Tag Archives: gender

Week 7, Rodoreda, “The Time of the Doves”

Posted on by

I was passionately engaged while reading The Time of the Doves, mainly for two reasons. First of all, I really enjoyed the narrative of the novel. I felt like the first-person narration of Natalia made the narrative more credible. Normally, first-person narratives are less credible than a “neutral” third-person view, but since this story was about Natalia’s life, nothing could’ve been more credible than her own thoughts; in this way, the benefits of a first-person narrative of this book resembled that of “The Shrouded Woman” by Bombal. In both books, I did not care if there could have been “another side of the story”. All I cared about was what the narrator perceived and thought, which made the first-person narrative most suitable and credible. Secondly, I really enjoyed the temporality and linearity of the book and plot. It felt like specific plot events did not take up majority of the pages; everything seemed more focused on Natalia’s thoughts and emotions. Moreover, I think the majority of the plot is more about how Natalia “lives on”. Though significant events happen throughout the book, the plot continues quickly without being stopped in one event for a long time. Considering that the narration was Natalia’s own thoughts, I felt like Natalia was too busy – with work, housework, raising children – with her life that she had no time to stop at a single event; life was continuous survival for her, survival through endless sufferings. She just had to keep living on.

While reading, I noticed (and indicated on the pages) a lot of instances where I found Natalia suffering: guilt after leaving Pere, on the motorcycle with Quimet, the disasters with the doves, having no choice but to send Toni away, living through times of war (hunger and pain), and marriage Antonio. The last suffering, marriage with Antonio, isn’t truly a suffering; in fact, it seemed like the foundation for Natalia and her kids’ lives to get better. However, reading the last parts of the book, I couldn’t stop feeling a bittersweet, guilty, and incomplete emotion. The actual events of Natalia’s life seemed to be leading her towards recovery from the terrors of hunger and pain. However, I felt like Natalie still suffered. She was unstable and always seemed preoccupied with thoughts of the past. The last few pages where she finally crossed a street implied that Natalia was recovering, that she was reconstituting her life in a positive way. However, the ellipsis after the last word of the book, “Happy . . .” bothers me. Some part of me doubts that Natalia is truly happy, while I truly wish she would become happy.

Although I feel like this blogpost was clustered with emotions and thoughts, I want to end with an organized question: Natalia’s life can be characterized as a “continuous effort to carry on”. Knowing this, do you think Natalia is truly happy by the ending of the story? Can Natalia ever become happy again, despite everything she has gone through?

Week 6, Sagan, “Bonjour Tristesse”

Posted on by

Reading Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse felt like riding a playground swing. For me this book was full of an ongoing internal contrast in Cécile’s mind between admiration and resentment towards Anne. On one hand, the difference that Cécile and her father had from Anne seemed to be highlighting class differences; Elsa, Cécile, and her father’s lives were categorized as “Bohemianism”, whereas Anne’s life was that of “a cultivated, well-organized, bourgeois existence” (46). I noticed how Cécile took advantage of this difference to cognitively separated her and her father from Anne, strengthening her treatment of Anne as an intruder and “danger” to the happiness of her and her father.

However, at the same time, Cécile seemed to have viewed Anne with great admiration. Cécile explicitly said, “I greatly admired her” (10). Cécile believed that Anne’s addition (or intrusion) to the family would benefit her as she said, “she would guide me, relieve me of responsibility, and be at hand whenever I might need her. She would make both my father and me into paragons of virtue” (44). I felt that throughout the entirety of the book, there was tension between Cécile’s admiration and resentment towards Anne. Perhaps Cécile’s admiration towards Anne fueled her resentment, as Anne’s attempt to bring order and responsibility to Cécile’s life kept Cécile from liking herself; Cécile, “who was naturally meant for happiness and gaiety, had been forced by [Anne] into self-criticism and a guilty conscience” (52). Cécile undoubtedly admired Anne and her “bourgeois existence”; however, she viewed Anne’s orderly life as something far too superior, something that will require too much work, responsibilities, and changes to her current life that seem to her as unwanted sacrifices.

I felt that love was a key driver of this book. Cécile’s attitude towards love started cynical, where she viewed it as mere sensation rather than happiness (20). Then, love changed to a strong “physical” and “intellectual” pleasure that seemed to make her happy when she was with Cyril; it seemed like a true realization until this point. However, her realization of love took a drastic turn when she realized that it was not Cyril that she loved, but she “had loved the pleasure he gave [her]” (127). Perhaps this attitude accurately summarizes the novel’s focus on sensuality, pleasure, and irresponsibility. At a certain point Cécile started to resemble Anne; she started to think about the future and formed tactics that were derived from critical thoughts. However, her irresponsibility remained the same; she is driven by emotions, usually resentment, and never thought of the consequences that could happen by her actions.

To close off my blog, I would like to ask a question: Throughout the book we never got proper insight on Cécile’s mother. Considering that this book had a first-person narrative, do you think the lack of insight on her deceased mother has any implications? Is it merely because her deceased mother is uninfluential to the plot, or perhaps, is Cécile repressing thoughts about her mother?

Week 5, Moravia, “Agostino”

Posted on by

 

Reading Moravia’s Agostino brought me a new perspective towards the transition between youth and adulthood. While I was trying to empathize the situation Agostino was going though, such as him witnessing his mother’s relationship with the young man, I could not understand – by heart – what Agostino could have felt in those moments. In this way, I felt quite attached to Agostino’s thoughts; I did not have any prejudice or bias towards the scenes he was witnessing, so it was easier to perceive – as information – what Agostino was feeling.

What really stood out to me was how Moravia depicted the change of Agostino’s thoughts and perspective towards his mother. In the early parts of the book, where he first saw his mother “let herself fall awkwardly into the arms of [the young man]”, Agostino was confused of why his mother would indulge in a “feminine clumsiness” (11). Then, as he learned more about adult sexuality from the boys at Vespucci beach, his initial misunderstanding turned to “complicity, curiosity, and mug, glum approval” (47). This initial change of thought and perspective was weirdly understandable; I could not relate to it because I did not go through the same thought process nor achieved the end product similar to Agostino, but I was able to follow this change of thought without denying it. Furthermore, it was interesting to see the instances where Agostino had to hold back what he truly wanted to say to his mother, showing how there was that ongoing conflict between his innocent youth and emerging early adulthood. For instance, Agostino wanted to shout to his mother, “cover yourself, stop showing yourself to me, I’m not who I sued to be” (69).

Although it was tempting to view Agostino in a psychoanalytic perspective, I chose not to do so. The reason for this goes back to Aragon’s obsession over sensuality. Agostino’s story, which was a short instance of his much wider life, was full of new sensations; it was almost as if Agostino was piled up by new stimuluses that he could not resist but pursue. In this way, Agostino let his sensual experiences guide his thoughts, rather than rationalizing everything. Therefore, I respected this “pursuant towards sensuality” and decided to follow along the same line; I, too, focused on understanding Agostino in regards to sensuality, rather than logical rationalization.

To conclude my blog, I’d like to end with a question: Moravia, intentionally or unintentionally left out big gaps on Agostino’s life; his regular day-to-day life, as well as his previous relationship with his father. How do you think his regular day-to-day life would have changed, after his summer instance? Also, it was told that his relationship with mother had changed. How about the metaphysical connection he must have had with his father? Do you think his attitude towards his deceased father would have changed?

Week 4, “The Shrouded Woman”

Posted on by

Reading Bombal’s The Shrouded Woman was a fascinating experience. Not only did it create a unique perspective that I had never even dreamt of, but it also facilitated a metaphysical environment for me to reflect on my own life.

I truly enjoyed the fact that the narrator was a dead person. Although I highly doubt that what happened in the story happens in reality, it was fascinating to read Bombal’s creativity in this matter. Speaking of creativity, I believe Bombal successfully “created” an authentic world in her book. In other words, she created an environment in her book where all the characteristics of the world were derived from her creativity. In this way, I view Bombal’s book as a fictional literature that is “real” in itself. In addition, I was heavily impacted by the perspectives of this book. While following the Ana Maria’s reflections of her past, I, too, reflected on my life so far; I reflected upon the relationships I had, my actions in certain situations, and how I could have been perceived by other people. The fact that Bombal’s book affected me in this way shows that it was “real” in its own sense. It created concrete effects in my life, giving me a new perspective to view my own life.

Another notable characteristic of Bombal’s book was how the role of women was depicted. Before reading the book, and during the first sections of the book, I had a strong expectation that this book would depict women to be inferior and “controlled”. Part of this initial expectation proved right, as the women of the story seemed to have limited opportunities in any department of life than men had. For instance, Ricardo went abroad for his studies, whereas no other women did the same. However, the way women were portrayed, at least in the case of the narrator, was against this prejudice of women being inferior and “controlled”. This is especially in the case of Ana Maria, the shrouded woman. Following Ana Maria’s reflections, it almost felt as if she had superior wisdom than any other people who were living. Ana Maria shows acceptance, sympathy, and pity towards the people who had hurt her in her life. She depicts the sorrowful events of her past as something silly and childish. Perhaps this also shows a separation between life and death; the wisdom we could only gain through death. For some reason, however, this “superiority” of the narrator being in an extraterrestrial realm made me perceive a sense of superiority of women. Moreover, this understanding was strengthened after reading about Maria Griselda’s prominence.

To finish of my blogpost, I would like to ask a question: Ana Maria freed herself from her “terrestrial anxieties” through reflecting and evaluating the relationships she had and how those relationships affected her life. Do you have any “terrestrial anxieties”? Where do your “terrestrial anxieties” come from? How do you think you can free yourself from them?