It seems to me that a central way in which our authors have chosen to break down the mystique of the dictator is to show their bodies crumbling. Vargas Llosa shows us the naked “Generallisimo” like Marquez showed us the naked, almost dead Simon Bolivar to start The General in his Labyrinth. Although we never see The Supreme naked in Roa Bastos’ work, the physical degeneration of Dr. Francia is still omnipresent. Ultimately Vargas Llosa and his fellow dictator novelists are trying to show the human side of the dictator; the frail bodies that lay behind the powerful mystique. It also seems that the degeneration that occurs in all three works is an attempt to show the cancerous effect that wielding absolute power has on the body. This isparticularly true of Bolivar, but also of Trujillo and Dr. Francia, as if the authors want to show the natural effects of an unnatural concentration of power in the hands of one individual.
Vargas Llosa’s portrait of the naked Trujillo is an attempt to emasculate him. His body is portrayed as effeminate with a “soft belly” and “hairless legs”. Under his “white pubis” Urania sees his “small, dead sex.” Above these weak features, his eyes, red from weeping, stare down. Even before he loses his erection, Trujillo looks weak and ridiculous in his struggle to undress Urania. He takes Urania to his bedroom not out of lust (although that comes), but to prove his physicality and virility to the world. It does not seem to occur to the dictator how weak he looks, trying to seduce a girl of 14, who is not a women by any physical or mental standard. His impotence enrages him, because it is symbolic of his failing power and the betrayal of his body. Like Bolivar and Dr. Francia, Trujillo is a man who is supposed to control everyone and everything in his domain, yet he fails to even control his own body.
So that’s it then. Feast of the Goat is the last novel in the line of dictator novels assigned in this course. In the end I have to agree with Professor Jon: Augusto Roa Bastos’ novel was the best. Maybe it was the Wikipedia article that made me appreciate its true significance. I think the course was successful in illustrating and exploring the disparate attributes of the dictator novel and also the extent to which writing has great power. However, I am left with one question: what would a Roa Bastos or any of these authors think about the power of writing in the era of blogs and Wikipedia? Jon, your assignment for the summer is to contact each of these authors and get a quality response to my question!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Vargas Llosa Part 1: Crazies and Crazy Dictators
Why do the beginning of both The Feast of the Goat and Asturias’ El Presidente contain mentally insane characters? Both the Zany and Crazy Valeriano dare to challenge the rule of the dictators that rule their country. Both die for their “crimes”. Perhaps it is an effort by both authors to show that not everyone can be controlled. That fear is not an effective tool in dealing with those who lack rationality. Crazy Valeriano’s mockery of Trujillo enrages him because, somewhere, he finds truth in the impersonation. The fact that the dictator feels threatened by the antics of this obviously insane man and his female companion are an indication of his overall sense of insecurity of the dawning consciousness of the tenuous hold that he has over “his” country. The brutal death that he orders for these two makes evident the true extent of his rancor. They are not jailed, relocated or even shot. They are instead fed alive to Trujillo’s sharks. I think that Trujillo feels slightly embarrassed, that he has perhaps shown a sign of weakness, when he decides to free the two insane the next morning (he is too late of course).
Perhaps the insane are symbolic of what the dictator is when stripped of some of his power; he is insane and a mockery of himself. All of the dictators we have seen, short of Asturias’, have lost touch with reality: Bolivar in his fits and fevers at night; The Supreme in his mystical ramblings and visions; and Trujillo’s in his blind and weeping rage at his own impotence. Perhaps dictators have to be crazy. To try to control everyone and everything in their domain, when that is impossibility, one has to be crazy. To believe that one’s rule can extend indefinitely one has to be nuts. To believe that one’s body will last forever, that it can be controlled, like the people around you, is insane. To a certain extent, I think it is the effort to control everything, even when it cannot be done, that drives these dictators crazy.
As for myself, I think I’ll go crazy if I have to read another book about a sadistic, bastardly dictator. These novels, combined with a German literature class themed on war and genocide, have given me enough scenes of brutality to chew on for the summer at least! I think I’ll head for fantasy land with a re-reading of Lord of the Rings when exams are done.
Perhaps the insane are symbolic of what the dictator is when stripped of some of his power; he is insane and a mockery of himself. All of the dictators we have seen, short of Asturias’, have lost touch with reality: Bolivar in his fits and fevers at night; The Supreme in his mystical ramblings and visions; and Trujillo’s in his blind and weeping rage at his own impotence. Perhaps dictators have to be crazy. To try to control everyone and everything in their domain, when that is impossibility, one has to be crazy. To believe that one’s rule can extend indefinitely one has to be nuts. To believe that one’s body will last forever, that it can be controlled, like the people around you, is insane. To a certain extent, I think it is the effort to control everything, even when it cannot be done, that drives these dictators crazy.
As for myself, I think I’ll go crazy if I have to read another book about a sadistic, bastardly dictator. These novels, combined with a German literature class themed on war and genocide, have given me enough scenes of brutality to chew on for the summer at least! I think I’ll head for fantasy land with a re-reading of Lord of the Rings when exams are done.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Marquez 2 (Span 312)
What is the final portrait of Latin America’s greatest military and political figure? What does Marquez leave the reader with? Certainly it is one failure, as his death coincides with the outbreak of war among the various unitarian and nationalist factions of the formerly united countries of Gran Columbia. This, however, is not in-and-of-itself an indictment of Bolivar. Two centuries later, nobody has come closer to achieving his dream or even creating lasting stability in the countries that formerly made up his short-lived nation. More than anything we are left with the portrait of a man whose ambitions could not overcome his decaying body or quite realize the political reality of a truly unified Gran Columbia.
Marquez’s Bolivar seems to simultaneously accept the limitations of physical reality and yet reject them. “He could not renounce his infinite capacity for illusion at the very moment he needed it most” (p.135), and for this reason he conspired and inspired towards his pan-American ends until the very end, while simultaneously claiming that “I don’t exist” (p.137). The general knew that his body was failing him; the same body that had escaped from so many battles and assassination plots unharmed. He knew that death would find him before he could finish a project that only he could have started. Undoubtedly the general knew that his project would crumble in the power vacuum he had left, especially after, General Sucre, his only worthy heir, shuns power and is then assassinated. On his deathbed, despite of his pessimistic (realistic?) and bitter pronouncements that he has uttered over the previous 250 pages he finds himself “shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line.” Is this surprising? I don't think so.
Only a person of incredible resolve and with infinite capacity for dreaming (if not illusion) could have undertaken Bolivar’s project. His capacity to reject Manuela and life-long companionship; to take interest in the suffering of strangers when he was in his last painful days; to love strange and dirty dogs when he had lived in the lap of luxury on so many occasions; to ride a horse when he could barely sit-up. These are all evidence of a of a supernaturally willed and compassionate individual. In the end it was as though neither his body nor his newly created nation was made of the same exceptional material as his will, and thus both broke and perished.
Marquez’s Bolivar seems to simultaneously accept the limitations of physical reality and yet reject them. “He could not renounce his infinite capacity for illusion at the very moment he needed it most” (p.135), and for this reason he conspired and inspired towards his pan-American ends until the very end, while simultaneously claiming that “I don’t exist” (p.137). The general knew that his body was failing him; the same body that had escaped from so many battles and assassination plots unharmed. He knew that death would find him before he could finish a project that only he could have started. Undoubtedly the general knew that his project would crumble in the power vacuum he had left, especially after, General Sucre, his only worthy heir, shuns power and is then assassinated. On his deathbed, despite of his pessimistic (realistic?) and bitter pronouncements that he has uttered over the previous 250 pages he finds himself “shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line.” Is this surprising? I don't think so.
Only a person of incredible resolve and with infinite capacity for dreaming (if not illusion) could have undertaken Bolivar’s project. His capacity to reject Manuela and life-long companionship; to take interest in the suffering of strangers when he was in his last painful days; to love strange and dirty dogs when he had lived in the lap of luxury on so many occasions; to ride a horse when he could barely sit-up. These are all evidence of a of a supernaturally willed and compassionate individual. In the end it was as though neither his body nor his newly created nation was made of the same exceptional material as his will, and thus both broke and perished.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Span 312: Marquez Blog #1
It’s exciting to finally get to this book because it deals with such a mythic figure in Latin American history. I have spent time in Cuba and read many pieces of Latin American non-fiction literature in which Bolivar is omni-present, and with the continued development of MERCUSOR the specter of Bolivar appears stronger than ever. Generally, he is portrayed as the liberator of Latin America so it is of interest to read about him in the context of a course themed on the dictator novel. Marquez paints a tragic and contradictory picture of Bolivar. In the first three pages we come to understand his love life, his failing emotional, physical and mental state, as well as his crumbling political project. First and foremost we see his devouring weakness, but this is undergirded by the remains of an immense strength. It is almost as if Bolivar’s health mirrors his military career. In the depths of weakness he rises from “the ashes” again and again, surprising even those closest to him, such as Jose Palacios when he rises from the motionless depths of his early morning bath. Every night he descends into dementia and wakes up lucid. The question that will be answered in the second part of the book (I believe) is whether this is representative of his whole life at some level. Has he always had elements of insanity, vulnerability and madness, but in different proportions?
Also of interest in the first part of this novel is his relationship with his faithful servant Jose Palacios, because it comes on the heels of “I the Supreme”. Bolivar, like Dr. Francia has to rely completely his assistant, although Palacios is not his scribe in the same fashion. Despite this dissimilarity between the two assistants they both bring to light to the vulnerability of all dictators or military leaders: they must put their total faith in those closest to them to keep their sanity. In contrast to Dr. Francia’s insane mistrust of Patino, Bolivar seems to trust Jose Palacios entirely. I will be watching how this relationship develops throughout the novel.
Also of interest in the first part of this novel is his relationship with his faithful servant Jose Palacios, because it comes on the heels of “I the Supreme”. Bolivar, like Dr. Francia has to rely completely his assistant, although Palacios is not his scribe in the same fashion. Despite this dissimilarity between the two assistants they both bring to light to the vulnerability of all dictators or military leaders: they must put their total faith in those closest to them to keep their sanity. In contrast to Dr. Francia’s insane mistrust of Patino, Bolivar seems to trust Jose Palacios entirely. I will be watching how this relationship develops throughout the novel.
Monday, February 25, 2008
"I The Supreme": Second Half
I’ve had to retreat to Saturna Island to defeat the supremely long and complex “I the Supreme”. Dozens of cups of tea; more than a couple complaints to anyone who would listen; and half a hi-lighter later, I have triumphed. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Hesse and Calvino are counted among my favourite authors. Thus, it can be said that complex plots, philosophical ramblings, blurred realism and shear length are not literary qualities that I avoid. Having said this, I can say unequivocally that I found “I the Supreme” to be too long, that is to say that its length detracted from its supremacy. The chaotic and mystical diatribes that issue forth from the Dictator’s Pen grow tiresome after 430 pages, although there is much brilliance interposed between such highly (un)literal passages. This is a book that could have been written in 200 pages without losing its brilliance, and in my opinion would have increased it in fact. Did dear Bastos not have an editor? The book is “richly textured”, as one reviewer puts it; like many sumptuous Parisian desserts thrown together, but with a single flavour dominating the overflowing dish so that it makes it hard to pick out the other delicious flavours. Ok. Now that I have thoroughly complained about the layer of the cake that is too thick for my liking, let me get to the richness that lies above and below.
“I the Supreme” is a book about language. Mortality, politics, gender, and religion are important themes, but they are all embedded in language. It is simultaneously about the slippage of meaning and the permanence of language. The Dictator himself writes/dictates constantly and continually invokes various written works from the western canon dating back to Plato, yet curses scribes of all sorts and his own in particular. He berates Patino incessantly for his inability to capture His dictation. He demands exact copies of his speech, but also the recording of the meaning behind the words. In a political sense absolute power flows from The Supreme, but he admits to fooling himself at the end of the book. No power is absolute, because of the unavoidable slippage from the exact meaning of each of his orders as they are received; the slippage between the literal and figural, the sign and the signified. The Dictator himself is constantly remaking and re-working words in dizzying displays of word play. His thoughts are rife with illusions and allusions (the Orange Tree, mystical eggs and talking dead dogs). Ultimately, The Supreme still exists as a historical character because of language, both written and oral, but not in the way he would have liked, despite all of his writing. He is proof that regardless of the power that is invested in an individual, they are unable to fully mould their surroundings to their likings because they lack the language to truly express their desires.
“I the Supreme” is a book about language. Mortality, politics, gender, and religion are important themes, but they are all embedded in language. It is simultaneously about the slippage of meaning and the permanence of language. The Dictator himself writes/dictates constantly and continually invokes various written works from the western canon dating back to Plato, yet curses scribes of all sorts and his own in particular. He berates Patino incessantly for his inability to capture His dictation. He demands exact copies of his speech, but also the recording of the meaning behind the words. In a political sense absolute power flows from The Supreme, but he admits to fooling himself at the end of the book. No power is absolute, because of the unavoidable slippage from the exact meaning of each of his orders as they are received; the slippage between the literal and figural, the sign and the signified. The Dictator himself is constantly remaking and re-working words in dizzying displays of word play. His thoughts are rife with illusions and allusions (the Orange Tree, mystical eggs and talking dead dogs). Ultimately, The Supreme still exists as a historical character because of language, both written and oral, but not in the way he would have liked, despite all of his writing. He is proof that regardless of the power that is invested in an individual, they are unable to fully mould their surroundings to their likings because they lack the language to truly express their desires.
"I The Supreme": First Half
I didn’t see “I the Supreme” coming, was doubly surprised. First, hefting it in my hand a couple weeks ago in the book store, and then reading the first couple pages. This is the greatest book in the history of Latin American literature according to the professor; the most complex book I have ever read; and coincidently the book on which I have to write a comprehensive Wikipedia article. Where to begin?
Some random thoughts on a book composed of the (random?) rememberings and documents of hundreds of individuals follows....
This story is enjoyable from a number of nerdly perspectives. It is rife with philosophical and political reflections so much so that I found myself taking notes without thinking that correspond to my “History of Western Political Thought Course”. The continual (and disparaging) references The Supreme makes to Buenos Aires brings to mind Fecundo. As he mentions Fecundo, Rosas and Rivadavia I can imagine Sarmiento’s story unfolding on the periphery of that of Bastos. The book is also jarringly funny sometimes, as The Dictator takes the piss out of everyone and anyone he can lay his tongue on.
Since there is only The Dictator in this novel - he is either speaking, writing or occasionally being spoken to – his character is the novel. But is he a protagonist? Coming from a liberal democratic area of the world, the “dictator” title attached to the character of Dr. Francia should be enough to clearly answer that he is not. I would argue, however, that he is. The Supreme is a tragic protagonist, who becomes lost in his own intention/vision, and a victim of his own lack of humanity.
He does not lust after power, but assumes power in the midst of an anarchic vacuum and at the request of the other Paraguayan leaders. The Dictator goes on to firmly establish Paraguay’s independence and ensure stability for his entire reign. Education is made free and Indians are given the status of citizens. His downfall is his own paranoia, his inability to delegate and groom leaders around him. He becomes lost in a labyrinth of suspicion, deathly afraid of the international anarchy that surrounds the borders of his country and of all that he cannot directly control within his own country.
In some ways he brings to mind Fidel Castro, a leader whose own verbosity and revolutionary zeal is almost unparalleled. Like “The Supreme” Castro had Cuba sealed from foreigners for a long stretch of time to prevent moral contamination, in addition to suffering from further isolating trade embargos. Castro’s despotic power within Cuba was justified and perhaps warranted by internal threats stoked by external powers. Both of these men were liberators and raised the standard of living and education, in ways that only a person with a strong vision and a stronger hand could. Both held onto power until they no longer were physically (mentally?) capable. Castro’s legacy is yet to be determined, and will likely be less damaging than Dr. Francia’s, but the similarities remain.
Some random thoughts on a book composed of the (random?) rememberings and documents of hundreds of individuals follows....
This story is enjoyable from a number of nerdly perspectives. It is rife with philosophical and political reflections so much so that I found myself taking notes without thinking that correspond to my “History of Western Political Thought Course”. The continual (and disparaging) references The Supreme makes to Buenos Aires brings to mind Fecundo. As he mentions Fecundo, Rosas and Rivadavia I can imagine Sarmiento’s story unfolding on the periphery of that of Bastos. The book is also jarringly funny sometimes, as The Dictator takes the piss out of everyone and anyone he can lay his tongue on.
Since there is only The Dictator in this novel - he is either speaking, writing or occasionally being spoken to – his character is the novel. But is he a protagonist? Coming from a liberal democratic area of the world, the “dictator” title attached to the character of Dr. Francia should be enough to clearly answer that he is not. I would argue, however, that he is. The Supreme is a tragic protagonist, who becomes lost in his own intention/vision, and a victim of his own lack of humanity.
He does not lust after power, but assumes power in the midst of an anarchic vacuum and at the request of the other Paraguayan leaders. The Dictator goes on to firmly establish Paraguay’s independence and ensure stability for his entire reign. Education is made free and Indians are given the status of citizens. His downfall is his own paranoia, his inability to delegate and groom leaders around him. He becomes lost in a labyrinth of suspicion, deathly afraid of the international anarchy that surrounds the borders of his country and of all that he cannot directly control within his own country.
In some ways he brings to mind Fidel Castro, a leader whose own verbosity and revolutionary zeal is almost unparalleled. Like “The Supreme” Castro had Cuba sealed from foreigners for a long stretch of time to prevent moral contamination, in addition to suffering from further isolating trade embargos. Castro’s despotic power within Cuba was justified and perhaps warranted by internal threats stoked by external powers. Both of these men were liberators and raised the standard of living and education, in ways that only a person with a strong vision and a stronger hand could. Both held onto power until they no longer were physically (mentally?) capable. Castro’s legacy is yet to be determined, and will likely be less damaging than Dr. Francia’s, but the similarities remain.
Monday, February 4, 2008
The President: Second Half
The President is a book almost without redemption. On Saturday I woke up and read about a women being forced to work with ulcerating chemicals while listening to the cries of her starving child, who dies at her breasts unable to drink because of the chemical that coats them. On Sunday I went to bed having read the last half of the book and proceeded to have the most disturbing dreams and restless sleep I can remember. The image of Fedina entombing her baby in her body, clinging to her dead baby who has begun to rot in the midst of a brothel is simultaneously so tender and brutal. That image will stick in my mind for a long time. Maybe this is the redeeming moment of the book. It is only among among Dona Chon's prostitutes, among women, that we find an outpouring of humanity; humans acting compassionately together. The concern of the prostitutes and the lavish funeral and wake that are given to Fedina's son is a question mark that remains at the end of The President.
When I say that there is no redemption in this book it is because nothing good happens to anyone good. Camilla ends up heart broken and half crazy, perhaps the concubine of the President. Fedina is rewarded for trying to save General Canales with the death of her son. Angel who is "as beautiful and wicked as Satan" does not live up to this oft repeated line. He saves the Zany, Camilla, General Canales and later major Farfan. While it is true that only the former was selfless in that the others were motivated by his desire to save Camilla from her death, it is my belief that there are few truly selfless acts in the world. Much of what we do to help others is self-gratifying in some way. My point? Angel is the story's protagonist, and moved by love he does not live up to his description as Satan. His good deeds, his metamorphosis from the President's errand boy to a compassionate citizen of the republic is rewarded with a brutal death sentence carried out by a man he saved.
When I say that there is no redemption in this book it is because nothing good happens to anyone good. Camilla ends up heart broken and half crazy, perhaps the concubine of the President. Fedina is rewarded for trying to save General Canales with the death of her son. Angel who is "as beautiful and wicked as Satan" does not live up to this oft repeated line. He saves the Zany, Camilla, General Canales and later major Farfan. While it is true that only the former was selfless in that the others were motivated by his desire to save Camilla from her death, it is my belief that there are few truly selfless acts in the world. Much of what we do to help others is self-gratifying in some way. My point? Angel is the story's protagonist, and moved by love he does not live up to his description as Satan. His good deeds, his metamorphosis from the President's errand boy to a compassionate citizen of the republic is rewarded with a brutal death sentence carried out by a man he saved.
The President: First Half
The President is a phenomenally complex and ever changing narration. Asturias' style brings to mind Herman Hesse' Steppenwolfe as the focus moves back and forth between a realistic, gritty and detailed account of reality to a world of feelings and fantastic figurative language. In spite of such quick changes from the realistic to the fantastic, and from narrative to verse, the the novel makes two things clear very quickly: this is a world that has come unhinged and is also a place that has suffered from oppression for a long time.
The "specter of death" that hangs over the cradle of Fedina's son; the laughing of the children at the violence and tears of Don Benjamin's puppet; the public urinals that weep for the death of Zany; the secret police being "spotted" as the career of the future. All of these descriptions are to be found at the beginning of book, and though they are more subtle than the individual acts violence that occur, they speak of a society that is permeated with violence and underpinned by a kind of hopeless grief.
The President is a book about a dictator, but Asturias wants us to know immediately that this is not a world of military order, but of chaos; it is a world that has come unhinged. The very first page is an unforgettable description of the “confraternity of a dunghill” on the Cathedral porch. The beggars that are described are apparently only half human as they lack many human faculties and certainly have none of the camaraderie one might expect in a group of humans who know each other. The second chapter, The Flight of Zany, is an intimate introduction to the insane as the reader is led through back allies screaming "Mother!!". Only somewhat less out of control are the children that stream through the streets on the Holiday that occurs in following chapters, fighting, stealing and torturing insects as they go on. With such insanity around him, Angel’s transition from smooth protagonist to troubled and frenzied lover on pages 141/142 is somehow less of a shock. The fit of desperate and insane rage which finally results in his death is almost foretold through the interspersion of such episodes and details throughout the first part of the book.
The "specter of death" that hangs over the cradle of Fedina's son; the laughing of the children at the violence and tears of Don Benjamin's puppet; the public urinals that weep for the death of Zany; the secret police being "spotted" as the career of the future. All of these descriptions are to be found at the beginning of book, and though they are more subtle than the individual acts violence that occur, they speak of a society that is permeated with violence and underpinned by a kind of hopeless grief.
The President is a book about a dictator, but Asturias wants us to know immediately that this is not a world of military order, but of chaos; it is a world that has come unhinged. The very first page is an unforgettable description of the “confraternity of a dunghill” on the Cathedral porch. The beggars that are described are apparently only half human as they lack many human faculties and certainly have none of the camaraderie one might expect in a group of humans who know each other. The second chapter, The Flight of Zany, is an intimate introduction to the insane as the reader is led through back allies screaming "Mother!!". Only somewhat less out of control are the children that stream through the streets on the Holiday that occurs in following chapters, fighting, stealing and torturing insects as they go on. With such insanity around him, Angel’s transition from smooth protagonist to troubled and frenzied lover on pages 141/142 is somehow less of a shock. The fit of desperate and insane rage which finally results in his death is almost foretold through the interspersion of such episodes and details throughout the first part of the book.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Fecundo: Part II
What is incredible about the last half of Fecundo is the admiration and absolution Sarmiento finds for him in the midst of an expected indictment. Fecundo is a Caeser, a genius of sorts, in the eyes of author and for all his brutality he is not cruel. He is simply a barbarian, a gaucho who cannot control his rage. When he is not “seeing red” he is capable of great respect for people like Paz and kindness towards common citizens, such as the merchant turned beggar that bestows with ounces of gold; he is not immune to “noble inspiration” or a “spark of virtue”. Fecundo uses terror as a system of governance, because fear is the only way he knows how to govern. How is a perpetrator of such violence not a perpetrator of cruelty? Sarmiento does not see a choice for his protagonist, he is a product of the countryside, something to be admired, but ultimately vanquished in the name of civilization and progress. In Sarmiento’s often positive description of a bloody tyrant we see his admiration for the gaucho character, and perhaps a nostalgia as he perceives no room for such a character in the future of a modern Argentina.
Ultimately, Fecundo is a book about power, about a caudillo with no limits to his boldness and savagery. While Sarmiento is certainly not an advocate of absolute power – ostensibly the book is a call to action against it – he acknowledges and even celebrates the attraction of power. The author himself seems to feel this pull. Why did he not simply write a political pamphlet or a call to arms? As the incomprehensible power of the vast Argentinean countryside inspires its poets, perhaps Fecundo and Rosas inspire Sarmiento through their terrible power. The author is so acutely aware of the pull of terrible power that he comments “if the reader is bored by these thoughts I will tell him about some more frightful crimes” after spending a page or so on political rhetoric. Thus, we see the ultimate contradiction of Fecundo. It is simultaneously an indictment and a celebration of boldly inflicted terror. Only the stupid rule through terror and violence Sarmiento comments, but only the bold can rule with these implements.
Ultimately, Fecundo is a book about power, about a caudillo with no limits to his boldness and savagery. While Sarmiento is certainly not an advocate of absolute power – ostensibly the book is a call to action against it – he acknowledges and even celebrates the attraction of power. The author himself seems to feel this pull. Why did he not simply write a political pamphlet or a call to arms? As the incomprehensible power of the vast Argentinean countryside inspires its poets, perhaps Fecundo and Rosas inspire Sarmiento through their terrible power. The author is so acutely aware of the pull of terrible power that he comments “if the reader is bored by these thoughts I will tell him about some more frightful crimes” after spending a page or so on political rhetoric. Thus, we see the ultimate contradiction of Fecundo. It is simultaneously an indictment and a celebration of boldly inflicted terror. Only the stupid rule through terror and violence Sarmiento comments, but only the bold can rule with these implements.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Facundo: response to first 7 chapters
What is striking in the first half of Fecundo is the author’s equation of civilization with a subversiveness, a sole bastion of civilized resistance in the face of dictatorship and barbarism. The civilized Buenos Aires resident holds up a pen in the face of the Gaucho’s knife. Yet this distinction between men of violence and men of the pen, which is a rallying cry for the future President of the Republic of Argentina, is immediately blurred in Fecundo. It is blurred in the contrast between Cordoba and Argentina, both places of learning and literature, both cities, but somehow on opposite ends of the battle. Sarmiento attributes this to old styles of learning and old texts, Bentham versus the Bible, however he credits the introduction of math and physics as having a revolutionary effect on the young people of Cordoba. The line is further blurred by the “hero” of his novel, who is literate and the son of a well-educated man; Quiroga is no average Gaucho.
The Gaucho is seemingly the embodiment of barbarism with his refusal to bow before authority and his penchant for solving disputes with a knife, and enjoying it. The Gaucho is a man of the country and what the cities must contend with as the Republic tries to reorganize Argentina in the wake of the 1810 revolution. He is illiterate, idle, and anti-authoritarian to the point that he will acknowledge no civil justice and no public. Yet the Gaucho is also a survivor and a Restreador, and at his best a Baqueano. Sarmiento unequivocally admires these expert trackers who know every bush, every tree, where they are night or day. In fact they are essential to all who want to make war in Argentina, including the revolutionaries. Why does Sarmiento admire such bastions of barbarism? I think it is because they are so intimate with the land that Sarmiento holds so dear, close to it in a way he can never be. They are also part of a landscape that is a source of much inspiration for the Argentinean writers of his day, which holds an irony in and of itself. If civilization exists in literature and literacy in cities, why is it the country – a place of barbarism - that inspires people to write?
The Gaucho is seemingly the embodiment of barbarism with his refusal to bow before authority and his penchant for solving disputes with a knife, and enjoying it. The Gaucho is a man of the country and what the cities must contend with as the Republic tries to reorganize Argentina in the wake of the 1810 revolution. He is illiterate, idle, and anti-authoritarian to the point that he will acknowledge no civil justice and no public. Yet the Gaucho is also a survivor and a Restreador, and at his best a Baqueano. Sarmiento unequivocally admires these expert trackers who know every bush, every tree, where they are night or day. In fact they are essential to all who want to make war in Argentina, including the revolutionaries. Why does Sarmiento admire such bastions of barbarism? I think it is because they are so intimate with the land that Sarmiento holds so dear, close to it in a way he can never be. They are also part of a landscape that is a source of much inspiration for the Argentinean writers of his day, which holds an irony in and of itself. If civilization exists in literature and literacy in cities, why is it the country – a place of barbarism - that inspires people to write?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)