Well most of what I’d like to say about this course has already been said.  To get right to the point, the only real problem with this course was in fact the same problem that plagues every good course at UBC; students do not have enough time to do it justice.  At first, I felt this was reason enough to criticize the structure or instruction of the course, but over time I have come to the conclusion that there can be no other way.  The course needs to be challenging, to have a broad scope, to be innovative.  It is up to the student to prioritize and rearrange their responsibilities in such a way as to get what they want from the course.  Because of my own obligations I spent less time on this course than I could have.  That was a choice I made, and it will doubtless affect both my grade and the sum of learning I leave with.  

    That having been said, I did devote a sizeable chunk of my time to the readings, and even to the blog and Wikipedia projects, and I do feel as though I have taken a great deal from this course.  My point is simply that it was my choices that mattered, not the structure of the course itself.  

    I found the WIkipedia project to be demoralizing and frustrating, at least until we had a reasonably coherent article to work with.  I had a great deal of difficulty determining what existing information on the article was useful and what should be deleted, and I found it endlessly irritating not to be able to add information that I knew perfectly well to be true, simply due to a lack of academic sourcing.  Once we had a solid grounding of these sources the entire project became much more gratifying.  My favourite part of the experience was watching Jon and other students defending the merits of the project to the Internet at large, especially because I feel they did so with extraordinary eloquence and reason.  It is the lack of those two things that have kept me from participating in participatory projects online, and it was a relief to see that YouTube comments are not the only indicator of life on the internet.  

    I have enjoyed this course, and do not feel that much needs to be changed in future years.  Hopefully, should the experimental aspects of the course be attempted again, students could learn from our successes and failures.

The General in His Labyrinth was written in a very unique style.  This is the first novel of Marquez’s that I have read, and so I did not know quite what to expect.  It took me some time to adjust to the dreamlike style of narrative and the rapid transitions between recollection and current events.  However, this was no more challenging than figuring out who was speaking in I the Supreme. 

The most interesting segments of this novel were those when the General wanders off in the night.  His solitary walks are evocative of the kind of calm madness that I imagine overcomes the very powerful.  The encounters the General has in these moments seem to be the most genuine, the most visceral.  When he is surrounded by his closest allies he often behaves strangely, lashing out at a man one moment and praising him the next.  When he is alone however, he is unarmoured and unarmed, unable to deflect the verbal barbs of dissenters and unequipped, not to mention unwilling, to strike back.

Another element of the General’s ongoing mental decay is his fleeting fixations with minor irritations, especially those that are beyond the scope of his power.  In the pursuit of peace he blames flowers for ill-health, the flow of a river for his delirium, and the playing of fifes for his losing streak.  What I enjoy most about this is the remarkable way in which his soldiers, aides, and friends take his strange requests in stride.  No one seems perturbed by his irrationality, and even Palacios seems largely unconcerned with the General wanders off naked in the night.  Again, I get the feeling that this sort of behaviour is a common symptom, if not a requirement, of the sort of personal charisma that people like Bolivar possess.  There is so much force and conviction in them that their every action is an unstoppable one, no matter how strange – even to themselves. 

Well I didn’t have to eat my words.  I know how awful this will sound, but I just couldn’t muster up the shock and horror that Llosa’s final revelation seemed to demand.  For those of you good students reading the correct book, don’t read any further because it’ll spoil all the suspense.  Thankfully, the novel takes a long break from Urania in the second half and focuses instead on the events leading up to and following from Trujillo’s assassination.  This was the most powerful part of the novel.  The stories of courage and solidarity in the face of the most fearsome brutality are enough to make anyone passionate about the people and history of the Dominican Republic, a country which for most of us is likely known only because of those lucky friends who went there for Spring Break.  

The Italian couple who selflessly risk their lives to harbour a fugitive they have never met, all in the name of freedom; the assassins who endure the most gruesome of tortures with dignity and composure; the puppet president who takes the reigns of a nation in crisis and turns it’s bucking head in a new direction; these are the heroes of The Feast of the Goat.  Urania bears the weight of a bitter betrayal by her own father and a sadistic violation by a vile old man, and as such she is a character worthy of sympathy and compassion.  Urania, however, fled the country before the chaos and violence that came in the wake of Trujillo’s death, and she manages to live a life of safety and privilege.  It is difficult as a reader to identify with the vindictive cruelty she shows to her family, and more difficult still to consider her a heroine of this story when seen in contrast with the countless valorous and noble individuals who take action against Trujillo and his cronies.  

This novel was extremely powerful, and some of the images will stay with me longer than I would like.  Llosa weaves fact and fiction together seamlessly, creating a complexity of character and depth of detail that belies the historical uncertainty surrounding this period.  His portrait of Rafael Trujillo as a man both fearsome and pathetic is the most interesting of any of the books we have read so far, and reminds me (in quality of portrayal if not style) of Louis de Bernières depiction of Benito Mussolini.

    As I am supposed to be getting started on my Wikipedia article I devoted some time this reading week to Mario Vargas Llosa’s The Feast of the Goat, and will be writing about this book instead of I The Supreme.  The first thing that struck me about The Feast of the Goat is the fact that it deals with real events in recent world history.  This made it immediately fascinating to me and helped build up in my mind a stock of good will towards the novel.  This stock has begun to dwindle however, as I notice elements of Llosa’s writing that frustrate me.  For instance, Urania seems so far to be less of a character than she is a vessel for anecdotes about the Trujillo era.  I have begun to long for the end of her chapters just so I can feel like I am reading a novel again rather than a thinly veiled attempt to fill the reader in on events of which they are probably ignorant.  

    On top of Urania’s poor characterization is the ever-present allusion to her great secret, the final straw that sparked her flight from her homeland and everything she knew.  I have always found that unless a novel is either a murder mystery or a fast-paced thriller, there is no need to keep the reader waiting for important plot information.  Frankly it seems more like a ploy to keep us engaged than a legitimate matter of pacing or suspense.  As the novel is based on historical events much of the outcome is already known, and to keep us hanging on the revelation of one woman’s personal battle seems unnecessary.  Of course I’m sure the rest of the novel will make me eat my words.  

    This having been said, I am enjoying the book very much and find the characters of the assassins to be captivating.  The back-story described for each man feels much less forced than Urania’s sadistic recollections at her ailing father’s bedside.  In addition, the insights into Trujillo’s thoughts are well-composed and plausible, almost enough to make me forget that Llosa is once again teasing me with a vital and mysterious piece of plot.  

The imagery in of The President is very rich.  There are the motifs of eyes and wings, as well as some interesting personifications of sleep.  These images really flesh out the characters.  

The Judge Advocate is described as having “basilisk eyes”, which is only fitting given that nearly everyone upon whom he truly fixes his gaze meets an unpleasant end.  The trope of the Judge as a pitiless reptile makes him a larger-than-life figure and all the more effective for the purposes of this novel.  He is a man who goes out of his way to enforce the power of the regime and sees to feel no compassion whatsoever.  He is cold-blooded and deadly, and a little unrealistic – just like the basilisk.  In addition, the President’s eyes are described as being like mosquitos gorged with blood.  I prefer a pretty simple interpretation of this, being that the if a glance from the Judge Advocate can kill, than a look from the President feeds on what was alive.  

Angel Face’s dream segment is especially vivid.  The god of sleep sorting out all the arrivals to his domain into boats according to their driving emotion is a beautiful image and adds to the less realist side of the novel.  

In what is perhaps a less beautiful image, Asturias seems to compare sex to the slaughter of a chicken.  Angel Face and Camila make love interspersed with description of the chase and killing of a chicken.  The culmination of both events is as follows: “Camila shut her eyes … Her husband’s weight … A flapping of wings … A stain …”.   The hen dies, either by running into a wall or by the falling of the wall onto the chicken.  I’m no literary theorist, but it seems as though Asturias is hinting at the mutual complicity of Angel Face and Camila – no matter who does the dead, the wall or the hen, the deed is done.  Though Angel Face had much to do with Camila’s predicament, she is now just as deeply involved.  

    Miguel Angel Asturias’ The President is one of the most enjoyably written books I have read in a long time.  I won’t rave too much about the concise yet poetic nature of the prose as this blog is not a book review, but it deserves mentioning.  

As for the content, I was fascinated by the way Asturias leads the reader to decant meaning from snippets or dialogue between characters and seemingly insignificant plot details.   For instance, when Angel Face tells Canales that his innocence is a greater threat to his life than guilt would be, he is speaking a strategy of the President’s totalitarian government – making the people, from statesman to servant, complicit in the crimes of the regime.  If Canales were in fact guilty of the murder he would at least be bound to the President by virtue of his collusion.  

While this strategy is not addressed explicitly in the novel, moments like this remind the reader of the complexity of life under a dictatorship.  It is hard to remain blameless and even the heroes of this story have much to atone for.  Both Canales and Angel Face participate in and contribute to the President’s rule.  Angel face seems to be well aware of the evil nature of his employer but remains loyal to the dictator, perhaps because he knows that he has already played a part in the man’s crimes. 

 In another brief excerpt that highlights the overwhelming power the regime has over people, Asturias describes a letter to Carvajal’s widow, describing his death.  The letter’s author is so deeply entrenched in a mindset of oppression and fear that upon counting on his fingers only nine murderous gunshots he feels as though he has one finger too many.  This was the moment in the novel that struck me the most; not because I took it literally but because it reminded me of how deeply human beings can adapt to and accept the most horrific occurrences. 

At long last, here are some more reflections on Facundo.  The later chapters of the book illustrate two distinct types of leaders, exemplified by the figures of Facundo and Rosas.  Rosas is in many ways a Machiavellian dictator who rules and maintains rule by possessing and exercising absolute control.  He metes out punishment almost indiscriminately and seems to have to qualms whatsoever.  He is a manipulator and a murderer.  He is the antithesis to Plato’s philosopher king: he desires power and therefore should never have it.  Rosas claims to be uninterested in power, saying that he requires authority and obedience only to keep order and insisting that he could never abuse them.  Rosas says that a school teacher must have a whip in his hand so that his authority will be respected.  However, despite this allusion to altruism, Rosas is shown by Sarmiento to use that whip time and time again.  The chaos in Buenos Aires is a good indicator of the difference in the two leaders.  Rosas allows the chaos and mayhem in the city to get out of control, waiting for people to become desperate and in danger.  Only then does he submit to taking leadership, feigning reluctance and requesting as a condition of his return the “extraordinary powers” over public and private life that are his whip. 

While Facundo is no philosopher king, he does not desire power in the same way as Rosas and as such is more fit to be a leader of the people.  He fights for what he believes to be right for Argentines, not simply himself.  When confronted with the fear and confusion in Buenos Aires Facundo claims that he could have forestalled such conflict had he been there.  The sheer force of Facundo’s will is enough to make men follow him, and his physical presence inspires obedience.  Unlike Rosas he is unwilling to retire to a safe place and await his opportunity for gain.  Instead, Facundo deliberately tempts fate and invites disaster, if only to prove that his confidence and fearlessness are based on truth.  Facundo refuses to avoid traps set to bring about his demise, even when warned by his supporters.  Instead he boasts and walks into them undaunted and unprotected.  Somehow he emerges unscathed, and the power of his reputation grows. 

Everything about Facundo’s leadership is passionate and unafraid, while Rosas’ is calculating and unmerciful.  Both men share qualities of unflinching will, but the fundamental differences between them are what make Sarmiento’s criticism of Rosas and admiration for Facundo so relatable and so significant. 

    To me, the most poignant segment of Domingo Faustino Sarmiento’s Facundo: Civilization and Barbarism so far was the beginning of the chapter on "Argentine Originality".  Sarmiento suggests here that the very landscape of one’s origin determines ones character.  The people of Argentina, he says, are poets because they live in a world impossible to understand without poetry.  The vast and incomprehensible Pampas confuse the observer so much that they cannot see where the land ends and the sky begins, nor just where the horizon does lie.

    The mercurial climate of Argentina evokes a necessarily artistic response; its fantastic blend of colours and fearsome lighting storms are to Sarmiento the origin of Argentine power and poetry.  Despite Sarmiento’s insistence of the superstition and ignorance of the gauchos, I feel this passage is all in all an admiring one. While I have never been to Argentina I have spent some time in alpine areas and I can relate to this admiration.  Of course, I can also sympathize with nearly any reaction to, or explanation of, the more frightening of natural occurrences.  I once spent roughly 24 hours trapped in a tent in the mountains with only flashes of lightning, peg-uprooting winds, claps of thunder, rumbling rockfalls, and (I’m not kidding here) the not-too-distant howling of wolves as my only campanions.  Quite frankly I would have preferred to blame it all on God, as the more "civilized" reality of it all was scaring the Trail Mix out of me. 

    Sarmiento references the common turning points in the development of human peoples and claims that there are some obstacles to progress for which the same universal solutions present themselves.  He believes that nature conditions these responses - the means of fording a river, the invention of bow and arrow, etc., each the precise rejoinder to a challenge issued by the natural world itself. Perhaps then, his later reference to Facundo as "the Tiger of the Plains" is a reference to his theory of geographic determinism.  Facundo was a tiger, a fierce and powerful leader, because one was needed.  Just as the bow and arrow occurred throughout the world to solve the problem of prey with pointy claws and generally unpleasant demeanour, so too did men like Facundo arise to fill a void in their countries.  The cruel authority of the boardinghouse masters served as a catalyst for Facundo’s rebellious behaviour and helped to shape his character. 
   

I’ve never produced a blog before, largely because even Facebook scares me a little bit and I didn’t want to push my luck.  I consider myself comparitively tech-savvy, but I find large scale public participation initiatives like YouTube, Wikipedia, and blogging to be a little daunting in their potential both for good and for harm.  That having been said, as a component to a Latin American Literature course this blog has a fairly limited scope, and should be about as controversial as a bowl of plain yogurt. 

So, to my reader(s), whomever you may be, I say "keep your fingers crossed" and I’ll try to pull something worthwhile out of this tired undergraduate brain of mine.  Also, I’m still working on uploading a background picture of some kind.  Did I say I was tech-savvy?

-Gareth