Jose Eduardo Agualusa’s The Society of Reluctant Dreamers was a very interesting read. It felt surreal in one hand, but also had a lot of relatable, applicable lessons to take away as a reader.

The first thing that stood out to me was protagonist Daniel Benchimol’s unstable state. Although in the early pages Benchimol stated “I discovered I was able to live on almost nothing and be happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I was back then,” Benchimol’s life – as a husband, father, and journalist – wasn’t successful (albeit the term “successful” is only subjective) (12). Particularly interesting was his role as a father to his daughter, Karinguiri. I felt sorry for Benchimol when his ex-wife Lucrecia blamed him for the arrest of their daughter Karinguiri, stating “this is all your fault, you’re the one who gets her going, with that armchair revolutionary talk of yours.” I felt sorry because as Benchimol himself stated, he knew “it was true” (116). Benchimol, though he did not explicitly state this, would have felt guilty for his daughter’s suffering – going on a hunger strike in prison.

However, this sorry feeling changed when I read what Karinguiri had to say about this matter. In a letter to her father, Karinguiri stated, “I’ve ended up in this prison because I decided to be Angolan. I’m fighting for my citizenship. […] Fear isn’t a choice. There’s no way to avoid feeling fear. And yet we can choose not to give in to it. My companions and I have chosen to fight against fear” (217). Although Karinguiri might have been suffering physically, I think she was living true to where her heart was leading; she was doing what she believed was right, to get her world closer to happiness. In this way, I dropped my sorry feeling for Benchimol; instead, I was inspired by Karinguiri. Her life “divided between different worlds” and her fight for “the Angola of the poor” inspired me (216-217). In a way, it almost seems like Benchimol’s revolutionary talks laid the foundation for Karinguiri to “dream” – to dream of democracy, and a world for the poor majority of Angola. It is this other meaning of “dream” – as in an ambition or ideal in reality – that caught my attention, despite all the other talks about nightly dreams. In my interpretation, I think this other meaning of “dream” – especially relating to Karinguiri’s story – is worth nothing.

On the other hand, the more conventional meaning of dream – relating to sleep – also interested me. Specifically, the sleep imaging machine caught my attention. The idea wasn’t new, as I’ve heard of machines similar to that before, but it certainly was frightening. Knowing that dreams “express our forbidden desires,” as it was said in the lecture, the thought of this dream-imaging machine seemed to cruel.

Question: On page 171, it is stated “it might be possible for us to remember future events, if they’re very important or very traumatic.” On a similar note, the book suggests that “foreshadowing dreams” can be true. Do you think this idea of a “foreshadowing dream” was mentioned in a literal way – as in, do you think the author actually believed this idea was plausible? Or did the author want to imply a parallel between dreams and literature, trying to suggest that literature can affect the future?