Tag Archives: identity

03/11/24

An Illicit Affair of Adolescence – The Lover

   “Everything flows towards the Pacific, no time for anything to sink, all is swept along by the deep and head-long storm of the inner current, suspended on the surface of the river’s strength” (Duras 22)

 

To fully understand what is happening in this novel, one must observe the disturbing content embedded.

The Lover is a story about an illicit affair between a young girl and an older man who just so happens to be Chinese. While on paper, many readers can assume that this entanglement is the worst of the novel. The young girl’s mother is incredibly abusive as well as her older brother is extremely violent and filled with rage.

With that out of the way, The Lover is a good book. I am not justifying these actions, but they serve as somewhat of an autobiographical retelling of this hidden love. The two titular lovers have not just age but race against them. This is what portrays such a complex narrative. The lovers are sharing an interracial relationship, thereby fighting against the prejudices stacked against them. When meeting for the first time at a dinner, there is an underlying tension as her “brother gorge themselves without saying a word to him” (Duras 51). While it is not said the two are in a relationship, the white brothers are still hesitant to this ‘outsider’. The book’s themes are so nuanced that readers can find themselves connecting with taboo characters like the older lover. He is an example of the wealth of narratives in this novel–Duras is so precise to flesh out everyone’s stories, because this is her authentic life.

Hence, the novel begins as Marguerite’s leap into a sexual awakening. It is another coming-of-age story except with a focus on love and desire. In the end, her and her lover don’t end up together–the latter’s father forbidding the son from marrying a white girl. It becomes a fleeting memory that has ached in Duras’s chest for a long time.

Between her sexual revelation, Duras becomes aged to the world–not in the sense of no longer being a virgin but in finally witnessing the true world. She is not afraid to release her true experiences, no matter how risqué. This novel serves as a woman trying to recollect her life–the sudden jumps between times indicate an authentic portrayal of memory.

My review comes up short because the book was so…complex.

Good books can have you writing long passages, carefully analyzing every detail, or it can have you sitting on the floor, trying to understand the emotional turmoil the book carried you along for.

I would say this book broke me, but that is a very dramatic statement.

 

“I see the war as I see my childhood. I see wartime in the reign of my elder brother as one. Partly, no doubt, because it was during the war that my younger brother died: his heart, as I’ve said, had given out, given up. As for my elder brother, I don’t think I ever saw him during the war. By that time it didn’t matter to me whether he was alive or dead. I see the war as like him, spreading everywhere, breaking in everywhere, stealing, imprisoning, always there, merged and mingled with everything, present in the body, in the mind, awake and asleep, all the time, a prey to the intoxicating passion of occupying that delightful territory, a child’s body, the body of those less strong, of conquered peoples. Because evil is there, at the gates, against the skin” (Duras 62-63)

 

Discussion Question

By titling the book The Lover, what is Duras really trying to convey? (Hint, it’s not about love)

How is the archetype of a “Lover” used to redefine Duras’s experiences? Can we argue that she is acting in opposition to this role? Or is she perhaps commenting on those loves that are not romantic per say?

 

Bonus

This book is severely uncomfortable in its themes, so please enjoy my message to society (the following is a joke)

Why must we, as a distinguished society, cast a shadow on fedoras? I prominently wore fedoras as a child and looked adorable. Case in point, here is proof from my father’s facebook – Gabby

 

03/5/24

The Hour of the Star, starring Macabéa, the Typist, Virgin, and Coca-Cola Fan. Et tu brute?!

“But who am I to rebuke the guilty? The worst part is that I have to forgive them. We must reach such a nothing that we indifferently love or don’t love the criminal who kills us. But I’m not so sure of myself:  I have to ask, though I don’t know who can answer, if I really have to love the one who slays me and ask who amongst you slays me. And my life stronger than myself, replies that it wants revenge at all cost and replies that I must struggle like someone drowning, even if I die in the end. If that’s the way it is, so be it” (Lispector 72)

 

How do I even try to comprehend this novel?

 

Macabéa, the titular character who is not named until at least halfway into the novel, is strange. Frequently described as dumb, Macabéa is someone who “doesn’t know herself except from living aimlessly” (Lispector 7). If she were to contemplate her existence wondering, “Who am I?’ She would fall flat on her face” (Lispector 7). Within these opening remarks from the narrator, we can infer his self-righteous nature. He cannot fathom the very being of Macabéa, or at least he cannot understand her.

“It’s a fear that those whose sense of self is rooted in knowing often have about those perceived to be unknowing” (Minor)

The entire creation of Macabéa in the narrator’s eyes reminded me of Nadja; Breton also created a woman to redirect his insecurities. Thus, the narrator portrays his own self-isolation onto Macabéa. He claims that he “ha[s] to seek a truth that is beyond [him]” (Lispector 12). It is a desire to understand the girl who exists as nothing. But nothing is something; the very nature of there being nothing implies its very existence.

“All roads are blocked to a philosophy which reduces everything to the word ‘no.’ To ‘no’, there is only one answer, and that is ‘yes.’ Nihilism has no substance. There is no such thing as nothingness, and zero does not exist. Everything is something. Nothing is nothing. Man lives more by affirmation than by bread” (Sorenson, From Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables)

Leaving the academic philosophical lecture aside, the book is a more extensive commentary on humanity; what does it mean to be human? Who am I?

Previously, I touched upon the narrator’s desire to understand Macabéa. This one theme is central to the short novel because everyone around her seems to be trying to make sense of her. We see the explosive attitude of Olímpico, the somewhat helpful Glória, or even the mystical fortune teller. Everyone exists around her to eliminate her individuality or, rather, her lack of it; the narrator describes her as “a dispensable cog” (Lispector 21). But she is nothing of the sort. Macabéa’s very own identity contrasts with society’s. We can see her “possess[ing] a keen ability to see beyond the structures that everyone else lives by” (Berry). She existed “ in [an] impersonal limbo, without reaching the worst or the best.” (Lispector 15). To be frank, she just was. 

Macabéa is a being that just exists. She watches the little things, narrowing her view onto a small speck in the entire universe. Living a quaint life can never changed for the girl; “Just as you could be sentenced to death, the fortune teller sentenced her to life” (Lispector 70), and it is when she truly started living that she died. 

This novel may be one of the strangest things I’ve ever read. A closer look envelops all these heavy philosophical topics tucked under 80 pages.

Quick quote about Greta Garbo: “There was a reason, beyond the exertions of the Hollywood publicity machine, that a single line she uttered in one movie—“I want to be alone”—became so fused with her image.”

 

Discussion Question

What truly makes a life ‘meaningful’?

 

Works Cited

Gerry, Rachel. “Writing the Void: A Review of Clarice Lispector’s “The Hour of the Star” Prism Online, 2021, https://prismmagazine.ca/2021/05/27/writing-the-void-a-review-of-clarice-lispectors-the-hour-of-the-star/

Minor, Abby. “That Full Void’: Clarice Lispector’s The Hour of the Star.” AGNI, 2021 https://agnionline.bu.edu/review/that-full-void-clarice-lispectors-the-hour-of-the-star/

Sorensen, Roy, “Nothingness”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2023 Edition), Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman (eds.), https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2023/entries/nothingness/

Talbot, Margaret. “What Was So Special About Greta Garbo?” The New Yorker, 2021 https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/12/13/what-was-so-special-about-greta-garbo

 

02/13/24

Deep Rivers – The Forces of Illa and Yllu: The Duality of Humanity

“For many days afterward I felt alone, completely isolated. I felt I should be like the great river, crossing the land, cutting through the rocks, undetainably and serenely flowing through mountains and forests, and entering the sea accompanied by a huge nation of birds that sang from the heavens” (63)

This novel digs deep into the discourse of the Western society and all those we oppose it. The conflict is struck from within Ernesto, existing between two different worlds. In the beginning, the novel stands out to be a journey with Ernesto and his father–moving around as needed for his father’s job. Within these narratives, one can see the beginning as a passing of knowledge from Ernesto’s father to him. However, when Ernesto is enrolled in the Catholic boarding school things take a sinister tone.

There are many recurring motifs present in the book. We have the mentally ill woman who is involved sexually with some of the boys (sometimes without her consent), the recurring bullying, and just a lack of familiarity. One of the biggest issues within Ernesto’s life is his disconnect. There are many times when such Western ideals cannot link about to the Indigenous thinking of his past. In the West, humanity exists apart from the world–living as beings on the Earth. Whereas in many other cultures, including that of Andean thinking is about the interconnectedness of humanity and nature–we exist inside the large kingdom of Earth. There are many recurring times where Ernesto is fed Western ideals, but in the end, he is able to reaffirm his own identity.

A symbol that is prevalent throughout the whole novel is that of the Zumbayllu. Described as a spinning top toy, the Zumbayllu is a representation of Ernesto’s eventual place in the school–it is at a time where he no longer is isolated and can start opposing the system around him. When Ernesto first sees the Zumbayllu it is if a light switched in his head–this object is apart of his past that was denied to him at the school. The Zumbayllu seems to exist as a magical force that unlocks all of Ernesto’s memories growing up.

The Zumbayllu then leads into the introduction of Quechuan terms and culture. To start, the Tankayllu “is the name of the inoffensive humming insect” (Argueadas 64) that children would chase around–mirroring the dynamics of the Zumbayllu. Another memory is that of the Pinkuyllu, a sort of giant flute played at celebrations, and the Wak’rapuku, a large trumpet “made of bull’s horn” (Argueadas 66).  These bursts of Ernesto’s culture showcase his perseverance for his identity.

The more difficult ones to understand is that of Illa and Yllu. Illa is explained as “certain kind of light” which goes hand-in-hand with the suffix Yllu meaning a sound of “music created by the movement of light objects” (Argueadas 64). It’s important to note that while this is one such definition, Illa and Yllu have many definitions. They represent a duality of beings: think of the sun and the moon, or good and bad. They are opposites but not in a hostile sense; they both exist as a companion to one another. We can see this similar thinking in other cultures such as that of Yin and Yang–opposite forces that must work in tandem. This thinking is seen throughout the course of Ernesto’s growth. Ernesto had to see the world in both the good and bad light. The synchronous nature of creativity and destruction is necessary for balance. Towards the ending of chapter 6 (Zumbayllu), Ernesto goes back to the courtyard alone to play with the Zumbayllu. This moment of winding up the toy and watching it fly resulting in “a great joy, fresh and pure, illumin[ing] [Ernesto’s] life” (Argueadas 87). The key word there is illumine, which is similar to illuminate, representing a spiritual enlightenment. Ernesto can find spiritual peace amongst the sea of chaos as reflected in his identity.

While there are many other themes present in the book, I personally enjoyed the symbolism of the Zumbayllu and the concept of opposite forces (also the plague as a whole is a metaphor for trying to eliminate the Andean peoples) Deep Rivers represents a raw account of cultural dissonance during a period of conflict between the Andean peoples and the Spanish people. It is truly one of the most profound novels I have read in a while. The mentioning of Catholicism is executed very well throughout the book–portrayed in a way that acts as yet another oppressive force. It is in constant opposition with the Andean ways of thinking, but unlike Illa and Yllu, Catholicism will not live in alongside it.

“Who is capable of setting the bounds between heroism and the iciness of a great sorrow?” (172)

 

Discussion Question:

In the beginning of the novel there is a mention to Argueadas use of personification in the novel. With the title Deep Rivers, Argueadas is making a statement not just the actual depth of the Andean rivers, but the depth of the Andean culture itself in the country of Peru. What are some differences between Ernesto’s way of thinking and the boys at the boarding school?

Additionally, we have seen the Zumbayllu’s impact on Ernesto, what do you feel the other boys see when they think of it? What do you think could be an object symbolic to the other boys (i.e Palacitos’s coin)?

 

“Gold is something that human beings discover deep down in the rocks, or in the sands of the rivers. Everyone is exalted by its dull gleam, even if we only fancy we see some similar glow in the sand or in the streaks of minerals on the dark walls of a cave.” (218)

 

The painting I have here is from Peruvian painter, Fransico (Pancho) Fierro. With his background in Spanish, Indigenous, and African descent, Fierro was the perfect artist for Ernesto’s story. In this watercolour painting, Fierro is depicting traditional Peruvian culture (or at least how it was around 1850). This painting is longly titled: “A man riding a mule, his whip raised, another mule loaded with grass alongside, from a group of drawings depicting Peruvian dress”