Tag Archives: colonialism

Week 11, Bolaño, Distant Star

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”

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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”

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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 6 – Carpentier, “The Kingdom of This World”

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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?