Author Archives: samuel wallace

01/30/23

Week 4: The Question of Expression in Twenty Love Poems

    Pablo Neruda is a poet best remembered for his vivid writings about everyday objects, romanticised through an employment of the most sensual aspects of life in the human senses. Reading his poetry, one can find a man in love with the very pursuit of life’s simple pleasures, if not for the very idea that the sensual lends itself to the sexual. Twenty Love Poems is a work which lives up to this ideal, a love of living and all unconscious actions associated with it including but not limited to the most prominent in the form of smelling, touching and tasting. Yet it is also one of the most personal, informing the reader of what a poet should be: one who, if not speaking for everyone, then speaks for living instead. 

    Of course, Pablo Neruda and the old world attitudes which accompany him are not without their controversy when viewed through a contemporary lens. This week I was intrigued by the debate highlighted concerning female autonomy, gender roles and what some might mistake neglecting the voice of others guise as a diehard romanticism. Personally, I am reminded of the poetry of John Donne in one past English class and the troubling male-centred perspective through which we view relationships (as seen in “A Flea” and several others).  They brought to mind a similar conversation I had with my professor–hopefully not viewed as an argument by him!–about the implications of judging the old world too harshly, or not nearly enough. 

    As for where I stand on the debate, I think art can be interpreted in a manifold of ways, and is therefore the most powerful means through which to champion free expression. At risk of boxing myself into a single category, I would confess that I am a liberal in the creative and political realm. What might be seen as a distasteful statement to one reader can in its entirety encapsulate how another thinks; it is therefore impossible to assume what one intended or did not intend owing to the subjective nature of art.

   By writing about a seemingly non-consensual relationship, it is possible Neruda was commenting on the despair and anger which one might feel towards creative endeavour, or the passion involved in the fact. Perhaps each embrace is not a corporeal one, but instead a spiritual assemblage of a priceless work of art, with all the blood, sweat and tears required to produce the whole. As the lecture states, Pablo Neruda was a writer, not a lover. Perhaps his art was more involved with themes of anarchy than any anachronistic ideal of him somehow being a defender of women!

    My question would be how do we account for the works of those which came before modern social movements: is it better to judge them as products of their time which might inform us of our present, or relics only useful for telling us something about an era? S

01/23/23

Week 3: The Link Between Intellect and Violence in The Underdogs

    It can be argued that several wars, if not most of them, have been started by intellectuals. Those few who hold the keys to power in literacy and prestige are often the greatest practicers of spearheading obstinate positions, stirring up the anger of the masses towards any persons viewed as the “enemy” and, above all, overthinking a problem which might otherwise be solved through pacifism rather than violent rebellion. A text on the forefront of literature from the Mexican Revolution, The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela, is very much a novel concerning this disillusionment from revolution after heavy losses brought on by years of fighting. It paints the intellectuals, or “sense-makers” as those whose over-idealised ideas of change and progress have resulted in devastation not only for others, but made them the architects of their own misery. In equal measure, Azuela’s narrative captures the animalistic brutality brought on by the common soldier manipulated by the demagogic rhetoric of his leaders. 

    Predominantly, the way the extremities of conflict affects the common soldier is captured through the breakdown of class and experience, homogenised during wartime. What might be considered the main character, Demetrio Macias, is a fugitive from the law who joins the conflict as a way to escape punishment, yet soon becomes an unlikely leader of this band of rebels. Because of his development in a more lower class oral culture, he orders his men to engage in book burning at one point in the novel, perhaps believing it to be the symbolic destruction of the literary world which has started the fighting and has always looked down on him. There is a certain joy he finds in this, and more generally, violence as well. “His famous marksmanship fills him with joy,” the text states near the end of the novel. If war does not lead to his physical demise, as it is implied by the end of the text, the comparison between a hollow as “the portico of an old cathedral” certainly symbolises a death of morality in the beast of a man. 

    A more nuanced view of war is taken by Luis Cervantes, who is able to read and write, and is described as more eloquent, inspiring and good for the troops. Yet he is also perhaps seen as part of the problem, another one of these “sense-makers” who have only come to elongate the conflict and inadvertently lead to further destruction. Although a strange pairing, wartime allows these two men to prosper through their ruthlessness and charisma respectively. It is only the way in which they view conflict, as well as embolden it, which differentiates them. 

    My question would be: Do you believe in the central premise that the minority of intellectuals in power are to blame for warfare? Or, more cynically, do you consider man’s devolution into violence inevitable? S

01/16/23

Week 2: A Bridging of Generations in Mama Blanca’s Memoirs

   Mama Blanca’s Memoirs, for all its intriguing subject matter on the loss of innocence and the advancement of culture, has the greatest effect on the reader when describing female relations as well as the contrasting attitudes of their generations. In the unlikely friendship–or perhaps guardianship–between an older woman “not yet seventy” and a young girl just a few years before turning “twelve,” there is an intergenerational connection, what I interpreted as a link between the old Victorian world and an emerging modern life which would see its fruition in the subsequent 20th century. Additionally, alongside an emerging modernism, the class strife endemic to the 19th century is touched upon through scenes such as the conflict of Blanca’s sisters; depictions of colonial hierarchies as shown through Piedra Azul’s servants; and most prominently, class is shown through differences in age and experience: the choice of the young girl in the relationship–really the stand-in for the author–to publish the memoir. 

    Nonetheless, I appreciated the look at Latin Victorian-era attitudes through an unbiased approach, refusing to take a stance on positives or negatives and simply stating how Mama Blanca behaved, a true memoir which does not seek to defame or exaggerate, only to remember. For instance, on their first meeting the older woman invites the girl in for cake, a traditional hospitality which seeks to present both females in stark contrast yet still connecting with a sense of shared kinship. The old woman is also described as an artist, perhaps as an intentional placement of Mama Blanca as an outsider and the catalyst for her decision to start a friendship with the girl. “As always, people based their judgment on outward appearances” the girl writes on the view of her relationship with a woman old enough to be her great-grandmother, accentuating the fact that the two are isolated together. I believe this relationship helps to illustrate how women are not only often persecuted by the standards of the times–such as in dress code, decorum and social standing–but also criticised by the women unwittingly upholding these discriminatory rules. It is only through a special, unique relationship such as Mama Blanca and the girl that one can find freedom in Latin America–and this plays into a sense of liberty which is undoubtedly a theme which will rear its head in future texts for this course. 

    Overall, I found the story to be well-written and a great start to the course. The ways in which the text captures Latin American lifestyles through a stand-in narrator while also touching on problems running parallel through the old days and contemporary times makes it more readable today. My question to the class would be at what points is Mama Blanca portrayed negatively in the text through her behaviour, and what points are positives? Additionally, are the positives always in line with contemporary thought and how we think today? S

01/11/23

Week 1: Introduction to the Spanish World

I must admit that I have contracted a strange feeling of déjà vu, beginning once more with a system of blogs familiar to these eyes following a similar Romance Studies course taken last year; however, with a change in subject and a more focused look at a single genre, my interest has been fully renewed for this course. My name is Sam Wallace. I’m a third year Arts student currently majoring in English Literature living on the outskirts of Vancouver. Here, I make my living as a musician where my degree finds its use in crafting lyrics for songs on my guitar and paying close attention the rhythm of each line–its flow, poetry as well as its impact. Yet the city is not a permanent residence, as I’m currently seeking to transfer to the University of Sydney for my final fourth year at the end of the term for a change of scenery. News of acceptance is not until the end of January, so I’m looking forward to seeing the result and where I’m able to go in my English career. In addition, this travelling has helped to renew my interest in studying passionate writers across historical and geographical boundaries; and relating to this course, I especially enjoy the magical realism brought forth by Gabriel García Márquez and subsequent authors.

When I think of literature from Latin America, my mind turns to the broadness of the genre. Encompassing every writer in the South Americas who strives to capture their starkly different ethos both culturally and chronologically, they are united by language where experiences may vary. Conversely, the genre might also speak to an overlap in political, economic and social factors inherent in these works. In the lecture I appreciated the distinction made between a work being a historical archive and embellished to reflect the author’s own experience. There is no such thing as the “ideal account” of historical time, and it is impossible to capture the complexities of any event; it will always be told from the perspective of someone who has their own preconceived notions on current affairs, and who will write either favourably or unfavourably dependant on how their beliefs shape perception. Nevertheless, this can make for an interesting study on how literature captures events and how they are perceived through a manifold of unique perspectives. Going forward with future texts, my question would be what overlaps speak to a greater similarity between the Latin American experience, and where do the stories themselves appear to be in opposition? Only time will tell. . . S