Monday, December 15, 2008
History and Memory
I know, I know, its been done to death. I was just thinking about oral tradition stories, and whether to classify them as history or memory. A lot of the old testament is based in oral tradition, and it certainly presents itself as a history of the world in the time before the invention of written documentation, even if we heathens don't believe in the events. I think I would say oral tradition is supposed to be either history or a regular old piece of fiction, but because it is passed from generation to generation, it can't really be a memory. I was also thinking about the reason memory can change over time, and I think it comes down to emotion. Because the way you feel about something can change over time, the memories of those things are equally distorted. Like when Amaranta began to hate Rebeca, the memories of her, even the happy ones, would surely be distorted and baddenered, especially as time passed. But if you have a story or a history already written down, its harder to retain the same kind of subjectivity. I don't want to talk about it anymore, I'm sick of it.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Here's my paper if anybody cares, Emily and I can argue.
The Windy Road to Manhood
Society in Macondo provides many means for a boy to become a man. Its residents find masculinity and manhood through sexual encounters, marriages and births, as well as escaping the sheltered family life that the residents live with. Perhaps most importantly, though, violence and warfare help the characters of One Hundred Years of Solitude to realize their progression to manhood, along with everything that the evolution entails. Violence, sexuality, and masculinity are intertwined to a great degree throughout the novel, each leading to another though, in true Marquez style, never in any formulaic order.
Though the novel presents many different paths between sexuality, masculinity, and violence or warfare, the most conventional path, in terms of character development would be that beginning with violence. Violence, as a temporary status or even a single event, is capable of making characters come to profound discoveries about their adulthood; at times burdening them with responsibility or effectively terminating their naivety. Aureliano Buendia’s masculinity and sexuality is the most influenced by the violence around him, and, though he possesses an unnatural maturity even from birth, his true adulthood is obtained and the beginning of the war between the liberals and the conservatives. Through the story before the war, Aureliano, though by no means a naive character, had not quite achieved the adulthood, referred to by his father-in-law as “Aurelito,” a diminutive implying a certain lack of maturity on Aureliano’s part. Aureliano’s unrequited infatuation with Remedios Moscote, at the time only a child of about nine, also presents Aureliano as a child a heart, unable to summon the courage to make Remedios his bride. When the war begins in earnest, Aureliano declares himself “Colonel Aureliano Buendia,” in stark contrast to the immature term of endearment used for him as a child(101). Becoming a colonel places an understandable amount of responsibility in Aureliano’s hands and, though his decisions were frequently incorrect, leading to his leading as many as thirty two unsuccessful armed uprisings, he was still making decisions, which he was essentially incapable of doing before the war. With his newfound masculinity in order, Aureliano’s sexuality augmented severely in turn. Rather than harbor a gross immaturity toward the notion of sex, as he did in his first sexual encounter with a prostitute, in which, though he fell in love with her afterwards, expressing a chivalrous, romantic desire to rescue her from her life, he was unable to actually have sex with her. Over the course of the war, however, he father 17 different Aurelitos with 17 different women, now clearly able to dissociate sex with a hyperbolic notion of romance. Aureliano’s life, with a profound discovery of maturity leading to sexuality, is a logical progression, but, of course, little that happens in Macondo adheres to logic.
Contrary to masculinity being achieved as a result of responsibility or a particular event that instigated adulthood, some attain masculinity first. Whether they achieve by some other means or, like José Arcadio, are simply born with it, the masculinity of the characters segues into violence or sexuality, with or without their intention. At the chronological beginning of the story, Jose Arcadio Buendia is unable to express his sexuality, despite having already married Ursula, due to her fear that their children would be inbred because of Ursula’s blood relation to him. At this point, however, Buendia has already achieved his masculinity, perfectly exemplified by his talent at raising fighting cocks, which also begins the transition from masculinity into violence. Because he cannot sleep with his wife, they “would wrestle for several hours in an anguished violence that seemed to be a substitute for the act of love,” an act which embodies masculinity, violence, and a twisted pseudo-sexuality, due to Ursula’s unwillingness to partake in the actual act of intercourse. (21). This transition period eventually culminates with Buendia’s murdering Prudencio Aguilar for insulting his masculinity and his honor. Buendia throws his spear “with the strength of a bull,” and, upon murdering Aguilar, returns to his wife and, sticking his spear into the dirt floor of his house, manifests his dormant sexuality (21). Buendia’s son, José Arcadio, is, from birth, “too big for his age”(25). He is clearly born with inherent masculinity, which is only amplified when he leaves home to roam with the gypsies, already having reached manhood to the point that his parents are no longer necessary. Upon his return, his masculinity, sexuality, and a pervasive element of violence become apparent, though in a much more entwined nature than his father and his brother. José Arcadio’s penis is the main intersect of the three qualities, embodying masculinity by always having been abnormally large, and, upon his return, it is tattooed with intersecting lines of blue and red, the colors of the conservatives and the liberals, respectively. The nature of José Arcadio’s masculinity causes even the prostitutes to desire him to the point of paying him to have sex with them, clearly showing that his sexuality remains intact. His relationship with Rebecca, similar to his fathers courting of Ursula, is equally as intertwined with masculinity, sexuality and violence. His sexuality and a sense of violence occur simultaneously during his first sexual encounter with Rebecca in which he demonstrates to her the “inconceivable pleasure of unbearable pain”(92). He then establishes his masculinity, taking Rebecca from Pietro Crespi without a fight, and refusing to take the orders of his mother, who forbids him from marrying Rebecca.
The paths beginning with violence and with masculinity generally allow the characters to keep their bearings as they begin, unlike those whose journeys begin with a naive sexual encounter, frequently disorienting the characters, but ultimately helping them begin their lives in earnest. Both of the sons of José Arcadio Buendia had their first true sexual encounters at the hands of Pilar Ternera, whose promiscuous, yet matronly ways help the boys achieve the confidence they need to become men. While José Arcadio had always been physically masculine, his encounter with Pilar set in motion the events that would lead to his leaving Macondo, which would, of course, be the happenstance that allows him to truly blossom into his masculinity. Aureliano’s sexual awakening at the hands of Pilar would be a similarly guiding light for him, allowing him to express his masculinity in that he finds the confidence to make Remedios his bride.
Though the masculinity of these characters relates to sexuality and violence seems to be affected in a linear or simultaneous fashion, on a larger scale, these three qualities, like much of the rest of the book, are in fact very cyclical. Each leads to another without form or order. Some characters, namely Pietro Crespi, are left out of the cycle entirely, eventually committing suicide due to his inability to achieve masculinity by any means. Though masculinity seems more of a goal than the others, in true One Hundred Years of Solitude fashion, the commencement and the destination are simply states of mind.
Society in Macondo provides many means for a boy to become a man. Its residents find masculinity and manhood through sexual encounters, marriages and births, as well as escaping the sheltered family life that the residents live with. Perhaps most importantly, though, violence and warfare help the characters of One Hundred Years of Solitude to realize their progression to manhood, along with everything that the evolution entails. Violence, sexuality, and masculinity are intertwined to a great degree throughout the novel, each leading to another though, in true Marquez style, never in any formulaic order.
Though the novel presents many different paths between sexuality, masculinity, and violence or warfare, the most conventional path, in terms of character development would be that beginning with violence. Violence, as a temporary status or even a single event, is capable of making characters come to profound discoveries about their adulthood; at times burdening them with responsibility or effectively terminating their naivety. Aureliano Buendia’s masculinity and sexuality is the most influenced by the violence around him, and, though he possesses an unnatural maturity even from birth, his true adulthood is obtained and the beginning of the war between the liberals and the conservatives. Through the story before the war, Aureliano, though by no means a naive character, had not quite achieved the adulthood, referred to by his father-in-law as “Aurelito,” a diminutive implying a certain lack of maturity on Aureliano’s part. Aureliano’s unrequited infatuation with Remedios Moscote, at the time only a child of about nine, also presents Aureliano as a child a heart, unable to summon the courage to make Remedios his bride. When the war begins in earnest, Aureliano declares himself “Colonel Aureliano Buendia,” in stark contrast to the immature term of endearment used for him as a child(101). Becoming a colonel places an understandable amount of responsibility in Aureliano’s hands and, though his decisions were frequently incorrect, leading to his leading as many as thirty two unsuccessful armed uprisings, he was still making decisions, which he was essentially incapable of doing before the war. With his newfound masculinity in order, Aureliano’s sexuality augmented severely in turn. Rather than harbor a gross immaturity toward the notion of sex, as he did in his first sexual encounter with a prostitute, in which, though he fell in love with her afterwards, expressing a chivalrous, romantic desire to rescue her from her life, he was unable to actually have sex with her. Over the course of the war, however, he father 17 different Aurelitos with 17 different women, now clearly able to dissociate sex with a hyperbolic notion of romance. Aureliano’s life, with a profound discovery of maturity leading to sexuality, is a logical progression, but, of course, little that happens in Macondo adheres to logic.
Contrary to masculinity being achieved as a result of responsibility or a particular event that instigated adulthood, some attain masculinity first. Whether they achieve by some other means or, like José Arcadio, are simply born with it, the masculinity of the characters segues into violence or sexuality, with or without their intention. At the chronological beginning of the story, Jose Arcadio Buendia is unable to express his sexuality, despite having already married Ursula, due to her fear that their children would be inbred because of Ursula’s blood relation to him. At this point, however, Buendia has already achieved his masculinity, perfectly exemplified by his talent at raising fighting cocks, which also begins the transition from masculinity into violence. Because he cannot sleep with his wife, they “would wrestle for several hours in an anguished violence that seemed to be a substitute for the act of love,” an act which embodies masculinity, violence, and a twisted pseudo-sexuality, due to Ursula’s unwillingness to partake in the actual act of intercourse. (21). This transition period eventually culminates with Buendia’s murdering Prudencio Aguilar for insulting his masculinity and his honor. Buendia throws his spear “with the strength of a bull,” and, upon murdering Aguilar, returns to his wife and, sticking his spear into the dirt floor of his house, manifests his dormant sexuality (21). Buendia’s son, José Arcadio, is, from birth, “too big for his age”(25). He is clearly born with inherent masculinity, which is only amplified when he leaves home to roam with the gypsies, already having reached manhood to the point that his parents are no longer necessary. Upon his return, his masculinity, sexuality, and a pervasive element of violence become apparent, though in a much more entwined nature than his father and his brother. José Arcadio’s penis is the main intersect of the three qualities, embodying masculinity by always having been abnormally large, and, upon his return, it is tattooed with intersecting lines of blue and red, the colors of the conservatives and the liberals, respectively. The nature of José Arcadio’s masculinity causes even the prostitutes to desire him to the point of paying him to have sex with them, clearly showing that his sexuality remains intact. His relationship with Rebecca, similar to his fathers courting of Ursula, is equally as intertwined with masculinity, sexuality and violence. His sexuality and a sense of violence occur simultaneously during his first sexual encounter with Rebecca in which he demonstrates to her the “inconceivable pleasure of unbearable pain”(92). He then establishes his masculinity, taking Rebecca from Pietro Crespi without a fight, and refusing to take the orders of his mother, who forbids him from marrying Rebecca.
The paths beginning with violence and with masculinity generally allow the characters to keep their bearings as they begin, unlike those whose journeys begin with a naive sexual encounter, frequently disorienting the characters, but ultimately helping them begin their lives in earnest. Both of the sons of José Arcadio Buendia had their first true sexual encounters at the hands of Pilar Ternera, whose promiscuous, yet matronly ways help the boys achieve the confidence they need to become men. While José Arcadio had always been physically masculine, his encounter with Pilar set in motion the events that would lead to his leaving Macondo, which would, of course, be the happenstance that allows him to truly blossom into his masculinity. Aureliano’s sexual awakening at the hands of Pilar would be a similarly guiding light for him, allowing him to express his masculinity in that he finds the confidence to make Remedios his bride.
Though the masculinity of these characters relates to sexuality and violence seems to be affected in a linear or simultaneous fashion, on a larger scale, these three qualities, like much of the rest of the book, are in fact very cyclical. Each leads to another without form or order. Some characters, namely Pietro Crespi, are left out of the cycle entirely, eventually committing suicide due to his inability to achieve masculinity by any means. Though masculinity seems more of a goal than the others, in true One Hundred Years of Solitude fashion, the commencement and the destination are simply states of mind.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The Immortal
So I saw the title of a story by Jorge Luis Borges called "The Immortal." I decided upon this encounter, that I would pen up my own story by the same title. It's not even really a story, I just kind of started writing. But this is what I came up with.
I am….tired. I have walked for thousands of years, countless ages of meaningless travel. I have seen the trivial conquests of man, the rise and fall of kings, who believe they have true power. I once began trying to understand the complex mysteries of life and of death, but these journeys are similarly inconsequential. Mortal man is not meant to know the heavy secrets of the universe. Life is nothing but life. My years were wasted trying on my own to find the glistening peaks of spirit and the frigid chasms of despair. The world today is bright. Harsh lights pierce the thoughts and the memories of man, leaving frightened sheep without their innocence. The world holds ineffable secrets. One such as me could wander the earth for a hundred thousand years, coming no closer to truly understanding the accepted constructs of existence. The souls of Death and of Dreaming and of Power and of Love are unexplained by the empty pursuits of man. We have all, at some point, explored the world of dreams, but all my excursions, all my meetings with the lord of Dreams, eventually slip away, lost in the chaos of the waking world. Men who dream of holding power know not the true nature of power incarnate, of the ability to manipulate the workings of the world. Those who truly know power can do naught but succumb to it; the woman who drowned for her love for the sea, the man whose desire burned like a flame until he was dark and forgotten, the angel who challenged his creator. To wish for the power of God is a fruitless venture, and, as can happen with impossible dreams, will leave the dreamer hollow and endlessly wanting. Men who dream of love, romantic and eternal, fail to understand the fleeting longevity of their existence. Those who dream of love, raw and unadulterated, understand their purpose in life, simply to prolong the existence of their species; but they come no closer to understanding the outer bounds of existence, life beyond life. What is love but innumerable, futile deaths? And for those like me, who circumvent power and love; who dream simply of death, there are only two simple outcomes. We live a life like a light in the dark, or we allow death, like the absence of light, to swallow us whole. Though sometimes…and for this reason alone I question those inexorable constructs of the universe...She refuses to come. She comes for my families, for my friends, for the rich and the poor, leaving me always alone with the inevitable rising and setting of the sun; the blooming and wilting flowers. It is without fruit, immortality. I am left no wiser after the countless years of life spent waiting for her arrival. She leaves me simply in desire. In despair. She leaves me…simply…tired.
Right, I think I'm actually going to read the immortal now, to see what I'm missing out on. Sorry if that wasn't very good, I'm still just a student.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Sleepytime, Alfonsina
I'm going to sleep. I appreciate how sleepy this poem actually is. The language is languid and calm, and the punctuation kind of allows the poem to trail off like a sleepy person, not quite completing thoughts, or starting them halfway through. Does a nice job at that, too. I thought, at first, that the comparison between the mundane concept of sleep and the comparatively profound concept of death was unfitting, just that it didn't do justice to the complex nature of death. Upon further inspection, however, it seems the poem actually presents death as a sort of cosmic version of sleep. The first stanza presents death as sleeping, interred in the earth, and i feel like the Teeth of flowers and Hair of dew are a reference to decomposition, becoming one with the natural world. Death is the only way this connection can be accomplished.
Jorge Luis Borges
I'm reading, for my final project, some short stories by Borges, and I really appreciate some of the connections that I've seen with his writing and some of the older works that we've read. His story, The Aleph, really captures the idea of an entirely ineffable universe beyond human understanding, as many poets have talked about. In the story, the narrator comes across a point in space from which one can see everything in the universe simultaneously. He describes the resulting experience as totally inexplicable and is unable to translate it into literary form. He compares it to a Persian Diety, an Avian god who is somehow all birds. The thought makes no logical sense, but appeals to a greater sense of intrigue, which I found really interesting. Borges also makes fantastic use of diction in this story, really stretching language to its limits. One of the main characters of the story is a pretentious poet whose use of excessively complicated or archaic word choices express his desire to define a universe which is simply unable to be expressed by the English; or even human language. We came across that a lot, oui?
Monday, October 20, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Fatality
It's weird to see this perspective on life; the preference to feeling nothing at all rather than the pain of existence. There's almost a suicidal quality to the poem, Darío most likely was not a suicidal man, but this poem is certainly something of a buzzkill. The poem also gives me a sense of maybe the...opposite of masochism, I guess; that feeling anything is the worst thing possible. I also realize everyone made the connection to Eden, but i just didn't see it. I realize Darío is all about the allusions, but the happy tree and then cool grapes really just seemed like more reasons why feeling is worse than being numb. This poem seemed very out of Darío's style in that sense, not being riddles with unnecessary allusions. I feel like I could actually read this poem without having the encylopedia Mythica open in front of me.
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