short novel about a man visiting his parents’ hometown in search for his father, the eponymous Pedro Páramo. The setting is the town of Comala in early-20th century Mexico (some of the flashbacks creep into the Mexican Revolution), but the narrator Juan Preciado is implied to return much later than the events composing the majority of the novel as he approaches a town no longer inhabited by the characters featured in the story. “Inhabited” by no living humans, but still populated by the presence of dead former residents that come to haunt Preciado to his death. Comala is a literal ghost town.

I found the concept of this novel to be exceedingly interesting, and not like any other I’ve ever come across before. All of the characters are dead! And their stories are not told retrospectively, but usually by the ghost of the characters themselves. This being a literature course, of course I am tempted to think of why the author chose to employ this technique: in other words, what does the death of all the characters add to the text? I think Rulfo is making a commentary on legacy. The concept of legacy is not really detached from the concept of “ghosts”. When we talk about a dead person, we imagine them making a tangible impact on the present. The supernatural connotation of ghosts is derived from the idea that they can interact with us presently. In Pedro Páramo, Juan Preciado joins the dead of Comala fairly early and thus only briefly interacts with the ghostly inhabitants of the town as a living individual.

Like the previous week’s reading, Pedro Páramo refuses to have a linear storyline. The storylines blend together in a way which makes it impossible to establish chronology. My approach to “confusing” stories like these is to just approach it head-on: I get what I get, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out later- even if I’m not, perhaps that is the desired effect. Did I understand 100% of this novel? Probably not, but I am not convinced that Rulfo was trying to create the most straight-forward narrative either. Pedro Páramo is about the fine line between life and death, two statuses that may not be in direct opposition to one another. People can live, even in death, through their legacies. What happens when their legacy is erased? When the memory of a person is forgotten? Is that what it means to be truly dead?

There are  ghost towns like Comala everywhere: small, rural towns that are usually only populated by elderly people who live on the memory of a thriving local past. My question for the week is: have you been to a ghost town yourself? What are the similarities between the real town you visited and the fictional town of Comala? Do you think either town will have an enduring legacy?

Labyrinths

1 Reply

Labyrinths is a short story anthology containing many of Jorge Luis Borges’ best work. Having heard a lot about Borges, I was excited to check out his writing. While I found several of the stories unnecessarily confusing or pointless, I enjoyed most of them. I especially appreciated Borges’ manipulation of reality in “The Secret Miracle” and “The South”. The former made a particular impression, as I cannot imagine a situation more terrifying than the moments immediately before facing execution: the anticipation of death, the infamous “life flashing before your eyes”, the entirely justified anxiety. In this short story, the Jewish main character, Jaromir Hladík, is sentenced to death by Nazi firing squad yet is mystically given a year to complete his magnum opus. What I find compelling about this sort of magical realism (if that is the correct terminology) is it is uncertain whether the “miracle” of Hladík being able to satisfy his life goal was actually the result of some occult intervention. I am inclined to think no, that this extra year of labour was just a compensatory product of Hladík’s imagination in his last moments, which consequently undoes the rightful ending of the story. Borges’ writing often has a dream-like quality: some strands of his stories don’t make sense, or lack the coherency of real life. “The South” is a story that stood out to me because of its twisted take on nationalism.

I found similarities between Borges’ style and other texts. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro’s discomfiting and eery mood resembles that of some of the stories in this collection where reality feels twisted and inverted in a dystopian society jarringly close to reality. The infinite “Library of Babel” actually reminds of a story I wrote a few years ago. I wrote about a character that writes a computer program that could generate a story customized precisely for an individual user- that is, the “perfect story” for someone. This story is so absorbing and fulfilling that they feel no need to live in the real world anymore. The Library of Babel, on the other hand, drives librarians to insanity. Infinite permutations can be overwhelming, but they also present the possibility of perfection- hence the endless search for the “Man of the Book”.

My question for this week is quite broad: which story from Labyrinths do you think will leave the longest-lasting impression on you? It doesn’t have to be your favourite- just the one you think you will remember the most. Why is that story so memorable?