Although a complex novel, I absolutely loved Pedro Páramo. Had this been a few years ago, I may not have said that since I had never been exposed to Magical Realism. However, after having read García Marquez’ “Cien años de soledad”, Cortázar’s “La noche boca arriba” and Fuentes’ “Chac-mool,” I felt much more comfortable with the novel. (It’s crazy how education can do that!) Well, maybe comfortable is not the right word, as I still had to review many passages. I believe the most confusing aspect was the chronology. I mean I am still wondering if the priest was dead and came back, or if it was a flashback. I am also not sure if some of the characters were spirits, or humans. Now that I think about it, do I have a better grasp on magical realism? Aw man.
Nostalgia. The past. Heritage. History. Conscience. All of these ideas crossed my mind repeatedly while reading this book. I imagined a young man (I assume he was young) tracing the path of his ancestors. Upon returning to his past, he was enveloped with an abundance of varying emotion. Was it his conscience? Were there truly spirits? Or perhaps, every time he took a nap or went to sleep, his mind escaped and he dreamt of what may have happened.
I suppose I can relate. Maybe this is weird but I think of the poem “Tintern Abbey.” When I am in front of a ruin, when I am standing in the midst of a historical monument, when I walk through an Indian burial ground, when I open an old book passed down to me by my family, or even when I moved into an older house, I am taken back to an earlier time. I imagine scenarios, and try to immerse myself into what “was”. It helps me to understand history better by putting myself right in it, or at least trying to. Afterall, every place has a story. At times I can almost hear the murmurs of its people… much like Juan. (I am not psycho, I swear)
Revisiting the past is always an emotional, almost spiritual experience for me. It is surreal. History is a part of us, whether we acknowledge it or not, whether we accept it or not, or whether we understand it or not.
Silence can speak millions and there is no better story than one told by a vine-devoured stone wall. Very cool book.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Beckett makes a fool of me.
During this week’s class, I have to admit that I found myself giggling a lot. This had nothing to do with Dr. Van Noordt because I thought she did a FANTASTIC job. I was giggling because I found it a bit funny that we spent 3 hours analyzing “Endgame” by Beckett.
I was reminded of an activity that I did a year ago with one of the classes I teach. It was an AP Spanish Language class and it was during May, after they had already taken the AP Exam. We had been working extremely hard up to that point, so we were a bit relieved, and worn out, after the test had been taken. You know the feeling. It is that gigantic sigh of relief where exhaustion and insanity hit you. Basically, I was at the point where my brain had reached its maximum temporal capacity and I was kind of in a surreal, delirious, on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown state. In other words, my brain went nuts for the day. So, I decided to have some fun and wrote down the most random nonsense on the board. Now, at the time I thought this was hilarious, but now looking back, I realize that I should have gotten more sleep ;) Anyways, I wrote down this babble on the board in the form of a poem. I then told my students, in a very serious voice, that this was called “abstract poetry.” The students were then to attempt to make sense of the poem and share their interpretations with the class. This lasted about 5 minutes, as I just couldn’t hold in my laughter any longer. Finally, I told them that I had simply written down arbitrary nonsense and they all started laughing hysterically as they, too, had gone insane. Then, they decided to write their own abstract poem, and it was actually kind of fun… and I am sure there is a lesson in their somewhere. If not, oh well because we needed a break.
Ok, so the point of this embarrassing story is that sometimes I wonder if we have a tendency to overanalyze things. Sometimes in my crazy head, when I am not daydreaming about new salsa dance moves, I fantasize about writing a “profound” novel or essay just for the heck of it. Then I wonder about how people will analyze my work and try to better understand my “message.” I’d probably find it amusing. Or maybe someone could actually figure me out, in which case I wish they could let me know what they find!
It sort of reminds me of that famous artist who wrote his name on a toilet bowl just to see if people truly appreciated his art, or if it was just his name that attracted them. Well, the toilet bowl is now in the Centre Pompidou in Paris, so obviously it was considered to be an amazing piece of inspirational art!
I enjoyed “Endgame.” I could sit here and analyze it and try to interpret its message, but I question if there really is one. Maybe Beckett just wanted to write a crazy play, and played with language and common themes that people are familiar with because he knew we would try to make connections. Maybe he just wanted to see what nonsense we could come up with… or maybe he wanted us to get what we, personally, wanted out of it. Or better yet, perhaps the reaction we have is the art. I don’t know. Sometimes, I think Beckett is somewhere laughing at us. I have to admit, I may join him in his absurdity and laughter. Earth can definitely be amusing... or depressing.
I was reminded of an activity that I did a year ago with one of the classes I teach. It was an AP Spanish Language class and it was during May, after they had already taken the AP Exam. We had been working extremely hard up to that point, so we were a bit relieved, and worn out, after the test had been taken. You know the feeling. It is that gigantic sigh of relief where exhaustion and insanity hit you. Basically, I was at the point where my brain had reached its maximum temporal capacity and I was kind of in a surreal, delirious, on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown state. In other words, my brain went nuts for the day. So, I decided to have some fun and wrote down the most random nonsense on the board. Now, at the time I thought this was hilarious, but now looking back, I realize that I should have gotten more sleep ;) Anyways, I wrote down this babble on the board in the form of a poem. I then told my students, in a very serious voice, that this was called “abstract poetry.” The students were then to attempt to make sense of the poem and share their interpretations with the class. This lasted about 5 minutes, as I just couldn’t hold in my laughter any longer. Finally, I told them that I had simply written down arbitrary nonsense and they all started laughing hysterically as they, too, had gone insane. Then, they decided to write their own abstract poem, and it was actually kind of fun… and I am sure there is a lesson in their somewhere. If not, oh well because we needed a break.
Ok, so the point of this embarrassing story is that sometimes I wonder if we have a tendency to overanalyze things. Sometimes in my crazy head, when I am not daydreaming about new salsa dance moves, I fantasize about writing a “profound” novel or essay just for the heck of it. Then I wonder about how people will analyze my work and try to better understand my “message.” I’d probably find it amusing. Or maybe someone could actually figure me out, in which case I wish they could let me know what they find!
It sort of reminds me of that famous artist who wrote his name on a toilet bowl just to see if people truly appreciated his art, or if it was just his name that attracted them. Well, the toilet bowl is now in the Centre Pompidou in Paris, so obviously it was considered to be an amazing piece of inspirational art!
I enjoyed “Endgame.” I could sit here and analyze it and try to interpret its message, but I question if there really is one. Maybe Beckett just wanted to write a crazy play, and played with language and common themes that people are familiar with because he knew we would try to make connections. Maybe he just wanted to see what nonsense we could come up with… or maybe he wanted us to get what we, personally, wanted out of it. Or better yet, perhaps the reaction we have is the art. I don’t know. Sometimes, I think Beckett is somewhere laughing at us. I have to admit, I may join him in his absurdity and laughter. Earth can definitely be amusing... or depressing.
Modernismo, will you marry me?
Modernismo, I love you! I love your passion! After reading literature from this movement, I am fired up! I either want to drop everything and rally with you, or against you! There is no middle of the road, no riding the fence. For me, your message is always loud and clear. I like that. I respect that. It keeps things exciting.
After reading Darío and Martí, I am left with a burst of varying emotions. It’s like a roller-coaster ride where, even within the same piece of literature, I am battling extremities. I laugh, I cry, I gasp, I nod my head yes, I nod my head no, I yell, I want to give them a high five or I want to spray them with a water hose to wake them up from their dream world … yet no matter the insane emotion I am feeling at the time, when I am finished, I always want more!
One of my favorite pieces is “El Rey Burgues” by Darío. While I was reading it, I felt this weird bittersweet sentiment that finally, someone could relate to how I felt about society… and people in general. We are all turning into quantitative machines. (Now that I think of it, it would be interesting to do a comparison of this poem with Sentimental Education in regards to art.) However, with “A Roosevelt,” I felt myself rolling my eyes and shaking my head in frustration, as I grow tired of U.S.-bashing. It's easy to criticize someone or something (especially when he/she/it is the center of attention), yet so difficult to come up with effective solutions. We are so quick to point out the flaws of others, yet so slow to acknowledge our own.
Oh Darío, why must you toy with my emotions! Can’t you just agree with me the whole time? Nah, then you’d be boring.
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