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Conclusion: Farewell to Romance Studies (or not…?)

I know everyone else is saying this, but I can’t believe this term is actually ending. I enjoy reading a lot, I love it, but in recent years I’ve exclusively kept it to either fanfiction or Chinese/Korean novels, which are vastly different from the novels that we read for class. So, it was a bit of a learning curve to get back into formal novels like this! Especially with a doozy like Proust in the very first week… I think my head was spinning by the end. I think over time, I learned that though novels can be a tough read (either emotionally or literally), even that can indicate something about the novel – why did the author choose to write in this style? Does this say something about the narrator? Or perhaps the time period and context? I’m normally not used to taking notes while reading but sometimes things got so jumbled in my head that I’d have to make a separate memo for a list of characters, or specific quotes that stuck out to me, or something from the lecture/conversation video that stuck out to me so I could revisit it in the novel. But most importantly, I can’t believe I actually read one novel every single week! Even though I would push off starting the novel until Friday or Saturday…

I think some of the most prevalent themes to me across the novels I read were war, bigotry (racism, misogyny, classism, the whole lot), and poverty. Even if some of these weren’t explicitly mentioned as a problem in the novel, it’d leak through background details or interactions between the characters. One thing I’ve been thinking about is that despite being called Romance novels, I quite despise the ‘romance’ depicted in most of these. I hated the men! Not many of them were redeemable, barring poor Antoni from The Time of the Doves. I also learned a lot from my classmates’ blogs, since they would occasionally point out a connection they made to a previous novel (and if that wasn’t the novel I chose that week, the connection piqued my interest in it).

Like the final lecture video said, I’m not sure when the next time I pick up a Chilean, Brazilian, Romanian, or Catalan book will be, or if I ever will again. But for now, I think I have some interest in the books I hadn’t chosen to read for this course, as I perused through my other classmates’ blogs. I’m not sure how far I’ll get since I won’t have the looming deadline of a Sunday 11:59 pm blog post anymore, but I’ll certainly try my best!

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Amadou Amal: I want better for women…

Reading The Impatient made me very sad. In the first half of the book, I was extremely angry, but then somewhere around the middle, I, like Hindou, succumbed to immense sadness. I’m sad their society caters to men. I’m sad Ramla’s choice was ripped away from her. I’m sad Hindou couldn’t escape in peace. I’m sad Safira and Hindou’s aunt continued these violently misogynistic practices. I’m sad Ramla forgave Safira so easily. I’m sad Safira believed all those lies about Ramla so quickly. I’m sad the very ending of the book continues the cycle of Safira’s jealousy and battle with co-wives to stay alive. I’m sad that even when women try to protect fellow women, such as Hindou’s mother or the woman in Gawaza, they are powerless in the face of men. I am saddened by the entire concept of munyal, to be patient. The list of misogynistic and restrictive rules at the very beginning of the novel set the tone for the rest, and I could see how they had a role to play in every action of their lives. Women can’t be prudish, but if they’re not prudish, then they’re too vulgar. Women should be patient, but if they’re too patient, they’re not active enough. Women should be beautiful, but if they’re too beautiful, they’re trying to seduce other men. Women should be young, but if they act their age, then they’re too childish. No matter what women do, it will never be enough for their expectations. There will always be something to critique, while the men roam free.

I think what I am most sad about, is the fact that there are tens of thousands of women still living like this today. In impoverished countries, young girls must become child brides to men twice or thrice their age, to their cousins, to their uncles. Men have more than four wives and abuse them all, and these women can hardly escape because their society and culture are so immersed in misogynistic practices, no one will help them – it is the norm. We could see how Hindou escaped to Gawaza and found a kind household to take care of her, but her hopes were dashed because she was spotted by someone else, who tattled to her family. In fact, I’m inclined to believe even Ramla’s escape wasn’t successful (in the sense that she would have been free) – although Safira wasn’t keen to find her, and Alhadji easily replaced her with someone else.

One part that stuck with me is when Ramla talks about how she’s been courted since she was 13 years old, and has been turning them down. When she tells the men to wait 2 years, the men have the audacity to say she’ll be an “old girl by 15 years old” (pg. 41). For one, how is 15 years old an old girl? Especially when the men courting these young girls will often be older than 22 years old. But alas, they have no shame, because they don’t have to follow the rules, only women do. For two, it seems only women must remember the concept of munyal, yet the men can be as impatient as they want.

I could probably talk a lot more about the misogynistic problems within The Impatient, but I think I ought to talk about things I liked about the translation, since I like touching on that in other novels. I like that they included the original word in French, to indicate that it’s a strong concept – like with munyal. But, I also enjoyed seeing when they used the original word for honorific terms, like daada-saare (repeated many times during Safira’s section) and amariya. Since I frequently read Chinese and Korean translated novels, it makes me sad when they translate words like gege or hyung to older brother because the English translation doesn’t quite capture the concept of the original language – it’s a concept in and of itself! This is getting long, so I’ll end it off with the abhorrent list of rules from uncle Hayatou:

“Respect your five daily prayers.
Read the Quran so that your progeny will be blessed.
Fear your God.
Spare your minds from distraction.
Be for him a slave and he will be your captive.
Be for him the earth and he will be your sky.
Be for him a field and he will be your rain.
Be for him a bed and he will be your hut.
Do not sulk.
Do not look down on a gift, do not return it.
Do not be bad-tempered.
Do not be talkative.
Do not be scatter-brained.
Do not beg, do not demand.
Be modest.
Be grateful.
Be patient.
Be discreet.
Valorize him so that he will honor you.
Respect his family and submit to them so that they will support you.
Aid your husband.
Preserve his fortune.
Preserve his dignity.
Preserve his appetite.
May he never starve because of your laziness, your bad mood, or your bad cooking.
Spare his sight, his hearing, his sense of smell.
May his eyes never be confronted by anything dirty in your food or in your house.
May his ears never hear obscenities or insults coming from your mouth.
May his nose never smell anything that reeks in your body or in your house, may he breathe in only perfume and incense.” (pg. 4-6)

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Ferrante: Pitting two queens against each other

For starters… there were once again a lot of characters in this novel! So I’m extremely grateful to Ferrante for including an index of characters at the very beginning. It was very much appreciated for someone like me, who struggles with remembering characters – especially side characters that are only mentioned a handful of times throughout the novel. Moving onto the actual content, I expected this to be about an actually pure and beautiful (brilliant!) friendship, but it was far messier than anticipated. I think this kind of relationship is complicated… we can clearly see their jealousy and inferiority complex, but there are also moments when we can see their bond and support for one another. I guess it’s like how you can truly appreciate someone when you see their ugly parts? Or like that one quote about how you can always love someone, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you like them. I think it’s interesting how to begin with, Lenu’s aim in friendship was rooted in her envy and insecurity, constantly stating how Lila is better than her, and how she herself will always be in second place (roll the dialogue!). This page in particular made me think about how it would be extremely difficult to have a healthy friendship when this is how it began.

“What that demotion caused inside me I don’t know, I find it difficult to say, today, faithfully and clearly what I felt. Perhaps nothing at first, some jealousy, like everyone else. But surely it was then that a worry began to take shape. I thought that, although my legs functioned perfectly well, I ran the constant risk of becoming crippled. I woke with that idea in my head and I got out of bed right away to see if my legs still worked. Maybe that’s why I became focused on Lila, who had slender, agile legs, and was always moving them, kicking even when she was sitting next to the teacher, so that the teacher became irritated and soon sent her back to her desk. Something convinced me, then, that if I kept up with her, at her pace, my mother’s limp, which had entered into my brain and wouldn’t come out, would stop threatening me. I decided that I had to model myself on that girl, never let her out of my sight, even if she got annoyed and chased me away. […] Certainly I trained myself to accept readily Lila’s superiority in everything, and even her oppressions.” (pg. 46)

I wanted to talk about the latter part of their friendship, but I think I’d run out of words because the lecture video made me think about even more topics. But the way their timeline ends also brings it back to the beginning of their friendship, I think – Lila disappears and tries to erase all presence of her existence, while Lenu is left attempting to catch up, just like she did when their friendship first started. I believe it also relates to when Lenu wrote that she would “never let her out of [her] sight, even if she got annoyed and chased [her] away” (pg. 46), because in this case, Lila didn’t chase her away, but instead ran away herself! And yet Lenu is still proving her statement correct, because she’s writing down their entire history so that Lila won’t be let out of her sight. What a homoerotic #toxicyuri (let’s unpack how I was surprised but also not when the #toxicyuri was real and not just my own personal headcanon) dependent (not quite co-dependent) twisted yet realistic bond…

Anyways, the lecture video made me realize the repeated mentions and importance of the difference between the casual dialect and proper Italian. It made me wish I knew the language so I could feel the palpable difference between the two, as well as the culture, but alas I can only liken it to something like code switching (perhaps AAVE and other types of modern slang?). Of course I can read when the translation says they’re using proper Italian, but that’s different from actually knowing the vocabulary and the context in which they’re used. I wish I could know every language in the world because it truly vexes me to read something in its non-source language and think about how I must be unable to pick up cultural and linguistic nuances 🙁

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Agualusa: Fake it till you make it (extreme mode)

I think the style of this novel was quite refreshing because it was different from what we’ve previously read. The short sections (can I even call them chapters?) honestly made it easier to read, I felt like I was going through the novel faster than before because it was like little short anecdotes rather than an extended plotline. I was a little confused for the first 10 pages or so (a regular occurrence for me, though), then it started clicking when the Foreigner appeared. One of the standout, morbid parts of the novel to me was when the gecko started talking about his first death as a human (pg. 63) – how he purchased the pistol hoping that his death would be eternal… but instead, he lived as a gecko for 15 years. Perhaps that’s why I felt that it was right to end the novel with Felix’s narration of the gecko’s (second) death. But then that got me thinking, if the gecko was a reincarnation of Borges, and the gecko had wanted to die permanently as a human the first time, why did Agualusa wish to give the narrator a second chance? But maybe I just don’t know enough about Borges to understand the decision about the reincarnation. Maybe the second death was like justice, finally letting the gecko rest in peace after forcibly giving him one more chance despite his wishes? I’m not sure, maybe I’m looking too deeply into this.

Anyways, I think this novel clearly demonstrated the power of lies and perception. It’s like, if I don’t know the truth, and you can’t recall the exact truth, then who’s driving the bus? Eventually the lies will turn into the truth if you keep feeding yourself with them. It’s like with what happened to Jose – he lost his pronunciation, became more expansive, and lost his moustache, all to fit with the new past that Felix granted him. Even though Gouveia admits to making things up so Felix will believe him, he himself believes in his own fabricated facade:

“I needed Felix himself to believe in my life story. If he believed it, who wouldn’t? And today, I honestly believe it myself. I look back now, back into my past, and I see two lives. In one, I was Pedro Gouveia, in another Jose Buchmann. Pedro Gouveia died. Jose Buchmann returned to Chibia.” (pg. 172)

I think this quote demonstrates the power of a narrative. Felix also admits to having jumbled memories, which I can attribute to his frequent habit of lying and storytelling. Like I said earlier, if you tell so many lies, you’ll eventually lose track of them until they inevitably become the truth.

“Apart from the bit about the portrait, everything I’ve told you about my background is quite true. Or at least, as much of it as I remember. I know I have false memories sometimes – we all do, don’t we? …there have been studies done by psychologists of this – but I think this much is true.” (pg. 116)

The following dialogue made me laugh, because I think Angela really gagged Felix. Hit the nail on the head! And yet, Felix still had the audacity and shamelessness to lie (once again) and say he didn’t…

“I can believe it. But your friend Jose Buchmann, that story is completely made-up, isn’t it? You invented him yourself…” (pg. 116)

Speaking of Angela, I quite liked her. Not really for any specific reason, but like Felix says, everything about her is Light! I can’t exactly say the same about Felix and Gouveia…

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Piglia: Characters to Burn

Like many of the other students, I was also lost in the amount of characters in this novel. So many characters, so many crimes, and the fact that they were often introduced with their real name then were referred to by their alias from thereon out… there was just a lot going on. The queer love story between the Kid and Dorda was also intriguing and refreshing (compared to the previous romances we’ve been reading) – they’re not absolved of guilt, but they find solace within each other, and Kid’s death plus the way Dorda spoke of him was particularly touching. In addition, I thought it was interesting how not all of the criminals had tragic backgrounds or impoverished backgrounds that led to a life of crime – I think this reflects real life, where not everything is the result of trauma. Sometimes, people are just drawn to do horrible things.

One thing I’d like to touch on is the fact that this was a real story, as the lecture thoroughly discussed. Piglia finds it important to emphasize the accuracy of his storytelling, through firsthand accounts, police reports, and the like. But why does he explain all of this if the readers can tell that some of these details are, in fact, not real? Things like the character’s backstories, or when the lecture mentioned how there is a character that Piglia tends to include in his other novels, so there’s no way he would be a real human in the Money to Burn universe. The fact that Blanca, the Girl, told Piglia this entire story herself was also intriguing.

Since there were so many characters and details, I was a little bored up until the actual heist and burning scene. That bit was actually thrilling; the heist only taking 7 minutes yet the stakeout being the most thrilling part, leading up to the burning? (Insert picture) Absolute cinema. I feel like the burning symbolizes many things. They planned this heist so meticulously, but when placed in a corner, they decided to burn all that money (no small amount either). It felt like a mix of saying fuck you to the police (as they were saying throughout the entire novel), but also bitterness like if I can’t have it no one can? The message that the general public didn’t care about the corruption and bloodshed that these criminals had previously committed, and had commit to obtain that money, instead caring about the money itself, was very profound. Money makes the world go round, right?

I think almost everyone has discussed this specific quote, but I still wanted to highlight it:

“Money is just the same as drugs: what’s fundamental is its possession, knowing it’s there, touching it, checking it’s still in the cupboard, there in its bag slung among the clothes, checking there’s still a half-kilo of the stuff, a hundred grand’s worth, being content with that.” (pg. 30)

 

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Is RMST 202 making us read cautionary tales against romance???

The non-linear storytelling was honestly confusing. I know it’s supposed to mimic the narrator’s train of thought but… since I’m not her, I didn’t really know where all this information was coming from! I felt like that “guy who needs context” meme for the beginning portion. There were details all over the place and one second she’s 15, and the next she’s 20, and the next she has a son, and then she’s back to being 15 again. There’s a certain stylistic charm in that but when reading the novel for the very first time, it’s confusing. And then when she talks about her first encounter with him, she uses third person speech, like it’s not her own story, and she has instead dissasociated from it. Perhaps that says something about the grooming? (I’m pulling at straws here)

It feels like the male protagonists in all these readings are on a speed run for who can be sent to super mega ultra hell first. How irredeemable can they get? The language used in the novel was also frightening – what specifically stood out to me was “the little white whore from Sadec” (pg. 35). I wonder how these phrases were originally read as in the source language. Were they even more vulgar, or were they adapted to have a similar level of severity?

More than the grooming going on throughout the whole story, I think this story demonstrates what war and poverty can do to somebody, and their family. For example, the narrator is poor and white, in contrast to the lover who is rich and Chinese. Meanwhile, her elder brother treats the lover like he doesn’t exist, even though the lover is in a higher financial position than him. It gives an interesting perspective on racial ad wealth gaps, but still, it all ends up with women in the lower rung, despite her white status and therefore “higher racial hierarchy”.

I think at first, the narrator was attracted to the lover because that is the only way she could reclaim some kind of control over her life. The way she frames her actions and dialogues is as if she’s choosing this life, that she’s a willing participant, and that the lover is foolish but she still stays to exploit him. Previously, her impoverished life had no room for control – what did she have? But now, with one thing that is her ‘own’, she’s ‘free’ to criticize him however she likes. Obviously, from our point of view, she’s being groomed and manipulated – but in such a desperate state, the narrator appears to be willing to grasp any rope for help out of poverty, which is why her narration reads like she’s choosing these things for herself.

Question: What did you think of the nonlinear narration? Did it serve to tell her story better, or was it as confusing as I thought?

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To be loved is to be known…?

Rodrigo puzzled me as a narrator because he felt a bit wishy-washy with his feelings about Macabea. [Edited to cut something out here because I got the details wrong oops] He goes on and on about how he’s the only one who is capable of loving her and that it’s his duty to tell her story (since obviously no one else will). He describes how Macabea is utterly plain and ridiculously simple, not quite stupid, but a little daft and won’t question what is given to her or aspire for greater things. The way he described her kind of irked me… like, are you sure you love her? Because it certainly doesn’t sound like it. For example:

“She didn’t have that delicate thing called charm. I’m the only one who finds her charming. Only I, her author, love her. I suffer for her. And I’m the only one who can say this: “what do you ask of me weeping that I wouldn’t give you singing”? That girl didn’t know she was what she was, just as a dog doesn’t know it’s a dog. So she didn’t feel unhappy. The only thing she wanted was to live. She didn’t know for what, she didn’t ask questions. Maybe she thought there was a little bitty glory in living. She thought people had to be happy. So she was. Before her birth was she an idea? Before her birth was she dead? And after her birth she would die? What a thin slice of watermelon.” (page 19)

“She forced her being upon me. […] I alone love her.” (page 21)

I know that he’s a fake narrator and doesn’t really exist, but he acted like he knew absolutely everything about her, but also admitted to not knowing everything about her. You know the textpost that goes, “people b saying things so definitively. like man i think it depends”? That’s exactly how I feel about Rodrigo’s description of Macabea. In fact, the entire novel, I felt like Macabea’s agency was being taken away from her (well, she didn’t really have any greed for it to begin with). Rodrigo, who apparently ‘loves her’ came across as having a god complex or saviour complex with how he’s apparently the only one who can tell Macabea’s story, since (according to him) she’s so plain and boring and there are tens of thousands of girls like her (could be a comforting notion but comes off horribly arrogant from his mouth). And then there’s Olimpico, who’s just a straight up asshole. And finally, when Macabea gets a sliver of hope handed by the fortune teller and decides to live for herself, there’s an (explosion) and her life is over just like that. Clearly ironic and a call to the title of the book, as Macabea saw herself as a star for basically an hour before her dreaded fate.

In a way, the ending reminded me of Rodrigo’s description in the beginning. Thousands of girls live just like Macabea, and they can easily be substituted for each other. What made Macabea’s life special? Perhaps the mundanity is what makes this story interesting – the moment Macabea can escape from her previously greedless life, it’s cut off. Contrary to what Rodrigo seeks (“a story with a beginning, middle and “grand finale” followed by silence and falling rain” (page 5)), this finale isn’t grand at all. It’s rather abrupt and unresolved.

Can I say Rodrigo truly loved Macabea like he claimed? I don’t think so. But to be loved is to be known, right?

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Rodoreda: The Time of Misogyny

Quimet couldn’t have died fast enough. What an absolutely despicable good for nothing worthless man! While this novel was an easy read on the brain and for my understanding, it was also difficult to read because it was akin to watching a trainwreck in slow motion. I could tell where their relationship was going, and I recognized the patterns in Quimet’s actions and words (actually, he didn’t even try to hide it), and all I could do was watch Natalia fall into his trap and live a married life of despair. Even from the beginning, I didn’t like him all that much – I hadn’t despised him, because he seemed to have swept Natalia off her feet, but he was still incredibly pushy, talking about how Natalia would definitely be his wife by the end of the night and whatnot, despite her engagement to Pere. And then, he only continued to become even more annoying and misogynistic. Every day, he can say “Poor Maria” without explanation, but when it comes to Natalia, he’s pestering her every day about whether she’s still engaged to him or not, and gaslighting her into apologizing about meeting Pere (when she hadn’t even seen him since the break up)? The double standards are insane.

There was just nothing likeable about him. I hated everything he said. One dialogue that especially stood out to me was near the beginning of their relationship, when he said something about how Natalia would have to like everything he likes, and when she initially fought back, he basically said it didn’t matter and that she would have to like it anyways. Then, there was the whole issue of calling her Colometa – which, was cute the first two or three times maybe, but the entire novel? I don’t recall him saying her name even once, and to even extend the “Colometa” title to the dove business was like inflicting even more trauma on her. The passage that started around page ~100 where Natalia was complaining about the dove business was absolutely heartbreaking. Where Quimet was talking about how buying more and more doves was no problem because they cost nothing and were “no work” to take care of, Natalia was breaking her back and going crazy over caring for the doves, even trying to purposely mess with them so Quimet would stop seeing the benefit of keeping the doves. This shows his continuous pattern of pushing everything onto the women in his life, while either claiming no work for himself, or complaining about and amplifying what he is experiencing while disregarding the pain of women (case in point with his tuberculosis). Natalia was offered practically no relief even during her pregnancy, because Quimet would complain about his leg day in and day out, while also torturing his own mother about something as little as salt.

Something that deeply saddened me was that even the women in Natalia’s life didn’t seem to have her back. Senyora Enriqueta was encouraging the marriage and told her to ignore the “Poor Maria” issue, stating that marrying Quimet is better than marrying Pere. Therefore, this enabled Quimet’s terrible behaviour, and Natalia just stuck with her decision. I’m glad that Antoni gave her a chance of healing, but the aftereffects from the war and Natalia’s own trauma affecting her to the point where she came sparingly close to killing her own children with hydrochloric acid made me feel heavy and sad. There’s a lot more issues with Quimet that I could complain about, but alas…

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Black Shack Alley: Systemic Racism

This reading overall made me feel sad and exhausted. Not in a dramatic way, but because Jose’s life was just… reality. It was precisely the coming of youth, and the cards were never in his favour. Knowing that this novel was in part autobiographical makes sense to me. I think the most saddening character to me was M’man Tine. As a poor, black woman, she had long accepted her fate, so she decided to pour all her efforts and hard work into Jose instead. Although she seems harsh from Jose’s point of view in the beginning of the novel, as readers, we can see the hours she puts into her work – which is why she gets so mad when she initially comes home to see a broken bowl and Jose’s torn clothes. In a way, this reminds me of my own parents and grandparents. While I know that they want the best for me (in their mind), I often feel frustrated because that’s not what I necessarily want for myself. I also get scared because I don’t want to disappoint them or avoid living up to their expectations, similar to how Jose wants to frolic and have fun, but also wants to be seen as a ‘good child’ without the consequences of being too rambunctious (yelling and beatings).

M’man Tine seems to think that the only way Jose can have a good life is to escape Black Shack Alley, lest he suffer the same fate she did. This desire looks like pushing Jose into school, entering the bacculereate. However, when part 3 of the novel started, I felt heavy once more. When Jose was only offered a quarter scholarship, where they would have to pay the rest in order to ‘redeem’ or ‘benefit from’ the quarter scholarship, his mother talked about how they were doing this on purpose.

“They are too wicked! It’s because we’re black, poor and alone in
the world that they didn’t give you a full scholarship. They fully realise that I’m an unfortunate woman and that I couldn’t pay for you to go to the lycee. They know only too well that giving you a quarter scholarship is the same as not giving you anything at all. But they don’t know what a fighting woman I am. Well! I’m not giving up this quarter scholarship. You will go to their lycee!” (p. 125)

This situation made me think about how prevalent systemic racism is, and how you can never truly avoid it. While M’man Tine thinks Jose will live a better life (I can’t disagree), the circumstances he has to suffer under are similarly dismal. Giving into this scholarship would practically be giving into their ‘taunt’, but Jose and his family have no other choice. So, they have to continue suffering under this system of cylical racism instead of ‘escaping’ like M’man Tine wishes. As they say, out of the frying pan and into the fire? It makes me sad because this is what reality looks like, and it’s difficult to truly escape from these systems without giving into them for your own benefit.

So, I would like to ask: Do you see Jose’s pursuit of education as ‘liberation’ the same way his family does?

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Nada: Just Trying to Live

The whole novel of Nada felt eery to me, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I suppose this is because of the aftermath of the Spanish civil war, as the lecture video states that the family’s trauma haunts the narrative – so it’s more like the shoe has already dropped, and everything is what happens after. I think it felt unsettling because I kept expecting something to blow up in her face, and then nothing did. Perhaps that’s what Andrea felt as well: she moved to Barcelona with hopes and dreams for university, and left with nothing, really. What can you make of an experience that hasn’t given you anything except the perilous effects of trauma?

I thought it was interesting how the novel never really discusses what happened in the war, but you can feel it simply from the atmosphere and people’s living conditions. Andrea is quiet and silent throughout the novel, but I think I relate to her position. How can you make a space for yourself when there’s barely enough space for others? I don’t think I would want to get myself directly involved with all of the family drama – she’s just trying to live. In a way, she feels like she’s sitting in the backseat of someone else’s life. Initially, she had a romanticized view of Barcelona, but the reality quickly diminished her expectations. Similar to Andrea, I felt somewhat empty after reading Nada. What exactly could I take away? I felt desolate, like the war-torn condition also affected my inner state. The novel simply displayed the reality of the effects of war. I think that’s why the lecture video was also intriguing, as it pointed out details I hadn’t previously noticed, which pointed to the effects of war. I’d be interested to find out if these fictional experiences differed vastly from the lived experiences, or if anything was adapted, or even less exaggerated than the real life.

It was a bit of a tough read, not because of the language or setting, but because of the emotional heaviness I felt. It’s also difficult to grasp because there’s no clear villain or antagonist, there’s no clear ‘hope’, you just have to make do with what you’re given. Lines aren’t drawn, and Andrea has been placed into this situation while hoping for the best for herself. It’s not worth it for Andrea to ‘escape’ really, and she can’t begin to solve her family’s problems. She just… lives. I think it’s a strong protection method, but perhaps other people would think it’s negatively avoidant.

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