Tag Archives: framing/perspective

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

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