Flipping the coin.

The most interesting part of this course for me has come at the end with the comparison of McOndo and Macondo. As a HUGE fan of magical realism, I was at first thrown off with the mission statement of McOndo's editors.....Why would they want to criticize such a beautiful genre of writing? But after reading a few of the stories within the collaborative work, I realize that they are right: Latin America was being stereotyped, and in a big way. Reading the works of authors who are young, innovative, and not well-known is always an eye-opening event. I certainly didn't enjoy all of them that I read (ie: "Mi estado físico"....sorry, boring), but on the whole they delved into a Latin America that we don't usually see, but that we can all relate to. Why? Because it is a world almost identical to ours.

McOndo dances around with the idea of globalization. It's ironic that they were searching for the true flavour of Latin American literature, and ended up with an interrelation of all things human. Well, maybe not ALL things human....

I say this because I was surprised at the utter lack of female author representation in McOndo. What does this tell us? That Latin America does not have female writers? That their work is sub-par? That they are not supported? Clearly, Latin America has female writers (many of them celebrated...although we know Jon's thoughts on Laura Esquivel!) The last scenario is perhaps more the case. Where are these unsupported, unknown female writers, and why didn't McOndo track them down in order to add them to the shortlist of young and upcoming Latin American writers? Now, I'm not a feminist or on a mission to bring Latin American women into the limelight for whatever their achievements in writing are (ah, see....total ignorance on that subject!); but c'mon editors, let's not be too one-sided here! Show the world all of the identities enveloped in that phrase of "Latin American Writers".

Overall, this course was a pleasure. It has piqued my interest in magical realism and provided background and insight into its method and symbolism. Once again, rounding the course out with a book dedicated to changing the perspective on Latin American writing was an engaging concept. I may still attribute some of the best magical realism out there to the writers of Latin America, but at least now I have witnessed the other side of that coin.

Seeking reality.

I don't think it's that these authors and their stories in McOndo have miraculously appeared after the BOOM, but that North America (et al.) just wasn't aware of their existence. As media is able to manipulate the beliefs and perspectives that the general public has about foreign countries, they can also control what kind of pacifying literature we receive. This situation reminds me of two periods in my life. Firstly, when I went to live in Colombia for two months. Had I not been 'head-over-heels in love' (I now use that term loosely), I probably would not have gone to this country where the only image I had branded in my mind was of this greasy druglord with a white pants, shiny shoes, a button-down hawaiian shirt, an oversized mustachio, and large sunglasses on (so you can never tell where he's lookin).....straight out of the 80s.....you know the one. Well, needless to say, I didn't see this stereotype ANYWHERE on my trip and Colombia STILL continues to be my favorite country due to its generous culture, amicable gente, and beautiful (BEAUTIFUL!) landscape. This tropical visit not only influenced my life in a profound way, but it also made me realize how dominated our society is with being told what we should believe...without any personal investigation whatsoever. This leads me to my second experience. Last year I did some research on Latin American influence in film (see http://screened.blogspot.com/ if you've got time during these last stressful weeks of school, haha!), and slowly came to realize that through the medium of film, television, and all of the Hollywood hits that are cherished, we are told that Latin America is either a utopia for the escapist or a treacherous wasteland full of kidnappers and drug smuggling (most often depending on the country's relations with the United States at the time). The industry has given us various stereotypes of the hispanic culture: a goofy, sombrero-sportin, sidekick on a donkey; a zorro-esque hero; a curvacious Latin bombshell; etc, etc...

And so McOndo seeks to engender in our hearts the truth about Latin American society: it really is no different from our own. Sure there are distinct cultural differences....there has to be. However, with the advances in technology and the ease of modern world travel, Earth has become an amalgamation of the same youth: a texting, iPHONE toting, 'looking for a good time', internet addicted youth. And yes, you and I are part of this same youth. So it is no wonder that these 'new' authors of McOndo are young and unknown. They lack the knowledge and experience of the civil strife and unrest in Latin countries which is evident via the symbolic nature of magical realism. This makes me wonder: Is magical realism a tool to stealthily deliver a criticizing blow to authority without doing it openly?

McOndo and 'Macondo' both tell the stories of 'everday' events; yet Macondo speaks to the imagination (Magical Realism), while McOndo tells of things that could happen to any of us (put simply: the Magic of Life). The McOndo story from Spain, "He conocido a mucha gente", speaks of what I like to call 'the travelling curse'; that vagabond mentality which allows friendships with amazing people, but only for a limited time. Or "Buenas noches" where the protagonist often wakes up in strange places and is so confused/scared/agitated that he returns to his unconsciousness because "puedes dormir en cualquier parte, pero no puedes despertarte en cualquier parte." (p.175) [ie: Think back to any time you may have passed out at una feria with no idea where you were the next morning.] From Mexico, "La mujer químicamente compatible" refers to women by the places they are from and the 'chemical reactions' which ensue. "La gente de látex" describes the narrator's plight of fame: beneficial or detrimental? And "Mi estado físico" was a depressingly boring tale about a solitary man who can't seem to escape depressingly boring events.

All of these plots either relate to us or remind us of someone we have heard of. In this way, McOndo documents the common human condition of life....something which is perhaps lost in the imagination of Magical Realism.

These Three Kings

Okay. A comparison of three meccas in Latin American literature: Leyendas de Guatemala by Asturias, El reino de este mundo by Carpentier, and García Márquez's Cien años de soledad.

First off, I find that Latin American authors have much to critique in their society: religion, military, government, etc... and they do it with gusto. These authors found ways to write historical accounts or myths critiquing these pillars of society, but each in subtley different ways. Asturias' tales, although they were myths, still created a connection of trust between narrator and reader. Carpentier took a more historical perspective, while García Márquez weaved the most engaging story (in my opinion), but at times I could not make heads nor tails of the twisted chronology (not to mention the repetitive names!). But whatever the style, each book finds a way to criticize the struggling societies which birthed these authors, albeit through the symbolic nature of history and it's repeating of itself. Is it less harsh of a critique if the object of insult is placed in the setting of a historical context? I think so, and I also think that it's a cunning way of passing judgement without being directly at fault.....perhaps an important quality when one looks at the way their governements treat such liberal ideas.

Of course, each author spiced up their dishes with magical realism. I suppose with Asturias this magic was obvious: most myths usually invoke a little harmless magic into their pages....to me, that is what makes them myths. There is something mysterious and inevitably addictive about them. It's a human condition, I suppose, seeing as all cultures have their own myths to pass down. Carpentier mixed the magic with concrete historical facts; a difficult task not only for the author, but the reader as well. The two contrasting perspectives of the same event often made me discombobulated (good word), but the symbolism within the magical realism was tangible. Gárcia Marquéz throws around the magical realism so much that it almost becomes a joke; nevertheless I still can't get enough. You've probably already guessed that I enjoyed this book the most. I think the man is a genius. The way that he blends "magic'', symbolism, history, and humour is incredible. I'm not saying that he's the best writer out there, but the talent must be recognized. I never really felt attached to any of the characters, or even that I could relate to them; but ironically their stories will stay with me as if they happened to my best friends. Perhaps this lack of character/reader connection adds to the 'solitude' of the book. It was interesting that both El reino de este mundo and Cien años de soledad ended with two characters searching for their place in the world and realizing that they won't get a second chance at living their dreams. Carpe diem?

In sum, the legends of Asturias intrigued me but left me with little interest in the subject; the 'kingdom' of Carpentier was a tad serious for my taste, but it appealed to me enough that I want to read it in English in order to get the full effect; and the solitude of Márquez intoxicated me to the point that yellow flowers clouded my eyelids as I slept.

Y después de un 'Buendía' de tarea.......

First, may I point out that this book extends it's solitude to it's readers....or maybe just to our Spanish class. I have been sitting here for hours trying to finish off the novel while my roommates are out at the Kingshead drinking Winter Ale....my favorite....this solitude is crushing me. But now that it's over, do I mourn the characters as I'm stricken by solitude? Or do I now look for tiny yellow butterflies?

Okay, enough crazy-talk (I've been doing general homework for a good 12 hours now...my apologies), but as I had expressed, within this story I find that I can relate to many of the going-ons in the Buendía family. The parties that Aureliano Segundo throws where "nadie lamentó los percances, porque la casa se estremeció con un terremoto de buena salud" (p. 327) remind me of the Whitlam family gatherings where we all get good and sloshed while at least 20 children under the age of 6 run wild. No one has tried to climb una cunaña, but I wouldn't write that off just yet ;) Also, when the people of Macondo reject the cinema as an optical illusion it reminded me of my grade 9 Humanities teacher who was convinced that her television was actually little people in a box in her living room.....no joke. She called it 'Witchcraft'. As a Humanities teacher, you'd think she'd have known the term Magical Realism :P

My point here (as I get further and further off track) is that GGM invites us into the magic of our own lives in Cien años de soledad. The Buendías are afflicted both with great passion and great solitude; two defining, but not definitive, features of life. This life goes in a circle, as Úrsula has exclaimed countless times throught the novel, and the progress and development around Maconda brings both the good and the bad. Which is why my favorite plot within the book is that of Remedios the Beauty. I find her naïve and care-free view on life analogical to how life really is beautiful when we find moments of clarity in our hearts and listen only to our basic needs, instead of what we 'should' do or how we 'need' to advance in society. The fact that she couldn't stay on this Earth gives us a hint as to how that analogy ends....

And finally, who else is fed up with everyone being named the same f***ing names over and over!!? But then I started to think about this, and came to the conclusion that these repetitive names just add to the feeling of monotony....the feeling of solitude. And the fact that the passing of names from generation to generation allows you to see that same solitude hitching a ride with each condemned soul, time and again. Perhaps this is why Úrsula never wanted her name passed on. What happens when it does? The pig tail curse finds its way back into the family! But this family isn't really cursed by a pig's tail. Such a curse may be shameful, but it doesn't leave a feeling such as this mind-numbing, aching, emotion-draining, all-encompassing solitude; something all of the Buendía's evenutally succumb to.

Hmmm. The 'Buendías'. Ironic.

Themes and scattered thoughts...

It's common for titles to give away certain areas of the plot; there's always some sort of foreshadowing which comes from 'judging a book by its title'. Cien años de soledad is no different as it ventures into the question of time and the sense of solitude. These themes have become principal in this book, whether it's through war or just the magical realism of daily life.

Time is an afterthought in Macondo. There is much reference to it, as well as its passing, but the plot seems to sidestep the issue of actual chronology by, for example, retelling an entire life story and then going back to the critical moment of suspense where the gun is aimed and cocked and ready. What does this do for the reader? Well, I am personally very freed by it. I actually feel like i give more thought to the symbolism (Oh, the symbolism!) of the novel instead of wondering what will happen to its characters: I know Aureliano will die old and gray and not in front of a firing squad, so right now I'll concentrate on the significance of the ice....touché, GGM. There is definitive mention of time: "¿Qué esperabas?...El tiempo pasa." (Úrsula, p. 226) As well there is an obsession with cien años. As Melquíades says: "Nadie debe conocer su sentido mientras no hayan cumplido cien años." I believe that this would have been an long, long time for someone to live in those days; but then again, what is time to magical realism?

La soledad saturates this tale. Someone marries, someone dies, someone goes crazy, someone finds a lover; yet someone always, always is lamenting on their solitude. It comes from the war, from lost loves, from love unsatisfied. From losing a friend, from losing a family member, or from someone close losing their mind. Aureliano is the poster boy for this solitude: locking himself into a laboratory, losing his wife, sacrificing his years to the war, spreading his seed far and wide but still feeling the "inmenso poder" of the solitude. When he finally realizes how satisfying the simplicity of life was and how he can fight for his own liberation, and not alien ideals; we start to see his spark of life again. Even more so when he shoots where he believes his heart to be....it is like he is shooting the solitude out of him. And this solitude follows the family through generations and namesakes. At this point in the novel I find these two themes inter-twined: it is focusing on the passage of time which motivates this solitude. Alternatively, to experience the present is to live in joy. .....if only I could tell Aureliano.

A few afterthoughts with no coherence:

-Why this perverted obsession with incest? Was such a thing so common back then? Is it to keep the joke of the 'pig tail' alive and kickin? I know that small towns have strange habits, but...

-I find it ironic that Úrsula continues to want un hombre in the house, even though she's more stable than any other family member, past or present. Why this dependence when she alone keeps the family out of debt and with a 'good' reputation?

-So I think of Macondo like looney tunes. Y'know those parts where Wile E. Coyote (or any other unfortunate character) runs off a cliff for several steps, looks down, and then falls? This is how I see the magical realism of Macondo. Those who don't acknowledge it as being strange (ie: how the Road Runner never notices the impossibility of walking on thin air), don't ever 'fall'. The goings on in the town are never questioned and so they are part of the daily life. Not like I'm going to try to step off a tight rope any time soon, but the theory itself does make you think ;)

Holy Comparisons, Batman!

I enjoy GGM (to use the efficient footnote abbreviation) not only for his evident clarity and cleverness while telling stories, but also for how he blends 2 different, yet fundamental, aspects of society together; namely, science and religion, and then tops them off with the cherry of magical realism. José Arcadia Buendía is constantly searching for the divine truth. Ironically, his search takes the course of using scientific method to explain the most unscientific feature of human life, even going as far as trying to photograph the existence of God. He eventually states, as he delves further into the mysteries of metallic properties, "Si no temes a Dios, témele a los metales" (p. 125). Úrsula continues to uphold the catholic Colombian culture in the household, often leading the children in prayer after an episode of rants by Melquaídes about the chemical properties of the devil. I believe that it is Melquíades himself who births the initial and overt interest in magical realism to the reader: "Las cosas tienen vida propia....todo es cuestión de despertarles el ánimo" (p. 84), and he then continues to ignite the flame of curiousity by incredible feats of survival and resurrection, and the inventions with which he comes and goes.

On a sidenote, this montage of societys basic foundations reminds me of the work of the artist Fernando Botero (coincidence that these two are both Colombian??) Botero often mixes simbolism of religion, societal class, military, and history into his paintings and sculptures. In fact, as many of you have probably noticed, the painting on the front of our version of Cien años de Soledad is by Botero. His works often fuse the humor of his characters exaggerated bodies with the solemn messages which accompany his perspective of Colombian society. This particular painting on the book cover shows a military official with a wand and sword (power and authority), but also a far-off gaze, which makes one ask if his path is the one which he wanted or if he is forced to do it by the circumstances of his life (as you can see, Ive associated this figure with Aureliano). As you can see it would be quite advantageous to study both the styles of GGM and Botero if one were to want to learn about Colombian culture and history.

Finally, a bizarre little comparison between José Arcadia Buendía and the protagonist, played by Harrison Ford, of a movie called The Mosquite Coast. The basic synopsis of the movie is of a man who moves his family to Central America in order to bring "civilization" to the native peoples in the form of his invention which makes ice from fire. Hmmmmm....could this be based upon the dream of José in Cien años de soledad: "...en el futuro fabricarse bloques de hielo en gran escala" (p. 112)? Interestingly enough, both characters believe that such an invention would immensely help the people of their communities; even though neither man sees that such an invention, or the salvation they believe will come from it, is needed in the towns. As The Mosquito Coast demonstrates the developed worlds obsession with blindly aiding the less fortunate, perhaps both characters authenticate a more human desire to advance civilization, whether it is needed or not.

Why not?

After watching an Oprah episode while I was in middle school which featured Gabriel García Márquez and his masterpiece One Hundred Years of Solitude, my mother and I rushed out to buy it. After all, it was the Oprah Book Club featured novel ;) I remember enjoying it even at that young age. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that to this day I still recommend it to people. But I've gotta say that this second time around it has gotten even better.

Maybe it's because I'm a little older now and can pick out literary symbolism, or maybe it's because I've lived in Colombia and feel a familial connection to anything which relates to that wonderful country; but truthfully it's probably like it always is: you catch a little bit more every time you experience a piece of art again.

Márquez truly is a master of magical realism. For me, reading Cien años de soledad is kind of like reading a Harry Potter book: there's a magic to it that invites your imagination, but when you put the book down you can't quite put your finger on what made it so special. The actual act of reading his tale is like an enchantment. And so, I've come to the conclusion that Gabriel García Márquez is, like J.K. Rowlings, a sorcerer (or sorceress for the latter). There's no other way to explain it.

So far, for this second reading, I'm at page 154, and the memories are flying back at me. I enjoy how Márquez sets the timeline of the story: jumping back and forth, reminding the reader of events past and characters almost forgotten. And, of course, the magical realism. Whether it's a plague of insomnia sweeping the town of Macondo causing a wave of forgetfulness, or José Arcadia Buendía coming across a Spanish ship filled with flowers in the middle of the dense jungle, or the gypsies coming to town with fabulous inventions and curiousities, or a lonely ghost haunting the dreams of his killer; the magic invades the pages seamlessly. The reader begins questioning what they think of as possible. The story isn't just in the imagination of Márquez, but now it's in my mind as well; and, ultimately, I simply shrug my shoulders, raise my eyebrows and say, "Why not?"

So far, so good....

I’ve already taken Jon’s 322 class (North of the Rio Grande), and although the structure runs along similar lines (pimpin’ out a Wikipedia article, writing blogs, etc...), there are also several adjustments that have been made to the curriculum which I actually see as improvements. For example, in 322 we were racing against time to try to start articles and get them nominated for ‘Did you know...?’ status. The fact that we’re not doing this in this semester could be because all our articles have already been started and at this point are not eligible for DYK, but in my mind: the lack of pressure is all for the best. Competing against time for my first Wikipedia experience was overwhelming and stressful. Even though my group did manage to get a DYK, I felt that I had started my Wikipedia writing style off on the wrong foot, and as a consequence had to go back to the drawing-board halfway through the semester when I realized that wikipedia is (lo and behold) written like an encyclopaedia, not an opinion page or a collection of related quotes. The annotated bibliography is an especially handy tool. I feel that my organized notes on the book I read will enhance my section on Alejo Carpentier’s baroque style because they are all laid out neatly and plainly for me to pick and choose what I want to use; not to mention sections that my group members could also use. Perhaps it’s not a bad idea to do this sort of thing with the other articles and books as well.

I really love the idea of blogwriting for a weekly ‘assignment’. This ensures that the class has read the assigned reading and also allows us to cast all of our thoughts out before we go to class and really delve into the themes, characters, and nuances of each book. I feel particularly passionate about being able to write my blog about whatever pleases me at the time. There’s a seed of freedom there (and, of course, it’s environmentally friendly). :)

The readings always seem like a lot at the time, but I’m enjoying that we are spending at least one week of classes on each half of the books. It was wonderful to start out with Asturias and transition into Carpentier; two authors with similar writing styles, but to different ends. Asturias with his mythical tales of religious proportions, and Carpentier who uses historical and cultural references to bring the marvellous , instead of the magical, into the reality that he associates with both his Cuban and European identities.

Is it bad if I want to read it again in English?

As you can infer from the title of this entry, I don't feel as though I got the most out of El reino de este mundo as I'd hoped. On top of that, I feel guilty: I should have looked up more words, concentrated harder, etc... You see, a good friend of mine recommended the English version of this book to me as a must-read a few years ago. But now that I've read the Spanish version, I don't understand how he could have raved about this novel so much! Thus, the guilt, the confusion, and the yearning to read it again....in English.

Not that I haven't pieced things together with a bit of internet research. My one problem with the entire second half was not knowing heads nor tails of what was going on and which events led to which. For example, all of a sudden (seeming to me to come from nowhere), Henri Cristophe is king. I even searched back in the pages and failed to find the exact moment of something that denoted his rise from cook to royalty (and I am sure that it's there, but that's just my point: Carpentier manuevers the plot so subtly that if you're not careful, you miss that someone important died [which happened several times to me while reading] or another person rose to power). After more internet searching, my feelings were confirmed: more than one person comments on the non-linear order of such events and their stealthy insertion into the novel [insert 'sigh of relief' here].

Paulina Bonaparte interested me. She didn't seem to have any first-hand experience with the blacks from Haiti ("[ella] había leído los amores de Pablo y Virginia y conocía una linda contradanza criolla, de ritmo extraño...", p.80); but still she had a peculiar fascination with them. This runs parallel to the theme of the dominated knowing more about themselves and the world than those who dominate them.throughout the story. Wanting to know more about Paulina, I checked out her Wikipedia page, which led me to a much-needed realization. The Wikipedia page says that her husband (Leclerc) died of Yellow Fever which he contracted while in Haiti. Of course! Why is that a realization? Well, would you believe that this whole time I had actually thought that Mackandal's 'magic mushrooms' were the cause of the collossal death count from the first half of the book?! This hammered home the concept of magical realism: Carpentier had crafted the magic into the plot so sneakily that anyone naïve enough (such as myself) would believe every word he said. Now I realize the point of taking something such as yellow fever and creating a living, life-stealing, voodoo-borne organism out of it. The idea is tremendous because you can imagine that that would be how the Europeans saw this deadly plague for which they had no prevention of or cure for. Carpentier places it into our imaginations and lets it root and grow. I may feel guilty about not understanding the whole novel, but I do not feel ashamed about Carpentier being able to dupe me like that. In fact, it makes me want to delve into the English version of this book even more!

"testículos como piedras"

First off: I am thoroughly enjoying El reino de este mundo. Secondly: Who knew that I could look up spanish words so quickly? That's how I measure my like/dislike for a spanish novel: Do I zealously look up the words because I can't wait to continue with the stories? If yes, then it's a keeper. Not to say that this book is all enjoyment...in fact, I find it a bit unsettling. As such, I'm going to focus on two themes that weave through the book: Magical Realism (of course) and Racism.

The magical realism in this book is further from the myths that Asturias told us last week, and more similar to the magic of everyday occurences that García Marquéz reveals so easily. Even so, El reino de este mundo relates a brutality that is even unlike Marquéz...and maybe that's because the unbelievable actually did happen! Carpentier himself says in the prologue that "el relato que va a leerse ha sido establecido sobre una documentación extremadamente rigurosa" and "se narra una sucesión de hechos extraordinarios....dejándose que lo maravilloso fluya libremente de una realidad estrictamente seguida en todos sus detalles" (p. 11) [insert a shiver running up my spine here after reading the first half of the book]. And so Carpentier mentions myths and legends (p. 20), a witch who has no problem sticking her hands into a pot of boiling acid (p. 29), and the personification of a poison running rampant throughout the region: in soup, medicine, bread, wine, fruit, salt; "como una incontenible enradadera que buscara las sombras para hacer de los cuerpos sombras" (p. 36). Mmmm, that was beautiful! My personal favorite though, is when Mackandal returns from his metamorphosis "con testículos como piedras" (p. 42)...maybe he should get that checked. One commonality for me between Leyendas de Guatemala and what we've read of El reino de este mundo has been that in neither of these books do I feel a connection with any of the characters. Sure, that could be because they are Latin American or African or Spanish in colonial times, OR could it be that the style of magical realism distances the reader from any 'real' emotion that may come from the characters, and the attention is instead focused on the 'magic' of unfathomable events.

Now some short notes on racism. Obviously, the prejudices exists in the book and thus in that time. "¿Qué sabían los blancos de cosas de negros?" (p. 48) and "la desigualdad de las razas humanas" (p. 50). Did it seem to anyone else as though, despite the fruitless attempt by the Africans to free themselves, that it was actually los ricos who were freed: "El viudo redescubría las ventajas del celibato; la esposa respetable se daba al adulterio con entusiasmo de inventor;..." (p. 72)? I hope the second half delves deeper into these gross divisions in societies and maybe even adds a little emotion to the characters (....along with some voodoo).

While on the topic of voodoo, the Lope de Vega text between the prologue and chapter one sounded uncannily like the "true story" that Pastor Pat Robertson spoke of on January 13th, 2001, concerning the 'logic' of why Haiti was hit by a magnitude 7.0 earthquake. Since that sermon, he has been openly criticized for his claims (criticism which is not unfounded, in my eyes). See here for the official story:

http://www.cbsnews.com/blogs/2010/01/14/politics/politicalhotsheet/entry6096806.shtml

Next, a writer for the newspaper El Colombiano also makes the connection between the Haitian disaster and Lope de Vega's play:

http://www.elcolombiano.com/BancoConocimiento/O/oh_tribunal_bendito/oh_tribunal_bendito.asp

Judging by these two examples, you can't help but wonder if 'magical realism' (and the belief of it) not only lives in our imaginations, but underlies our society as well.

The mind game continues.

I gotta be honest with ya: the second half of Leyendas de Guatemala makes about as much sense to me as the Bible (again, no offense is meant by my lack of enthusiasm for religious literature. I'm just tellin' it like it is). By this comparison I mean that both involve characters that remind me of pompouos aristocrats making statements about 'who they are' and what lineage they come from, while going about their own little isolated worlds starting wars and making claims to property. I now consider these 'leyendas de Guatemala' to be the Mayan equivalent to paganistic/bibical stories. Yet not ALL of it was boring. For example, when Guacamayo got drunk off the chicha, I was quite entertained. Of course, in all truth, the guy had a toothache and I'm pretty sure that in ancient mayan times chicha would have been the anesthetic most commonly used [by the way, I've tried the chicha in Colombia and if the Guatemalan type is anything the same, then it would be sure to cure any physical malady that plagued Guacamayo!] But just the fact that Guacamayo would get drunk in these 'sacred' legends illustrates a part of the culture and spirituality of the Mayans, and not to mention more information about the character; whom I have come to affectionately think of as 'El Diablo'. To continue with this pseudo-theatre scenario, I would cast Cuculcán ("Soy como el sol!" p. 79) as Jesus, Chinchibirín as John the Baptist as he constantly tries to protect Cuculcán from the engeñador Guacamayo, and the tortugas as the disciples, simply because a religious leader needs disciples, and why not turtles with beards? Yaí is a bit of a conundrum. At first I cast her as Mary Magdalene due to her being promised to Cuculcán (p. 126), but then Guacamayo tries to trick her into strangling Cuculcán, and claims that she would die if she doesn't do it; which causes her to seemingly go insane due to 'un ataque nervioso' (p. 126) and incessantly laughs throughout the next cortina (p. 133)....poor poor Cuculcán. Could this be an allusion to Eve who is tricked to take the apple from the snake and consequently damns humanity into a societal slump of clothes and sin for the rest of eternity? It seems that the women in any religious culture are always doing something of the sort.

Again, these leyendas concentrate on the distinction of colours; the most marked of which in the second half of the book being las cortinas de amarilla, roja y negra. I've been trying to find a common thread to these colours. An obvious one would be that they signify the passing of a day, and thus Cuculcán and his sun, with amarillo in the morning, rojo in the afternoon, and negro at night. On top of this, the 'tones' appear to change from cortina a cortina: yellow feels pretty and full of love, red involves arrows flying at the curtain and battles between Guacamayo and Chinchibirín, and black always seems to have....tortugas. However, the third cortinas of each colour added extra confusion with Chinchibirín and Guacamayo yelling at one another, and then, at night, Chinchibirín receives no answers to his calls, doesn't carry his arrows, and does not jump. Then he falls and stops moving. Fin. .....what a mind game!!

Fieldtrip, anyone?

**The link to Leyendas de Guatemala wouldn't open after I'd written the blog to look up correct page numbers, so my apologies if they are off by a page or two. I'll fix it up once I can get into the link :) **

Even before "los árboles hechizan la cuidad entera" (p. 12) in Leyenda de Guatemala, the reader has no doubt that these tales will incorporate the sense of magical realism which best describes nature when seen from the heart of a poetic author. Such descriptions as when the serpent "reptó bajo sus pies como la sangre negra de un animal muerto" (p. 40); or a forest of human trees, where "veían las piedras, hablaban las hojas [y] reían las aguas" (p. 24). This is the kind of 'real magic' that I love. How about the arresting image of the 6 men which comprise the wind and the water? And of course the men in the water "se alimentaban de estrellas como los peces" (p. 28)....I mean, why wouldn't they?

My point is that these intriguing portrayals lend much more to the history of Guatemala than just fantasy; they give it mystery and appeal. Would a Guatemalan relate more to these tales than I did? Absolutely (I can say with little to no doubt)! However, there are common threads which run throughout these stories that connect a human race, and not just a country. Such as "el agua [que] está en todo" (p. 30), or the men of the wind and water who know that "todo es buena fruta" (p. 30) in the forest. Cheesy? Maybe. Verifiable truths? To a glass-half-full perspective: Yes. And as an ultimate test, the average reader, Guatemalan or not, needs to expand their well of experience upon reading about the central character 'El Cuco de los Sueños'; the intrepid personality which "va hilando los cuentos" (p. 12). And this is where I would like to stay: in the massive wings of this 'Cuco de Sueños' as it weaves together lullabies of stories which reak of la naturaleza and realismo mágico.

To my disappointment, however, the legends ventured to the wrong side of the tracks when they began to include aspects of societal greed and religion. Okay, so I have to admit that my mood takes a downward spiral whenever Latin American authors pursue the messy subject of religion (to those who may be agitated by this comment, my disclaimer is that religion doesn't sit well with me, but I think it's fine if it sits well with you); but I must admit that religion has been a key-player in the development of Latin America, and, as these legends revolve somewhat chronologically around the maturing of Guatemala as a nation, it seems only right that Asturias should include a varied mix of catholicism and a kind of 'mayan paganism' within the legends.

But even in these 'magical cities', the Catholic church muscles its way into a position of authority as a line is drawn between "el sacerdote y la multitud" (p. 14). It seems that even as the conquistadors arrive, "el espíritu religioso entristece el paisaje" (p. 16); and the similarities are not unfounded when "se han podrido más de tres obispos y las ratas arrastran malos pensamientos" (p. 16). But then, Asturias speaks of the 'trinidad' being santa, flor (azucena) y niño. (p. 32) Metaphors of the traditional Father, Son, and holy ghost? Perhaps these Mayan legends have taken a biblical turn. Then there is Nido, who "en un día que duró muchos siglos" (p. 32) created a town with a temple. Okay, so it wasn't the world and it wasn't in seven days, but I'm sensing some more similarities here between the dominant Catholic church and the drowning Mayan legends. Although, with these ideas of magical realism, it feels more comfortable to relate these stories to Santa Clause, than to God. Or would God be in a state of magical realism as well? This creates a perfectly sound environment for the Church to be introduced into such pagan fables, just as it seems to have 'introduced' itself into many cultures of the world. Besides, every story needs a corrupt villain.

All in all, my feeling so far is that instead of reading these legends on my laptop in my room while listening to the rain dripping outside; I would rather be told these tales from una vieja, gray and weathered, as we sit under the stars and next to the '3 men of the water' as they meander their way through the lush expanse of Guatemala. .....Does the Spanish department pay for field trips?

On another note, does anyone have any insight on the colours which are repeatedly mentioned in the legends (verde, rojo, blanco y negro)? Asturias mentions several references that these colors have (ie: organs, hair, spring storms, torpical ecstasy, promises of new lands, cruelty, etc...), but does anyone know of a central idea/image from which these color stem? Thanks!

Pura vida.

Hello, my name is Katie, and I'm a facebook-aholic.

Hi!
My name is Katie and I'm a 4th year Linguistics major/Spanish minor undergrad at UBC. Random facts about myself (in no order of preference):

-Like it says in the title, I am a facebook-aholic.
-My other addictions are languages, travelling, music, reading books...NOT textbooks but REAL books, red wine, dancing, beer, and various foods which I get addicted to in phases.
-I plan to be in some state of travelling for my entire life, employed or not.
-I have difficulty making friends with any kind of technology.
-I'm not artistic, but I love to appreciate art.
-My favorite things are clouds.
-My life motto is Live, Laugh, Love (I'd like to say I made that one up, but......no)
-I'm a psuedo-vegetarian; meaning that it's not a moral decision, but sometimes I just can't stand the taste of the flesh/muscle/"whatever you wanna call it" getting masticated in my mouth. Ew. And yet, other times I crave a huge chunk of juicy steak to chew on....I'm a walking contradiction.
-Humour is a prized quality.
-I enjoy meditation, yoga, and exercise DVDs (another addiction)
-Loose tea kicks bagged tea's ass.
-As you can see, I love to type (and had an extra half-hour on my hands), which merits a warning that my blogs will probably be on the longer side (just in case you start reading them and then start asking what you got yourself into). Unless I'm hungover, in which case they will be just within the limit of what is absolutely needed (just to be brutally honest, haha!)

Looking forward to this class!
¡Pura Vida!