04/10/23

Adios to All That ! (My Conclusion)

It is difficult to look back on our thirteen weeks together and discern a common line between the readings, if any, despite their residence under the umbrella term of “literature from Latin America.” In an increasingly global world offering the potential for travel between a manifold of countries and adoption of new identities, authors are no longer constrained by ethnicity or nationality, religion or antitheism, class or gender, and in the breaking down of these established characteristics, perhaps are emblematic of the increased “muddying” of the literary categories as a whole.

Despite this uncertainty, I found the works for this course to be engaging, thought-provoking and offering a variety which would customarily not be studied by a major in English Literature. As much as I can appreciate such canon works of Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems—both of which stand as my favourite course readings this semester!—there is something to be said for minutely obscure works, at least outside the boundaries of their own countries, found in Carpentier’s The Kingdom of This World or Azuela’s The Underdogs. I think I enjoyed these two readings for the ways they enlightened me on events I might have previously heard about in history, but knew only scant details involving them. I would have never read these texts had I not taken this course; it is owing to my knowledge from this course that I can contend the Haitian slave revolts and the Mexican revolution, despite the differences between them, are united in the shared dramatic upheaval of established rules—and this sudden cultural change originating from a moment in time is a concept which intrigues me about any historical revolution.

As we have learned in this course, revolutions were not restricted to violent change, but instead also remained ever-present in the Latin literary world. The term “magical realism” which would come to describe Marquez’s works would amount to little more a marketable gimmick—a key descriptor which, in its dogged attempts to box the author into one specific category, often fell short in its inherent misunderstanding that Latin America, or any continent, can be defined in platitudes. It is true that all the course readings we have studied share a few common themes: namely, the desire of the authors to speak from experiences informed by political, cultural and personal phenomena; crises arising from South American authoritarianism and class difference; colonialism and its effects on modernity; and many more which I’m sure to forget in the broad nature which accompanies a summary. Regardless, these are only shared characteristics and do not represent the whole of the Latin American experience—I contend that what this is in the personal life, as well as in the literary autobiography of such authors, remains entirely to interpretation.

In conclusion, this blog post will mark not only the end of the course, but also my chapter at UBC before my two-semester exchange to Australia beginning in July. I look forward to the tropical sun and friends I’m sure to meet along the way, and in this fashion, the charting of an experience not unlike visiting many Latin American countries. My thanks to Professor Jon Beasley-Murray for another great year of classes in the Romantic/Latin world. Further compliments are in order to Daniel and the class for great discussions.

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN!

04/10/23

Week 13: The Subconscious (and the Noxious) in Schweblin’s Fever Dream

Our literary finale for this course, Fever Dream by Samantha Schweblin is a contemporary story; and as befits a recent reading, the author carries a prescient message which often appears to transcend time. The narrative revolves around the use of pesticides in Argentinian crops: a poison which, in its driving of the story, is in many ways omnipotent. Through bypassing external physical boundaries, as well as the retention of its insoluble nature in the eyes of the novel’s participants, the driving element of the plot is also that which is most emblematic of trauma. According to this week’s lecture, the industrialisation of soybeans in Argentina displaced several family home businesses, preferring a homogenised process. It is therefore in the removal of the communal from farming through a figurative and literal “poisoning” of an entire lifestyle to be replaced by faceless manufacturing Schweblin offers an environmental protest as well as an expose of corruption in Argentina—emblematic of a greater climate of anxiety in the face of governmental encroachment.

The cataloguing of modern day experiences in pestilential times is what plagues this story. Birth defects and rising cancer mortality rates would be seen around this time, leading Schweblin to describe the appearance of the fields as a “perfumed green” (pg. 93). The connection between the natural and the unnatural struck me in a number of ways. Perfume can be seen as an obfuscation of true meaning, a mask one wears to hide a primordial scent which, for most of human history, has become undesirable. For all this, makeup is still seen as an object of desire for many despite its artificial nature. (This idea of the artifice can also be translated to the novel’s capricious tone as a whole, with its preferential treatment of allusion to outright explanation.) Another object of torment comes in the form of worms, emblematic of outside influence which has invaded the home of these characters. In the description that “something small and invisible that has ruined everything,” the small element is a decision from higher authority to use pesticides unbeknownst to the characters; the invisible nature of it makes it all the more pestiferous (pg. 160).

Concluding our final course reading, my question to the class is…

In the context of this reading and others, do you think Latin American literature is solely about capturing a certain moment and its mood? Or is it possible that the process is a subconscious one?

THANKS FOR READING! S

03/27/23

Week 11: The Politicisation of the Artist in Bolano’s Distant Star

My first emotion while reading Roberto Bolano’s Distant Star was shock—the author does not paint the portrait of the artist as a relatively favourable position in Chilean society, but rather bleak by contrast. Through censorship, disappearances and political violence—both overtly depicted as well as presented in artistic mediums in the case of Carlos Weider—the artistic representation Bolano provides is that of the artist as a truth teller in society who, in their mastery of drawing up popular sentiment and disillusionment, is equally seen as “dangerous” by totalitarian governments. It is in the revolutionary role of the artist in society that creation is outlined as a fruitless, but also a necessary one.

I especially enjoyed the historical context given by the lectures. Before starting this course, 1980s Chile was a country I knew little about–much less the Latin American region as a whole!–and I can safely say I have acquired a greater understanding of its geopolitical events than before. “The Wave of Democratisation” which began with the collapse of the Agentinian dictatorship in 1983; Brazil in 1985; Paraguay in 1993; to the stretching home of Roberto Bolano’s novel was very intriguing to learn about: the quasi-domino effect which would change lives not only on-the-ground, but abstract realms in literature as well. The parallel drawn between barbarity and literature strikes me as a truthful one. Despite platitudes which tell us the pen is mightier than the sword, I wonder if artists see themselves as living by the sword, and often dying by it when they are repressed by governments. Is this the uncertain artistic license Bolano seems to point us towards with Carlos Weider in the novel?

In terms of my opinion of Weider, I found the avant-garde ambiguity of his art an intriguing theme. There is no telling whether or not the subjects of the photos are meant to be a condemnation endorsement, or simply provoke in an apolitical fashion. To think that simple photos can tell one so much, yet reveal so little about intent, is therefore what makes the medium both opaque and transparent in the eyes of cultural critics. The adage “a picture says a thousand word” reveals the importance of photography as capturing a moment to change minds; in turn, it also reveals the danger it poses to authoritarian regimes who wish to control the popular narrative. Raul Zurita, as mentioned in the lecture, is a prominent real world example of this figure who lives by this standard. With the Marshall McLuhan belief that the medium is the message, he wishes to have eyes turned upwards towards the sky in a figurative wish for escape from their plights, but also a literary one.

My question for the class is in what way does Bolano play into, or subvert, our portrait of the artist? In what ways might it change during authoritarian rule and how might censorship assist in eliminating dissent? S

03/20/23

Week 10: Autobiographies as a Force for Change in I, Rigoberta Menhcu, Others

Reading the shortest text that we have been assigned for this course, I cannot help but feel against its brevity that it was one of the most impactful. It tells a story from an unlikely origin, owing to the author’s differences in class and language compared to her readers. In this sense, I am reminded of several other works of literature written by minorities in the 18th century and which have since found a surging popularity in contemporary academia—from the works of Phillis Wheatley, utilising the elevated poetic language of modern society to question the morality of the Atlantic slave trade to the narrative of the former slave turned “freeman” Olaudah Equiano. Both authors utilise “white” language to liberate themselves through the model of the Enlightenment. For these similarities, the themes which runs throughout I, Rigoberta Menchu mentioned in the foreword that “Rigoberta learned the language of her oppressors in order to use it against them” and “[w]ords are her only weapons” strike me as especially powerful in the context of the postcolonial literatures (xxi, xxi).

Latin America provides an interesting lens to view the reach of colonialism and the differing ways it affected its inhabitants. Comparing this work to others I’ve studied, I noticed some key similarities, the first of which comes in the form of the author providing background as a way to humanise the “other,” thereby building sympathy with her white audience. From there Rigoberta goes on to describe her family and the hardships they must endure often in part due to their oppressors.

There is often an element of real world tragedy to connect to the oppressor as a means of change; this is represented in the death of Rigoberta’s brothers Felipe and Nicola, the first of which dies as a result of the oppressors spraying the coffee with pesticides wherein the author shares “my brother couldn’t stand the fumes and died of intoxication” (38). Additionally, the intimate nature of the medium of autobiography or account allows the distant reader to glimpse into a life beyond their own, thereby breaking down racial and class barriers which continue to oppress the “other.” Yet language can be beneficial as much as it can be a detriment. In the author’s encounter with those from different Guatemalan ethnic groups, she finds that “linguistic barriers prevent any dialogue between us Indians, between ourselves” (40). In my view, this mirrors the author’s dogged attempts to learn English as a means of writing as a story which is ubiquitous in its message, and her use of the captor’s language to introduce radical change.

My question for the class is in what ways does the language of the autobiography articulate, but also hold captive, the stories authors try to tell? S

03/13/23

Week 9: The Question of Gender and the Self in The Hour of the Star

Clarice Lispector is an author who is famous for her capricious dance between the actual and the abstraction. Through her story The Hour of the Star providing the semblance of a plot, she is able to cover the meaning of existence, or in her least complex, simply dive into the everyday meanderings of a disillusioned boy in his contemplation of the mundane. The title page, with its various alternate titles, suggests anxiety and flightiness on the part of the narrator who is made the author. Additionally, the gender swap of the author from girl to boy suggests a yearning to break free from established gender roles, and in fact “bend” them in a similar fashion to the established rules surrounding narrative plot, structure and content. “I’ll try contrary to my normal habits to write a story with a beginning, middle and ‘grand finale’ followed by silence and falling rain,” the narrator states, revealing his breaking away from convention. At another point, he expresses his preference for “a male writer…because a woman would make it [the story] all weepy and maudlin.” It is a thinly veiled critique of how females are viewed in literary society which is offered from, of all voices, a male constructed to espouse the sentiment. In this direct communication of intent to the reader, Lispector breaks the fourth wall and the illusion of story, and can therefore be viewed as postmodern in her approach.

Another layer to the onion is added when you consider that the author creates the man for the express purpose of having him write into existence the story of a “northeastern girl.” Regardless, with the rest of the text revolving around the man, the Marshall-McLuhan medium represents him as trapped by the world around him and its manifold of bombarding messages. It is in this sense the protagonist is not completely caricaturised, instead being painted as a victim of society. “Happiness? I never saw a dumber word, invented by all those northeastern girls out there” is a sentiment which best represents the narrator’s misogyny, yet also displays his sadness which draws from the reader some degree of sympathy. “I write because I have nothing else to do in the world: I was left over and there is no place for me in the world of men,” he states once more, further showcasing an age-old desire for writing as a form of escapism. The story is postmodern in the sense that the stand-in for the author—another author—is creating the story for the same purpose. Ironically, he only cures his writer’s block on writing the girl when adding in male side characters of the young and old men—I take this to reflect Lispector’s belief that writing is a transmission of the self onto the page, rather than a complete fabrication.

My question for the class is: What do you believe Lispector hopes to capture in her decision to shift perspective on the opposite gender? Do you believe Clarice Lispector values honesty in her writing above all—the reason for her rebuking of established norms—or does she still enjoy the trickery and fooling readers a la Jorge Luis Borges? S

03/7/23

Week 8: The Ambiguity of Time in One Hundred Years of Solitude (Part II)

It was only on reading the second half of One Hundred Years of Solitude I began to view time as the central protagonist of the novel beyond its characters. Through the vignettes offered of Macondo and its residents, chronological events are shown to lead into future happenings. This is shown in one example through two characters who are mistaken for another, Jose Arcadio Segundo and Aureliano Segundo: “They were so much alike and so mischievous during childhood that not even Santa Sofía de la Piedad could tell them apart” the author states (Márquez 174). In my view, this mirrors the reader as the confused historian studying a fictitious family tree charted from the beginning of the book, as several names are repeated with the only difference being, as it is stated, “[w]hile the Aurelianos were withdrawn, but with lucid minds, the Jose Arcadios were impulsive and enterprising, but they were marked with a tragic sign” (174). This also reflects the cyclical nature of time in the sense that their traits, positive or negative, can be inherited by the offspring of the original characters which helps to comprise the hundred years of solitude of the estranged family.

At one point this is further reflected through Aureliano Segundo opening the door to his great-great grandfather’s study to find that “a familiar light entered that seemed accustomed to lighting the room every day and there was not the slightest trace of dust or cobwebs, with everything swept and clean, better swept and cleaner than on the day of the burial” (Márquez 175). At first glance, this is a suitably “magical” phenomenon for a room which has been left alone for quite some time. But greater, I think, is the sense that time has left the study of Melquíades and Jose Arcadoio untouched in a symbolic recognition by the author that, so long as the generations live on, time does not ruin what has already been wrought by previous—as well as future—generations; and this adds to the perspective that the story remains in a constant state of unfolding.

Time, the narrative shows time and time again, is just as enigmatic as it is cruel. At one point Rebeca, a former inhabitant of Macondo, is revealed after years of being forgotten by her fellow residents. “The squalid woman”—as she is described—“[had] two large eyes, still beautiful, in which the last stars of hope had gone out, and the skin of her face was wrinkled by the aridity of solitude” (Márquez 206). Being one of many mentions of solitude in the novel, I believe it is fitting as Rebeca is a prime example of one who is ruined by the passage of time where others thrive. By the end of the narrative, she is used as a casualty in showcasing the ambivalent nature of time just as much as the changes in Buendia’s political views to be unaffected by what he once hated throughout the years up until believing, in the present day, “‘[t]he only difference today between Liberals and Conservatives is that the Liberal go to mass at five o’ clock and the Conservatives at eight’” (Márquez 228). Through both extremes, time is shown to be the disillusionment and the death of beloved characters and their ideologies, adding to the depth of the novel’s ambiguity.

My question for the class is how do you view time in the novel as a whole, and do you believe the author presents it as favourable or an obstacle for his characters? S

02/27/23

Week 7: The Enchantment of Márquez’s Vignettes in One Hundred Years of Solitude (Part I)

Reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Márquez, I found myself enchanted by his narrative resembling something not unlike a fairy tale. In the confluence of fantastical elements and on-the-ground actualities, Marquez is able to communicate to the reader their familiar hopes and dreams, as well as experienced anguish. It is in this way it can be viewed as a fairy tale for adults — or an otherworldly tale whose morals inform our known reality.

Time and time again, the narrative grounds the dreamlike events which surround the day-to-day lives of his characters with human struggles including philosophy, spirituality and, at its most basic, human pitfalls. Take one of the characters in the book, the founder of Macondo José Arcadio. Through the pursuit of passionate love with his mistress—described as something like an “earthquake” (Márquez 37) —Arcadio is left with the result that he is to become a father sooner than anticipated. Such situations are commonplace throughout the book and illustrative of the follies which make us human even among a spectacular world. Not long after, when Arcadio and his eccentric friend Melquíades meet a fellow nomadic gypsy later on, a more abstract struggle is presented in the form of mortality and belonging: “He really had been through death, but [the Gypsy] had returned because he could not bear the solitude” (Márquez 55). Although the circumstances of the man being exiled from his tribe might not be relatable for all, human emotions surrounding loneliness and belonging are ubiquitous.

Throughout its pages, the narrative refutes the assumption of the reader that it is an escapist fairy tale; in this sense One Hundred Years of Solitude is more honest than one, as the story chooses not to shy away from the dark side of humanity. In its rendition of how women are abused in the real world, the character Aureliano crosses paths with a girl who is forced into prostitution by her grandmother. “He felt an irresistible need to love her and protect her,” Aureliano soon finds; and his overpowering desire for the girl drives him into wishing to “marry her in order to free her from the despotism of her grandmother” (Márquez 58). It is only after reaching this conclusion, and coming back the next day, that he finds the girl has left town and is subject to the same tragic fate.

By the end of reading Part I of One Hundred Years of Solitude, I found the tales of Márquez as highlighting the author’s belief in universal humanity. In keeping with this idea, my question for the class would be if you found any of the vignettes speak to your own human struggles or experiences, or if they remained more magical than real. S

02/13/23

Week 6: Revolution of Ideas in Carpentier’s The Kingdom of This World

Primarily, Alejo Carpentier’s “The Kingdom of This World” is a book which surrounds itself with themes of conflict. Through portraying the violence that slave revolts might bring, as well as comparing it to the actual trauma that comes through the Haitian slave trade, it mirrors the internal struggle of ideology inherent in its characters regarding the difficulty not only in winning a revolution with force, but also one that convinces others with its ideas. This is done through charting the Haitian revolution from 1799 to 1804 and showing its aftermath—the latter of which is often lost in the romantic ideas of present day “change” without any care for what arises from its conflict. In a sense, the story shows the tension of resistance that comes about through the “two worlds” of the slave trade in the form of the master-slave relationship. It is also in this way Carpentier’s narrative seeks to capture French/Spanish identity as the real marvellous–in essence, a precursor to its signature style of magical realism.

It was owing to the author’s idea of capturing the “real marvellous” I most enjoyed the writing style of this book. In a similar day-dream style to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, one sequence wherein the protagonist Ti Noel compares calves heads’ to the decapitated human white heads of masters is particularly striking in the context of the narrative of revolution. This is contrasted with newsprints of the French Revolution and the imagery of the death of King Louie in 1793. Overall, the tension remains ripe in the air through the everyday objects which, on their own, reveal little significance outside of the lofty dreams and hopes and fantasies of the protagonist. It is only through contemporary news on the periphery that drives the narrative forward.

To quote the lecture, “where Europe meets Africa” stands as the backdrop of this story. Present day strife is often fuelled by age-old conflict, whether blatantly obvious or buried. But it is in the spiritual seance of the Americas where the plot can find some footing outside of a mere timepiece—for as the prologue attempts to inform the reader, many of the rituals within the book’s pages can be found in Venezuela and other countries to this day. Through the focus on creating a mood and feel of the real marvellous, I believe “The Kingdom of This World” stands as a true example of Latin American literature: representing not merely the regional zeitgeist of Haiti, but the conflicts surrounding colonialism and slavery which are common across the genre as a whole.

My prompt for the class this week will be one that questions the definition of Latin American literature as a whole. Is magical realism a style which has always been a vital component of describing most Latin culture, as shown through Carpentier and Marquez, or simply a modern phenomenon which transcends region? S

02/6/23

Week 5: An Obstruction of Understanding in Labyrinths

I am convinced that the writings of Jorge Luis Borges—an Argentinian writer infamous for his playful nature and toying with language—are not merely a method to be reckoned with in the literary canon, but also a turbulent force which makes us question our expectations when approaching future literature as a whole. The writing itself seems very much rooted in the genre of surrealism, or like minded postmodern movements of the 20th century. When considering the social change of the time (brought forth by wars and revolutions alike in Latin America) it is no wonder that conventional ways of writing were challenged by Borges, as with many other writers as a way to spearhead an intellectual revolution in the way we think and act towards objects of power, as in the literary–often viewed as “elitist”–realm.

In terms of content, I enjoyed the unique way the text was ordered with a sporadic use of headings to guide the bewildered reader–in this way it reminded me of Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar, the namesake of the course. The author relies on the use of allusions to tell a complex tale befitting of our time, ranging from a religious critique, as in “The Lottery in Babylon,” to commenting on military jingoism in “The Garden of Forking Paths.” Both are situated near each other and represent, in my interpretation, a duality of ideology, or two sides of the same coin. “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” the heading that starts the book, is a fitting introduction, as it revolves around the use of language and stored knowledge in a literate culture. Through a conversation the narrator has with one of the few characters in the novel, Bioy Casares, there is a fourth-wall break in the way he essentially discloses the omission of facts to shape reality which would be commonplace in the narrative going forward; in this sense, it almost reads as a disclaimer.

A great disclaimer it is, as well: the story often proves difficult to follow and jumps back and forth through time, memory and fabrication—most separated, but not always, by headings—leading the reader to believe they are in fact stuck in a maze of some kind, with that maze being their own struggle of comprehension. As mammals, we enjoy solving puzzles. I think Borges, in the way he has structured his narrative, appeals to this common instinct between us all. There is a democratisation of intellect in his work, and therefore a sense of unification. Yet restricted by the written word, there is also an unavoidable elitism at play owing to the medium—and as Marshall McLuhan will tell any soul, this is the message: The fact that those who are illiterate will not comprehend this story is in itself a barricade to understanding, larger than any artificial or tangible maze. And so there is conflict even in the work of postmodernism.

My question this week is to what extent does Jorge Borges appeal to the reader’s instinct to solve problems and think critically about meaning; and by contrast, what does the obstruction of our understanding represent? S

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

Letters to the Spanish World

Or, my Journey Through Romance Studies 372

Category Archives: Entries