Week 6 : Catcher in the Valley

Annabelle mentioned in a previous blog post that the first part of The Savage Detectives reminds her of Catcher in the Rye, in which the most poetic and surrealist episode being when Holden imagines children running to the end of a field of rye, and himself catching them before they fall of the cliff. Amulet ends in a similar surrealist episode, where Auxilio watches young Latin Americans, “ghost-children”, enveloped in compassion, march off together towards death. And unlike Holden, Auxilio in her own vision is unable to save them. She could only scream into oblivion.

Suddenly I realize I’m not sure what this vision is. How did we (the readers) end up in this valley? This is one question that came up to me repeatedly over the reading. Auxilio’s narration has very strange transitions. Her narration sometimes has a liquid quality. It has some distinct episodes, but each seem to slide into the next. For example, she visits the Catalan painter, then suddenly she’s watching Lilian Serpas sell her son’s paintings. What happens in the 10 years(?) between these two events is masked with a dreamy transition of Lilian walking out of Remedios Varo’s house. I don’t believe this is what happened. In any case, I realized a page later that we are in a different episode now. I hadn’t realized when or if the previous episode ended already. It almost gives the reader a ghost-like presence in the narrative, and we flow through the life of Auxilio. The chapters are NOT to be trusted! The ends of the episodes are not always the end of a chapter. I found the reading experience to be very different from The Savage Detectives, in which most episodes are one section, clearly distinguishable from the formatting of the text and the headings on the information of the author. The book is short, but I took a very long time to read the end, because I often had to reread passages of the valley dream.

Do you also find the fluid episodes confusing, and sometimes wonder “how did I get here” when you read Amulet? In which episodes (if you remember)?

Many things seem to have a fluid quality in this book, especially all the shadows and ghosts that never left Auxilio’s Mexico City night sky. She says she sometimes finds in her poet friends the spirit of all the Latin American children who died. She doesn’t say Mexican or Uruguayan, but Latin American, which leads me to believe that her coming to Mexico and trying to live on nothing, to survive the worst possible situations, is a project of proving her resilience or vivacity. This is her Hero’s Quest. She’s always telling herself: resist. Again, literature is a MacGuffin in the story. I believe Auxilio is more interested in the resilience and the vivacity of Latin America. She looks for it in the younger generation (which is where I’d look too). We discussed the Lukács “hero” as a collective effort, but I feel that Auxilio’s quest is so different from the Visceral Realists’ that Bolaño needed to write an entire book to explain the complexity of her quest. Auxilio functions more as a symbol in The Savage Detectives, and doesn’t really have a quest.

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Pulling teeth

While I enjoyed the beginning and the end of Amuleto, I did not enjoy the book overall. 

Most of the time I was annoyed or bored. I just wanted the book to end but the process got dragged out even longer for me because my mind kept wandering and so I’d have to go back and re-read pages. For some reason, this style of writing doesn’t bother me as much in Savage Detectives, maybe because the first part was written in a different way (more journal-style entries) and maybe because we have different voices in part two, but I found Auxilio’s repetition extremely annoying (how many times did she say she was the mother of Mexican poetry?). At first I found it funny, but after a while I got annoyed. It felt like a weird way to fill in the words but Amuleto is a short story, so why the fillers? I provide an example here:

“Tal vez más delgada, pero en realidad no estaba más delgada. Tal vez más demacrada, aunque en realidad no estaba más demacrada. Tal vez más callada, pero me bastaron tres minutos para darme cuenta de que tampoco estana más callada… (Maybe more skinny but she wasn’t less skinny. Maybe more haggard [is this the correct translation?] although in reality she wasn’t more haggard. Maybe quieter but it took me three minutes to realize she wasn’t quieter either…)” (Bolaño 38-39).

The stories all seemed the same and so it felt like it was all blending together. I also hated the dialogue-style of writing, the back and forth of “I said and then she said and then I responded”… Sometimes it made for such long sentences and I just found it dull to read that over and over again. I named this post pulling teeth because that’s how it felt for me to get through this book… and what was with the two-pages of her prophecies?? It seemed unnecessary to me. 

However, as I mentioned above, I did enjoy the ending. I found it more interesting to read about these “dreams” she was having, conversing with other artists, such as Remedios Varo and Lilian Serpas. Since she continued to talk about being in the bathroom, on the fourth floor of the Faculty of Philosophy and Literature, you could really see how traumatic of an experience this was for her (and I’m sure would have been for anyone). There were moments in which I thought maybe she had actually died and she was conversing with these dead artists in the Otherworld. It was interesting to notice as well that she seemed to be acknowledging more of her Uruguyan side, rather than just being the mother of Mexican poetry towards the end of the book. She is even surprised to find that her escalofríos (shivers) are Uruguyan and the guardian angel of her dreams is Argentinian, and we see more use of “vos” rather than “tú.” It seemed like an interesting coming home for her, perhaps as she was on the threshold of life and death?

I will admit that I’m glad this book is over though, and we can continue with Savage Detectives and our book-of-choice. 

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4.14.20

Similar to my experience with The Savage Detectives, this weeks reading is about revisiting a text I already read. Amulet, however, feels much more distant. There is a date at the end of the book. 4.14.20. I read this book almost 6 years ago. I barely remember anything about the book, but I do remember some details about the context around my reading. The pandemic had just hit Colombia. We were in that weird period of adjusting to online classes. This reading was part of a class on Reception Theory. I remember I liked it. I remember I wrote my final paper on the book. I had something to do with horror. That is everything I remember.

Similar to The Savage Detectives this book is annotated. There’s vestiges of a past Juli, much more ancient than the one that read The Savage Detectives. Her annotations are amusing, they feel adorable. A Juli that had been in the scholarship path for less than two years, whose interests were still developing, whose focus was still exploratory, undefined. There is random arrows, cryptic comments in the margins that do not make any sense. It’s an archeology of reading.

I can also see why I liked it, and why I also liked it more than The Savage Detectives this time around. The writing in Amulet is way more poetic than the one in The Savage Detectives. I do not know if its specifically the voice that Bolaño is “embodying” but Amulet is flavorful where The Savage Detectives is bland. Even though Bolaño still uses similar tactics (giving us something enticing in the beginning and then giving us a relatively boring middle part) Auxilio’s narration is way more interesting.

Another aspect that made reading this short book way more bearable than the Savage Detectives was, not surprisingly at all, its length. When it got rough (specially around the mentions of glorified self-insert Arturo Belano) I had to only flip the book and see the number at the end. It was easy to endure the painful parts of this book (which, let’s be honest, almost every book has) when I was able to remind myself how little I still had to read. It’s easier to convince yourself to power through 100 pages than 700.

I am no Bolaño hater. I am a The Savage Detectives hater. Hopefully this reading of Amulet gives me clues for things to look for in the next bunch of Bolaño reading. It has given me, for better of for worse, a bit more hope.

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Bolaño and the History of the Future

Bolaño’s fiction, whether set in Chile or Mexico, is as much about a memory of Latin America as it is about the region’s actuality, even if that memory is sometimes also a memory of the future.


Audio | Transcript | Slides | Conversation

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(digressions:) the pith & puzzles — [life a user’s manual by georges perec]

(digressions:) the pith & puzzles — [life a user’s manual by georges perec]

The pith of the story happens “On the Stairs”… the pith is the real heart, I think.

I say ‘pith’ to mean the kind of scrap on an orange, lemon, or the many other various and related citrus fruits. The white, damp, styrofoam-y, (spongey?) tissue bits that line the rind and segregations of the fruit. The inexorable pith that surrounds the ‘real’ treasure of the pulp, the juice vesicles, the stuff that the pith is there to protect and nourish… and beyond that, the pith is scrap. (Or at least, treated as such.)

Having said that, I will say again: the pith is where the story is. Or, as Jon might say: “the pith is the real.” And, the pith in Georges Perec’s books, Life a User’s Manual, is every chapter that takes place on the stairs. They are aptly named, “On the Stairs”, with a subsequent number that indicates the amount of chapters that have taken place on the stairs.

There are so many chapters in this book. There are so many characters. There are so many digressions. But somehow, in the dull, greyed-out, and rundown staircase… this is where the stories have some sense of coherence and culmination for me. There have been other moments, of course, but nothing like the memories on the stairs.

I have been thinking about citrus fruits a lot. All the citrus fruits that we know so fondly today derive from 3 original mother fruits: the pomelo, the citron, and the mandarin. Each has their own variation of rind, pith (albedo), zest, oil gland output, peel (flavedo), juice vesicles, pulp, seed, segments, segment membranes. But no one thinks about the pith. The pith is the culmination holding the whole of the fruit together.

Lately, I have been having dreams about an utterly overly-complex toy puzzle in the guise of a citrus fruit. Perhaps, it is this combination of reading Perec very late at night and also my fixation on citrus fruits that is causing this trance of mine. One of the characters in the book, Gaspard Winckler, is a famed and elusive toy maker, known for making beautifully articulate yet extremely intricate and complicated puzzles.

Perec has a way of creating digressions that make me visibly scrunch my face in public. Often, I don’t know what I’m reading until the 3rd try and even then, I often cannot figure out why certain digressions are being so thoughtfully detailed. But then, there is that odd time where the diversion turns — it almost culminates into something I can really, concretely make sense of. Something I could almost fully comprehend. Perhaps, this is not the design for now. My motivation as a reader for this book lies in an almost blind faith of curiosity.

It almost feels as if Perec is speaking directly to me about the puzzle that is the very book itself. Skim too fast and you’ll miss the inexplicably small piece of the puzzle that makes no sense until its microcosmic image lies with a thousand others. Peel too fast and you’ll throw away the pith.

 

Do you find yourself going back in the pages trying to make sense of what you are reading? Does re-reading help or feel necessary?

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Justo antes del Final II – La Locura

I am in the middle of two confusing books, but between Bolaño and Monge, I would rather stay with Monge. My problem with Bolaño is that I don’t understand what the point is. In the case of Monge, I am confused but I understand, to an extent, why I am lost in his narrative, in the stories.

I wonder how many people at the end of the class would prefer Bolaño over their chosen books. I do not have anything against Bolaño, but I understand too that I would rather read Monge because it was my choice. I know some people in the class are a bit unhappy about their chosen books though.

Anyway.

As a dive into the core of Monge’s last book I can see that one of the main worries of our characters, or mostly our main character “tu madre” (your mother), is about going crazy, insane. This worry is connected to the second one which is looking like (physically) the main family, specifically like “tu abuela.”

This fear of madness is what Monge’s alter ego in the book is obsessed about when interviewing his relatives. However, everytime Monge is getting closer to understanding the complexities behind this fear, something happens that interrupts the conversation. Who is interrupting? The mother’s garden, the outside, the plants, the weather. Either the maguey in the garden is breaking down or the pouring rain makes “tu madre” derail from her toughts. What is Monge is trying to tell us? I am still trying to figure out. Nature <—> memory = ?

Fear of going crazy. “Tu madre” always thought the madness was inside of her. It was not until she got out of her family house that she realized it was her parents and some of her siblings that were the ones already mad (or maybe the ones who found safety in their madness). Her dad, a doctor/psychiatrist, who seems to have a problem with drugs, an obsession with studying mental illness, and a professional authority that allows him to define what sanity even means, becomes a central contradiction in her life. The person who should diagnose, treat, and contain madness instead appears to reproduce it within the family space. This blurring of professional knowledge and personal dysfunction creates an environment where “tu madre” cannot fully trust her own perception of reality.

What strikes me is how madness in Monge’s narrative does not appear as an individual condition but as something inherited, almost like a family legacy that cannot be escaped. The fear of resembling “tu abuela” is not only about physical appearance but also about repeating patterns of behavior, trauma, and silence. The body becomes a reminder of history.

Monge acting both as a researcher and as a family member trying to piece together fragments of a past that was never openly discussed, reminds me of my desire to understand the mess I came from.

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TIME IS AS SINUOUS AS EMOTIONS

I MUST ADMIT writing these blogs have been therapeutic. It is something to look forward to on the week; at times sinuous as waves, turning dreadful as stacks of homework pile up. There is an infinitum to read; biological lifetime is a finite blanket, woven in many temporality threads.

From my prayer map, I share this week’s poem in the next picture. Along with a lovely portrait. For XX

In accepting the infinite within ourselves,

The only constant is change,

In realizing our journey towards higher truths,

A deep wisdom can come from a single page,

Now the tides of time are moving ever forwardly

And your soul along with it,

If you fortify yourself with courage and virtue,

A profound beauty you will witness,

So as you write the chapters of your life,

With root steeped in Nicaraguan delight,

Embrace everything that comes your way,

And the Word shall guide you every single day.

Refer to picture for author. 

TIME IS TICKING AS THE SEMESTER PROGRESSES. I have only read one chapter of my second-choice book: Retrospective by Juan Gabriel Vásquez. The first chapter opens up the story: Sergio Cabrera is a Colombian filmmaker invited by the Film Society for a retrospective of his films. The event is to take place in Barcelona. Sergio takes advantage of the film festival schedule for a stopover in Portugal to see his wife (Silvia) and daughter (Amalia) and figure out what caused a drift in their relationship. Moreover, he will reconnect with teenager son, Raul, from a previous marriage in Europe. Fausto and Raul have not seen each other for two years. When he arrives, he receives a call that renowned filmmaker, and father to Sergio, Fausto Cabrera has passed away. The story is non-linear as it opens as Fausto receives news about his father’s accident and immediately backwards a few days.

“Fausto Cabrera was a renowned figure of whom theatre people (but also television people and cinema people) spoke with the respect of due pioneers, in spite of being always surrounded by controversy and as many enemies as friends. He’d been the first to use the Stanislavski method to interpret poems, not just to perform dramatic characters; he had founded experimental theatre schools in Medellin and Bogota, and he turned the Santamaria Bullring into a stage for a Moliere play” (13).

Sergio decides to skip his father’s funeral as he thinks this retrospective was an investment from the filmoteque’s end. Although they are sympathetic as they come across reports of Fausto’s death and offer Sergio continuing the schedule without his presence. For him to mourn his father. But Sergio denies. This is Sergio’s film festival schedule:

“Oct. 13 Everybody Leaves (2015). Onstage discussion and audience questions.

Oct. 14 Time Out (1998). Discussion and Q&A.

Oct. 15 The Strategy of the Snail (1993). Discussion and Q&A.

Oct 16-19. The Art of Losing (2004), Ilona Arrives with the Rain (1996), A Matter of Honour (1989), and Eagles Don’t Hunt Flies (1994). Films shown without the participation of Sergio Cabrera.” (15)

I was under the impression this to be a completely fictional story. I was mistaken, for these are real people.

This is filmmaker Sergio Cabreras. All the films listed in the novel are real. It appears this is biographical/historical fiction? I cannot deviate my readings to watch the films. I don’t know why I have been putting off this novel. For one reason or another I end with a different paperback that is not this one. I guess reading week will help me catch up. I took a peek at chapter 2’s first page and it seems it will start to fictionalize Fausto’s life in China. Although I put it off, I enjoyed the first chapter. Therefore, it shall be read at the right timing.

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2666 – The Part About Amalfitano (pp. 163-228)

Returning to 2666 this week with “The Part About Amalfitano”, the second Part out of five, I had a much shorter reading than normal. If I’m not mistaken, this will be the fewest number of pages in a given week for this course at just ~65 pages! Worry not though, longer readings for these long books are to come, I believe Parts IV and V are like 250-300 pages…each! I was considering reading Parts II & III this week because combined they’re actually less than either Part IV or Part V, but ultimately decided not to because I didn’t want to split up the two last Parts into three portions. I would much rather dedicate each of the Parts to one week and not split them up with a break in between, especially since I remember it was mentioned that Bolaño intended on publishing 2666 as five separate books (for financial reasons albeit). That actually leads into one of the points I want to talk about in this blog post: how these parts connect to each other (and how on earth would they work standalone)? Before I get into that though, let me give a brief (and slightly scuffed) summary of what’s happened in “The Part About Amalfitano.”

This Part is completely centered around Óscar Amalfitano, a Chilean professor in Santa Teresa, who was introduced in the first Part already (he’s also familiar with Archimboldi but not quite as big a fan as our “critics” in the first Part). We begin with Amalfitano’s life before coming to the city of Santa Teresa (where all the Parts should converge), where he lives in Barcelona with his young daughter, Rosa, and wife, Lola, who is just departing on a bit of an extended trip with her friend, Imma, to visit her favourite poet who is being held at an insane asylum near Mondragón. Yeah… Lola is a bit of an interesting character to say the least. She claims that she had slept with the poet (who people believe is gay) before meeting Amalfitano, but the thing is the story may or may not even be true because Amalfitano alleges that Lola only became aware of the poet’s existence through him when he had given her one of the poet’s books. Anyways, Lola sends letters to Amalfitano during her journey and quite a few things happen so let me try to rapid-fire it: Lola and Imma originally are refused entry to the asylum but eventually meet him after claiming to be a reporter and poet, they don’t see him the following days because he’s apparently on bedrest, Imma leaves heading to Madrid but said she would come back (she doesn’t), Lola has sex with a driver (his last name is Larrazábal, just noting this on the off chance he makes a return later), she gets kicked out of the boardinghouse she was staying at, she sleeps in a cemetery, she watches the poet who is supposedly ignoring her from afar (the poet also umm “pleases” another inmate with his hand?? not sure what the importance of that was), she stays with Larrazábal for a bit but eventually leaves by train and goes around Europe a bit, there’s a gap of five years where Amalfitano doesn’t receive any letters from Lola, then Amalfitano receives a final letter from Paris telling him that she is working a cleaning job and has another son. Wow, that was longer than I would have liked but we’re not quite done yet because two years after that final letter, Lola tracks down Amalfitano and tells him she has AIDS and is dying but wants to see Rosa once last time. After their short reunion Lola leaves by hitchhiking and that’s that.

Following that, we see a bit of Amalfitano and Rosa’s life after having moved to Santa Teresa (why did he move? well Amalfitano questions himself as to why as well). Amalfitano finds a book called Testamento geométrico in one of the boxes he packed but doesn’t remember ever packing, buying, or even having seen this book before. For some strange reasons, he decides to hang it outside on a clothesline which was already kind of mentioned in Part I when Pelletier and Espinoza visited Amalfitano’s home: “Espinoza went out into the backyard and saw a book hanging from a clothesline…It’s Rafael Dieste’s Testamento geométrico” (133). Amalfitano does some other strange things like drawing geometric figures with names of philosophers and later he begins to hear a voice talking to him in bed, some of the drawings below from page 192:

Apart from that, he lives a pretty standard life as a professor it seems, other things that happen include going to a merendero (picnic kind of place with a pool) with Rosa, Professor Perez, and her son (Perez is the one who actually convinced Amalfitano to take a job in Santa Teresa) as well as meeting Dean Guerra and his son Marco (the latter of which he actually meets a couple times which I’ll mention later). Above all though, just like in Part I, there are stories within this story, real ones like Amalfitano recollections about his father’s love for boxing (and homophobia), other conversations with the voice in Amalfitano’s head, Amalfitano literally reading us a book on telepathic Araucanians (???), and some very strange dreams, one of which is about Boris Yeltsin (a former president of Russia?) which also happens to be how Part II ends.

To be honest, I most certainly could have condensed the above summary by half at least, especially the part with Lola, but I found it interesting so I decided to leave it in. Again a preliminary apology in case it was confusing or I’m missing anything that becomes relevant later in future Parts, but let me get into my actual thoughts now. Speaking of future (and past) Parts, so far Parts I and II don’t seem to connect very much besides Amalfitano being introduced in Part I and the few mentions of the women disappearing in Santa Teresa. Archimboldi, the mystery man from Part I is not mentioned a single time in Part II! We also don’t eventually come back into the “present time” with our original critics from Part I. While I enjoyed reading Part II, I’m still left a bit confused as to how everything connects. Let’s say these Parts were released as separate books just as Bolaño originally intended, by themselves, as standalones I don’t think they hold up quite well, but… since that isn’t the case and they’re released as just one multi-part book, I, as the reader, have to assume there’s much more to come. I mean, just look at the page count, I’m only 200 something pages in out of like a 900 page book (not even halfway to halfway)! As of right now at least, while I might find it tedious, I’m trying to latch onto all these stories within stories in hopes that it will all come together in the end. I doubt everything will be of importance, but surely some of it will. Perhaps we’ve already seen a glimpse of it like Lola and the poet mirroring Part I’s critics and Archimboldi (I just realized I forgot to mentioned that Lola also had some kind of elaborate plan to have the poet escape the asylum with her and to move abroad), perhaps Norton leaving Pelletier and Espinoza is like Lola leaving Amalfitano, perhaps I’m just rambling too much and I’ve made something out of nothing, perhaps it’s like the second Part of The Savage Detectives where it was mentioned in class where we’re kind of “waiting” in a sense. There’s a quote that actually really stuck out to me in Part II of 2666 when Amalfitano reads the front flap of Testamento geométrico: “Testamento geométrico was really three books, ‘each independent, but functionally correlated by the sweep of the whole…this work representing the final distillation of Dieste’s reflections and research on space” (186). Is this not kind of a metareference to 2666 itself? I mean 2666 is Bolaño’s final book just like Dieste’s so I guess we’ll have to see how all the Parts are connected “by the sweep of the whole.” Anyways, I enjoyed my experience reading Part II nonetheless and really look forward to the future Parts and seeing how all the details may or may not tie in.

Now let me talk a bit about Amalfitano. Honestly, I kind of feel a bit bad for the guy, I mean in the beginning of this Part his wife basically just abandons him and their child, and then life in Santa Teresa doesn’t sounds like lollipops or rainbows. He seems to be constantly worrying about his daughter because of the disappearances in Santa Teresa, “Amalfitano called Professor Perez and confessed that he was turning into a nervous wreck…She remind him that the victims were usually kidnapped in other parts of the city.” (198-199). He doesn’t seem to only worry explicitly though, but subconsciously as well like when Rosa leaves the house (or on page 196 when he says “it’s silly to worry about it when much worse things are happening in this city” in reference to the book on the clothesline) and perhaps it’s one of the causes of the voice he hears around the time when he sleeps. Speaking of the voice and Amalfitano’s other strange actions, I realized when I was writing the summary that I made it sound like he was a complete lunatic. Although, I don’t think that’s actually the case, from his thoughts he actually seems quite rational and at the very least Amalfitano is aware and conscious of the fact that he might be going slightly crazy with the voice in his head (he’s also kind of likable just generally speaking, maybe more than the critics in Part I). Also, on a slight side note, the book that he hangs on the clothesline wasn’t completely out of nowhere, it’s from a story about Duchamp (a chess player?) who gives a book as a gift to a newly wed couple and instructs them to “hang a geometry book by strings on the balcony of their apartment so that the wind could ‘go through the book, choose its own problems, turn and tear out the pages’” (191). Now that’s interesting and all but what’s more interesting is the reason Amalfitano gives Rosa on why he hung it up “to see how it survives the assault of nature, to see how it survives this desert climate” (191). Does Amalfitano kind of see the book in some strange metaphorical way as himself and Rosa surviving in Santa Teresa? Just take a look at this passage and consider it for a moment:

“he didn’t plan to stay long in Santa Teresa. I have to go back now, he said to himself, but where? And then he asked himself: what made me come here? Why did I bring my daughter to this cursed city? Because it was one of the few hellholes in the world I hadn’t seen yet? Because I really just want to die? And then he looked at Dieste’s book, the Testamento geométrico, hanging impassively from the line, held there by two clothespins, and he felt the urge to take it down and wipe off the ocher dust that had begun to cling to it here and there, but he didn’t dare.” (196)

Hmm, I’m not entirely sure but that’s just some food for thought. Maybe I’m going a bit crazy myself considering this blog is wayyyyy too long already. Before I end though, one last thing to note is that Amalfitano shares a drink with Marco Guerra (the dean’s son) called Los Suicidas. Sound familiar? Well it should because that’s the drink that Amadeo Salvatierra gets at the beginning of Part II in The Savage Detectives. I tried looking it up online but couldn’t really find much so I guess it’s just a mezcal drink that Bolaño made up. Do I think that this drink has any importance to either story? No, not really, just like I’m sure a myriad of other things might not be so important, but it’s cool to note. It’s also cool to note the section breaks or dinkuses(?) in this Part, some of which are very brief like on page 190, “The idea, of course, was Duchamp’s.” or even moreso on page 195, just “Help.” The first discussion question for this week that came to mind was a bit more on the vague side: “What do you think are the purposes of the details that authors write which may not necessarily be relevant to the plot?”I mean obviously to build the atmosphere, to immerse the reader into the story, to overall just make the reader’s experience more enjoyable, etc., etc., so maybe that was a poor question. Instead I’d like to ask: “What small details have you noticed in your book that you believe will be more relevant later on?” I mean with Bolaño, I’m sure there’s a ton that you could point out with all the shorter stories within the larger narrative so I’m curious for all the other books people are reading. Okay, now let me end this blog post on 2666 before it becomes 2666 words long (also what’s the significance behind the title, 2666? my bad, just end it already, Lucas! until next week!)

P.S. Starting from now I’ll be capitalizing “Part” when talking about the five different Parts of 2666 and the three different Parts of The Savage Detectives to avoid confusion when I talk about different parts/sections of specific Parts :p

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DANCE ON THE VOLCANO

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Who is Jean Valjean?

Les Misérables, Victor Hugo, page 74-120

At the end of the last section, we were introduced to Fantine, a young mother who has to leave her daughter, Cosette, with a cruel family; Monsieur Madeleine, the beloved new mayor of Fantine’s hometown who promises to get Cosette back; and Inspector Javert, who assures M. Madeleine that he knows that M. Madeleine isn’t Jean Valjean. When I mentioned Javert to my dad, he said, “Javert? I remember him from the ’80s. I fucking hate that guy. He’s the thorn in Jean Valjean’s side.” To which I said, “I haven’t gotten to that part yet!” Come on, dad. Anyway, at page 120 now, Javert is definitely a thorn:

As a character, we see that Inspector Javert prioritizes what is “lawful” or “correct” to him over the bigger picture, seeing simply what happens on the surface. When Fantine is forced to work as a prostitute to save up money for Cosette, walking in a thin dress up and down the snowy road, being taunted by villagers, she finally snaps – after a boy throws a snowball at her back – and attacks him. Javert arrives on scene to arrest her – he can only see that a citizen is breaking a law by attacking another. Back to my earlier blog post on whether stealing bread to feed your family is morally acceptable, as was Jean Valjean’s crime, Javert’s response is clear.

Soon we learn that Monsieur Madeleine is indeed Jean Valjean, who we last saw repenting after stealing a coin from a child – the “Petit Gervais affair”. As aligns with his character, he toils mentally back and forth on what to do after Javert reveals his suspicions – first he resolves to denounce himself, and then to break ties with anything that connects him to Jean. He feels he is paying compensation in his new identity, that with his tens of millions, he has uplifted his town: “poverty disappears, and with poverty disappears debauchery, prostitution, theft, murder, all vices, all crime!” (p. 80) Interestingly at this point in the narrative, at least in my translation, Valjean/Madeleine is not referred to by either of these names, but as simply “he”. This is interesting as a reader because it adds to the ambiguity of this character; even though he is both, who is he really? He struggles with this question as well. The passage ends, and he hasn’t quite made up his mind.

Next, we have the Champathieu Affair – the trial in a neighbouring town for Champathieu, a man accused of being accursed criminal Jean Valjean. Even as Champmathieu pleads that he is not, the judge is about to sentence him to the galleys, when Monsieur the Mayor, as everyone thinks he is, announces that he is Valjean, and proves it by sharing things only he would know. Here, we see his resolution to his earlier turmoil; he had wanted to forget about his past in order to keep living his life properly as M. Madeleine, but realizes that he had to own up to his past in order to do the right thing and save Champathieu. Guess how Javert must be feeling now?

So, Valjean hurries back to his town, to see Fantine, who he had promised he would bring her child, Cosette. Fantine, feverish after her toiling in the snow, asks after Cosette, and here Valjean tells a lie: that Cosette is playing outside and cannot see her mother until she is well again. I was struck that after the importance of truth in this passage, that Valjean would lie to Fantine – but perhaps this relates to the question of “right” and “wrong,” and makes us think when is lying acceptable. As Valjean is assuring her, who should enter her room but JAVERT: “It was the face of a demon who had again found his victim” (p. 112). He arrests Valjean and Fantine learns that Cosette has not been brought home; she dies on the spot. It is truly, as Hugo says, “all the evil of good” (p. 112). Ooh, maybe that answers my question about the worth of lying…

Well, I won’t keep you any longer.

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