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Week Twelve: Parallels in Augualusa’s “The Society of Reluctant Dreamers”

    For my penultimate blog post, I found myself reading Agualusa’s text closely to find overlap on the various themes found across the course readings. Memory is something which we looked closely at in all the readings—the certainty of events, and the unreliable narration which so often leads to the label of fiction for the stories. Can events inspired from the author’s experience indeed be called fiction, or instead embellished reality? “The Society of Reluctant Dreamers,” through use of false memory and dreams which can be interpreted and picked-apart by the most aspiring Freudian, serves as a fitting bookend to this central question. 

    Memory is a tricky thing. While it may be a chronicling of events, if one is of the belief that one’s own reality shapes their perception, there is no way to avoid a skewed perspective. This reaches its climax when political matters are at hand. Angolan independence is what the plot of the book revolves around, yet the main character Daniel Benchimol is not involved in these events, left to dream of revolutionary rapture instead of spearheading tangible change. When he finds a camera on the beach filled with photos of a woman he does not know, he quickly falls in love—he struggles with the concept of what is real and what is a mere illusion of happiness. 

    A defiance of convention is the best way to view this phenomenon. Memory in the book is best viewed as a past story within the present story, serving as a break from convention. Through these flashbacks, the author shows how narratives of the romance world are affected by outside influence, and indeed toys with the very label itself. What is the Romance World other than an umbrella term to describe a set of common motifs found across the texts, memory among them? 

    As the professor notes in the final lecture, it is simplistic to identify the authors of the Romance World as all working together to form a mosaic of culture. It is better to view the label as a shining of the spotlight on literature less-known outside their borders—the “cult classics,” as Western readers might say. Agualusa’s “The Society of Reluctant Dreamers,” our last read for the semester, fits into this focused category. By sharing the central theme of memory and unreliable narration as other readings, it is both made unique in its setting and plot while also conforming to the standards of what we refer to as the Romance World. 

My final question is: Is the Romance World a catch-all term, or a tangible force in literature?

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Week Four: Killing Convention in Bombal’s “The Shrouded Woman”

    “The Shrouded Woman,” for all its experiments in structure and style, is perhaps most notable for its show of just how far perspective can go by providing the most unorthodox viewpoint: that of a body in a coffin, briefly suspended between life and death. The piece is comprised of social commentary, including but not limited to the woman’s role in the home, effects of social ostracism and living as the “other” in society. By its finale, in showing death as the great equalizer through the protagonist, mirrored is the breaking down of literary convention–and in this same fell swoop, unequal power structures—found in Bombal’s idiosyncratic writing. 

    Starting off with the reanimation of a dead woman, there is a grim element to the tale which extends far past the grisly nature of the scene. Flashbacks provide clues as to her pitiful lot in old age, including a myriad of “anxieties” and “sorrows” (pg. 157). In death, she is finally at peace from these demons; in this brief limbo, she appears to welcome the admiration of onlookers.

    The funeral home has made her presentable. As a result, the people have not decided to attend to Ana María in the final days of failing health and sickly physique, where they might be needed, but for ogling when she is made beautiful again. The cruel irony of the situation is that this sudden uptick in popularity is only made possible in death. With the benefit of fiction, Bombal shows how the societal view of women is not so different—that all the value is placed on the appearance, and little for the soul within.

    Similar is the focus on friends and past loves in the context of the “end.” There is a meditation which transcends not just the situation Ana María has been placed in by odd fortune, but life as a whole when viewed as an ethereal spectator. When we live from day to day, we are creatures of the present; we rarely think forwards, but are almost always considering lessons of the past to inform our each and every decision. It takes until inaction—in this case, coming in the ultimate form of lifelessness itself—to think on what every choice means for the grand scheme of life.

    At one point, Ana María asks herself, “[m]ust we die in order to know certain things?” (pg. 176). The answer is surely meant to be rhetorical in the context of the story. For when considering the effects of social rejection and living as an outsider, Bombal proves that its effects are felt after death, old wounds ostensibly healed after the individual has passed. Literary convention is not spared from this fate, and in the writing of Bombal appears to undergo the same treatment—a modernist enlightenment, therefore, is only realized when rules are metaphorically dead and buried.

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