Month: March 2022

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Week Eleven: Wartime Morality in Cercas’s “Soldiers of Salamis”

    Javier Cercas’s “Soldiers of Salamis” is a story which examines the human condition in wartime. From his own experience, he places the study in the context of the Spanish Civil War. A sparring match between fascist and socialist sides, it was a battle which was ultimately viewed as a precursor to World War II. Yet through unreliable narration and an unclear answer on the identities of several real world historical characters, he paints the portrait of the war as one involving, predominantly, the nameless soldier, often unsure of why or for what reason for which he is fighting. Through highlighting this struggle of purpose, the human condition is distilled as little more than a vessel of duty in wartime. In its purest essence, there is no room for morality—although it may sometimes shine through.

    Miralles, like the other characters, is a soldier in the Spanish Civil War. Unlike some authors, who seek to create a character through which to espouse their philosophy and life experiences, Miralles seems to lead a life completely opposite from the author Javier Cercas who narrates the book. At age forty, he is divorced, has no children and still grieving his father’s passing: At age fifty, Cercas has attained all that Miralles wishes he could have. Tragically, it is only war which halts his progress and holds him back from bettering himself. 

    There is some debate as to whether or not Miralles—and other characters like an apparent mirroring of the Chilean novelist Roberto Bolano—are real life depictions marred by embellishment, or simply coincidence. One thing we know is that, early on in the story, the narrator clearly states, “I am lying” (pg. 13). It is a statement which seems to  leave fewer answers than the leaders who spout the purpose of the Spanish Civil War in its entirety.

    There is a strange conflict in the structure of the book as being part lying, part truth-telling. One might view following the latter veracity as a dutiful act, where the former conjures up images of deceit and corruption in the ranks. Through refusing to conform to one extreme or the other, the reader can only leave with the impression that Cercas seeks to present wartime as perverting even the most intrinsic of human emotions—in their wake, pure survival is all that is left for the many. 

    Later on in the novel, when one character Mazas is found by an enemy soldier (suspected to be Miralles), the man does not give his position away and instead chooses to save his life: for what reason, it is unknown. In this instance, “[t]he soldier’s look doesn’t express compassion or hatred, or even disdain, but a kind of secret or unfathomable joy,” evidencing some greater morality behind the veneer of service (pg. 118). Of course, the reasons could also be practical: perhaps he simply does not wish to get his hands dirty, or refuses to taint his conscience further by killing an unarmed man. Time and time again, however, readers are left with the distinct impression that morality and war can, and often do, manifest themselves in a state of coexistence. 

    My question follows along this line: Is morality possible in wartime, as Cercas suggests? 

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Week Ten: A Recollection of Advancement in Bolano’s “Amulet”

    Roberto Bolano’s “Amulet” is a unique tale which, in its focus on character development in a time of political violence, makes a more potent statement about human perseverance. The perspective is the student Lacouture hiding in the bathroom of UNAM from the army coming to crush the student protest movement. On the surface, it appears to be the most common tale of Latin America: one involving injustice and suppression of the masses. Yet in the creative choice to tell the tale almost completely through memory, one can draw a parallel between many of the other texts covered in this course. 

    A scene which struck me was, curiously, one set in the present. While in the bathroom stall, a soldier enters and Lacouture is forced to raise her legs. She compares the instinctive act to “as if [she] was about to give birth,” before adding, “in a sense, in effect, I was preparing to deliver something and to be delivered myself” (pg. 29). The deliverance she speaks of can only be viewed as being the sole witness to military occupation. In this way, she sees her survival as giving birth to an even more meaningful movement than the one being crushed. Furthermore, her description of being delivered can either be viewed as a live figurehead, or dead martyr.

    This political undertone felt under duress encompasses most of the book. Equally prevalent is the usage of hallucination–wherein poetic metaphors often describe a growing movement— to escape harsh reality. One example is when Lacouture believes she is being wheeled into a hospital. When asking in a frantic tone if she is pregnant, the doctor responds, “No, ma’am, we’re just taking you to attend the birth of History” (pg. 152).

    By placing an emphasis on memory as a spearhead for revolution, “Amulet” shares its structure with other texts from the Romance World. Although many are not overtly political, there is something to be said for what the defiance of literary convention and structure—whether through a use of memory or a discarding of plot altogether—truly captures. Perhaps some authors seek to make progress by shocking readers with a flagrant decrying of social norms where others are simply trying something new in their medium. Like all great art, I find the interpretation of message is often up to the spectator. 

   Overall, I enjoyed reading “Amulet.” I was left pondering: does simply surviving a traumatic event start a collective movement? Or does one need to become a sole figurehead, or a martyr if necessary, to rally the masses?

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Week Eight: The Relation Between Truth and Fiction in Perec’s “W, or The Memory of Childhood”

    “W, or The Memory of Childhood” by Georges Perec is a unique tale, for it really presents two intertwined. Half autobiography, half boyhood fantasy, the author utilizes this interesting dynamic as a kind of symbiotic storytelling—as without one, the other cannot exist. In this he reveals the importance of imagination for the development of the artist; and in a sense, the story is a bildungsroman, or coming-of-age story for the artist. By romanticizing his life, the author shows how the artist survives through the mundane and conflicts alike. Although the autobiographical events read intriguing for their truthfulness, the contradictions spice up the dry writing by adding an element of ambiguity. Unclear are the order of events, or the truthfulness of its narrator; what is focused on, above all, is entertaining the reader. It is in this way the role of the artist in society is outlined. 

    On page 13, this inherent urge to exaggerate is confessed by the author. “My two earliest memories are not entirely implausible,” he states, “even though, obviously, the many variations and imaginary details I have added […] have altered them greatly, if not completely distorted them.” There is no attempt to hide his blatant untruthfulness. This reveals more about the author than any recorded experience might capture. That, through insecurity, he buries his truth, hides behind the spectacle of fictitious embellishment. In a sense, this is the first stage of artistic development: the instinct to emulate one’s heroes, to see what works, instead of becoming one’s own, and thereby discarding those real experiences which sell for their thoughtfulness. 

    Just as the attributes of the artist are highlighted, so too is childhood used as a means to channel them. “W” is a story written by the protagonist as a child. Owing to a vague memory, the story is just as much a story about childhood as it is a reflection of his own. On page 6, the narrator shares this phenomenon: “I suddenly remembered that this story was called W and that it was, in a way, if not the story of my childhood, then at least a story of my childhood.” A blurring of the lines between story and experience runs in tandem with the structure of the novel. There is a postmodern element to offering an analysis of a story within the story; and even here, one cannot be sure that the former is truth or fiction. 

    By its conclusion, the work left me pondering the question of whether the stories we tell reflect our lives, or if lived experiences reflect the stories. 

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