Monthly Archives: February 2023

One Hundred Years of Solitude I

As I delved into Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, I found myself being transported to a world that felt like a distant memory, a world that felt like it was ripped straight from the pages of a dusty old book that has been sitting in the attic for ages. García Márquez’s masterful use of comedic writing style was evident from the very beginning, and it had me hooked from the first page. As I continued reading, I couldn’t help but feel like I was listening to the bizarre stories my grandparents used to tell me when I was a child, stories that had been passed down for generations and were now a part of the family’s collective memory.

Despite the book’s length, García Márquez’s whimsical and light-hearted approach made it a joy to read. The Buendia family’s long history was made more enjoyable by the author’s use of humor, which was both masterful and playful. Even in the midst of tragedy, García Márquez found a way to inject humor, as seen in the scene where the attackers discovered the identity of the person who bravely defended the headquarters. The description of the corpse as having “a woman’s full head of hair held at the neck with a comb and on his neck a chain with a small gold fish” (118) was immensely amusing, despite the dark nature of the scene.

As I read on, I was struck by the book’s use of magical realism, which added a layer of folktale undertones to the story. The idea of giving birth to a child with a pig’s tail due to incest and the discovery of a Spanish ship in the middle of a forest were just a few of the many fantastical elements that made the book so enchanting. These stories were written in a nostalgic way, reminiscent of the bedtime stories I used to hear from my grandmother when I was young. They were the kind of stories that didn’t need much explanation, and often defied our understanding of the world around us.

But there’s more to One Hundred Years of Solitude than just whimsy and nostalgia. The secluded town of Macondo, which is located in the middle of nowhere and unaware of the ongoings of the outside world, is a metaphor for Colombia on the world stage. I did not come to the realization that the town of Macondo represented the state of Colombia until I watched Jon’s interview with Gerald Martin. It is the book’s ability to connect real-life events as such and weave them into the story that makes it a literary masterpiece. I believe García Márquez’s ability to make these connections is what elevates One Hundred Years of Solitude from a whimsical tale to one of the greatest literary works of the 19th century.

Question: What impact does García Márquez’s use of magical realism have on the reader’s understanding of the world around them? How does this technique challenge traditional notions of reality and storytelling, and what does it reveal about the power of literature to capture the complexities of human experience?

Pedro Parámo

Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Parámo employed a non-linear storytelling structure that weaves together past and present timelines of Comala, as seen from the perspectives of various characters, predominantly Juan and Pedro. Though the structure can be perplexing, the theme of timelessness was one aspect that I appreciated about the book, which I believe serves to emphasize the freedom of speech granted to each character in their afterlife. This aspect stands in stark contrast to the living world of past Comala’s, where Pedro Paramo’s tyranny stifled the townspeople’s voices. 

The fluidity and sudden shifts in the characters’ interpretations of death added a captivating layer to the story. The coldheartedness with which Pedro Paramo treated the lives and deaths of those around him, such as the taking of Susana’s father’s and Toribio Aldrete’s lives, demonstrated a disregard for human life. This disregard was later mirrored in the villagers’ apathy shown towards Susana’s passing, leading them to meet their own final resting place. It appeared as though a cycle was at play, and the doom of Comala had put an end to the oppressive rule of caciquism, poised to embrace a future of equality.

The representation of life and death for each character in the book was also thought-provoking. The characters’ definitions of life and death were distinct and personalized. For Pedro Parámo, living meant being with Susana, and for Susana, living meant dying along with her deceased husband, Florencio. The way each character defined life and death gave a unique perspective to the story. It made me think about the complexities of life and death and how each person’s experiences shaped their perspective on it.

In conclusion, Pedro Paramo is a captivating novel that explores the complexities of life and death. The unconventional narrative structure, which blends together past and present moments, and the unique representation of life and death for each character provide a haunting yet thought-provoking experience. I believe the deliberate blurring of the boundary between life and death could also symbolize the rural Mexican notion of the deceased still being present among the living, adding another layer of significance to the tales. The recurrent use of the “wind” metaphor throughout the narratives further highlights the fragility of life, particularly in the context of Mexican society.

Question: What are the other purposes of the non-chronological structure in Pedro Parámo, apart from providing freedom of speech and how does it contribute to the exploration of life and death?

Labyrinths

The journey through the collection of short stories in Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges was nothing less than a tumultuous ride. At first, Borges’ style of writing in the opening story, “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” left me feeling disoriented, as I struggled to comprehend the theme and keep pace with his whimsical flow of thoughts. The proliferation of details only added to my confusion, making it difficult for me to stay on track with the plot, if indeed there was one.

However, as I delved deeper into the story, I gradually surrendered to the realization that it was okay not to understand everything, and that I could always revisit it later; or perhaps the confusion is intentional. By the end of “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius“, I was deeply intrigued by Borges’ playful use of labyrinthine storytelling to prompt readers to reconsider the concept of time, something we have taken for granted since we first learned to tell time from a clock on a wall. In addition, the idea that the “two imaginary regions of Mlejnas and Tlön” (5) might not be as imaginary as they seem, much like the world of Upside Down in the popular Netflix series Stranger Things, was both intriguing and thought-provoking. It raised questions about the connection between time and space and their relationship with reality and fantasy, leading me to wonder how our conventional temporal and spatial perceptions help us differentiate between reality and the imaginary.

Out of all the short stories in Labyrinths, “The Circular Ruins” was my personal favorite. Revisiting the story from the beginning after reaching the end, it was clear that the magician was nothing more than a dream, conjured by another. The cyclic nature of the story, where the magician and his son both appear in similar spatial settings, only added to its appeal. The circular ruins in which both the magician and his son were born were a temple long ago consumed by fire, and I found that reading the story linearly did not immediately reveal the spatial similarities between the two characters, as I sort of wandered off the main path from all the “playfully” created distractions along the journey.

In conclusion, I am grateful to have had the opportunity to discover this new genre of literature, one that I know I would not have known existed if not for this course. Borges’ writing has definitely challenged my preconceived notions about time and space and has encouraged me to reconsider my understanding of reality and fantasy.

Question: Personally, I quite enjoyed being lost in Borges’ words, picking up clues here and there, then reconstructing them to form themes that (sort of) make sense to me. Do you enjoy the feeling of being “lost” in Borges’ works?