On the topic of love and loss, and ultimately, being a man.

This post is a reflection of the poetry collection by Neruda, titled “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair”.  Normally, I’m not a big reader of poetry, which is to say that I don’t have the aptitude to appreciate poetry as much as another person who really enjoys literature and poems, but I do tend to appreciate what I do come across.

To dive into my thoughts for this book, I can sort of summarize my thoughts in one sentence:

He is more passionate about him being passionate than he is passionate about her.

Reading his poems reminded me of a quote that said something along the lines of: if a man wrote a poem for her he loves her, and if he wrote multiple poems for her- he loves poems. I think this doesn’t necessarily take away form the quality or intimacy / vulnerability of the poems that make it beautiful, but I would hesitate to accept its title as the gospel for hopeless romantics, because that means hopeless romantics are more in love with the idea of being in love as opposed to the motions of loving another human being. Although that can very much be the case. I don’t think of myself as a hopeless romantic so I cannot really speak on that.

I think my initial thoughts connect to the lecture very well too, since the feeling I got from this book is that he loves so that he can write. Which fulfills his purpose as a writer, as described in the 20th poem, where he opens with “Tonight I can write the saddest lines.” (pg.70), in acknowledgement of his desire to turn this love into craft, and as that love ends, he understands that these poems contain “the last verses that I write for her” (pg.78), where the potential or material for writing more poems dies as this love comes to a close.

Personally, I think the “problematic” aspects of his poetry doesn’t require multiple reads to notice, especially coming from a female’s perspective. The more notable thing in my opinion, is that this is something I notice often in male writers and the undertone of their work. Notable examples can range from people that are popular now, such as Haruki Murakami, or even the last author Azuela who wrote The Underdogs which had sorrowful depictions of female characters, from Camilia to War Paint.

To recycle Neruda’s own words: Love (from these mens perspective) is so short, forgetting (their sexism tinged work) is so long. Because they always end up being writers worth looking at.

To close, my question to you all is, Which poem out of the 20 was your favourite, or contained the most memorable quote for you, and why is it particularly significant to you?

The Underdogs and the more Underwhelmed Reader

Before you make any assumptions based on the post’s title, I’m not underwhelmed because I didn’t like the book (to clarify, I didn’t like the book but thats not the reasoning here), I’m underwhelmed because I carry in some sense the same disappointment that Luis Cervantes felt about the revolution and the way it eventually manifests, and leaves behind the country and its people in replacement with this weird sense of calamity and loss. I think because I am still young and my life has barely started yet, my brain doesn’t have the capacity to process this kind of dejectedness that the characters possess especially towards the end of the book, which is something I guess people kind of attribute to just having experienced “life”. I really empathized with this quote in the foreword: “Revolutions begin fighting tyranny and end fighting themselves”. I think the meaning here in the passage referred to the political situation where revolutionaries fight against the dictator and end up fighting among factions to choose who gets to sit in the now vacated seat, which was Mexico’s situation. But I think to read into this quote more deeply, people start this war clear that the enemy was the tyrant and his oppression they were all against, but end up fighting themselves as they find they now find this tyrant within themselves and are unclear where their values lie as well, eventually submitting to having no values, in my opinion, which resulted in more barbaric behaviour. I think this parallel was drawn by Azuela himself the best, where Demetrio finds himself in situations he’s experienced before but on the other side, be it the battle in the valley/canyon/sierra place, or raiding others houses. Reading those scenes also furthered the despondency I felt.

Another interesting thing to think about is how the book directly translated means “Those from below”, as mentioned again in the foreword. For me, the feeling the directly translated title gives is a greater sombreness, compared to “Underdogs”, which also has its own zing to it, but I guess has a more English nuance to it which kinda takes away from the original title. I think the title obviously has some relation to the class structure in place here in reference to Demitrio and his troops, but I also think there’s a sort of relation to how the scene starts with them in high ground attacking “those from below” and ends with them being the ones from below, as they were killed. I think this also ties in again with class structure, since the “curro” Luis Cervantes is not there as they were dying one by one at the bottom.

To finish off with a question: Did you guys like this book? What part about it was something you enjoyed or something you really didn’t like? I personally wanted to jump to the next page whenever they mentioned Camilia. That girl has already been through enough.

Mama Blanca’s Memoirs

My first and foremost thought after fishing reading this novel was: “Why in the world does her memoir almost completely focus on her time spent as a child?”. I guess I had understood memoirs as something that captures memorable experiences throughout a persons entire life, and I think in some ways Mama Blanca’s (yes I will be referring to her as such because I somehow feel compelled to do so as the book commented on) childhood was so defining for her, to the extent that she views life through this prism that was crafted by her experiences as a child.

Regardless of whatever the answer to my first question may be, I suspect that it would reveal a lot about the exact kind of character Mama Blanca was. Reading this novel reminded me a lot about the way I saw things through my own eyes when I was a child (Not suggesting that I grew up on a sugar plantation, I quite literally did not). I think there was something very noteworthy in her description of the way she viewed the adults such as her parents; it seemed to be tinged with a sense of mysteriousness and thus mystic authority, or the way she perceived other characters such as Vincente or Cousin Juancho, or Evelyn. It seemed as if their actions around her, or these stories about them that Mama Blanca would tell would always have a sense of distance to her, as if these people around her are much like a part of cosmic nature, where things happen and maybe she doesn’t fully understand them in the way a grown adult would, but the impact of it is still fully felt, in the way a child would feel. In her recount of this childhood of hers, I was brought back to my own too unknowingly, and even started to question myself since when have I stopped perceiving the things around me in that way. To be honest, I haven’t really noticed this change in myself, and I think this perception of things is a marker of the kind of wonder and innocence that Mama Blanca still holds even well into her later years.

Another thing that really stuck with me was this sentence in the foreword questioning “what would life be worth without the grace of forgiveness and tolerance?”. I think the idea encapsulated in this sentence follows in line with Mama Blanca’s  thoughts about having the Beast from Beauty and the Beast change back to a human at the end defeating the story’s purpose. As if “sinning” or “ugly things” (Sorry, Beast) need to exist, because then the “nobleness” of belle, as Mama Blanca puts it herself, or the grace of forgiveness, will be able to shine. Otherwise what is the story’s, and I guess by extension, life’s purpose?

To end this post with a question: Why do you think Mama Blanca included the story of cousin Juancho, or Vincente, or the man that milked the cows specifically?

Welcome – an introduction

My name is Kelly and I am a second year student planning to major in economics and political science. I really enjoy reading in my spare time, although my Want to Read list is always outpacing my Read list and I never end up reading as much as I want. So hopefully, this course can remedy this to some extent as now I get to read and have it be part of my academics!

Along with being able to read more books, I hope to be exposed to different kinds of literature, both across their contextual backgrounds, as well as different writing styles and stories. More personally, I’m excited to encounter different kinds of characters within these novels and get to know them better over the course. For the readings themselves, I did expect to encounter magical realism some way or another, merely because I have read a book for high school by Gabriel Garcia Marquez titled The chronicle of a death foretold, who also happens to be the author of One Hundred Years of Solitude. Personally I did not enjoy (oops) reading this book, especially because of the use of magical realism, so I am quite reassured after watching the lecture video that seemed to steer focus away from that. 

When thinking about Latin American literature, I tend to first think of its history of colonization and its many revolutions and conflicts that inevitably trickle into the daily lives of the people, even removed from its direct impacts on livelihoods. These include things like religion, or living environment or just overall cultural attitudes that develop depending on the happenings within the region. My other preconceived notion of Latin American literature is based on more recent books I have read, one being The Dangers of Smoking in Bed by the Argentinian author Mariana Enriquez, as well as The Bread the Devil Knead by Lisa Allen-Agostini which has the story set in the Caribbean (both books are quite interesting reads if you’re interested). Both these novels are published much more recently, and have somewhat given me the impression of an unfamiliar gender attitude that I still have trouble figuring out the nuances of today, especially in recognition of my own Western understanding of gender. I have a feeling that this theme might carry through into some other books in this course, and I am especially keeping an eye on that one story about prostitutes in the special service. 

From this course with all of its diverse selection of books, I hope to understand all of the identities represented within these books better, and gain a new found understanding of Latin American literature, or maybe a new understanding that deconstructs the box of Latin American literature entirely. 

To conclude, my question to whoever reads this is: which book are you all the most excited to start reading and why?

I look forward to reading the comments!

Until next time, 

Kelly



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