Elements of magical realism are juxtaposed with harsh realities in Carmen Naranjo’s short story “And We Sold the Rain” to portray the corruption of a developing nation’s government in a sardonic, satirical tone. In an attempt to escape its debilitating debt, the president of an unnamed Latin American country looks to unconventional methods of procuring funds. We can immediately grasp how unfairly the situation affects lower class citizens, and see the government’s inclination to ignore their struggle for their own gain.
The nation’s worsening conditions are evident: some neighbourhoods must now contend with the rising price of water bills and increased rates of violent crime, whereas others, characterized by “a whole alphabet of trade names of gleaming new cars” (151), are more distressed at their inability to travel to exotic destinations. The government considers various proposals, from imposing a tax on the air (151), to praying to patron saints (150), to creating a transnational aqueduct system to aid in selling their only remaining natural commodity: rainwater. They end up implementing this final idea, and while citizens are initially supportive of the rain funnels, the lack of precipitation soon destroys their beautiful “green” (153) land, leaving them with even less than before. It is at this point that people begin to travel through the aqueducts in hopes of finding a better life on the other side, and while they do for a short while, the final paragraph hints at the cycle beginning again.
Though the ideas of air taxes and rain funnels are implausible in the real world, it is precisely their comical nature alongside the sarcastic narration that allows readers to better understand how willing a government can be to exploit every last drop that their country can offer in order to rake more money in, even when it comes at the cost of losing the very people that make up the country.
Hi Izabella, and thank you for sharing your post! I found it really interesting, especially the last paragraph. Though I noticed some elements of magical realism, I hadn’t thought of them as a comedic, sarcastic tool. I see how you read it this way – the idea of air taxes and rain funnels is absurd. At the same time, I question whether these things are truly emblematic of magical realism. The air tax seems more like an absurdity, like something from a looney toon cartoon, and the rain funnel does as well. I wonder, however, if I only see it this way because of the comedic slant – most magical realism I have read was serious, tragic, a bit mystical, and so perhaps these elements don’t fit in for me because they’re too lighthearted. All together, this makes me question my understanding of magical realism; what is the distinction between absurdity and magical realism? Does the obviously comedic and exagerratory nature of these images stop them from being magical realism, which should feel perhaps more real?
Greetings Izabella, I found your the last paragraph of your post really interesting, but not for the reason you may think. When read your post, I wondered if the government was actually a government at all. Exploiting money from the people does not seem like a thing a solid government would do. For example, if a government in the real world started to extort air from its citizens, there would be massive outcries/riots, mass exodus, or a coup de ‘grace in the government, but that did not seem to happen at all. The people were content with a tax on air. This would not make sense. However, if the government was instead replaced by a major company like Google or Amazon, it would say a lot about capitalist society. Because companies are known to maximize profits even if it does cost its own employees health and well-being. What other things do you think this could also apply to?
Hi Izabella, I like your identification of magical realism in this text, but I’m not certain I agree with it. I, at first glance, hadn’t noticed how impossible it may seem to actually tax the people based on their air consumption. I was thinking along the lines of a flat tax fee paid by every living citizen for the right to consume oxygen. I then realized, while the air tax actually may be possible in practice in countries with a developed economy, it wouldn’t be in this setting. The citizens are too poor to pay taxes. The magical realism in this text, to me, is the idea that taxes on a poor population just create wealth for a nation.
Hi Griffin,
Since an air consumption tax would probably be approximately the same for each individual, I think that the proposed air tax is analogous to a poll tax (https://www.britannica.com/topic/poll-tax); a tax paid by every individual that is the same regardless of their economic standing. This is, of course, a regressive tax – people with low incomes would pay a larger percentage of their income in air consumption tax than people with high incomes. I think the inclusion of this concept demonstrates how, in periods of economic misery, it is the poor that shoulder most of the weight (both from the economic downturns themselves and the oftentimes flawed government policies that attempt to fix them).
What a generative post, Izabella! Like you, I’m convinced that there are magical realist tropes in Naranjo’s short story (e.g., fungal colony discussion, p. 153; whole villages travelling through aqueduct, p. 155), especially considered alongside her intertextual nod to Rulfo and García Márquez in the story. The irreverent tone and transnational economic critique demonstrate how a literary mode can evolve in different epochs to level different types of critique.
Love the discussions here, estudiantes míos!