Author Archives: Giaan

Week XIII – Does This Mean I Can Now Wipe All Traces of These Blogs from the Internet?

Well, well, well. We’ve officially reached the end and I can confidently say it was a great journey. Whether I was reading a novel that confused the living hell out of me, weirded me out, or made me crazy uncomfortable, I genuinely enjoyed every moment of it. One thing I really enjoyed and wish they implemented more outside of this course was the contract structure. I feel like it made the course so much more unique and really allowed all of us to focus more on the literature and express our thoughts and understanding of the novels in a creative way rather than just doing it for a mark. The freedom built into the course, I feel like, is what played such a huge role in making it the memorable and enjoyable class that it was.

As with almost everything, I have a lot to say, especially when it comes to reflecting on the novels we read throughout the course. Starting off strong with possibly and very controversial and hot take, I think I want to say that I enjoyed reading (drum-roll please) Agostino by Alberto Moravia???? DONT HATE ME ALRIGHT, let me explain. I can’t help but love the vibe of a kid exploring his identity on a beach, vacationing somewhere nice likeeeeee I can’t be the only one who just resonates with that in a way. Now, when I say resonate, I don’t mean I’m relating to that little bo and his weird and lowkey pervy thoughts of his mom, but instead BEACH VACATION ITALY SUMMERTIME. I think finals week has me craving a vacation and reflecting on the setting of Agostino is NOT helping me overcome it. If I were to pick a runner-up, I would probably pick The Shrouded Woman by María Luisa Bombal because wow wow wow did I find that novel beautiful. I am a sucker for anything that touches upon the experiences of women and womanhood in general because, not only do i love being a woman, but I love hearing other womenbtalk about their lives and experiences as well, fictional or real. As i type this out, I’m kind of starting to realize that I would probably switch the two, but you know what? Whatever, I’ll let it be.

Most of all, I want to thank Professor Beasley-Murray, Daniel, and Tesi for making this class an absolute pleasure to take. All your hard work and dedication made RMST 202 an unforgettable course for all of us and words genuinely cannot express my gratitude. I hope, for you three, that this class was as much of a pleasure to teach as it was for me, and I’m sure the rest of my peers, to take.

My question for OUR LAST BLOG POST OF RMST 2023W2 OMGGGGGG is what made this course the most enjoyable for you? Was it a book, the blogs, the interactive discussion classes, or something entirely different?

Week XII – Confused? Yes. Entertained? Highly.

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Here we are, (technically) my last blog post EVER for RMST 202. I know we still have our conclusion blog posts to write, but this is the last blog post on the last book of the course. Now, THAT is a milestone to celebrate, but it’s very bittersweet. I feel like I say this every week, but guys, I’m a little lost. Being one of the many who chose to read Valeria Luiselli’s Faces in the Crowd for this week, I know I’m not alone in that confusion. The overall structure of Luiselli’s novel is very much intentionally all over the place; starting in one place and picking up in another over and over. This would make any reader a little lost because A LOT can get lost in translation and be misunderstood within this structure. However, I will say, for me, it was a very entertaining read. And, although structured in a very unique and abstract way, it didn’t turn me completely off of the book. I mention this only because, from what I have seen, that tends to be the popular narrative surrounding the novel which I totally understand as well.

Faces in the Crowd by Valeria Luiselli’s follows a variety of different stories, starting off in Mexico City with a mother who is writing about her time spent living in New York. Seeing as she wasn’t given a name in the novel, who this woman is is up for interpretation and, as mentioned in the lecture, could very well be Valeria Luiselli herself. She writes of her transition from New York life to her Mexico City life; from being a translator and slight kleptomaniac to a mother and wife left with little time to write. This isn’t the only story touched upon, as soon after, the story of Gilberto Owen, a Mexican poet who the woman finds herself a little obsessed with, is introduced. Gilberto Owens life too has changed, as he is now in Philadelphia, reflecting on his life and important relationships and connections from his past. Even within this fragmented story structure, there seems to be a possible connection between the two that is expressed within subtle details. Both claim to see people when taking the subway that fit the description of one another. Whether or not it is actually each other they are seeing is never confirmed, but it’s neither denied.

My question for this week is, “What would this book be if stripped of its unique, fragmented structure?”

Week X – Homoerotic Reservoir Dogs (almost)

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I think we all need to start off by giving a round of applause to Professor Jon Beasley-Murray for making this book a required reading because IT WAS FIREEEEEE. I know everyone is raving about how they loved this book and just the whole crime genre in general which I love to hear because crime, both true and fictitious, is genuinely one of my favourite genres of all time; Of course, still behind murder mystery though. The genre of crime, no matter the form it comes in (whether it be written, audible, or visual), it does not matter A BIT because I will be consuming it no matter what. And that says a lot because I am not a big reader.

Anyway, let’s actually get into the book at hand because there is so much to be talked about here!! The novel we all read this week was none other than the fabulous Money to Burn by Ricardo Piglia and WOWWWWW. The book is based on a real robbery that took place in Argentina in late 1965. After successfully carrying out a heist and securing around $7’000’000 Argentine pesos, the crew of vigilantes fled from Buenos Aires where the robbery took place, to Montevideo, Uruguay. The central characters of Money to Burn are introduced to be Dorda, Brignone (also known as “Kid” and who is also portrayed as having a relationship with Dorde and together being known as “The Twins”), Malito, and Mereles. Once in Uruguay, the crew hides out for several weeks while the police back in Buenos Aires prepare to hunt them down. This police department is led by the corrupt commissioner Silva who is VERY determined to find and identify the thieves. After receiving a tip, the police make their way to the crew of robbers hide-out, all of whom have been binging drugs since they arrived, and the shoot-out begins. Understanding their fate, the men decide to burn the stolen money as their last “fuck-you” to the obviously the police but, more broadly, the world.

In most true crime texts, the perspective and humanization of victims is prioritized, which is needed is most cases since they are often blamed or just presented as a number or statistic. In some cases, crime fiction loves to play devils advocate a put us in the shoes of the “bad” or the “criminal”, and that’s exactly what makes it so interesting. The backstory to the crew of robbers added a new perspective and made thr story so much more than just another armoured car robbery. Although I understand the controversy surrounding it, I found it so interesting that Piglia took inspiration from a real story and invested so much time and research into it for his novel.

Question for this week: Did anyone else also get reminded of the movie Reservoir Dogs??? because He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was definitely heavily inspired by this Money to Burn or its film adaptation. I haven’t seen that movie in agesssss but, from what I remember, the vibe is very similar (almost).

Week IX – All That Over a Damn Coat

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I am just going to go ahead and preemptively apologize because I know you are probably tired of reading this when it comes to blogs about The Trenchcoat by Norman Manea, but I’m confused. I wish I wasn’t, but I am; along with a little dissatisfied. This book had me almost as scrambled as the characters were, and I still don’t even know what the deal was with that damn trenchcoat. Although its a little obvious (at least to me it is) that the coat was just that, a coat, but i’m still left with that unsatisfied, yearning for a conclusion feeling. That might just be because I like clear and concise endings, but I digress.

The Trenchcoat by Norman Manea is set in late Communist Romania during Nicolae Ceaușescu’s final years of totalitarian reign. This is a key aspect of the story as almost all of it is either tied to or related to it in some way. The characters of the book (who are either lucky enough to have a name, are referred to under some symbolic nickname, or do not have a name at all) all have very strained, ominous, and distant friendships/relationships with one another which becomes abundantly clear after they gathered at a dinner party. Along with the evening resulting in dry and dull conversation, a trenchcoat is left at the host’s place of residence. Now, you may be thinking, “How could this possibly lead to anything interesting?” and to that, I would say you’re both right and wrong. The coat symbolizes so much more than just a coat as it perfectly showcases how such an everyday, mundane item that literally had no special qualities or strikingly memorable attributes can be built-up into so much more than it needs to be. The mystery surrounding the coat and its owner sends the characters of the book into a sort of subdued frenzy and, as if their attitudes towards each other weren’t strained enough, suspicion and paranoia take hold of all of them.

This is where the setting of the story becomes vital to understanding the vague, uncertain, and almost uncomfortable atmosphere of the story. Seeing as their living in a time where the feeling of your actions and words being watched and monitored is a continuous experience, I don’t blame them for (lowkey) going ape-shit over a coat either. The uncertain and vague setting I mentioned before does lead to my question of…

Does writing about a certain point in time in the abstract, sort of “you-had-to-be-there’ kind of way create a barrier between the message the author is trying to send and the audience?

Week VIII – Na verdade

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Here we are, week 8. Wow, wow, wow. For this week, I chose to read The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector (who, I can’t lie, has a sick-sounding) and, if I’m very honest, I’m not sure if I have that much to say about it. Maybe I still have a very juvenile taste, but I generally tend to gravitate towards books in which the story is very clear and more obvious. Although I understand the appeal of a novel where the story is a little bit more abstract and unique, but for me, it always has made it harder for me to really be able to connect and immerse myself into the book and its story.

The Hour of the Star starts off quite slow, with a pretty lengthy build-up to the actual introduction of the main character, Macabéa, whose name took even longer to figure out. All from the narrator’s point-of-view, Rodrigo S.M., Macabéa is introduced as a 19 year old girl originating from the poor neighbour of Alagoas who was now staying in Rio de Janeiro. The more is revealed about Macabéa’s life, the more you realize how dull and mundane a lot of it is, despite her lingering tooth-ache of course In a lot of ways, I felt like I related to Macabéa, as she is often described as someone who is easily pleased and that she does not have crazy huge aspirations compared to her peers. I’m sure I’m not alone in this but I’ve always had the tendency to describe myself as someone who does not have huge goals or milestones i wish to reach in life and that small little things or experiences are often what makes me happy and satisfied with life. Although I live a very experience-focused life, I’m pleased with them whether their big or small and I feel like Macabéa might view life in a very similar way. Her mind-set might be a result of her socio-economic status growing up where-as, for me, I was very fortunate my upbringing and I still am situation now. In addition, I thought even smaller details, like her diet of hot-dogs and Coca Cola,brought up closer together as well. Although I’m a vegetarian, a hot-dog and coke combo is crazy good; Macabéa, girl, you were onto something.

Jokes aside, I truly did enjoy this slightly different style of writing in which the power of the narrator was so obviously shown while still being bound by not being to cross a “hidden fatal line”, showing that even he doesn’t have full control of the story. His vocalized nervousness and excitement for the future of Macabéa’s life almost made me feel like Rodrigo was watching this play out instead of writing it himself.

Anyways, my question for this week is what role did Macabéa’s short and abrupt ending have in telling her story? What about the context of her death tells us more about her and of her life within the story being told by Rodrigo?

Week VII – Mr. Control Freak Had To Go!

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After a long (but much-needed) break, I, Giaan Deol, am back to talk about the crazily depressing, but nonetheless beautifully written, The Time of the Doves by Mercè Rodoreda. And, surprise surprise, I am again in complete awe of the talent, range, story-building skills, structure, tone, and so much more exuded by another brilliant female author. I just had to give her praise.

Although I’ve never been a fan of neutral/apolitical people, Ms. Natalia was going through enough as it was and was actively trying to keep, not only herself, but her children alive during war and revolution, so I guess I have to give her a pass because she is tougher than I am. Having said that, I also feel like living through an active revolution would have made her more prone to dabbling in politics and focusing on it without necessarily wanting to, as for Natalia, it was affecting her life so deeply that it would be hard to even try to avoid. But, in my opinion, I see that quality in Natalia as purposeful on Rodoreda’s end, as it displays Natalia as perfectly human and capable of contradicting herself, making mistakes, and most importantly doing what she can to survive and keep her mental state afloat. As we all read, the preventative measures she took to help support her and her family only helped so much and landed her in a tough spot where a heart-breaking decision was made. No matter how fictional a book is, reading something like that is never easy. I could not possibly imagine how much turmoil and trauma would lead someone to making that decision, let alone how much that decision would cause them if carried out, so, no matter how opinionated I am, I genuinely cannot judge her decision as good or bad, or right or wrong. It is so much more complicated than that and is anything but black and white and therefore cannot be judged as such.

Onto a lighter, but more of a frustrating topic, Quimet. I could genuinely talk about how much I STRONGLY dislike him and why for hours, but I’ll try my best to keep it brief. Everyone has touched on it in some form or another, (which the inner hater in me loved to see by the way) but he is genuinely insufferable. As much as I understand that it was a very much reciprocated relationship to start, I can’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly what to say to sell her this dream and make her fall in love with him + leave her whole fiancé. So much of his behaviour is icky and gross and lovebomb-y, not to mention he is crazy possessive and controlling when it comes to Natalia. I. hate. it.

Anyways! My question for this week is: What did the doves symbolize/represent to you, if anything at all? If not so much symbolic, what general significance did they have?

Week V – We’re Getting Weird This Week

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Oh, boy…where do I even begin? I mean it was definitely an interesting read but, I won’t lie, it did make my stomach turn at some point. From the overly sexual descriptions of his mother to the racism to the overall underlying misogynistic tone of the book, Alberto Moravia’s Agostino never failed to disturb and shock me in the most entertaining ways. Moravia’s Agostino follows a 13-year-old boy and his mother as they vacation on the Italian seaside, focusing on his “unique” relationship with his mother as he discovers his sexuality and begins to flourish and mature.

To begin, Agostino and his recently widowed mother are enjoying each other’s company on the beach, taking rides on the pattino, and swimming in the Italian sea. As his mother strikes up a relationship with a younger man, Renzo, Agostino begins to feel increasingly jealous. Not only does this jealously arise due to his time with his mother being shortened, but because, to Agostino, his mother held a very specific role in his life, one that (I hope) not many others share. As strange as it is, Agostino is constantly in admiration of her beauty and her body, and as he traverses this journey of sexual maturation and growth, his mother is often at the centre of it. When he encounters a group of thuggish children, matters are only made worse for Agostino as they shamelessly talk about his mother in an uncomfortably over-sexualized way, sullying Agostino’s image of her. Agostino’s naiveté and overall innocence drives him towards learning about whatever it is that everyone is alluding to, as he has yet to understand people as sexual beings. This curiously leads him to spy on his mother as she undresses, visit a brothel, and even skinny-dip with his friends.

As much I understand the concept that Moravia is going for (the transition out of/loss of innocence, development of sexuality/sexual identity, maturing, etc.), I cant help but ask, “Why did he have to make his mother the main focus of it?!” This weird, incestuous undertone within the entire book only brought me out of it and stopped me from connecting to and immersing my within the book for a better understanding. I also cant help but think that Agostino is not learning about sexuality and emerging into adolescence but rather about the constant objectification and sexualization of women that not even his own mother can escape.

Having said that, my question for this week is:…Is this book showcasing a boy’s flourishing sense of sexuality and maturity or is he just being indoctrinated by the patriarchy and its over-sexualization of all women?

Week IV – God, I Love Female Authors

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Wow. This was definitely a refreshing change from Breton and his not-so-nice narrator last week. Although both touched on misogyny in one way or another, at least this time it was from the experience of a real woman. To some, that may be more upsetting, but to me, it’s moving. Whether fictional or not, the author of ‘The Shrouded Woman,’ María Luisa Bombal, was still, in fact, a woman who experienced such things and who is able to construct realistic examples of it for her novel. To read about the societal effects of the oppression of women as a woman is an experience in itself, but to read of the individual effects of constant objectification and marginalization from the point of view of a woman on her literal death bed provides new insight and creates an incredibly moving message. ‘The Shrouded Woman,’ also known as ‘La amortajada,’ follows a woman, Ana María, the mentioned “woman on her death bed”, as she recounts the events of her life and the memorable people within it. It begins as she lay there unable to move or speak, but able to hear and see the people who gathered there just for her; past lovers, friends, and her husband and her children. impactful memories pertaining to each person, both good and bad, come flooding back to Ana María, invoking deep reflection and reliving of those memories and the impact they had on her and her life. Overarching themes of Ana María’s life often have to do with the limitations brought on her by society at that point in time and by some of the men in her life, as they both confine her within the rigid and close-minded expectations of women. A clear example of this would be the disregard and little care shown to her by both Ricardo, her past lover, and her husband Antonio, who both would often not make time for her or treat her with respect. Her reflection and reliving of these moments add to the already intimate and extremely personal atmosphere of the book, only making it more of a powerful, let alone interesting, read.

An important notion I drew from this book, and what I am sure many others picked up on as well was the overall gratitude for life it sparked within me. When one is faced with a very clear example or experience surrounding death, it can often have the effect of making them grateful for the opportunity of life and all the beauty that comes along with it which is exactly what happened to me. Although fictitious, the action of her recounting all the things and experiences that built up her life until her death is such a unique perspective to take and had a very moving effect for me, especially with her being a female voice.

To conclude, my question for this week is: Seeing as most of the book is on her memory, how reliable is Ana María as her own narrator and how would her biases affect the memories recounted?

Week III – The Romanticization of Madness

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I surprised myself this week; I found myself actually excited to read “Nadja” by André Breton and I can confidently say it was nothing short of an experience. Perhaps it was the little description left by Prof. Beasley-Murray depicting the book as one with themes of love, desire, and madness that piqued my interest, I am just glad it was piqued at all. My blog post will heavily touch on the purpose of Nadja for the narrator and how his infatuation with her was not so much one of love, but instead one of self-interest and benefit, as she represented something entirely different than just a woman to him. The book starts off with André Breton, the narrator, asking the question, “Who am I?” which held little significance at the start but grew in importance as time went on, as it expressed one of the narrator’s most important characteristics to the story; his search for purpose, identity, and a bit of freedom. When Breton finally meets Nadja, he is immediately drawn to her mysterious, elusive aura, going as far as almost seeing her float instead of walk across the pavement like an angel or something alike. As more of Nadja’s character is revealed, the more we learn how carefree and detached from reality she is. This, for Breton, who is seeking an answer to the very vague and complicated question of “Who am I? and who is trying to outline his purpose in the world and see if freedom and spontaneity fit into it, becomes his obsession as he delves deeper and deeper into his affair with her. As time goes on, it becomes more visible that Nadja’s clear disconnect from reality and preference for telling herself all kinds of stories is concerning and, if not, worsening. Her end comes when she is then put into a psychiatric hospital and Breton is left with only her image and memory, as he does not try to visit her or take her out of it.

Clearly, Breton was searching for entertainment and self-enlightenment in the wrong place. To me, Breton held little care for Nadja and the care he did hold for her was of only self-interest. He did not view her as a woman he loved or a person, but rather the personification of exactly what he was searching for; freedom, spontaneity, and rushes of adrenaline. This could even describe his reason for having an affair as well, as he did not come across as someone who was looking for a settled-down, married-off, home life, but instead a wild, lustful, free life. A question that was raised to me while reading this book was, “Does Breton’s view of Nadja have roots in misogyny and could it possibly be that he romanticized her madness and viewed her as only something her could use to further himself on his self-enlightenment journey?”

Week II – Proust’s Bed-Time Story

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I would like to start off by saying I really had no idea what I was getting myself into as I started reading “Combray” by Marcel Proust but, I will say that I was both pleasantly and unpleasantly surprised. As with almost all things, “Combray” had both pros and cons, both of which I would love to discuss with you today. As I began reading Marcel Proust’s “Combray,” I was reminded of why I rarely find myself drawn to literature. I found myself getting distracted and itching for something more attention-grabbing and, simply put, interesting. I wanted a text with a little more sustenance, but unfortunately I felt like Proust fell short in that area. Now, this was just for me personally and is a completely PERSONAL opinion. As I am not much of a reader anyway, my taste in literature is probably very juvenile and unrefined so I apologize in advance if anything I say obnoxiously portrays that. However, I am a woman bursting with opinions to share so, obnoxious or not, they will be shared. Although I kind of insulted Proust for his inability to write in an interesting manner (again, to me), I have to give him credit for the depth and unique imagery used in his description of sleep. To be able to write about something that, for a lot of us, is such an everyday activity often not worth mentioning in a way that is so creatively nostalgic is commendable. Although it was not super exciting to read, his talent is very clearly expressed within the description as he was able to create an experience that broad enough to be somewhat relatable to the reader, but also unique and specific to the protagonist/main character. Furthermore on the topic of nostalgia, I was a big fan of the way he recalled the moments with his Mother before bed, as it was one of the few moments I actually felt drawn in to the text. Using his great talent with words, he was able to convey the relevant emotions and in turn, really grasp the readers attention. His vulnerability in sharing a personal and emotional moment for him allows for the reader to hold the moment with same amount of importance as Proust does and, at least for me, brings the reader back to a special and comforting time in their life; receiving a good-night kiss from a parent.

Although “Combray” wasn’t my favourite, I have to give credit to Proust for his skilled writing style. My question for you is, personally, is content just as important as writing style to you, or do you think an author could get away with a mediocre plot line by having a way with words that strikes a chord with you?