Los Girasoles Ciegos es un libro que se compone de cuatro historias más o menos interrelacionadas.

El primer cuento es sobre un Capitán Carlos Alegría, miembro del Ejercito Nacional  que se rinde a los republicanos solo un poco antes que las fascistas ganan la guerra. Está sentenciado a muerte por fusil, pero milagrosamente sobrevive el capitán, y regresa a su ciudad natal solo para estar capturado otra vez (voluntariamente). No entendí esta historia y me frustró un poco leerlo. Una persona con tantas oportunidades para vivir en la vida no debería desperdiciar todas así.

La segunda es una historia angustiosa sobre una familia rota por la guerra. Un joven de 18 años intenta escapar con su novia embarazada a Portugal; en camino hacia allá la novia da a luz a un niño y se muere. Luego el joven y su hijo mueren también.

La tercera historia cuenta de Juan Senra, un profesor de chelo republicano quien se cae en las manos de las fascistas. La única cosa preservando su vida es que conoció el difunto hijo del coronel fascista. Senra fabrica historias sobre el hijo para que se sientan orgullosos sus padres. El momento que expone la verdad, le disparan a Senra.

La última historia es sobre Ricardo Mazo, un republicano que se esconde en el armario, pretendiendo de no existir en la casa de su familia después de la guerra civil. Toda está bien y su familia cuida por él, pero su estilo de vida está en peligro cuando su esposa Elena atrae la atención de un diacono salaz. Un día, Ricardo se expone para defender a Elena mientras el diacono intenta violarla; Ricardo decide suicidar y salta de la ventana.

Cada historia es una tragedia terrible, donde nadie tiene una conclusión feliz. Quizás quiere mostrar Alberto Méndez que nadie gana en la guerra, ni siquiera la partida victoriosa. Las familias son separadas y destruidas. Las personas temen por la vida cada día, esperando por el día que la policía les encuentre y les coja. Creo que la primera historia era un ejemplo muy ridículo de esa noción que nadie gana, que Alegría no pudiera vivir con si mismo venciendo los republicanos. La historia era uno de los pocos que cuentan la historia del punto de vista de las fascistas, pero me sentí que era estirada y forzada para ser inclusivo de todas partidas. Pienso que la mayoría de las fascistas pudieron vivir con si mismos después de la guerra; quizás no les gustó la administración de Franco después, pero todavía continuaron a vivir.

Un gran tema de esos cuentos cortos es la perdida de ganas de vivir. Alegría sin duda lo pierde, donde una y otra vez ofrece su vida a sus captores aun cuando puede escapar. El joven pierde ganas de vivir mientras sus seres queridos se mueren alrededor de él. Senra no quiere mentir más y dice la verdad. Ricardo también lo pierde después de ser expuesto.

En total, fue un libro extremadamente deprimente.

Debo confesar que el gran problema que tengo con “La primera derrota” de Los girasoles ciegos (2004) es la tesis que intuyo trata de demostrar con la historia del capitán Alegría, aquella que creo que puede resumirse en el fragmento siguiente: “cada muerto de esa guerra, fuera del bando que fuera, había servido sólo para glorificar al que mataba”. En algún punto, lo sé, no está muy lejos de la idea de Jon que más o menos vendría a afirmar que hay cierta dosis de victoria simbólica en la derrota republicana y de derrota en la victoria fascista. Si bien creo que hay algo de veraz en esa lectura, no me termina de convencer la idea de que todos fueron derrotados por igual, de que todos pierden en esta guerra. Tal vez por eso creo que “La segunda derrota”, en cambio, fue el texto que más me conmocionó, que más me llegó, de todos los que hemos leído durante el curso. Me pareció admirable cómo el falso manuscrito logra captar el tono y la atmósfera de la brutalidad de esa posguerra a través de una trama escalofriante. El desamparo en el que se ven inmersos el viudo Eulalio y Rafael, su bebé recién nacido medio huérfano, luchando por una supervivencia clandestina condenada al fracaso, me resultó impactante y nítido. Me sorprendió el grado de lirismo del texto, que me pareció coquetear con la prosa poética (como el pasaje en el que Eulalio menciona cómo ha “vuelto a revivir el olor de la sangre, he vuelto a oír el ruido de la muerte” tras matar un lobo), sin opacar por ello un cariz eminentemente narrativo que de a momentos me recuerda el de un diario íntimo.

Me parece que en cierta forma ambos relatos trabajan con un término acuñado por el sociólogo austríaco Michael Pollak, denominado “memoria subterránea“, que podríamos definir sucintamente como la contramemoria del metarrelato oficial y dominante que reproducen habitualmente los estados. El militar inverosímil que cambia de bando sobre la hora y el manuscrito encontrado junto a unos cadáveres recuperan esa historia no escrita. Para el momento histórico en el que escribe Méndez (a más de 25 años de la consolidación de la democracia liberal española), como señala Julian Coman en el artículo del Guardian que compartió Jon, después de Soldados de Salamina (2001), la narrativa peninsular del siglo XXI ha venido produciendo un intento sistemático de reconstrucción precisamente de esta memoria subterránea, de la cual Los girasoles ciegos participa de forma evidente. 

Un intento subyugado durante más de medio siglo por el silencio franquista, la transición y los primeros tiempos democráticos. A esto creo que alude el epígrafe de Carlos Piera, cuando afirma que “en España no se ha cumplido con el duelo, que es, entre otras cosas, el reconocimiento público de que algo es trágico y, sobre todo, de que es irreparable”. Tanto en este epígrafe como en la muerte de la familia retratada en “La segunda derrota” hay un bando vencedor muy claro, que no es otro que el que ostentó el poder durante décadas, después de sojuzgar a los vencidos con fusilamientos en masa o conminándolos al exilio forzoso durante décadas, seguidos de desapariciones sistemáticas y la imposición de una manera de organizar a la sociedad muy determinada. Es cierto: su memoria oficial no perduró del todo con el tiempo. Síntoma de ello, podríamos concluir, es la notoria abundancia de literatura escrita por los vencidos. Pero en el medio, los que enarbolaron esa memoria oficial causaron demasiadas víctimas que como dice Piera nunca fueron reconocidas públicamente; provocaron demasiados estragos materiales y atrasos históricos, secuelas aún vigentes en la España actual, que me cuestan mucho diluir en una victoria simbólica y cultural.

So far, my reading of this book (which happens to be my first Hemingway) has left me not only with so many mixed feelings, but also with a number of questions I can’t seem to answer for myself about the nature of the book as a whole.

Firstly, as I mentioned in class, I’ve really taken issue with Robert and Maria’s relationship. While their first encounter was more or less an affective experience for me, their second encounter in the heather, as it were, did not resonate with me at all. To be fair, I did appreciate the literary devices Hemingway used to portray such a scene and evoke a certain emotional response in his audience, but overall I felt the scene was overly melodramatic. Given the nature of the “relationship” and her not so distant traumatic past, I have a really hard time believing that such a thing would’ve happened in real life. And given that this is a historical novel (I would argue), I suppose I expected it to be more or less realistic in its portrayal of the human experience. In the case of Robert and Maria, however, I do not feel Hemingway delivered.

Secondly, I find myself still unsure of whether I identify with the protagonist. In the past, it has been sometimes very difficult for me to enjoy a book if I do not identify or sympathize with the protagonist. On the one hand, I’ve found I’ve enjoyed Robert Jordan’s inner monologue, for the most part, which doesn’t necessarily appear as much as other narrators we’ve read so far, but I’ve enjoyed it because to me it feels authentically human, something with which I can easily sympathize and experience a degree of affect from. On the other hand, however, I think I’ve struggled with his character because I can’t discern just how much Hemingway as an author speaks through Robert Jordan, if he does at all. Because we’ve spent a lot of class time discussing the concept of genre and what we as readers expect from not just different genres but different authors, especially when it comes to representations of a conflict as complicated as the Spanish Civil War, I think I’ve had a harder time separating what Robert Jordan says and thinks and feels to be true and right, and what Hemingway, the author who penned this character, says and thinks and feels to be true and right. However, also as I mentioned in class, I can’t help but wonder what I would’ve taken away from this book had I not read it in this particular classroom setting.

And finally, I just want to consider the epitaph again, by the poet John Donne: I’m not entirely sure I agree with the conclusion we drew in class the other day, regarding the meaninglessness (or not) of war and death. I don’t know why I didn’t speak up, but my impression of this short little passage wasn’t necessarily a negative one. To me, the notion that each individual death diminishes every other individual, and that therefore when the bell tolls, it doesn’t just toll for the dead, but every other individual (again, I could be misinterpreting his words), actually evoked a more positive, compassionate feeling in me as a reader. My first impression of those particular words was more hopeful, as if we are all in this together. It’s like my favorite Golden State Warrior said in the press conference after their ugly loss this evening, we win together, we lose together, it’s no one person’s fault. How can all of this amount to meaninglessness? Obviously, yes, I agree with Mauricio’s argument that there comes a certain point where a conflict becomes pointless because the losses are too great or the overall cause is lost. But isn’t it rather hopeful (and yes, perhaps blindly idealistic) to consider that we are all in this together and somehow, if we continue sticking together, we shall overcome? Or, at least, the deaths wouldn’t have been in vain because we fought for what we believe in?

I guess that’s my main personal conclusion from this book. It doesn’t do me any good in coming up with definitive answers to these sorts of questions. And it bothers me. But oh well, such is literature, I suppose.

For Whom The Bell Tolls is a war novel by Ernest Hemingway, based on his personal experience of the Spanish Civil War which he participated in as a reporter. I was taken aback by the language used and the counterfeit love story throughout the novel.

Fundamentally, the novel is written like a translation as discussed previously in class. The obscure phrases that Hemingway uses as an attempt to make the novel seem like a translation did not work for me. For example, during a conversation between the gypsy and Robert Jordan the gypsy asks why Pablo wasn’t killed, to which Robert responds, “I thought it might molest you others or the woman” (34). The word molest (molestar) in the Spanish language translates in English as “to bother” as opposed to the English word which generally is understood as sexual abuse. Despite the attempts to bring the “Spanishness” to the novel, I believe it disrupts the flow of the plot and can seem pretentious for the native English speakers who may not have a full grasp of the Spanish language. Also, during the scene where Maria and Robert Jordan is copulating, there is extreme repetition of the word “nowhere” which I did not enjoy.

“For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them” (88).

The novel also attempts to present itself as a romance novel, which I argue it has failed also. Given the circumstances that it was a civil war, there is a dramatic element that paints any form of romance be it an affair or not as a beautiful love story. However, the sudden escalation of the romance between Maria and Robert Jordan and the scene in which they fornicate does not appear to be very logical. I’m no feminist, but the classic scene of a military man and a poor woman is a theme too familiar in literature and looked as if Hemingway was objectifying the woman, projecting his insecurities he faced in his life. The dramatic farewell between Maria and Robert Jordan was also seemed far-fetched.

All in all, I was not too impressed with the novel as it failed to reach its objectives. I also don’t believe it gives a fair assessment of the Spanish Civil War other than the desperate environment Spain was in. It was presented merely as a backdrop to the love story.

For Whom The Bell Tolls is a war novel by Ernest Hemingway, based on his personal experience of the Spanish Civil War which he participated in as a reporter. I was taken aback by the language used and the counterfeit love story throughout the novel.

Fundamentally, the novel is written like a translation as discussed previously in class. The obscure phrases that Hemingway uses as an attempt to make the novel seem like a translation did not work for me. For example, during a conversation between the gypsy and Robert Jordan the gypsy asks why Pablo wasn’t killed, to which Robert responds, “I thought it might molest you others or the woman” (34). The word molest (molestar) in the Spanish language translates in English as “to bother” as opposed to the English word which generally is understood as sexual abuse. Despite the attempts to bring the “Spanishness” to the novel, I believe it disrupts the flow of the plot and can seem pretentious for the native English speakers who may not have a full grasp of the Spanish language. Also, during the scene where Maria and Robert Jordan is copulating, there is extreme repetition of the word “nowhere” which I did not enjoy.

“For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them” (88).

The novel also attempts to present itself as a romance novel, which I argue it has failed also. Given the circumstances that it was a civil war, there is a dramatic element that paints any form of romance be it an affair or not as a beautiful love story. However, the sudden escalation of the romance between Maria and Robert Jordan and the scene in which they fornicate does not appear to be very logical. I’m no feminist, but the classic scene of a military man and a poor woman is a theme too familiar in literature and looked as if Hemingway was objectifying the woman, projecting his insecurities he faced in his life. The dramatic farewell between Maria and Robert Jordan was also seemed far-fetched.

All in all, I was not too impressed with the novel as it failed to reach its objectives. I also don’t believe it gives a fair assessment of the Spanish Civil War other than the desperate environment Spain was in. It was presented merely as a backdrop to the love story.

Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls centers around an American dynamiter with the International Brigades who is sent on a mission to destroy a bridge and prevent the fascist advance.  This book certainly seems to be the most conventional war novel that we have read in this course.  There is a clear protagonist, a stated objective, and a love story; all rather conventional literary tropes that are not as prominent in the other novels we’ve read.  The story only takes place within a few days, which provides a clear timeline for the reader to follow what’s taking place.

I agree with Mauricio’s assessment in class about how Hemingway may have just been trying to write a book that would sell well.  One that reads easily, is relatively uncontroversial, and has a bit of something for everyone.  The romance between Robert Jordan and Maria is probably the most blatant example of this.  I share some of the skepticism towards their relationship; mostly in how they fell absolutely in love with each other after only a couple nights of smiling at each other.  I understand the nature of the war and that they may have only a few days to live, but the romance does seem a little far-fetched.  Similarly, there is little discussion of the politics surrounding the conflict, except for some discussion of how Robert Jordan ultimately takes his orders from the Communist party.  Perhaps Hemingway didn’t think it necessary, as he was ultimately writing a romantic war novel and probably wished not to scare people away with the complexities of the political situation of the time.

The symbolic purpose of the relationship is more clear though, especially considering the epigraph at the beginning of the book.  Maria could represent the Spain that needs to be rescued from the brutality and depravity of fascism, and Robert Jordan feels a responsibility to play his part, for if fascism takes over Spain it could easily spread elsewhere.  “He fought now in this war because it had started in a country that he loved and he believed in the Republic and that if it were destroyed life would be unbearable for all those people who believed in it” (p. 163).  Thus we see a part of Robert Jordan’s rationalization for taking part in the war as going along with John Donne’s quotation: ” . . . any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; . . .”  He feels morally obligated to fight the fascists for if he didn’t he would bear responsibility for not doing enough to prevent their rise.

In Ernest Hemingway’s book, For Whom the Bell Tolls, we read about Robert Jordan, a person from the US, whom has come to participate in the Spanish Civil war. His main task is to blow up a bridge in-order to hinder the fascist’s military force and to delay their chance at getting reinforcements. To be honest, after reading the book, I thought that some of the language he uses, is awkward, just like what we talked about in class, his attempt to translate, something that isn’t there. Instead, the purpose of those quotes with words like  thou, thy, art, and thee, etc., was to give the reader the idea that the character is using formal Spanish language.

Looking at the book, there are some animal references, comparing humans and animals. One of the main characters Pablo, has several, he calls himself a fox, referring to its cunning nature, “I live here and I operate beyond Segovia. If you make a disturbance here, we will be hunted out of these mountains. It is only by doing nothing here that we are able to live in these mountains. It is the principle of the fox (11).” He then refers to himself as a wolf, “I am more wolf than thee (11).” Perhaps, he found the qualities of a wolf more appealing, due to it’s fearless nature. I don’t exactly remember the pages, but I’m pretty sure Pablo also has a lot of ‘pig’ references. I think I can see why Hemingway used this metaphor because of Pablo’s greedy nature, intelligence, and his unattractive face. Pigs are actually smart animals, even smarter than dogs. Other than Pablo, Maria is also referred to as an animal, “rabbit”. Perhaps it’s due to the rabbit’s cute and cuddly nature, even it’s defenseless nature. The relationship between animals and humans, perhaps can relate to the war? The nature of an animal is based on survival and the task of Robert blowing-up the bridge using whatever means necessary and Pablo killing innocent people for his own gain, can both relate to the idea of what they believe is survival, or for the better, for the cause. The main point I’m trying to make is, the characters in this book are pretty-heavily relying on their instincts of lust, hunger, and killing? The dehumanization of people? The idea of lust reminds me of the talk we had on the superficial and unreal relationship between Robert and Maria. In my opinion, their relationship is based on lust, and they’re just acting as if it is more than that, such as doing the normal regular tasks that couples do.

We talked about the epigraph in class, and I definitely think that in certain aspects, the book contradicts the epigraph, unless if you look even deeper, for example each time Pablo, kills, he dies a little in side? I think someone mentioned this in-class. It is very animalistic to kill people with out batting an eyelash, in the sense that animals don’t have laws or morals, but humans do. Pablo unconsciously, feels bad each time he kills, perhaps he isn’t as animalistic as we thought.

The idea that the characters in the book are fighting due to their duty, despite the risks, fighting for their cause, makes their nature seem more human. Characters such as Pablo and Robert, have an different understanding of what their duties are supposed to be. Pablo saw it as his duty to protect the people of this land, so bombing the bridge would be out of the question. Despite his efforts, he still killed innocent people who have come to help him, in-order for the survival of him and his companions. Robert on the other hand, is motivated by his duty, and even knowing that their resistance is futile, he still continued on, in the end, he even sacrificed himself in-order for his companions to survive. He has come to terms with his end, but I still don’t know if what he did was worth it or not. If he didn’t blow-up the bridge, would the result have been different? Could he have had a later death? Being resolved to die, he sees duty as more important than anything else.

The question I want to ask is to what extent is Hemingway expressing his thoughts through Jordan? Of course, it could also be none because like what Mauricio said, he made it so that it would sell. Which was something I didn’t really see until he mentioned it.

Huérfana España,
raíces y cimientos,
epidemias, cicatrices,
blasfemias y sacramentos,
¿por quién doblan las campanas?
San Fermín en vena,
la de Triana
contra la Macarena.

Releyendo a John Donne, me parece interesante rescatar algo que mencionó Jon ayer en clase. La idea de que el epígrafe que encabeza For Whom the Bell Tolls es una forma de justificación sofisticada que responde a la pregunta: «¿qué vine a hacer yo acá?». Esta guerra no le atañe de forma directa a Robert Jordan. Esta no es su guerra. Al menos no lo es de la misma forma en que lo era para los milicianos europeos —por mucho que le pesara a Cela, como nos hace saber en su epígrafe—. Orwell y Malraux tenían una razón si se quiere al menos egoísta para involucrarse en aquella guerra ajena: el peligro inminente del fascismo (cuya proximidad geográfica amenazaba con propagarse más allá de las fronteras naturales de la Península Ibérica, acechando la estabilidad proverbial de la campiña inglesa o de la tercera república francesa, la más extensa de la historia hasta la fecha) los eximía de justificarse. Hemingway, de quien Jordan es un trasunto más o menos evidente, un norteamericano que a primera vista ni pincha ni corta en el conflicto, recurre con Donne al tópico latino de que nada de lo humano nos es ajeno para explicarse y explicarnos por qué abandonó el tranquilo Midwest norteamericano para venir a meterse en este berenjenal. Si hay inocentes muriendo en alguna parte del mundo, parece decirnos, no puedo quedarme sin hacer nada con los brazos cruzados.

Pero como comentábamos en clase, Hemingway, a diferencia de Donne, sí se pregunta por quién doblan las campanas. Sí hace distinciones. Parafraseando a Orwell, podríamos decir que para esta novela nada de lo humano nos es ajeno pero algunos humanos nos son menos ajenos que otros. En este sentido, tal vez uno de los componentes que más me gustó de la novela es que habla desde el bando republicano sin por ello convertirse en una hagiografía de los vencidos, vicio en el que suelen incurrir muchos textos sobre la Guerra Civil española. Los republicanos de Hemingway, diametralmente opuestos a los de Sender, no son mártires cándidos. Pablo, a diferencia de Paco del Molino, es retratado desde la violencia, la brutalidad y la crueldad, particularmente en el capítulo 10 que narra la matanza liderada por él contra los fascistas del pueblo. Se nos dice que mató más gente que el cólera, el tifus y la peste negra juntos. El bueno de Paco del Molino, en cambio, es ejecutado sin haber matado nunca a nadie. Esto, como decía, es tal vez lo que más me gustó de la novela: estos republicanos no son santos, son humanos con agencia.

Por último, también querría destacar otra idea que mencionaba Jon ayer en clase: la de una traducción sin un original. Me hizo pensar en otra novela que aspiraba al mismo universalismo que observamos en Hemingway: la de Miguel de Cervantes, que presentó su Quijote como una traducción castellana de la prosa árabe de un historiador musulmán ficticio, Cide Hamete Benengeli. Hemingway, en este sentido, lleva este tópico de la falsa traducción a su raíz más drástica, modulando el lenguaje con los giros literales que enumeramos en clase, a mi entender, con el objetivo de desfamiliarizar la lectura para recordarnos todo el tiempo que no estamos a salvo en casa ni en otra novela sobre una guerra de un país remoto y exótico. Mañana cuando conversemos sobre la parte final de la novela me gustaría preguntarles si creen que su estrategia funciona.