Category Archives: despair

April 4, 2022 · 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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Filed under despair, fascism, heroism, history, Memory, political turmoil, Uncategorized

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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