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?