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Conclusion Uncategorized

Conclusion; what stayed with me

I can’t believe its the end of the semester already. Coming to the end of this course, I keep thinking about how every book we’ve read felt so different on the surface, yet somehow kept circling back to the same questions. At the beginning, I thought I would be reading a series of unrelated novels. Instead, it feels like I’ve been reading variations of the same idea: how people understand their lives, and how those lives are remembered, told, or even distorted over time.

If I think back to Combray, everything started with memory. The way something as small as a taste or a sensation could unlock entire worlds made me realize how much of our lives exists in fragments rather than in clear, structured narratives. That idea kept showing up again and again. In The Shrouded Woman, memory becomes something almost final, a last reflection on a life that can no longer be changed. In Nada, it feels quieter, more observational, like simply surviving a period of time and only later understanding what it meant.

As the course went on, I started noticing a shift from internal reflection to something more external. In The Time of the Doves, survival takes center stage. Natalia doesn’t get a crazy transformative moment she just endures slowly. And that idea stayed with me, especially when we later read The Hour of the Star, where Macabea’s life feels almost invisible until the very end. Both novels made me question what it means to “matter,” and whether being seen or remembered is something everyone even gets.

In Money to Burn, the story is built through fragments, reports, testimonies, and different versions of events; making it impossible to settle on one clear truth. By the time we reached Soldiers of Salamis, it felt like the course had come full circle. The novel isn’t just about history, but about who gets remembered in history and why. The most important figure in that story isn’t the one who survives or becomes famous, but the one who disappears.

Looking back, I think what changed most for me is how I read. At the beginning, I was looking for clear plots, strong character development, or even something like a resolution. Now, I feel more comfortable sitting with uncertainty. Many of these novels don’t give clear answers, and I don’t think they’re meant to. They just leave you with lingering questions long after you are done reading them.

If there’s one thing I’m taking away from this course, it’s that stories are not just about what happens, but about how and why they are told. Memory is selective, narration is subjective, and meaning is something we often construct after the fact. In that sense, every story is incomplete but maybe that’s what makes it worth returning to.

And maybe that’s also what connects all of these books: not the events themselves, but the quiet realization that what stays with us isn’t always the biggest moment, but the ones we keep coming back to, trying to understand.

My question this time is, If every story is shaped by memory and perspective, do you think it’s ever possible to truly understand a life solely through storytelling?

And with that i end my final blog in this course, its been a great and enjoyable course. Huge shoutout to professor Murray,    Daniel and Julian for making this course such a pleasant experience.

Categories
Cercas

Who gets to be remembered?

This book has been quite a good read, in the beginning i thought it would be straightforward story about the Spanish civil war (which is knew nothing of). Not only does the book tell us about what happened during war, but it also shows us how difficult it is to know what happened in the first place.

It was quite interesting that the book revolved around one single moment; when a Republican soldier finds Rafael Sánchez Mazas hiding in the forest and chooses not to kill him. It’s such a simple decision, but it ends up carrying more weight than the war itself. Mazas survives, goes on to live his life, and becomes a known historical figure. But the soldier, the one who made the moral choice, completely disappears from history. That contrast really got me thinking about the history we know and how many influential figures we probably don’t even know about.

As Cercas begins investigating the story, I found myself getting pulled into his process. He interviews people, reads accounts, and tries to piece everything together, but the more he searches, the less clear things become. Everyone remembers things differently, and certain details feel exaggerated or incomplete. Even in the beginning with his interview with Ferlosio he says”I finally managed to salvage it, or perhaps I made it up”(17). It made me realize how much history depends on who is telling the story and how it’s told.

At first, Cercas seems focused on Mazas, but over time it becomes clear that Mazas isn’t really the point. He survives mostly by chance, not because of any heroic action. The real question becomes: who was the soldier who spared him, and why did he do it? This shift made me rethink what heroism actually looks like. Instead of something dramatic or widely recognized, it might just be a quiet decision that no one else ever sees.

I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into it, but when Miralles says, “The real heroes are born out of war and die in war”(197), it seems to explain why Cercas never gets a clear answer. If true heroes disappear within war itself, then they aren’t meant to be found or remembered in the way Cercas is searching for them. It almost suggests that the act of trying to identify a single “hero” misses the point entirely.

By the end, I didn’t feel like I had a clear conclusion, but I did learn about the Spanish civil war and my perspective had shifted. It made me think less about who becomes famous in history and more about the quiet, everyday decisions that never get recorded. It left me wondering how many important stories are lost simply because no one was there to tell them.

Discussion Question: Do you think the novel is more interested in finding the “truth” of what happened, or in questioning whether the truth can ever really be known?

 

 

Categories
Piglia

Money and Madness ahh book

Money to Burn was different compared to many of the other books we’ve read in this course. A lot of the earlier novels focused heavily on memory, reflection, and long internal thoughts, but this one moves through crime, police investigations, and action. It actually feels like a story unfolding rather than just a series of reflections. At times it almost reads like a true crime report rather than a traditional novel. The narrative shifts between different perspectives, police accounts, and conversations, which can be a little confusing at first, but it also makes the whole event feel much more real.

What stood out to me most was the strange mix of chaos and intimacy within the group of criminals. The gang escapes to Montevideo after the robbery and as the police begin to close in on them, they hide out in an apartment where most of the tension in the story unfolds. Even though the robbery is what drives the plot, the novel seems much more interested in the psychology of the characters than the crime itself.

The relationship between Dorda and Brignone was an interesting one to me. Their connection feels deeper and more emotional than the typical partnership you might expect between criminals. While the group is falling apart under pressure, the loyalty between them remains strong. At the same time, Dorda’s mental instability makes everything more unpredictable. His paranoia and violent outbursts create a sense that things are inevitably heading toward disaster. It felt like the novel was constantly building tension not just through the police closing in, but through the characters slowly losing control of the situation.

One of the most memorable moments in the book is when the gang begins burning the stolen money while they are trapped in the apartment. That scene really stuck with me because it completely changes the meaning of the robbery. They risked everything to steal the money, yet in the end they destroy it themselves. It almost feels like an act of defiance, as if they would rather burn the money than let the authorities take it back. In that moment the story stops being just about crime and becomes something more symbolic about power, rebellion, and the absurdity of risking lives for wealth.

Reading this also reminded me of when Pablo Escobar was on the run, and burned about 2 million dollar simply to keep his daughter warm . While the situations are obviously very different, the image of money being treated as something disposable felt strangely similar. In both cases, something that normally represents power and wealth becomes meaningless in a moment of desperation.

Overall, Money to Burn felt messy and intense but also real. None of the characters really come across as clear heroes or villains. Instead, it feels like you’re watching a group of people slowly spiral deeper into a situation they can’t escape. By the end, it didn’t feel like the story was just about a robbery anymore, but more about desperation, loyalty, and how quickly things can fall apart once everything starts going south.

Discussion Question:
Do you think the gang burning the money was an act of rebellion against the system, or was it simply the final sign that everything had spiraled out of control?

Categories
Duras

Trying to understand The Lover, i guess

To be honest, when I finished The Lover, my first reaction was something like… what exactly did I just read? Not in a bad way, but in the sense that the novel feels strange and difficult to pin down. The story doesn’t unfold in a clean, chronological way, and the characters themselves are hard to place into clear categories. Everyone feels morally complicated, and by the end I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to sympathize with them, question them, or both.

One thing I kept noticing while reading was how blurry the power dynamics in the novel are. At first, it seems obvious that the Chinese lover holds the power. He’s older, wealthy, and able to provide things the narrator’s family desperately needs. But the more the story continues, the less clear that dynamic becomes. In many scenes he actually appears nervous and emotionally fragile, while the narrator seems calm and detached. She knows exactly what the relationship means and doesn’t really try to hide the fact that she benefits from it financially. At the same time, she’s only fifteen, which constantly reminded me that she’s also in a vulnerable position herself. Because of that, it became hard for me to place either of them neatly into the role of “victim” or “perpetrator.” Both seem to exist somewhere in the middle i guess.

Another thing to point out was how easy it is to forget how young the narrator actually is. The voice of the story feels much older and reflective, which makes her sound more mature than a fifteen year old girl normally would. I caught myself thinking about her decisions as if she were an adult, and then suddenly remembering that she’s still technically a child navigating a complicated world.

If there’s one character I found much easier to judge, though, it was the older brother. Compared to the rest of the characters, he doesn’t seem to have the same kind of ambiguity. His cruelty toward the rest of the family feel constant, and the way the mother continues to protect him despite everything makes the household even more chaotic. You could argue that the family environment helped create him, but it still felt like he was one of the few characters who consistently caused harm without much reflection, unless i missed something about him when reading.

Overall, what stayed with me most about The Lover is how it refuses to give simple answers. The characters aren’t clearly good or bad, and the relationship at the center of the story never settles into one clear interpretation. Instead, it forces the reader to sit with the discomfort of those blurred lines. In a strange way, that might be the point. Real relationships and power dynamics are often messy, and this novel doesn’t try to simplify them.

Discussion Question: Do you think the relationship between the narrator and the lover is meant to be read primarily as exploitation, or something more emotionally genuine? Or is the novel intentionally refusing to let us settle on one answer?

Categories
Lispector

Invisible until the end

I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like The Hour of the Star. It’s not just the story itself that feels different, it’s the way it’s told. Half the time I forgot about the plot because Rodrigo, the narrator, keeps interrupting to talk about writing, about poverty, about whether he even has the right to tell Macabea’s story. It almost felt like I was watching someone wrestle with their own conscience while trying to write a novel.

And then there’s Macabea.

She was just so weird, like she doesn’t demand anything of the world. She doesn’t question her poverty. She doesn’t question Olimpico when he insults her. She doesn’t even seem fully aware that her life is small and fragile. She just… exists. Eating hot dogs. Listening to the radio. It made me uncomfortable because we’re generally used to protagonists who fight back or at least reflect deeply on their suffering. I guess at this point in the course i should’ve expected something like this.

At first, I found that frustrating. I kept waiting for her to have a moment of realization or rebellion. But that moment never comes. And maybe that’s the point. Not everyone gets a dramatic awakening. Some people move through life without ever being told they matter.

The fortune teller scene honestly broke me. For the first time, someone speaks to Macabea as if she has a future. She leaves glowing, believing she will marry a rich foreign man and finally be happy. That tiny spark of hope feels almost cruel in hindsight. Because right after that, she’s hit by a car.

And suddenly, that’s her “hour of the star.” The moment she becomes visible is the moment she dies.

Coming from a third world country that’s very poor, I couldn’t stop thinking about how society works like that. How many people live unnoticed until something tragic makes others pause? Lispector doesn’t give Macabea transformation, redemption, or even awareness. She gives her attention only in death. It’s devastating in a quiet way.

I also keep thinking about Rodrigo. Is he honoring her story, or exploiting it? He constantly reminds us that she’s insignificant, and yet he’s the one who decides to write about her. It made me wonder whether telling someone’s story is an act of compassion or control.

Discussion Question:
Do you think Macabea’s lack of self-awareness protects her from suffering, or does it make her even more tragic?

Categories
Rodoreda

The weight of survival again??

I’m seeing a pattern here with all these novels, the protaganists are just surviving every single god damn time and it’s always so emotionally heavy. The Time of the Doves left me feeling that emotional heaviness. Not because it was confusing or structurally difficult, but because of how quietly devastating it is. Everything happens slowly, there isn’t a clear turning point where everything shifts. Instead, we follow Natalia’s life as it slowly narrows under the weight of marriage, war, poverty, and expectation.

What struck me most was how gradual everything feels. Natalia doesn’t dramatically resist Quimet when he renames her Colometa. She doesn’t protest when the doves take over her home. She doesn’t declare her suffering when hunger nearly destroys her and her children. She absorbs it. And that absorption felt painfully realistic. Her life doesn’t collapse in one moment it kinda like slowly erodes.

The doves especially stayed with me. At first, they almost seem harmless, just one of Quimet’s strange obsessions. But as they multiply and invade every room, they start to feel suffocating. The smell, the noise, the constant presence, it’s like Natalia’s own identity is being crowded out. By the time the war begins, the apartment already feels like a cage to her.

Quimet’s death is another important moment to me.It isn’t written as a grand tragedy. It’s abrupt, almost muted. And what’s even more unsettling is that alongside grief, there’s relief. That complexity made the novel feel honest. Natalia doesn’t suddenly transform or become empowered. She just survives, just like all our protagonists in this course. Her second marriage to Antoni isn’t romantic or passionate, it’s stable. And in a world that has taken so much from her, stability becomes a form of mercy.

The final scene in the Placa del Diamant really felt like the emotional release the entire novel had been building toward. That scream she lets out, the one she seems to have been carrying for years, felt less like anger and more like the sound of finally letting something go. It’s not victory. It’s not freedom in a dramatic sense. It’s just release.

What I keep thinking about is how this novel centers survival rather than transformation. Natalia doesn’t become a radically different person. She doesn’t “find herself.” She endures. And maybe that’s Rodoreda’s point: for many ordinary women living through war and patriarchy, survival itself is an achievement.

 

When you finished the novel, did you feel like Natalia had gained something by the end, or mostly lost something?

 

Categories
Arguedas

Deep Rivers

This reading was probably the second hardest for me, after Combray. At times it felt very slow, but I understand that this pace was maybe intentional, to guide us through Ernesto’s perceptions, memories, and reactions to the world around him. I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about the novel as of now, but maybe writing this blog and taking some time to reflect will help me make sense of it more.

What stood out to me most in this reading was how deeply Ernesto feels everything, even when he doesn’t act on it. I think this is part of what made the pacing feel so slow. From the beginning, as he travels through the Andes with his father (which I really liked and found surprisingly wholesome), it’s clear that he experiences the world through sound, landscape, and emotion. Rivers, mountains, and songs feel alive to him, almost as if they carry history and memory within them. To me, this felt like the author’s way of connecting Ernesto to the Indigenous identity.

When he is later placed in the boarding school at Abancay, that same sensitivity becomes a burden. The school is rigid, violent, and deeply hierarchical, and Ernesto doesn’t fit easily. He watches cruelty unfold between students and from priests, but he rarely fights back. Instead, he absorbs it, which honestly reminded me a lot of Andrea in Nada.

Just like with Andrea I found myself wanting Ernesto to fight back or speak up. As the novel went on i started understanding that this silence of his wasn’t weakness it was awareness, he sees the injustice even when he lacks the power to confront it. I think this makes it more realistic as alot of the time we are aware of the injustice around of the world but all we can do is watch. A very powerful moment during this novel was the conflict involving the chicheras. Watching Indigenous women collectively resist exploitation feels like a direct contrast to the silence enforced within the school. That moment seemed to awaken something in Ernesto. It’s not that he suddenly becomes brave or outspoken, but his understanding of injustice develops and deepens.

By the end of Deep Rivers, just like with Nada there’s no clear resolution. Ernesto doesn’t escape his circumstances or win in any traditional sense. But he isn’t the same boy he was at the beginning either. He has gained some sort of moral clarity, even if it comes at the cost of innocence. To me, that felt like the heart of the novel, that growth is always a clear change on the outside. Sometimes it’s just learning how to see the world clearly without losing your capacity to feel.

My discussion question for this novel is, Just like Nada the novel doesn’t end with a clear resolution, do you find that frustrating or do you think its better that way.

Overall was a good novel but i kind of liked the previous readings more, 7/10.

Categories
Laforet

The Quiet Weight of Survival

Reading Nada felt emotionally heavy for me, not because of dramatic events, but because of how much is left unresolved. There is no intense plot pushing the story forward and no clear moment of triumph or closure. Instead, the novel feels like a reflection of real life, where things don’t always get better in obvious ways. Like many of the texts we’ve read in this course, Nada left me thinking long after I finished it.

Andrea arrives in Barcelona with hope, imagining university as a fresh start and a place where she could be independent. I found this part especially relatable, because that feeling of believing a new place will change everything is something many people experience, especially us students who came here from different countries. However, her excitement quickly fades once she begins living with her family on Calle de Aribau. The apartment feels suffocating, chaotic, and emotionally draining. Hunger, violence, and constant tension become part of her daily life. What stood out to me was how Andrea doesn’t respond with dramatic emotion, she mostly just observes. At first, this made her seem passive, but as I kept reading, it felt more like a survival tactic, it’s like she’d rather keep her self sane than fight it.

What unsettled me most was how normal cruelty becomes in the household. The shouting, manipulation, and emotional neglect are treated as the norm. Andrea rarely comments on how unfair or damaging this is, which somehow makes it feel even heavier. She doesn’t explicitly say it but it’s clear that everything around her leaves a mark. I found myself feeling frustrated on her behalf, especially when her own “family” is making her life a living hell.

Andrea’s friendship with Ena felt like one of the few moments where she could breathe. Being around Ena offered a brief escape from the chaos of her home and a sense of belonging. However, the imbalance between them is hard to ignore. Ena moves through the world with confidence and ease, while Andrea remains cautious and restrained. Their friendship is both comforting and painful, showing Andrea what freedom could look like while also highlighting how limited her own life feels.

By the end of Nada, Andrea’s quiet departure from Barcelona didn’t feel like a victory, but it didn’t feel like defeat either. It felt realistic. She doesn’t emerge transformed or enlightened, she simply leaves without losing herself entirely, I guess she just survived. Overall, Nada felt deeply personal in the way it portrays loneliness, resilience, and emotional exhaustion. Andrea’s story isn’t inspiring in a traditional sense, but it is powerful in its honesty and realism.

This was definitely a worthwhile read, 7.5/10. As for the discussion question,

Do you think Andrea’s quiet, observational nature is a form of strength or a limitation? Would things have been different if she pushed back?

 

 

 

 

Categories
Bombal

Shrouded Woman – Bombal

While reading The Shrouded Woman, I couldn’t help but think back to Combray. I know the two texts are very different in style and context, but they feel similar in the way they treat memory and reflection. In both novels, the present moment acts more like a gateway to the past than a place where action happens. For Proust, the act of waking and drifting in and out of sleep triggers memories. For Bombal, it is the wake itself where a woman lying dead, listening is what opens the door to reflection.

What struck me most about the novel was how Ana Maria doesn’t move, speak, or act in a sense, yet her inner life feels very active. As visitors come and go, their voices and presence pull her into memories of love, marriage, childhood and motherhood. Much like in Combray, memory doesn’t unfold in a linear way, instead it manifests through  sensation, sound and emotions.

I feel like the reflective structure of the novel made her memories feel more intimate in a sense. Unlike in Combray, where memory feels more exploratory, Bombal’s use of reflection feels more final. Ana Maria is not revisiting her life to understand it better for the future because there’s quite literally no future left. This kind of gives her reflections a sense of urgency and regret. The moments of love, especially her relationship with Ricardio, stands out against the emotional silence of her marriage. It become very clear that most of her life was lived inwardly, shaped by what she felt more that what she was able to express.

I think one of the main takeaways from this novel is that clarity often comes too late. Ana Maria reaches her clearest understanding only after death. This made me think about how rarely people are able to fully recognize their own lives while they’re living them. Bombal seems to suggest that social roles, especially for women makes it hard to live openly and honestly.

By the end of the novel, I felt a quiet emotional weight rather than shock or sadness. In a way it made me think and reflect on my own life; I really don’t want to experience any regrets as I am dying. The novel though, does not ask us to fear death but to question how much of life we postpone, suppress or misunderstand until it becomes memory.

Overall this was very enjoyable read that even made me reflect on my own life. 8/10

Categories
Arlt

Mad Toy – Arlt

This was definitely a breath of fresh air after reading Proust last week as i was finally reading something i can follow along. While reading Mad Toy by Roberto Arlt, I was struck by how uncomfortable the novel feels. There is nothing clear or reassuring about Silvio’s story. Arlt does not attempt to make Silvio heroic, admirable, or even particularly likable, and I think that is exactly what makes the novel so compelling. Throughout the novel, Silvio consistently searches for guidance, only to be disappointed every time. He seems to be looking for something or someone to give his life direction or purpose perhaps.Whether it’s criminal figures, employers or even his intellectual ideals, he repeatedly places hope in the idea that mentorship or some sort of structure will save him. Each time, that hope collapses.

In the First chapter we can see that Silvio is excited to join the life of crime with Enrique. To me his attraction to crime felt more like a desire for purpose than wealth, the thieves’ club with its rules and titles, gave him a sense of belonging and control that he lacked in his life. This pattern continues throughout his life, he turns towards work then intellectual ambition, believing that if he follows the right path, success will eventually come.

This is where the novel becomes kind of demoralizing because he tries everything but no system ever truly works. When he’s working, the authority figures exploited him. When he turned to his intellectual ability, institutions failed him, he also didn’t get any lasting support from anyone close to him. He isn’t just rejected by society he’s used repeatedly then disposed of. Over time these feelings and emotions accumulate and by the final chapter we can see that his decisions are a result of resentment rather than hope.

The betrayal in the last section was what stood out to me the most. After being powerless for so long betrayal becomes the only way that he can exert some sort of control. Its not justified or heroic but its understandable within Arlt’s world and Silvio’s disillusionment.

By the end, Mad Toy felt less like a story about growing up and more about being worn down. Unlike a traditional story the protagonist doesn’t become stronger and wiser but is rather faced with the reality of the harsh world. There is no comfort or redemption offered here, as the reader you’re forced to sit with discomfort, frustration and ambiguity. Although this made the novel a little bit too real it also made it more compelling.

My question is what do you guys think about the conclusion? The story ends abruptly without some sort of resolution for Silvio so I would love to hear how this was interpreted by everyone.

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