Monthly Archives: March 2022

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?

6 Comments

Filed under despair, fascism, heroism, history, Memory, political turmoil, Uncategorized

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? 

1 Comment

Filed under abyss, future, history, language, Memory, nostalgia, war

Tagged as ,

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) 

 

1 Comment

Filed under authoritarianism, communism, history, language, mundane life, nostalgia, political turmoil, suspicion

Tagged as ,

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?  

 

2 Comments

Filed under dualities, Memory, postmodernism, puzzle, war

Tagged as ,