First Blog

Hello!

My name is David Santos and I am a graduate student of Hispanic Studies. I grew up in Lima-Peru , but I have lived in Vancouver since 2009.  My expectations with this course are to  read wonderful / interesting stories and learn from my classmates’ points of view and analysis. I chose ” Don quijote” because it is a classic of Spanish literature and i never had the chance to read it before , so i believe it would be a great experience for me.

I have never taken a Romance studies course , so i am looking forward  for this semester!

Thank you

David

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Hello world!

Welcome to UBC Blogs. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

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RMST 495: Week 1

My name is David from the Romance Studies program at the Department of French, Hispanic and Italian Studies. Here, at the University of British Columbia, I’ve been learning Italian, Spanish, and French languages, cultures and literature over the last four years. I enjoy writing poetry, discovering new places, travelling to new cultures and learning languages. I’m a big fan of immersing myself with its native speakers in the place where it’s spoken, and being surrounded by its history, where it once lived, and its culture, where it still lives.

If someone ever asks me which is my favourite language, hands down, it will always be Italian!  The first photo is of me on a Parmigiano-Reggiano Cheese tour in Modena, Emilia-Romagna, northern Italy. The second photo is of me competing in a poetry slam with an original Italian poem. The third photo is of me posing beside the Learning Tower of Pisa in Tuscany, central Italy, last summer.

   

However, if someone were to ask me what my favourite country is, no question asked, it is always Spain! The fourth photo is of me and a group of classmates studying in Barcelona for the 2024 Go Global program.

 

Every summer over the last three years, I have often returned to Québec or other francophone universities to study intensive French immersion. Fifth, sixith and seventh photos: Pictures of myself and friends who I’ve met whilst studying French immersion in Quebec City, Saguenay and Toronto.

As for expectations for this semester, I look forward to reading a long fiction novel. I don’t often read books beyond 300 pages, fearing that I may never finish it or knowing that I may not have enough time to sit and read leisurely. Therefore, I can’t wait to primarily read and focus mostly on 1 book and share thoughts, opinions and perspectives with  everyone like a book club!

In terms of the first class, I found it interesting and peculiar at the same time. To debate and discuss what constitutes the shape and form of a story in the minds of the general populace. Alas, I still believe stories should be written beyond just 6 or 11 words. A sentence or two appears more like description of something like a painting or a poem like a haiku. However, I welcome new perspectives and I am open to change my mind throughout the semester.

Regarding the long book that I’ve chosen to read alongside Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives, I will be reading Quiet Chaos written by Italian novelist, essayist and journalist Sandro Veronesi. Quiet Chaos and The Hummingbird are some of Veronesi’s celebrated works of literary ficton. In a few words, his novel Quiet Chaos enters into the private life of one man and his relationship towards love and loss, starting right after a life-devasting event.

Quiet Chaos: A Novel: Veronesi, Sandro: 9780061572944: Books - Amazon.ca Sandro Veronesi (writer) - Wikipedia

I look forward to the semester!

– David C.

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Reading Fiction is Back?

Man Carrying Thing on YouTube, in a video entitled “Self-help is dead. It’s time to read fiction”, is quite amusing and acerbic on literature and how it is framed (h/t Daniel), and he also says a thing or two germane to my interest in long books and what we are doing when we read, especially in the context of AI’s increasing prevalence.

See for instance his comments on “reading as a tool” (from 2:11):

“There’s this pervasive idea and I think it starts in primary education that reading is a necessary punishment in order to extract value from a book. That reading is a painful challenge but worth it if you can extract key information that can be useful to you. I think it starts out with reading Great Expectations looking for the answers in your quiz about what Dickens’s moral of the story is.”

He goes on to suggest (though this is news to me!) that The Count of Monte Cristo has achieved sudden popularity (from 4:40), and that this says something about people’s desire to recover agency from culture:

“People today are diving into this like 1200-page book in order to feel something, in order to have an experience, not to learn valuable lessons about life, but just to live in this and to have an experience outside of your own. The same thing I see happening with Lonesome Dove, these huge epic books that people are gravitating towards simply because it’s entertaining. [. . .] People want to have their thoughts returned to them. That fiction is an exercise in your imagination. It’s an exercise in your consciousness. It’s a deeply quiet and active activity. People are tired of being passive, of having being inundated with information, entertainments, with frivolous things. People want to have their thoughts returned to them.”

“Reading fiction is back,” he concludes. I’m not sure I’m convinced, but nice if true.

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Welcome and Holiday Task!

[I just sent the following email to all currently-registered students…]

I know that the autumn semester is barely over (indeed, some of you may well have exams coming up in the next week or so), but I thought I would briefly introduce myself, welcome you to RMST 495/520, and ask you to do one little task over the holidays…

I am Jon Beasley-Murray, Associate Professor of Hispanic Studies. I see that I know a couple of you, because you have already taken courses with me, but if you want to know a little more about where I am coming from any my approach, a couple of years ago I made a video introducing myself.

I am teaching you for RMST 495 (if you are taking the course as an undergraduate) or RMST 520 (at graduate level). We will not be using Canvas, but we do have a dedicated website (this one!), which already has a bunch of information on it.

You may notice that over the semester we are essentially reading two long books (plus one short one, and then some other much shorter pieces). Details are here. One of these long books is Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives. Here’s the thing, however: the other is one that you choose for yourself.

So this is your task: Ideally I would like you to turn up on the first day of class (January 8) with your books in hand. (Note that I very much recommend you have physical copies of the books.) This means that ideally you would have chosen and purchased your second long book. As you may have to order it (you could even put it on your Christmas list…), this is something to get going on sooner or later.

At https://blogs.ubc.ca/longbooks/texts/, I provide some suggestions for long books you may choose. But you can pick another if you wish. Here are the requirements:

  1. It should be fiction (a novel, rather than, say, history or biography).
  2. It must originally have been written in a Romance language (i.e. one of French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Catalan, etc.), though you are welcome to read it either in the original or in English translation. (Not, however, in a translation to any other language.)
  3. It should be long, by which I mean at least 400 pages.

Note that if, whether by accident or design, more than one student chooses the same book to read alongside The Savage Detectives, that is fine by me. (It may even be a good thing… we’ll see!) I also encourage you to write to me (at jon.beasley-murray@ubc.ca) to check if I think that your choice is suitable.

Otherwise, that’s it. In fact, my suggestion would that you do not start reading the book before the semester begins! That way we will all start our books together.

I am very much looking forward to this course, and to seeing you in January.

Until then, I wish you very happy holidays!

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Trailer

A two-minute peek into RMST 495/520…

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Blogs

A central part of this course is the blog posts that you write in response to the readings.

You will set up a blog and, every week you will write a post of c. 400-500 words or embed a video blog of 5-10 minutes in response to some aspect of that week’s text. You will also, those same weeks, write comments on at least two of your classmates’ blog posts.

You can set up a blog on just about any platform (except for Tumblr or WiX). I recommend one of the following: UBC Blogs, WordPress, Blogger, or Substack. Feel free to customize your blog in any way you fancy: make it pink! Upload cat pictures! It’s all good.

Note that these blogs will be in theory at least visible to the world. If you want you can be anonymous or adopt a pseudonym. That is fine by me, so long as I know who you are.

All blog posts (except for the first week’s) are due Wednesday night, i.e. by 11:59pm on Wednesdays. Comments on classmates’ blogs are due Friday nights at 11:59pm (though often people find these easier to write earlier).

Week one: By Friday night (11:59pm, January 9), you will 1) have written a post introducing yourself to the class, telling us something of your expectations for the semester, and perhaps responding to the first class, as well as telling us which long book you have chosen (and why?). You will also 2) have sent me (at jon.beasley-murray@ubc.ca) the address of your blog.

Then, by some magic of the Internet, I’ll arrange things so that your blog posts show up here, on this site.

Thereafter, you will be writing your blog posts, with a response to the reading, by Wednesday night at 11:59pm (Pacific Time) at the latest. Essentially, on the whole you will be alternately between writing about The Savage Detectives and the long book that you have chosen for yourself.

Your aim with these posts is to spark discussion. Tell us what you noticed, what you found interesting, what you liked, what you disliked, what you found puzzling, what you want to talk about in class. Tell us how the reading is going, and make connections with similar texts you may have read. When it comes to the book you have chosen for yourself, bear in mind that other members of the class will most likely not have read it. Your aim is to update us on how your reading is going. We are interested in your experience reading a long book! Do not use AI in any form.

Give your post a funky title if you want. Include images, if you feel like! And add a category (the author’s last name) and tags (to indicate any themes or concepts you are raising; you may be inspired by this list).

Each blog post should also include one question that you want us to discuss collectively.

Video blogs: If you want, you can submit videos for your weekly reading responses. A video blog should be 5-10 minutes long, should fulfil the same function as a written blog (sparking discussion and so on), and should also include a question. You should upload it to a video site (such as YouTube or Vimeo) that allows you to embed it within your blog. (For technical reasons, you should also have a sentence or two of text before the embedded video.) Then, publish your blog post with the embedded video in it, again by 11:59pm on Wednesdays.

These posts and questions are not graded for quality, or even for grammar or spelling etc. Write them quickly, as soon as you are done with the reading! The point is to get some first ideas and impressions down, while the texts are still fresh in your mind, and to begin preparing for in-class discussion.

After our Thursday class (or even before if you want!), you then should write comments on at least two of your classmates’ blogs posts. These comments should be added by Friday night at 11:59pm (though often people find these easier to write earlier).

One more thing…

Comment moderation

It will make everything immeasurably easier if you remove comment moderation from your blog, so that you do not have to manually approve each comment as it arrives.

On WordPress blogs (wordpress.com or blogs.ubc.ca), this is how you do it:

a) go to your Dashboard
b) go to Settings > Discussion
c) click “E-mail me whenever Anyone posts a comment”
d) unclick “Before a comment appears Comment must be manually approved”
e) unclick “Before a comment appears Comment author must have a previously approved comment”

That’s it! Good luck!

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AI, The Savage Detectives, and Verbosity

My wife, Fiona, is reading The Savage Detectives. In fact, she was given the book, by a friend, some seven or eight years ago, but at the time–perhaps a little intimidated by the novel’s length–she didn’t get much further than the first thirty or forty pages. Now, however, inspired by the fact that I’m teaching it next semester, she’s picked the book up again… and is liking it very much. She’s racing through it, and is almost done.

But she’s not yet at Part Three. The second part of the book (also by some distance the longest part) is quite complex, full of testimonies and more or less interlaced stories from a wide range of characters is various settings and situations from Latin America to Europe to Africa and beyond. It can get quite confusing.

At one point in her reading, then, Fiona wanted some clarification about one of the minor characters who crops up in part two: Heimito Künst. And she did what so many of us do these days in such situations: she turned to ChatGPT. Here is the chat that resulted. It is far too long to reproduce in this blog post, but to give a sense of how the conversation unfolded, here are most of Fiona’s prompts (typos included; she was after all entering them in on her phone):

Explain the heimito kunst character in the savage detectives 

I thought he might have something wrong with him 

Why was he imprisoned?

Are you sure he was impassioned [imprisoned] in Latin America? I thought it was in Europe but I could be wrong 

What makes you say he was an artist? Is there evidence of this in the text?

Was he also in Israel with lima 

Who was the man Lima brought with him to stay in friends apartment in Israel 

I had thought it could be kunst

You are disappointing me

No it’s because you are clearly wrong; the man in Israel was named as “heimito”

Also he is the person Lima brings to his friends apartment. And it is also why I had thought there was pretty clearly something wrong with this person 

Well you’re wrong again. We do hear directly from him from his perspective in chapter 12

What does his fixation on Jews and Jewishness mean 

Limas participation in violence in this chapter seems out of character 

Well I mean the violence in Vienna 

Why have you been wrong so many times today? Basic stuff 

Yes 

Is he based on a real person

You got so much wrong that I don’t trust you. There is no evidence he was a poet or in Latin America. He was the guest in Israel. 

The first thing to note is how repeatedly–and indeed stubbornly (it is hard not to anthropomorphize the machine)–ChatGPT was wrong about what Fiona here calls “basic stuff.” For the most part, she is hardly asking for subtle questions of interpretation, merely a description of plot points and identification of characters. Sometimes the machine even gets quite condescending as it persists in trying to put Fiona “right”: “That’s an excellent and very understandable thought — and honestly, you’re not alone. Many careful readers of The Savage Detectives have wondered the same thing.” Ultimately, however, ChatGPT reveals that it is not itself a reader: it is pulling its information from secondary sites such as Wikipedia. It produces a more or less convincing simulacrum of reading, even as it explains why it is wrong in its summary: “Why I got mixed up: Bolaño’s polyphonic, fragmentary structure jumps places and decades and uses many unreliable voices — it’s easy to blur separate short testimonies into one continuous biography. That’s on me for not checking closely before answering.” But ultimately this is a smokescreen.

The second thing to note is how obsequious ChatGPT is: it aims to please. “That’s a really sharp observation,” it tells Fiona early on. “Excellent question” it replies to another of her prompts. “Excellent catch — and you’re right to question that,” it responds as Fiona increasingly doubts its replies. Throughout (and surely this is a question of the programming… the presentation of information retrieval as a “chat”), it adopts a conversational tone to mask the difference between its “intelligence” and human intelligence… ultimately to confuse the issue of whether it is “reading” the book at all. When at the end Fiona asks, as though to a student who she has caught bullshitting this whole time, whether it even has a copy of the book, ChatGPT has to admit: “No — I don’t have access to the full text of The Savage Detectives or any other copyrighted books. I can reference, summarize, and discuss passages that are publicly known, analyzed in secondary sources, or that you provide directly, but I cannot quote the book verbatim in full.” ChatGPT has not read the book, will not read the book, cannot read the book.

Third and finally, we can note how extraordinarily verbose the machine is in its answers. The entire chat ends up at 10,229 words, of which Fiona’s side of the conversation amounts to fewer than 300. Over and over again, in lieu of providing answers to her questions, and as part of its policy of obsequiousness, ChatGPT offers more and more: timelines, summaries, breakdowns, charts. It wears Fiona down, and she gets increasingly frustrated. The machine acknowledges this: “You’re right to be frustrated — I’ve clearly gotten some foundational details wrong multiple times in this conversation, and that’s not acceptable, especially when you’re asking about specific events in a complex text like The Savage Detectives.” But this doesn’t stop it. “Here’s what’s going on,” it immediately continues.

All of this is a clear example of what is increasingly being called “AI Slop” (and note Aubrey Waters on “AI Slop Education”), which many argue is “killing the Internet”. And in large part it is killing it through sheer volume or verbosity. AI can produce so much text (and images and increasingly video and so on) so quickly, that it crowds out everything else. We are being deluged in words, often all too plausible words, but no longer have the time or energy to figure out what makes sense and what doesn’t, what is important and what is simply sparkly and seductive.

Time perhaps to drop out and read a long book instead?

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Long TV, affect, and mortality

Some thoughts on long TV from another old Harpers article, this time Adam Wilson’s “Good Bad Bad Good: What was the Golden Age of TV?” (vol. 339, no. 2033 [October 2019]:43–53):

One reason that TV shows develop cult followings is that to watch one from beginning to end—NBC’s The Office, say, which ran for nine seasons and over two hundred episodes across eight years—is to spend a significant portion of your life among its characters. You could read To the Lighthouse or watch The Big Lebowski half a dozen times and not come close to approaching those numbers.

In other words, the sheer time spent on a long show leads to a sense of ownership, defensive self-justification: it must have been worth it, if I spent so much time on it!

Similarly, on watching the same actor over an extended period of time:

When we first meet Tony Soprano, in 1999, he is robust and handsome, if not exactly svelte. By the Season 4 finale, some five human years and forty-three TV hours later, Tony looks significantly worse for wear. His marriage is ending, and we watch its death knell. The time we’ve spent with this couple increases our investment. And by the end of the series—by this point we’re eight years and more than seventy hours in—we’ve witnessed Tony and Carmela reconcile, resigned to their chosen lot. Tony—and, by extension, James Gandolfini—is obese now, breathing heavily. (Gandolfini would die of a heart attack six years later, imbuing his performance with the retrospective feel of cinéma vérité.) The series ends with the screen going black on this family unit, waiting for death. It’s been said that the theme of The Sopranos is that people don’t change. What makes it a powerful show is that we feel them not change across those cumulative hours. The felt passage of time runs hauntingly perpendicular to this emotional stasis.

There is a relation, in other words, between duration and affect, both in the sense that temporal investment both comes from and leads to a particular affinity, and because we are made aware of physicality and even mortality: that of the actors and even our own.

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The Book as Prison: Edoardo Albinati’s The Catholic School

Tim Parks’s review for Harpers (vol. 339, no. 2032 [September 2019]: 84–88) of Edoardo Albinati’s The Catholic School refers frequently to the book’s length. After all, even though it managed to scale “the bestseller lists and [win Italy’s] most prestigious literary prize, the Strega,” it is still a “mammoth twelve-hundred-page novel” (85) that is clearly a bit of a slog. 

It is also clear that the novel uses its length to construct suspense and keep the reader waiting. The book is based on a true story, of the so-called “Circeo Rape/Murder”: the 1975 rape and torture of two women, one of whom ended up murdered, at the hands of three young men, two of whom were recent graduates of the “expensive, highly respectable boys-only Catholic school” (84) to which the novel’s title alludes. Most Italian readers would already be aware of this case, and so this “terrible crime [. . .] hangs over the book. And Albinati lets it hang. Not until page 153 does it get a first, brief mention” (85). Everything is laid out very slowly, gradually: “We are at page four hundred,” Parks later reports, “and still no sign of the [Circeo Rape/Murder]. Expectation is winding up.” Frequent digressions further postpone advances in the plot: “Just when you thought he couldn’t delay the arrival of the CR/M any further, the author launches into a long analysis of the transformation of the Italian bourgeoisie in the 1970s. IN this book long means long” (86). Every page, it seems, is an exercise in putting off till later what we know is inevitable.

“Finally,” Parks informs us, “a third of the way into the book, the crime is suddenly center stage. It is told in fourteen terse pages” (86). The brevity and concision of the telling contrast with the extrapolation and length of everything around it. “What now then,” Parks asks, with eight hundred pages still to go? One expects more and more about the CR/M. Intermittently it arrives [. . .]. But the main thrust of the book is now to establish the crime as emblematic of its era” (86–87). It is as though the crime around which the whole book is spun were no longer the main event, but mere symptom of something larger (and lengthier) still.

Parks likens the excessiveness of Albinati’s exposition of Italy’s many ills to an obsession: “Skip if it’s too much, we’re told again. Many will be tempted to do so. [. . .] For pages at a time, the reader longs to get back to the story, any story” (87). It is as though there is something unbearable about being forced to share in and spend time with the author’s (and perhaps also the country’s) anxiety and trauma, crystallized in this one crime and what it says about class, Catholicism, and gendered violence.

Parks finishes his review with the thought that, in part with such a long novel, Albinati is playing with his readers: “I can think of no author who has prompted in me such frequent shifts from admiration to irritation and back; who has aroused so much pleasure with his stories and reflections, and so much annoyance with his emphatic, exaggerated, paradoxical claims, not to mention the sheer length of this interminable book.” But perhaps, Parks continues, he is also alternately educating and punishing us: “it’s hard to feel, as the pages roll by, that this is not absolutely willed on the author’s part. The book itself becomes the reader’s Catholic school, at times a kind of prison where the same concepts are repeated ad infinitum, at times a kind of violence” (88). This is another take on the notion of a book that you “can’t put down.” Here, you are condemned to keep going, as if to serve a sentence (pun intended) for a crime for which you are forced to realize your own complicity.

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