Tag Archives: week10

11/17/21

The “Voice In-Between”

The adolescent “narrative voice” of Yunior in “Fiesta, 1989” is what intrigued me the most this week. In “Funeral for a Bird,” we explored the literary device of the child narrator, which we determined conferred a sense of innocence on the reading. For Máximo, it was his inexperience with life that shaped his worldview, and thus, the way that we as readers perceived his world. In other texts, alternatively, was the hyperaware “adult narrator.” In Grieving, for instance, the narrative voice of Rivera-Garza has seen and heard too much to ever operate once again from the state of childlike bliss; her reading is tainted by her knowledges of political unrest, death, and reality. Falling in the middle of this “child-adult” narrative voice is Yunior’s. Like Máximo, he is not yet old enough to identify how his father’s abuse, affair, and skewed family dynamics relate to deeper questions about political and social issues, poverty and diaspora. Yet like the “adult voice,” his is mature enough to advance a bit of a critique of his situation. So, as readers we are presented with this “in-between” narrative voice that simultaneously makes us sympathetic to the parts of it that are still “childlike,” while at the same time Yunior’s awareness of his situation resonates with us as readers from the outside looking in. I wonder what a younger reader (say, 13 or 14) would make of this text – would they find Yunior’s adolescent narrative voice overly mature, or on-par with their own?

11/15/21

(Our) parade fell

In this reading, I was confused but so intrigued at the same time, primarily when they were constantly referring to me (us) in the reading. The word “you” comes across repeatedly, that much that I centered myself inside of the story, almost as if I could feel it and see it. “Luckily, in the last visit, you managed to bring in some books.” (page 108), as if we as readers were friends with the narrator. Almost as if we both share the same passion and impotence of wanting to escape. But how is there an escape route when there is not an exit and ability to speak up, to begin with?. Moreover, silence is a highly discussed theme. The narrator shows the true background story of Cuba by documenting what was never told and the consequences of standing for yourself (he ends up in jail). 

I also want to talk about how hope is also mentioned, “Time passes, time passes, you say.” (page 108), as if life could move on as if there were faith, something worth living for. Plus, noting metafiction “(Hope?)” on page 106 shows the unthinkable, dream, and final goal. Later, the plan changes and turns to revenge “… my triumph which has gone on growing thicker…” (page 113).

Coming back to what I initially mentioned. In the end, when the people jumped the fence and took shelter, the narrator says once again,” they couldn’t annihilate me-annihilate us– completely.” (page 119), as if we were inside with him. However, he mentions he can’t find us, “really, will we still be able to recognize each other” (page 120), making it a little confusing for the reader to identify themselves and figure out which side they are standing on. Still, it seems we (as readers) allied to those “wealthy people” and stayed outside and got ourselves caught without an escape, making us realize that we (someone close to the writer) betrayed him.