Lost, one is found.
That is how I felt reading this book until I read the afterword; then everything made sense.
I have to admit that I was very tired while reading the book but some of my intuitions were in tune, but, as always, my mind blurred whatever intuition remained while sleep-reading. That original instinct–foreshadowed by our professor’s criticism on academias form of analyzation– attempted to relate all the imagery of animals behaviour, sects of beliefs, cruelty, colonial pre-ordained destiny, racism, and the fantastical with the greater theme of a brute comparison of colonialism and its actors (enslaved and colonials) as a portrayal for the worst animalistic infused sentiment of the human condition, or of human nature, with strong stippled droplets of spirituality. Though that is a very big broad stroke for generalization, the narrative is very focused and intact throughout the novel, and in my opinion it revolves around those themes.
I think reading it a second time and not so tired, I will be able to absorb it better but what I can recall now is that the book gave so much depiction of natures, myths, personas, histories, and haunting presences that it almost felt like it was an oral story rather than a read one. That may be a testament to the writer, or to my drowsiness, but I definitely think it has to do with Carpentier’s style. Especially since the chapters were rather short, sometimes I felt like someone was just telling me the whispers of the night. Often times, while I lived in Mexico, you would just talk to random people at very random times and you would hear stories similar in tone with its fantastical elements but located in realistic terrains like the neighbourhood you live in or along the dark coastline.
But it is tough to face the facts and read about the failed revolution in Haiti, especially since it seemed that it started with so much dignity. It is hard to read and know that Henri Christophe wanted to become his own monarch. Though, I can also rationalize why he might have wanted to become “King”, since if anyone was to be “King” he might be one of the best suited for the job. Again, I hope to read about revolutions and find some type of solidarity against the old ways, but then again, revolution is romanticism at its best and at its worst.
Alejo Carpentier–philosophically–is probably a mystic. Especially after that intro. But then again, isn’t that what some writers are? In some type of union or bond with reality. What do you think?
What do you think of the final messages on pages 130 and 131? Do you think an adherence to adversity is our greatest strength?
Perdon Daniel, se me fue el tiempo.
I’m not sure I can consider Carpenter a “mystical” writer… but your suggestion is interesting. He has a baroque streak, that’s for sure. He even fed it himself in several of his narrations, and part of the complexity is that elements from different sources do not come together in a homogeneous solution, but show conflicts and oppositions. This can be seen, for example, in the descriptions of the spaces, in which he makes use of resources that are more typical of poetry.
(No te preocupes, gracias por tomarlo en consideración).
Great blogpost! “it almost felt like it was an oral story rather than a read one.” – Interestingly, I felt this during some parts of the book, despite not being too tired when reading it. I don’t know if I can consider Carpentier as a ‘mystic’ writer as well. However, I do believe he has an interesting relationship with reality. He doesn’t depict reality at face value, but then he depicts enough of it to make it hard to consider him a ‘mystic’ writer. Maybe this blurry line is where magic realism kicks in.
– Daniel Choi
In response to what I thought of the ending: I found it a bit strange. My first thought was that it was oddly counter-revolutionary for a man who aligned himself with Fidel Castro – he seems to hold that revolution will never do much more than change who is in command without ever improving conditions. When I found out that the book was written 10 years prior to the Cuban Revolution, it made a bit more sense; at that point, the revolution of 1933 would have been fresher in Carpentier’s head and revolution as such would have appeared less promising. I wonder whether the book would have ended differently if it were written 10 years later in the fervor surrounding Castro’s government. Either way, the materialist streak of belief in redemption in the “Kingdom of This World” rather than the “Kingdom of Heaven” seems in line with his politics.