Week 14 – Conclusion

5 Replies

SPAN 312C was an enjoyable journey, one that I’m extremely sad about it’s closure. Being an RMST 202 alumni (lol) I was really looking forward to learning more about the themes related to Latin American literature, especially magical realism, from Professor Jon. Reflecting on the past four months, that is certainly what I got out of the course.

First of all, I have to say that I still don’t quite know what magical realism really is. I can’t really define it, nor can I pick it out within a certain book like I can do with other narrative devices. However, one thing I learned was that magical realism should be approached more as a ‘lens’ through which we view certain aspects of a story, and not so much as a literary device. For me, Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude was most helpful in giving me a better understanding of what magical realism might be within a book. For example, the fantastical event of the flight to heaven alongside a heavier theme of the book that ‘everything comes to an end’ seemed to me as a good indicator of what magical realism could be. The constant interplay between fantasy and reality seemed to me like the best definition I can come up with magical realism, and it also goes along with the title of our course, “Hopscotch!”

Secondly, a very interesting aspect of a lot of the readings was the use of a child narrator—from Mama Blanca, Cartucho, etc. While at first I questioned the credibility of a child narrator, reading such books made me change my mind. The unfiltered, perhaps naïve, perspective of a child felt more authentic and credible. At times it was gruesome, like the part on “General Sobarzo’s Guts” in Cartucho, but at least it felt like the child narrator wasn’t ‘picking and choosing’ what to include or exclude in the book. At the same time, however, all the books weren’t actually written by children; this realization raised more interesting thoughts. Why did the authors choose a child narrator? What purpose those the child narrator serve? Is there some sort of political agenda that the author wants to spread, secretly, through the narration of a child? While these questions cannot be answered directly, they still feed interesting thoughts and discussions. In a fairness, Cristina Rivera Garza did write, “Sometimes the best informants are women and children” (The Taiga Syndrome, p. 25).

To end this course with a question: What was your favorite book from this course? Why? Were there any aspects of the book that helped you understand magical realism and/ or Latin American literature in general?

Thank you very much Professor Jon and Daniel for making this an unforgettable journey for all of us.

Week 13, Rivera Garza, “The Taiga Syndrome”

3 Replies

Cristina Rivera Garza’s The Taiga Syndrome was an eye-catching read, to say the least. It was adventurous and mysterious, while also difficult to understand what was going on at times. Simultaneously, the book also had some really resonating quotes that not only intensified the plot of the story, but also made me think—in more abstract terms—about life and our world.

To characterize both the beginning and ending of the story, each ends of the book were mysterious, in I had a strong yearning for more clarification. The very abstract quote written on the telegram, “’WHAT ARE WE LETTING IN WHEN WE SAY GOODBYE?’” was just the beginning of this growing curiosity. I questioned, “who exactly was this man, who hired the detective (our narrator)” and “who exactly is our narrator?” (p. 5). I just wanted to know more about the context—the place, people, and exact situation of the investigation—for my own sense of security. With the lack of this, I think I felt quite lost; I was questioning every advancement I made throughout the book, with a sense of excitement that came from the false hope that all my questions would be answered in a blockbuster ending.

This ‘blockbuster ending’ never occurred. However, the ending still gave me some chills. First of all, I wonder what exactly the ending of the story is. Does the book come to a proper closure? “At the foot of a volcano” (p. 119) is what left me an additional influx of questions. At first, I thought I was overthinking, but after going through the lecture, I think I was going towards the right direction with this book.

“This story that almost literally has no end is not only a fairy tale awry, but also a detective story whose poetics of failure point to the end of sovereignty without obviously establishing any alternatives. We can no longer even escape to the vanishing woods” (Rivera Garza Lecture, p. 1).

Like what Professor Jon stated, I also thought the book “almost literally has no end” (Rivera Garza Lecture, p. 1). In a literal sense, the quest to the Taiga forest the begun at the start of the book did come to an end, albeit a failed one. However, although I’m not sure exactly why, I keep getting a sense that there is something more left to the book; and Professor Jon’s quote—“Had his first wife really “died in an accident, years ago” as he is rather too quick to tell the narrator (15)? Is the detective missing the real case, right under her nose?”—added to this feeling (Rivera Garza Lecture, p.7).

Question: Personally, do you think the story came to a proper closure? Why do you think so? What makes a proper ‘ending’?

Week 12, Indiana, “Papi”

3 Replies

Rita Indiana’s Papi was a thought-provoking read. In terms of difficulty, it was one of the ‘lighter’ reads—comparably bigger fonts, very colloquial narration, and manageable length. However, this book made me reflect on my relationship with my father and family in general.

“Papi’s there, around any corner. But you can’t sit down and wait for him cuz that’s a longer and more painful death. It’s better to make other plans, to just stay in your PJs and watch cartoons from six in the morning until midnight, or even go out for a stroll, which is a game Mami made up for herself called if-Papi-wants-you-he-can-come-find-you” (1).

This was such a sad and powerful quote that got me really interested in the book right from the get-go. Being introduced to the character Papi through this context, I had so many initial questions regarding the character—such as “what does this ‘Papi’ do, to not always ‘want’ to be with his daughter?” I even questioned if he was alive or not. However, after getting to know much more about Papi, his unique traits, his unrealistically never-ending list of possessions, and his twisted (?) love life, I realized that he just wasn’t an ordinary—nor a good—father; at least in my opinion. He definitely was portrayed as what Professor Jon described as a “macho man lifted straight from the stereotypes of Latin American and Caribbean pop culture masculinity” (Indiana Lecture, p.1).

In the lecture, Professor Jon stated, “So that narrator has to come to terms with the loss of someone who was never quite there (for her) in the first place” (p. 1). This got me reflecting on my relationship with my dad. For quick context, I have been separated from my dad since kindergarten, as my mom and I came to Canada for my education and my dad stayed in Korea to work; my parents are still together, but our family just lived separated. Growing up without a ‘father figure’ throughout my daily life while still ‘having a father’, there were many aspects of the narrator that I was able to relate to. However, I was still able to visit my dad when “I” wanted to (a big difference with the narrator), and my dad supported both my mom and I to his best ability. So for me, when I have to “come to terms with the loss of someone who was never quite there [for me]” but still present more or less in my life, I think I will feel a big sense of loss and sorrow (Indiana Lecture, p.1).

Q: I wonder how others felt while reading about the father character (Papi). Did you feel uncomfortable? What sort of emotions did you have towards Papi?

Week 11, Bolaño, Distant Star

5 Replies

Roberto Bolaño’s Distant Star was an intriguing novel. The book’s narrative style felt innovative, weaving a chilling story of political extremism, artistic ambition, fascism (though I still struggle to grasp this idea), and the destructive forces of love. Bolaño’s use of a fragmented, non-linear narrative structure created a sense of disorientation, perhaps mirroring the chaos and uncertainty of the novel’s historical and political context. At the same time, Bolaño’s character development and dialogue helped me empathize with the novel’s flawed and damaged protagonists, even as their actions became increasingly brutal.

Professor Ryan Long, during the conversation video with Professor Jon, pointed out the specialty of Bolaño’s narrative style. He stated:

“It’s really interesting that the novel sometimes uses the first person plural, you have a first person singular narrator who sometimes uses first person plural and sometimes it seems like he’s referring to himself and Bibiano kind of working together through these correspondence, but you could also imagine that it’s the first person narrator and Arturo kind of having a conversation; the novel has a really strong oral quality as if its narration were a conversation at times” (10:20 ~11:20).

This quote interested me because I didn’t perceive the narrative style to be sort of a ‘conversation’ or ‘collaboration’ until suggested by Professor Long. I’m not sure if having this insight would change my perception of the book or the credibility of the narrator, but I wonder if there would be any change in my reading experience if I were to go back to the book with this new thought.

Furthermore, one of the most striking aspects of Distant Star was the way that Bolaño used different narrators and perspectives to create a complex and multifaceted portrayal of the novel’s central character, Wieder. Initially introduced as a charismatic young poet, Wieder gradually becomes a murderer, obsessed with the coup. However, Bolaño never allowed me to see Wieder solely as a villain; instead, the readers were shown glimpses of his vulnerability, his fear, and his twisted sense of love, which made him a complex figure.

Reading this book reminded me of Roberto Bolaño’s other novel, Amulet, which I read last year in RMST 202. For a very quick context, in Amulet, the narrator is a woman who is held captive in a public bathroom during the Pinochet coup. Thinking of the two novels side to side, both novels explore the legacy of political violence and repression in Latin America, and both use innovative narrative techniques to explore themes of memory, identity, fascism, and artistic ambition. However, while Amulet felt like a more straightforwardly structured novel, Distant Star felt more fragmented and complex.

Question: Although this book is fiction, how credible was the ‘unnamed narrator’ for you? In comparison with Menchu last week, were there any narrative styles/ techniques that made the narrator of Distant star more (or less) credible?

Week 10, Menchú, “I, Rigoberta Menchú: An Indian Woman in Guatemala”

2 Replies

Rigoberta Menchú’s book, I, Rigoberta Menchú: An Indian Woman in Guatemala, was a powerful account of the struggles and oppression faced by the indigenous people in Guatemala. It was a striking read, one that brought up a strong exchange of emotions.

One of the most striking aspects of Menchú’s story was the sheer brutality and violence that she and her community were subjected to. The indigenous people in Guatemala were treated brutally, their rights systematically violated. Menchú’s description of how she and her community were forced to work in virtual slavery on the large estates owned by the ladinos, and how they were denied access to basic resources like education and healthcare, was extremely painful to read. While the Menchú’s sufferings were painful to read, the strength and hope she and her community held onto was inspiring. The quote that resonated with me was “They’re dead but our people keep their memory alive through our struggle against the government, against an enemy who oppresses us. We don’t need very much advice, or theories, or documents: life has been our teacher” (181).

While reading the book, I constantly found parallels between Menchú’s experiences and those of other marginalized groups around the world: the indigenous peoples of Canada and the Jewish victims during the Holocaust (as I am currently studying the Holocaust in a different course). Despite the extreme violence and repressions they faced, the indigenous people in Guatemala fought back against their oppressors; Menchú herself became involved in the movement for indigenous rights and worked tirelessly to promote awareness and advocacy for her community. Similarly, the indigenous people in Canada have been fighting for their rights and the recognition of their sovereignty for decades, and the Jewish community has worked to ensure that the atrocities of the Holocaust are never forgotten.

Lastly, thinking more broadly about the genre of this book, I questioned the credibility of biographical works in general. There is no doubt that biographical works—and the individual-level of history—are crucial aspects to better understand a historical event. However, biographical works do have their limitations; they are mostly based off one’s memories, which can easily be distorted. Additionally, biographical works are usually told by one specific perspective; it undoubtedly contains personal bias, sometimes explicit, other times not.

Dwelling on this thought, my question for this week is:

How “credible” did you think Menchú’s book is, in terms of objective credibility? Not in terms of historical accuracy, per se, but more on how credible the book felt to ‘you’. Were there any parts of the book that seemed to indicate bias? Should we even care about objective credibility when engaging in biographical works such as this?

Week 9, Vargas Llosa, “Captain Pantoja and the Special Service”

2 Replies

Mario Vargas Llosa’s Captain Pantoja and the Special Service was an eventful read. The book—both directly and indirectly—dealt with heavier themes of colonialism, discipline and control, sexuality, prostitution, and corruption, while simultaneously providing comedy.

The first thing that stood out to me was how corrupt the military was. This was most explicitly shown to me in Father Beltran’s statement, “’And do they call rape a ‘misfortune’ nowadays?’ […] ‘Because that’s what it was: rape’” (16). Additionally, the corruption was evident once more when General Victoria, despite acknowledging that “’what the recruits tried to do to the lady [was] very wrong,’ […] hedges, smiles, salutes” (18). While these two quotes got me confused whether or not this book was going to be comic or just straight up disturbing, the first instance of comedy came by from this quote: “It has to be the heat, the climate, don’t you think?” (18). This statement by Tiger Collazos just got me laughing in disbelief; it was an ‘are you serious?’ moment. In this way the comedy used by Vargas Llosa in this book seemed unconventional, definitely not the same type of comedy as used in regular comic books. At the same time, however, it didn’t also feel like the conventional ‘black humour’ either. In my opinion conventional black humour is more explicit—straight up making fun of a ‘dark event’—while the comedy in Captain Pantoja was more satirical.

Secondly, as a student currently enrolled in a Holocaust studies course, I found some parallels between the events and themes laid out by this book and those of the Holocaust—albeit on different degrees. A key theme of the book was abuse of power, which is also a central theme of the Holocaust. In both cases, those in power use their authority to exploit and oppress those who are vulnerable. In the book, Captain Pantoja’s project essentially commodifies women who work in the brothel; their welfare is of little concern to the military. Similarly, during the Holocaust, the Nazi regime used its power to systematically persecute and murder millions of Jews, Romani people, disabled individuals, and others deemed ‘undesirable’; the Nazis treated their victims as subhuman, and their welfare was of little concern to those in power. Moreover, Captain Pantoja’s attempt to defend himself with the “fact that he was only following orders” was a very similar behaviour shown by many German officers post-Holocaust (Vargas Llosa Lecture, p.8). After the events of the Holocaust, many German officials tried to justify their acts and avoid responsibility by stating they only did what they did because they were told to do so. To take this argument for its face value or disregard it is beyond the scope of my reflection today. However, connecting this book with the insight I have on the Holocaust made me reflect on how literature can be a powerful tool to explore complex and difficult—‘hard to speak’—topics.

Question: Did Vargas Llosa’s style of comedy work for you? Or were you more disturbed by it?

Week 8 – Garcia Marquez, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” II

4 Replies

Extending from last week, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude was a fabulous read that brilliantly sewed together fantasy, abstraction, philosophy, and reality. Engaging in the latter half of the book, what stood out to me most was the cyclical nature of time and the inherent connection between people (civilization) and their environment. Using magical realism almost as a literary tool in depicting the events of Macondo, the book raised thoughts and questions about the notion of ‘solitude’ in both an individual and societal scale. Lastly, engaging with the ending, the closure of the book felt cataclysmic. While there were certain parts throughout the book that perhaps mildly foreshadowed Macondo’s fall, the ending was still quite shocking for me because it felt sudden and unexpected; it left me with a feeling of emptiness, perhaps something close to ‘solitude’.

Undoubtedly, magical realism was central to the novel, effectively blurring the line between reality and fantasy. The novel was filled with impossible events, such as a woman who ascends to heaven. While the theme of magical realism still feels abstract and sometimes daunting, the use of magical realism made this novel more accessible and enjoyable, and it also made it more profound. For me, it was a way to explore the larger—and perhaps ‘heavier’—themes of the novel, such as the nature of time (e.g., everything comes to an end) and the mutual relationship between a civilization and its environment. While ‘magical’ imagery like Remedios the Beauty’s flight to heaven gave the book a more fantasy-like feeling, the book also balanced this playfulness with a philosophical point—as reflected in a quote that resonated with me, “the secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude” (216). This constant negotiation and renegotiation between fantasy and reality was at first confusing, but going back to the book, this is what truly made this book a masterpiece. In this sense I totally agreed with Professor Gerald Martin when he stated—in the conversation video—he “didn’t know what to say about the book” (3:28). The book was certainly a master of play, “playing with time” as described by Professor Beasley-Murray and “playing with the fact that we’re reading the book[,]” as Professor Martin had put it (9:10; 10:00).

Question: Who was your favourite character from the book, and why? Please specify as there are a lot of repetitive names.

Lastly, I would like to end by reflecting on solitude. Apart from the earlier direct quotation, one other quote touched upon solitude: “He [Melquiades] really had been through death, but he had returned because he could not bear the solitude” (53). Growing up as an only child, I thought I understood what solitude meant. However, at the same time, I still don’t understand what it is and how to properly cope with it.

Question: What does solitude mean to you? For you, is solitude good or bad, pleasant or unpleasant?

Week 7 – Garcia Marquez, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” I

3 Replies

Gabriel García Márquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude” was a book that I really looked forward to reading. Truly, it was a masterpiece of magical realism, exploring multiple themes relevant to our study on Latin American literature. However, to stay aligned with our lecture content for the first week engaging with this book, I focused on the themes of chance and order, as well as repetition and novelty. Through the lives of the Buendía family, García Márquez explores the cyclical nature of time, the fragility of human existence, and the role of chance in shaping human destiny.

Throughout the novel, García Márquez shows how unexpected (chance) events continue to shape the lives of the characters. The Buendía family is constantly subjected to unexpected and unpredictable events, such as the arrival of a plague of insomnia, a flood that destroys the town, and a massacre of striking workers. These events exemplified how chance can disrupt order and create chaos, and how the characters are forced to adapt and respond to these events to survive. As stated by Colonel Aureliano Buendía, “a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can” (259). To me, this line emphasizes the role of chance in determining the timing of death, and how a person’s fate is ultimately beyond their control.

In addition to chance, García Márquez also explores the theme of order and repetition. The novel is structured in a cyclical manner, with events and characters repeating themselves over the course of the century. The Buendía family is plagued by incest, and the same names and personalities are repeated across generations. However, despite the repetition and order, García Márquez also introduces the theme of novelty. The arrival of Melquíades and the gypsies brings with it new knowledge and technologies, such as the magnifying glass, the telescope, and the microscope. These innovations bring change to the traditional way of life in Macondo and introduce new possibilities for the characters. In a way, it seemed as if García Márquez used the theme of novelty to show how the characters can break free from the cycle of repetition and order.

Lastly, reflecting on the length of the read, I enjoyed the “lostness” of the book. It was a “pleasurable lostness” for me. Perhaps that was because I allowed myself to stop seeking “hidden messages” and not create “force connections”. In a way, I just ‘flowed’ with the contrast between “chaos and order” throughout the book.

Question: Were there any events, people, or objects within the book that seemed “magical”? What reminded you of “magical realism” throughout the book?

Week 6 – Carpentier, “The Kingdom of This World”

2 Replies

Alejo Carpentier’s The Kingdom of this World was an exciting read. The novel touched upon interesting themes like colonialism, revolution, race, slavery, power dynamics, and, most importantly, magic realism—which I have placed most thought towards while reading. The novel is a masterful example of magic realism, blending the real and the surreal to create a vivid and enchanting narrative. This week’s lecture was also particularly interesting as it focused a lot about magic realism, or “marvelous real,” and how it was proposed in the Prologue of the original 1949 novel.

Professor Jon’s quote, “the idea that fiction can supersede reality, emerges as a more appropriate vehicle for history than does ‘history’ itself[,]” seemed as a spot on description of Carpentier’s work, and an accurate summary of the underlying idea of magic realism (1). While reading the novel, it felt like history and fantasy were being weaved together, creating a surreal and dreamlike setting—where the line between reality and imagination were blurred. While the Haitian Revolution was a historical event, the depiction of it and the events Ti Noel goes through were quite mystical. Still, I spent a lot of time thinking about the idea of magic realism itself—specifically, what exactly it could be. The idea is still unclear to me, despite trying to find a clear example of it within Carpentier’s book. Some of the thoughts I went through include: “Why is magic realism known as a production—or innovation—of Latin American literature?”; “How can we distinguish between magic realism and the more European notion of ‘surrealism’?”

Another aspect of the book that I enjoyed was the way freedom was portrayed. Leading up to and throughout the revolution, Ti Noel remained committed to the cause of freedom, and he participated in the final battle for independence. Ti Noel reflected on the meaning of freedom and the price that must be paid for it. It felt like he realized that true freedom is not just about physical liberation, but also about spiritual and emotional liberation.

Lastly, I would like to read some book reviews—or critiques—on this book just for my own curiosity. It was intriguing to learn about the “conjuncture or interplay between the European and the African, the West and its Other, that gives the real marvellous or marvellous real” (Lectrue 8, 6). Thinking beyond the context of Carpentier’s book and its particular celebration of “African-derived religiosity[,]” I would like to approach magic realism in more of a historical point of view—in a context of comparison between Europe, America, and Africa (6).

Question: For you, were there any particular events or scenes from the book that exemplified what “magic realism” could be?

Week 5 – Borges, “Labyrinths”

4 Replies

Jorge Luis Borges’ Labyrinths introduced me to a world of imagination, creativity, and philosophical reflection. The selected stories in this book captivated my mind and challenged my understanding of reality, truth, and existence. Personally, it felt like Borges presented a ‘labyrinth of ideas’ that could lead to a deeper appreciation of life’s mysteries and human experience—perhaps in the simple form of play. The themes of temporality, existence, language, and the interconnectedness of things were explored in a labyrinth of ideas that were both confusing and enlightening. In any case, Borges’ writing is a masterpiece that captivated my mind and left a lasting impact on my thoughts and perceptions of the world.

One of striking stories in the book for me is “The Garden of Forking Paths.” Borges uses this story to reflect on the idea of time and how it influences our lives. The protagonist, Dr. Yu Tsun, is searching for a way to escape the consequences of his actions, but he eventually realizes that his fate is predetermined. Borges writes, “I felt, then, that I was the chess piece of some unknown player, and that my pilgrimage through time was regulated, down to the minutest detail, by an incalculable number of causes” (25). This exposed me to the idea that our lives are, in a way, predetermined, and that our choices are limited by causality.

Another thought-provoking story is “The Library of Babel.” Borges writes about a universe that is a library, containing every possible book and every possible combination of letters. The protagonist, a librarian, reflects on the infinite nature of the library and the meaning of existence. Borges states, “There is no combination of characters one can make—disregarding figures, spaces, punctuation marks, and so forth—that the divine Library has not foreseen and that in one of its secret tongues does not hide a terrible significance” (54). This statement emphasized the idea that everything in life is connected and that there is a deeper meaning behind everything we do. However, a counter-thought to this also arises. Is there a deeper meaning behind everything?

Language also plays an important role in Borges’ writing. In the story “Funes the Memorious,” Borges writes about a man who has a perfect memory but is unable to comprehend the abstract nature of language. Borges writes, “To think is to forget a difference, to generalize, to abstract” (103). Borges highlights the idea that language is an abstraction that allows us to understand the world around us, but it also limits our understanding of reality.

Question: Did the book affect your perception of the world—or of language or temporality—in any way? If so, how? For you, did the book feel confusing and overwhelming, or creative and imaginative?