April 4, 2022 · 3:47 pm

In sum..

As I end this semester, I am also ending an integral phase of my life- that of an undergraduate student. With a lot of goodbyes coming up, I am in a strange point of excitement and nervousness. This semester, I sort of ended up taking the RMST course because I no longer needed to meet the language requirement. It seems crazy to think that I could’ve been struggling to make my way in Spanish all this time, instead of reading all the incredible texts I had an opportunity to engage with in this class. What a relief, and what a great surprise-filled journey this was!

The most important takeaway for me through the semester has been to learn to open my mind to the structural and general understandings of what  novels are. It has also been so enjoyable understanding the authors, not just their work, and positioning them as agents and creators of the book. This practice invited us to have our own ideas, supplemented by the honour of knowing the context of the author’s life and general world events at the time of their writing. A memory from class that will stick with me long after it’s over is the zoom class with Norman Manea. It was such a delight to e-meet him, ask him a question and just watch him talk about the book, and his life with so much passion. His words of encouragement and high praise for the class and the instructors was so heart-warming. I believe that as people, we need role models ( to be inspired by), and I am certain Mr. Manea is one of mine.

I also really enjoyed readings books that were not meant to be primarily read in English. As a non-native English speaker, I often find it fascinating to see the structure, and expressions of authors whose works have been translated. Reading novels translates from languages like Spanish and French gave a unique window into experiencing these novels in a special way and also opened my eyes to a variety of contexts and perspectives of history that were foreign to me. My question is how you experienced translated works? Did it make a difference in how you interpreted them?

In sum, I am grateful to have taken this class, and excited that it contributed so many colourful and diverse books to my physical bookshelf (which I hold as a prized possession). I’d also like to extend my sincere gratitude to Jon, Jenifer and Patricio for helping me expand my mind with their brilliantly crafted questions, and their very careful curation of the course contracts, which were so creative and gave the students agency in their performance. Now, at the risk of my essay sounding like an acceptance speech, I will post this blog and log off.. sincerely hoping to cross paths with all the incredible students and the instructors of this course in the future! 🙂

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· 12:05 am

Agualasa; the dreams that built tomorrow

In “The Society of Reluctant Dreamers” by José Agualasa, he creates a world within which dreams are clues to the future, a place where all the potential tomorrows of humanity are housed. Written in the backdrop of civil war, political and social unrest in Angola, Agualasa gives us a glimpse into a part of the world that history often ignores, and the modern day person associates with poverty and conflict. 

The central notion and significance of dreams in the book was fascinating to read about. His ideas of dreams are in direct conflict with Freud’s account, which places dreams as figments drawn from the past, retrieved  from the  corners of the mind to understand one’s unfulfilled desires. They are figments of our imagination, critical fabulations of our minds. Popular and traditional wisdom holds that we dream either of what has already happened or what is imaginary. To dream can mean to desire a future, but we certainly cannot dream the future itself. 

In the context of Angola, with a dark history of Portuguese colonization, the idea of “dreaming” holds a symbolic and literal value. In mundane conversations with an ex-veteran (Kaley), the impact of the distress and chaos that grips Angola is relevant. He says “Sure, the Portuguese colonialism came to an end, but we aren’t any freer or any more at peace” (32). It is evident why premonitions and the ability to dream a future become a function to evade the constant pessimism and the increasing loss of hope that grips citizens. The Republic of Dreamers, brings into question how dreams can be functional, political and put to use. 

We see this manifest in the book, where it’s evident all Angolans dream about defeating and overthrowing the authoritarian leader. On the last few pages, there are images of a crowd surging forward at the city palace, towards the soldiers – the utopia of bringing to life the common man’s dream demonstrates  “that there is something more powerful than a gun” – an element of the human condition and our ability to dream. 

In sum, the “dreamers” of Agualusa’s book are not limited to those who experience premonitions and future events while they’re asleep, but also the idealists and liberals who dream of Angola becoming “a free, just, democratic country”, instead of one in which an authoritative  government reigns and inequalities prevail in every nook and corner. My question is, whether you agree with my concluding observations or if you think the dreams served a different purpose altogether in the book?

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March 29, 2022 · 1:45 am

Cercas’ Fictional Writing 101

Cercas’ “Soldier of Salamis has a bewildering jigsaw puzzle- like structure and form, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It invited the reader to accompany the narrator on his quest to piece together fragmented information from the past, through archives, oral history and other resources. I would categorize Cercas’ writing style as historical fiction, in part due to the similarities in the public figures and themes of Francoism to the loom large in the accounts, and most of their stories are accounts of the historical truth. 

The narrator, who is divorced, childless and recently fatherless, begins a journey to uncover the truth of Sanchez Mazas story of survival in a historical event that took place in his life. He is gripped by uncovering this story, as a writer and a journalist and it awakens his passion to write again. All other aspects of his life, such as his formal job, and relationships, are depicted on the periphery of his narration- highlighting the importance of writing the story of Mazas for him. Personally, the facts I read about Mazas and his drive for fascism and a return of absolute dictatorship control was not for me. It was built on a dream of fascism – and I could not connect with his ideas, but the interesting part of this was, that I could easily admire his belief in his own ideas. This prompts the question (that the narrator investigates as well) of what makes a hero? As far as violence, radicalism and dictatorship is concerned, Mazas only had them, without ever fighting or engaging in violence for them. 

A key element in the narrator’s writing was that he was not writing a novel, but a “tale”. The distinction for him was clear (even in the face of it being obscure in other people’s minds). He hoped to uncover a parallel or close version of the truth; “if we manage to unveil one of these parallel secrets, we might perhaps also touch on a more essential secret”  (p. 12) which indicated his commitment to reaching closer to this ultimate form of truth. he hope being that the fictional invention will be more convincing in the end than any biographical memoir. It is as though he hopes being that the fictional tale will be closer to a more convincing account in the end than any existing memoir of Mazas. 

As a concluding thought, the book is a fascinating account of memory and history- and how they are both reliable, and unreliable and in the case of Mazas, can only truly be verified in some parts, leaving room for fiction. 

Food for thought: 

How do you approach the cautionary mark of fiction that lies in the opening pages of the book, as someone who knows the context?

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March 21, 2022 · 6:34 pm

Bolaño’s treasure; a review of Amulet

Bolaño’s “Amulet” caught my interest with its gripping first line – “This is going to be a horror story”. The narrator, Auxillo is an unlikely choice and voice of a book. She is far from ordinary; impulsive, thoughtful and ambivalent. It is fascinating to follow her writing style, which is a stream of consciousness,  because she seems interested in all her mundane details and instances of quiet rebellion that grips the youth of Mexico and is reflected in her own thoughts. The novel is told in a strange manner, with scattered thoughts and loops within loops of time being created.

Bolaño challenged the linear model of passage of time in a person’s life, and introduces us to think about life, as “ full of enigmas, minimal events that, at the slightest touch or glance, set off chains of consequences, which, viewed through the prism of time, invariably inspire astonishment or fear” (p.23). This perspective is reflected through Auxillo’s experience of being stuck in the bathroom of the UNAM university during the siege by the Riot Police. 

In the novel, Auxillo, an Uruguayan woman living in Mexico,  moves through her bohemian lifestyle, referring to herself as the “mother of all poets” in a non-traditional Mexican way of life. Her vivid descriptions of young poets she encounters and takes under her wing were fascinating to read. The importance of poetry in Auxillo’s life remains explicit in the book, and I particularly liked its relevance when she is stuck in the bathroom of the university, surrounded by the riot police. She remarks “the laws of tyrannical cosmos are opposed to the laws of poetry”, highlighting the importance of art, the comfort provided by poetry and the chance encounter with a riot police member where she remains unfound.  

With Amulet, it is difficult to not view the writing, or the use of words and diction, as anything short of extraordinary. On p. 86, Auxillo describes the setting of Guerrero as a “cemetery..bathed in the dispassionate fluids of an eye that tried so hard to forget one particular thing, that it forgot everything else”. This idea can be traced back to Auxillo’s own attempt to try and escape her experience in the bathroom stall  university, as well as the broader landscape of Mexico- where many things are forgotten or lost. 

To end, the erratic tone of the book may make some wonder if Auxillo is crazy and doubt her sanity. But upon closer examination, we may find that her poetically charged account may be a woman’s way of seeing the world and its intricate details by sharing her observations. 

Food for thought: 

How did you interpret the “birthing” scene on page 31, within the broader context of the story? 

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March 14, 2022 · 7:52 pm

Manea’s “The Trenchcoat”

Manea’s “The Trenchcoat” stirred up some discomfort in me, given the ambiguous nature of the text, but it was certainly an enjoyable read. The discomfort came primarily from moving across the pages in an unfamiliar setting, with unfamiliar characters, in writing that imbibed a tone of ambiguity. However, I appreciate that this course has encouraged me to read texts that defy the very notion of what a novel means, or what “good writing” entails. Manea’s writing can be read as a useful artifact in capturing the lives of people living through social and political turmoil. What is interesting is, even as the characters occupy space in Romania at a time in history when it was disintegrating,  Manea has managed to depict them as detached and individuals with agency. 

The most gripping parts of the text for me were the ones that referenced socio-political life under authoritarian regimes, in the context of communism. While most of the book is carefully curated to focus on inter-personal and intimate networks and interactions between people, Manea made some remarks that alluded to the Romanian regime. On page 193, “For a Latin people like ours..it’s the desire to get together that has disappeared.” This specific placement of the Stoian’s family, within their cultural context, makes the remark powerful. It depicts that they experience a loss of excitement and a loss of the feeling of unity that ties their people together, under the authoritarian regime where communities grow suspicious of one another, and live in fear of the power of the government. 

Another great example of the aforementioned point is found on p.196, when the family is in the car, discussing the children’s patriotic oath that they say at school- “ I’ll be tall, healthy, clean and neat, without ever needing a bite to eat.” Manea has an extraordinary ability to frame these historical instances through  an unpolitical example to politically outline the dearth of necessities that gripped most countries that were communists. In this case,  it outlines scarcity created by communism, in contrast to the West (obsessed with consumption and consumerism) as a “sign of the times” (p.196) that Romania is in. 

To end, this discussion would certainly be incomplete without referencing the Trenchcoat. In my reading of the text, the Trenchcoat acts as the central symbol in the book. The ordinary trench coat is the ordinary citizen. In a regular context, it is not a threatening object, but given the conditions of the book- it is looked at with suspicion, interest, and a deliberate curiosity, which is similar to how ordinary citizens interact and engage with each other. An ordinary object like the Trenchcoat, and the ordinary citizen, becomes a reason for everyone to be on their toes, as though they are being watched. 

 

Question for Manea: 

Are there any specific lessons on courage that you can give your readers who are interested in writing/ becoming writers? (I ask, since your work can most definitely be considered an act of bravery, having been written against the political landscape of Romania) 

 

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March 7, 2022 · 10:49 pm

Perec’s “W or The Memory of Childhood”; inconclusive evidence on why I enjoyed the book so much..

For reasons that are not entirely within my grasp, W or the memory of childhood was one of my favorite reads this semester. The duality of the narratives and the two parts of the books had a unique sense of a surprise element to them. While reading the book, especially as the narrator tries to recount his childhood, I felt as though I was unlocking the puzzle of his life with him. 

The fragmented and unstable nature of the narrator’s memory really appealed to me in the book. The narrator seemed to be on a quest where he was negotiating with his mind, and it’s ability to hold memories. On page 42, he articulated an essentially reflexive feature of why he chose to write in order to re-trace his childhood memories, and it’s a quote that stuck with me from the book- “ I write because they left in me their indelible mark, whose trace is writing. Their memory is dead in writing; writing is the memory of their death and the assertion of my life.” There is a powerful sense of agency in Perec’s account of remembrance, and the way he chooses to build his memory. His writing taught me that the gaps in memory, and the imperfection of remembering is itself a vital part of the process. 

The account titled “W” in the book, that is described as an island city governed by the spirit of the Olympics, begins as a euphemism to the brutal conditions that political systems create for citizens. Although seemingly distinct from Perec’s memories of childhood at first, we see the two accounts intimately intertwined with each other as we unlock the horrors of World War 2 in Perec’s account and the brutal conditions of survival in the land of “W”. All games, in essence, where the powerful actors exert control for resources for the common man, can have deadly consequences. 

To conclude, the two accounts are not a master-class in symmetry, nor do they have a connection that is obvious and pleasant to its readers. Nevertheless, they teach us important lessons in how connections can be made across different epochs and socio-historical circumstances, and the missing puzzle pieces of memory that we seek to find may not make a perfect whole, but a fragmented mosaic. They teach us that after all, we’re all human, with a set of undeniable failings and pitfalls. 

Food for thought: 

I am interested to understand how readers perceived the impact of war and catastrophe on Perec’s recollection of memories, and his writing in general?  

 

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February 28, 2022 · 9:53 pm

An Idle Dove; Rodoreda’s “The Time of the Doves”

The time of the Doves by M. Rodoreda follows the story of Natalia, and the tumultuous tale of romance, war and the harsh realities that grip her life. In the first half of the book, I was often left feeling confused about Natalia’s agency as a woman, mother and wife. I found it hard to come to terms with her decision to marry Quimet, given his controlling and obsessive nature and her early comprehension of these  flaws. I felt like there were vivid descriptions of her despair, and the mental and emotional pressures being put on her, but I felt like there was an overall lack of explanation behind her reasoning and thought processes that governed her actions. 

 

Another interesting observation I noticed was how the book’s title “The Time of the Doves” alluded to a larger theme in the text, which was the liminality between animals and humans. The blurry lines that were crossed between the realm of the human and animals were evident in instances such as men being torn up from war (like the grocer), Natalia scrounging for food and shelter, Natalia’s decision to kill herself and her children due to her instincts taking over. Additionally, the doves housed in her home, where she was “killing herself cleaning up after them”, and desperately wanting to separate her “heaven[ly]” house and the “hell it became” (p.100). The novel perhaps creates this blurring of boundaries to foreshadow how war brings out the animal in human beings, with humans being morphed into aggressive, uncontrollable creatures of instinct and conflict.

 

In addition to these broader themes, I noticed a sub-theme of isolation that ran through the book, carried by Natalia’s feelings of intense alienation. A particular instance where she described her role on p.82- “I was selling him my work..wholesale” highlighted the everyday commodification of humans, and reducing them as mere objects to be used, leading to a loss in sense of self for Natalia and others. It also connects to the broader themes of “things” in the book- the furniture, the markets, the house of the bourgeoisie family Natalia works for, and many more. War creates an image of the world disintegrating – like the things and people that occupy that world are living on the brink of destruction.like they are things that can be and will be destroyed. 

 

However, not all bad things come out of destruction. Natalia eventually does fall in love with the grocer, in imperfect ways (who suffers infertility and cannot bear children) and marries him to create a non-traditional family structure. She lovingly refers to him as her “little cripple” towards the end of the book, in a warm tone that lies in stark contrast to the tone implied in the rest of the book. Her found family has an inorganic solidarity, and it leaves us wondering whether the best stories are ones that are also inherently imperfect. 

 

Food for thought: 

In your opinion, do politics, war and societal standards mentioned in the book (and derived from its context) stand at the periphery of Natalia’s life, or the center of it? Why or why not? 

 

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February 13, 2022 · 4:38 pm

A brief character study of Sagan’s “Bonjour Tristesse”

Sagan’s “Bonjour Tristesse” centres around, a 16 year old girl who is on a summer vacation at the French Riviera with her father and and the events that unfolded. The book begins with the idle 16 year old basking in the pleasure of summer- filled with fleeting moments of love, sunshine and laughter with her father. Even in the first few pages, it is difficult for the reader to not view Cecile as spoilt, pampered and oblivious to the sorrows and complexities of life. It’s easy to see how she’s trapped in a bubble of money, privilege, and boredom that can only be afforded to the rich. Looking back (since the story is narrated in hindsight), Cecile remarks, “I dare say I owed most of my pleasures of that period to money” (p.19). Her lack of ambition, and her comfort with deriving happiness from superficial avenues seems troubling, at the very least. The fact that she is self-reflexive about these facets of the self provides some relief (at best) in the readers.

As a reader, I’m left to wonder whether it is Cecile’s boredom that leads her to meddling in her father’s marriage with Anne. Raymond (Cecile’s father), is written  as a charismatic man, untethered by love and the like, who shocks everyone when he decides to marry his dead wife’s former friend Anne. The plot unfolds with Cecile devising an elaborate plan to break up the marriage before her family returns home to Paris. In many ways, the entire book is an articulation of the underlying reasons why Cecile becomes obsessed with breaking this marriage. It remains unknown whether it is her sacred relationship with her father, which exists in a bubble that she does not want to expand to include other people, or her own child-like (and confusing) encounters with love

Additionally, in part, she is motivated to break up the marriage due to Anne herself. Composed, calm and restricted, Anne is a force that is antonymous from her father and her lifestyles and ways of being. Anne is depicted as having a curious control over Cecile, which Cecile regards with equal parts fascination and caution. Anne and Cecile’s conversations in the book are some of the most intense scenes and capture an interesting intimacy. As as a reader, you wonder what lessons Cecile learns and resists from these strange but powerful interactions with Anne, and the ways in which it moulds her identity.

To conclude, the rhythm and flow of the book are tumultuous, with unexpected twists and moments that can allude to Cecile’s state of mind, and the ebbs and flows of her changing identity across the summer.

Astha Kumar

Food for thought: 

Q. In what ways is Anne the villain in the book, and in what ways does she redeem herself from that status?

 

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January 29, 2022 · 11:19 pm

Bombal’s “The Shrouded Woman” : Reflections from beyond the grave

It is certainly always a delight to hear female voices in modernist literature, and Bombal’s “The Shrouded Woman” is no exception. It is rare to see older female protagonists/ narrators depicted in literature, and that reason alone could suffice for making the book an interesting read. The novel is a narrated by the corpse of a Chilean woman, and depicts her reflections of life in death, as she lies to rest in her grave. Instead of providing a holistic review, I have chosen a few segments from Bombal’s writing that had a impacted me.

The book begins with the narrator’s taking delight in the gaze she is subjected to as a woman, even in death. Through unique self- reflexivity as a corpse, the narrator takes pleasure in her physical appearance at her own funeral and “she takes delight in submitting herself to the gaze of all” (p. 157). This speaks to the constant “gaze” women are subjected to and creates a paradox in defining the fine line between unwanted attention and enjoyment of it. Moreover, her reflexivity as a corpse creates interesting observations through the gift of hindsight, in a tone that is often perplexing and ambivalent. She wonders “must we die to know things” (p. 176), re-evaluating the subtle pointlessness of drowning in misery after her first heartbreak. It also provides commentary on the broader wasted opportunities to live life while one can, and to desire the gifts of hindsight earlier on in life.

Another recurring theme in the book that intrigued me was the narrator’s connection to God and religion. Through instances of questioning her faith, and the existence of God, Bombal creates a powerful concept of agency that is often not afforded to women, especially in patriarchal societies. She says, “God seemed to me so remote, and so sever”. This positions women as having agency in the form of strong ideas, independent thought and being curious. Their minds are depicted as free from capture from the patriarchal cage that surrounds them, which reads to me as an act of rebellion against the missionary movement of the West and the mandatory adherence to God that was demanded of all people, including women.

On an concluding note, another observation I made was that the male characters in the book- whether it was the narrator’s lover, father, or brother are depicted as deeply flawed in the narrator’s mind, which creates active space for women to shine in the book, even given the constraints of their material and worldly conditions. On page 182, she talks about the “price women have to pay” when they refuse to conform to the pillars of patriarchy, but she talks about it in a light which is celebratory of women who choose to do so.

Astha Kumar

Food for thought: 

What are your thoughts on this particular line that comes from the ending paragraph of the book- “Alone, she would at last be able to rest, to die. For she had suffered the death of the living.”

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January 24, 2022 · 6:13 pm

Paris Peasant- an inquiry into the past?

Words like historic, romanic and chic are a part of my common vocabulary when I think about Paris. However, through reading Aragon’s “Paris Peasant” (1994) , I was offered an opportunity to imagine a distinctively different Paris. In his vivid descriptions of the city, it’s places and people and things, the narrator induces an almost painful nostalgia through his  surrealist tone- ..”in this world that surrounded me and which seemed to me to be a prey to quite new obsessions” (113).  The old order of the world was disintegrating, and the world was on the brink of change during the time of Aragon’s writing, and he posits the narrator as witnessing and processing this shift through meticulously archiving the daily, and the mundane.

Aragon’s descriptions of the mundane descriptions of landscape, setting and people (friends and strangers alike) are a testament to the fact that the old world is not redundant. He writes  about sacred places at the turn of the century- “At least each space of space is meaningful, like a syllable of some dismantled world” (169).  Through this description alone, Aragon engages in the brave act of preserving history. The ordinary times, even as they are re-shaped into something extraordinary by temporality, cannot deem the past as unimportant in its original form.

As a reader, I felt the narrator move through life embodying the ethic of the avant-garde. Time becomes clung to objects and setting, which appear almost ghost-like. I believe this spectral feeling is created within the readers because Aragon does not not rely on a plot or characters to illustrate the aforementioned themes in his work. Instead, he relies on the literary tactic of stream of consciousness, where the flow of his thoughts become the words on the paper and the backbone of the story. To me, this promotes the idea of the ghost setting, and ghost object and ghost people referenced in his work are an entity worthy of social examination, and not just as dead and forgotten as the tidal wave of time seeks to wipe them out.

Overall, the book creates a feeling of the narrator hanging in between remembering what is gone and cautiously awaiting what it yet to come by offering a still, provocative account pf the present- “I do not seek the right. I seek the concrete.” (202). This is culturally revolutionary because many people associate the turn of the century and technological innovation as a symbol of development. The new world is an embodiment of progress, but the process of such changes might reveal significant details, as evident in Aragon’s work.

Astha Kumar

Food for thought: 

While recognizing the broad usage of surrealism in Aragon’s work, can we maybe point to smaller and specific instances of its usage?

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