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http://my-movies-news.blogspot.com/2010/09/dr-house-streaming-megavideo-megaupload.html
non funzionano sono stati tutti eliminati……..sono arrivata alla penultima puntata dela prima serie…..lo so ho scoperto questa serie adesso….cioè la conoscevo da un bel po’ ma non lo mai vista e adesso la voglio vedere e non posso……..il primo link che vi ho messo funzionava ma poi ieri tutti i video sono stati eliminati……noia…….percaso su you tube ci sono o in qualche sito streaming megavideo………..no download! solo streaming e se c’è download allora con megaupload no emule torrent etc…grz mille
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Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s `Del Amor y Otros Demonios’ : An Unwritten History of a People and Land
Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s `Del Amor y Otros Demonios’ : An Unwritten History of a People and Land
Gabriel Garcia Marquez maintains that he writes history, not fiction, that his novels are about the unwritten history of his people and land. Needless to say, the fantastical context in which his stories unfold, and which constantly defy readers’ credulity, make the Columbian novelist’s contention quite hard to accept. How is it possible to read One Hundred Years of Solitude as the history of the Columbian banana massacres of 1928, or Del Amor y Otros Demonios, as the history of colonialism and the true story of Saint Cajetan of Thiene and his well-recorded relation with the Augustinian nun, Laura Mignani? Yet, Marquez has repeatedly affirmed that his works are historical, that they tell the history of events as they were seen, understood and remembered by those who lived through themOfficial Columbian, Latin American history, as Marquez has persistently and repeatedly maintained, is a watered down version of the truth; it is a history written by, and for, those in power, designed, not to preserve the truth but, to sustain the power holders of the present and preserve the legend and memory of those of the past. Official history, within the parameters of such concerns, is a politically motivated re-telling of the truth which deliberately displaces the people, those who have lived through and experienced history and, challenges the national memory. As Marquez has often said, his works are designed to resurrect the true history, the version of history which official history has tried to bury. As such, he encourages readers to approach his works as realistic and truthful renditions of historical events. In Del Amor y Otros Demonios, the focus of this research, Marquez quite openly demands this of his readers. Just in case they fail to comprehend the narrative as the `true’ history of the interrelationship between the church and colonialism, between religion and the immiseration of countless of innocents, he alternately alludes to and explicitly names real historical characters. Few of his Latin American readers would not recognise Cayetano as a clear allusion to Saint Cajetan and, his protagonist’s surname, Delaura, as a reminder of his relationship with Sister Laura Mignani; a relationship which is echoed by Cayetano and Sierva Maria’s.
Should readers, despite their fantastical context and content, accept Marquez’ narratives as history, which Shaw concedes they could very well be, they need to reserve judgement on the manner in which Marquez remembers, interprets and presents history. Indeed, Marquez does not simply engage in the transmission of an alternative version of history but deconstructs official history in the process. His doing so, however, should not be interpreted as a disregard for, and a displacement of, fact but of the presentation of fact from within the magical realist context. Although the presentation of fact through the medium of a magical realist narrative persistently challenges the reader’s credulity, an analysis of the theoretical and definitional parameters of the genre, followed by a close textual analysis of Del Amor y Otros Demonios from within the matrix of magic realism, with specific focus on his treatment of place, dreams and memory, will lend to the conclusion that Marquez’s narratives represent a history as remembered and told by the people; a history infused with myth and supposition but, a history nonetheless.
As a literary and artistic genre, magic realism is apparently plagued by its insistent use of supplementation as a literary strategy for the improvement of the realist text. The boundaries framing realism so constrained many artists and burdened them with the nagging difficulty of how to compromise between realism and their own creative desires and inclinations that the movement towards magic realism was instigated. Supposedly, this genre expresses both the seen and the unseen realities, the historical memories which make and shape a people and the myths and superstitions which dominate their worldview. Magic realists contend that realism never allowed them the leeway to express reality’s multiple dimensions, further asserting that, as a linguistic and literary medium, it constrained their creativity. Magic realism supposedly overcomes realism’s boundaries and limitations and seems to displace its predecessor’s shortcomings through the conveyance of textual apparitions, ephemeral and ambiguous themes and images which cast a confusing and somewhat dark shadow over everyday life and its most mundane tasks. The magic realist text is, itself, somewhat akin to a fantastical apparition which, even as readers recognize the magical imagination which informs it, detect its underlying realism. In essence, the magic realist have been able to achieve this effect, have succeeded in enveloping readers in an alternate world where myth and history co-mingle and the boundaries between fact and fiction are fluid, because they have determinedly sought the overcoming of textual limitations. Magic realists, in other words, and chief amongst them Jorge Luis Borges and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, have contributed to the supplemental discourse that is magic realism through the infusion of a sense of textual magic in their own narratives.
Although the rationale behind the term `magic realism’ is evident from the above stated, it has been the subject of controversy and disagreement ever since it was first introduced by Franz Roh in the 1920s. Referencing a “counter-movement” in art wherein “the charm of an object was rediscovered” by expanding the parameters of realism,magic realism eventually found its home among the Latin American writers. Their almost instantaneous attraction to, and embrace of, magic realism was engendered by their conviction that they had finally found an artistic genre which allowed them the creative expression of the “marvellous reality” particular to their own culture, history and world view.
In order to better comprehend the implications of the asserted while, at the same time, contextualise magic realism vis-à-vis realism, it would be useful to define the latter in relation to the former. According to Roh, realism’s reliance on history was transformed into a dependency upon myth and legend by the magic realists; its mimetic style was replaced by both the fantastic and supplication; the familiarity which realism engenders among readers was displaced by de-familiarity within the context of magic realism; realism’s empirical and logical perspective was, almost violently, set aside for mysticism and magic; realism’s narrative style was replaced with meta-narration and its commitment to closure and reduction was exchange for open-ended expansiveness; realism’s naturalism became magic realism’s romanticism and its proclivity for framing the narrative within a rational cause and effect structure was replaced with imagination and negative capability. Indeed, the one appears the very antithesis of the other culminating in magic realism’s transforming “daily life into eerie forms.”
In tracing the rise of the genre in Latin America and, indeed, in defending its adoption by many of the continent’s creative artists, Flores assets that it was engendered by the “effort to account for a narrative that could simply be considered fantastic.” Magical realist narratives do “not depend either on natural or physical laws or on the unusual conception of the real in Western culture,” because it is a text “in which the relations between incidents, characters, and settings could not be based upon or justified by their status within the physical word or their normal acceptance by bourgeoisie mentality.” Even while conceding to the fantastic within this genre, Luis Leal, however, maintains a distinction between fantastical literature and magic realism:
“El realismo mágico no puede ser identificada ni con literatura fantástica ni con literatura sicológica, pero tampoco con el surrealismo o la literatura hermética que describe Ortega. Realismo mágico no se vale, como el sobrer-realismo, de motivos oníricos; tampoco desfigura la realidad o crea mundo imaginados, como lo bacín los escriben literatura fantástica o ciencia ficción; tampoco da importancia al análisis sicológico de los personajes, ya que no trata de explicar las motivaciones que los hacen actuar o que les prohíben expresarse.”
The variances in boundaries only serve to exemplify the difficulties inherent in defining magic realism. Indeed, unlike other genres, whether classicism, romanticism or realism, magic realism defies definitional delimitations, just as it does the persistent attempts of critics to pin it down.
Magic realism may be an autonomous and viable literary genre but the interrelationship between surrealism and magic realism has led to confusion regarding the boundaries between them, especially as magic realists have exhibited a proclivity towards the production of works which echo both. Alejo Carpentier, one of the leading Latin American magic realists, for example, can quite validly be categorised as a surrealist. In his insistence upon the “marvellous American reality,” Carpentier betrays the Latin American preference for an ontological outlook towards the textual enterprise, an outlook infused with both surrealism and magic realism. As Eschevvaria writes,
“The Latin American writer preferred to place himself on the far side of the borderline aesthetics described by Roh – on the side of the savage, of the believer, not on the ambiguous ground where miracles are justified by means of a reflexive act of perception, in which the consciousness of distance between the observer and the object, between the subject and that exotic other, generates estrangement and wonder.”
Some, as Carpentier, have interpreted this borderline as a shared and fluid boundary with surrealism while others, such as Borges and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have interpreted it as an explicit demarcation between magic realism and surrealism. Indeed, while Marquez succumbs to the concept of magic realism as fundamentally expressive of the inherent Latin American fantasia and, within the context of his narratives, constantly investigates and interrogates the very notion of the `real,’ he departs from surrealism and, instead, embraces a super-realism which becomes his brand of magic realism.
As a magical realist who seeks the expression of the super-real, Marquez employs a wide array of supplemental strategies for the intensification of the textual forces which enter into the production of a narrative which totters between realism and fantasy; which expresses an unreal reality wherein fact becomes fiction and myth becomes history but which, paradoxically enough, allow the reader an identification of the real and draws him/her into the text by weaving a sense of familiarity, even as it repels him/her from the narrative through de-familiarity. Consequently, when Shaw writes of Del Amor y Otros Demonios that “even if it is true, as [Marquez] has insisted […], that everything he has written is based on reality, we have to avoid jumping to conclusions about his treatment of [reality].’ We should not judge the text for what we may see as the distortion of reality and the deconstruction of history but need to evaluate it on its own terms, terms set by Marquez and by the genre which he embraced. Illustrating the stated through an analytical discussion and textual analysis of Del Amor y Otros Demonios, with specific focus on the use of imagery, the extent to which Marquez creates a shadowy world of reality intermingled with fantasy, a world in which myth and history alternate complement and challenge one another, shall be exposed.
In immediate comparison to modern and post-modern literature wherein writers afford little time or space to the description of place, Gabriel Garcia Marquez devotes considerable time to the precise and articulate description of place. Indeed, critics have maintained that Marquez-ian place is the focal point of his literary productions insofar as they play a profound role, not in the delimitation of the story’s locus but, in the development of plot, theme, character and, most importantly, the creation of symbols and myths. Del Amor y Otros Demonios exemplifies this wherein the aforementioned are expressed within the matrix of a complex interplay of multivalent narrative elements where images of place coalesce with visual-spatial imagery to produce a complex matrix of symbolic space which simultaneously defines and borders the narrative’s ethical and affective values.
Telling the hi-story of the eighteenth century Marques de Casalduero’s twelve-year old daughter, Sierva Maria de Todos los Angeles, Del Amor y Otros Demonios is, in essence, the story of confused familial and marital relations, distorted relations between man and religion and male and female. It is, to a degree, an other-worldly narrative which manages to deeply shake and disturb readers because, within the context of its repulsive defamiliarisation, it is familiar. The Marquez is described as follows:
“no daba señales de nada. Creció con signos ciertos de retraso mental, fue analfabeto hasta la edad de merecer, y no quería a nadie.”
His wife, who had chased him prior to marriage for the sole purpose of having a child is “para atraparlo por vida,”and later, “se había borrada del munda por el abuso de la miel fermentada y las tabletas de cacao.”Within the matrix of the described familial unit and the characters and relationships which dominate it, Sierva Maria is practically abandoned, and grows up in her father’s courtyard among his African slaves, speaker their language and worships their gods.
One day, while visiting the market, Sierva is very slightly nipped in the ankle by a rabid dog. The wound, nothing more than a scratch, heals but the local Catholic bishop persuades the Marquez that his daughter is, indeed, infected with rabbis, and that the former is nothing other than a dreaded manifestation of demonic possession. As don Torbio de Caceres y Virtudes tells the Marques, “entre las muchas astucias de demonio es muy frecuenté adoptar la apariencia de una enfermedad inmunda.”Sierva Maria is subsequently locked up in the convent, in preparation for her exorcism. There she meets the priest assigned to her exorcism and, unaccountably, the two fall in love. Their affair, which in typical Marquez-ian fashion, is never consummated, is discovered and culminates in padre DeLaura’s being defrocked, and subjected to a lifetime of service at the local leprosarium. Trapped in a straitjacket, a shaved, purged and emaciated Sierva Maria endures five days of exorcism but tragically dies just before the sixth. Within the context of the stultifying atmosphere of colonial Cartagena, described as ” sumergida en su marasama de siglos,” this fantastical, super-real tragedy unfolds in a triad of place, which arguably symbolize the trinity: the Casalduero mansion (the father), bishop Toribio de Caceres’ palace (bishopp as son of God, the earthly, and distorted, embodiment of Christ and his message); and the Convento de Santa Clara (the Holy Spirit) where, after enduring five days of intense torture (comparable to Christ’s scourging) Sierva Maria’s spirit is released.
Whereas the plot unfolds from without the Casalduero mansion, all of plot, theme and character development are inextricably linked to this particular locus. As readers discover, the mansion “había sido el orgullo de la cuidad hasta principios de siglo. Ahora estaba arruinada y lóbrega, y parecía en estado de mudanza por los grandes espacios vacíos y las muchas cosas fuera de lugar … todo estaba saturado por el relente opresivo de la desidia y las tinieblas.” The negative impression, communicated in the quoted passage, is later fortified through repeated references to the mansion as “la tenebrosa mansión”and “la casa sórdida” to name but two examples. In various passages and phrases, such as the quoted, the mansion is depicted, not as an inanimate structure but as a dark force which not only casts a sinister shadow on all within it but, on its surroundings as well. Indeed, by describing the house as sinister, sordid, tenebrous and lazy, to name but a few of the adjectives used, Marquez is effectively defying the reader’s classic conceptualisation of mansions as brick, stone and mortar and seeks a projection of the aforementioned as a sinister and autonomous entity whose tentacles spread to touch those around it with misfortune and ill-fate. When Sierva Maria ventures just outside the house and is slightly nipped by a dog, setting in motion the tragedy which follows, the reader finds himself slowly descending into a state of belief; he finds his protective armour of disbelief gradually dissipating and begins to question, although hesitatingly, whether indeed, the house commands a sinister presence and has the power to touch those in its vicinity with ill-fate. Marquez is slowly drawing us into his world of magical realism.
That the mansion commands those within and without it, that it influences their psychological development, shapes their personality and determines their state of mind, is affirmed and reinforced through multiple passages in the narrative. The way in which Bernarda and Ygnacio react to Servia Maria’s troubles is communicated through their choice of dwelling within the mansion itself. Ygancio, feeling that he is losing control of his family and life attempts to regain control through a failed attempt to assume control over the house, “ël marques … anuncio … su determinación de asumir con mano de Guerra las riendas de la casa.”His life, which is wildly slipping out of his locus of control, is symbolically represented by the house which is, or has, similarly fallen from beyond his control. Interestingly, however, in the quoted expression of his determination to regain control of his house, and by association, his life, military imagery is used, effectively depicting the house as a wild and fierce entity which has to be violently conquered. Indeed, the linkage between both his house and his life slipping from beyond his control, reaffirms earlier suspicions that the mansion is exerting a dark and mysterious influence over events and once the house is conquered, the Marquez life will be, once again, ordered. This is not an inanimate object but a dangerous and sinister entity. Hence, the Marquez reacts to his daughter’s troubles by inadvertently maintaining the mansion’s culpability, seemingly believing that the resolution of the first lies in assuming control over the second. Marquez is not only stretching the readers’ imagination but is challenging us to enter into the narrative’s superreal world and, in so doing, embrace Coleridge’s `willing suspension of disbelief.’
Bernarda similarly reacts. She initially attempts to distance herself from the troubling events which are unfolding by locking herself in her room, by isolating herself from her external surroundings. It is a useless endeavour as the problem lies, not with the outside world but, with the house. Therefore, she eventually leaves the mansion “para no volver.”
Just in case readers fail to comprehend just how menacing a force the mansion is, Marquez suggests that the house murdered Sierva Maria’s mother, the Marquez’ first wife. One day, while on the asylum terrace, perfecting her musical skills as she is accustomed to doing, Dona Olalla is struck dead by a bolt of lightening. In response, the Marqués “se refugio en la hamaca … bajo los naranjos del huerto.”The house kills his first wife, drives his second wife away, destroys and kills his daughter and, quite literally, lays him, the Marques, on his back. Hence, images of the reclining Marquez are repeated throughout the novel.
The mansion is not just the locus of action but a sinister and malevolent force whose decaying, dark and disordered nature influences the personalities and fate of those who dwell within it. On the most elemental of levels, the decrepit mansion mirrors the decrepit Marquez and, as a symbol of colonial politico-economic power, is infused with multiple symbols and contrasting motifs. Indeed, the mansion symbolises both exile and displacement, and freedom and enslavement, to name but two of those contrasting motifs. More importantly, all of the mansion’s inhabitants, the Marquez, his two wives and his daughter, undergo periods of voluntary and involuntary exile, as allowed or imposed upon them by the mansion itself.
The second locus of action, the palacio is as malevolent and shadowy as was the mansion. Described as “el mas antiguo de la ciudad,” it is comprised of ” dos pisos de espacios enormes y en ruinas.” Its dark corridor, the palacio’s main vein, is full of “hasta la fachada imponente de piedra labrada y sus portones de maderas enterizas revelaban los estragos del abandono.” Full of dark, empty and uninhabited places, readers are told that “el resto del edificio eran once aposentos clausurados, donde se acumulaban los escombros de dos siglos.” The palacio, therefore, is not only largely uninhabited and deserted but it repels life. Full of the rubbish of the centuries, it embraces the dead, the rotting and the decaying while it repels life, vitality, the present and the young. It should not be forgotten that the decision to exorcise Sierva Maria, to sap the life out of her, was made at the palacio and by its similarly decaying resident, the bishop.
Just as the mansion affected its inhabitants, the palacio affects its resident. The bishop, like the Marquez, is seemingly controlled by his place of dwelling; its decaying and polluted air is mirrored within the depths of the bishop’s very being and compels him to condemn life and love. Furthermore, just like the mansion did with the Marquez, the palacio effectively drains the life and will out of the bishop and, quite literally, lays him on his back, whereby, in many of the scenes where he figures, the bishop is in a reclining position.
The palacio, just as the mansion, is not a mere inanimate dwelling but a dark and shadowy force which casts a sinister influence and effect upon those who reside within it and come into contact with it. The palacio, quite literally, repels life and functions as the locus from which life is condemned and the young are claimed for torturous exorcisms. Marquez does not give his readers the opportunity to ignore either locus or the comfort of regarding them as structures of mortar, stone and brick. They are infused with a powerful and highly malevolent life force which affects the actions of their inhabitants and thus, makes them responsible for the tragedy of lost life and love which follows.
The third locus of action, the convento de Santa Clara, is where Sierva Maria finds both love and death. The readers’ initial impression of it is both negative and disturbing:
“Había relámpagos y truenos remotos en el horizonte, el cielo estaba encapotado, y el mar áspero. A la vuelta de la esquina les salio al paso el conventote Santa Clara, blanco y solitario, con tres pisos de persianas azules sobre el muladar de una playa.”
Again,
“Al final de todo, lo mas lejos posible, y dejado de la mano de Dios, había un pabellón solitario que durante sesenta y ocho anos sirvió de cárcel a la Inquisición, y seguía siéndolo para clarisas descarriadas. Fue en la ultima celda de ese rincón de olvido donde encerraron a Sierva Maria …”
As evident in the quoted passages, the convent is depicted as a sinister force, overlooking the city below. It is a fortress in which life is imprisoned and gradually drained. Indeed, as it watches over the city, and observes the inhabitants below, it seemingly selects its sacrificial victims, drawing on their life force to retain its own vitality. The passing historical reference to the Inquisition is highly disturbing, all the more so when Marquez reminds his readers that Sierva Maria is imprisoned in one of the convent’s forgotten corners and will soon, in the name of religion, be subjected to the same torture and agonizing death that the Inquisition’s victims had suffered centuries earlier. In these passages and many others, the convent, thus, emerges as the penultimate force of darkness; a living entity which has, across the centuries, claimed countless of innocent lives for its own sustenance. Sierva Maria is just one in the convent’s long line of victims.
Sierva Maria attempts to challenge the convent by bringing life, love and light to its dark cells. When padre Cayetano, her exorcist/inquisitor, first enters her cell, it “exhalo un vaho de podredumbre” as Sierva María was “generaba su propio muladar.”However, she is the force of life and love in this place and soon, Padre Cayetano falls in love with her. When that happens, the cell “ella mantenía la celda limpia y en orden para cuando el llegaba con la naturalidad del marido que volvía a casa.” She affects a transformation in her surroundings and during the exorcism is, at one point, able to temporarily defeat the bishop, the senatado. Indeed, she engages in a shouting match with the bishop, causing him to fall from his chair, although she is, hersekf, tied down, emaciated and terrified. Servia Maria is able to temporarily halt the exorcism ritual, stay her own death: “se derrumbo de bruces, como un pescado en tierra, y la ceremonia termino con un estrépito colosal.”
Sierva Maria battles the convent itself, the sinister force which it represents. While she is ultimately loses the war, her love and life, she does win a couple of battles. The interplay between the convent and Sierva Maria only confirms the reader’s ever-deepening suspicions regarding this place; it is not an inanimate architectural structure but something immensely more sinister. As he repeatedly does throughout the narrative, Marquez forces the reader to question the limits of his/her own conceptualisation of the real; to engage in the interrogation, not just of the concept but, of their own understanding of it. Indeed, as occurs countless times throughout, he wretches away our disbelief and draws us into a world in which `unseen’ realities are visibly, and disturbingly, clear.
Proceeding from the above, the reader can quite safely assume that places, as recalled and presented by Marquez, appear as the very antithesis of fact and history. The sinister life given to the three places described, the three loci of the narrative’s action, cannot be true and, to even suspect a grain of truth to any of this, the reader must do one of two things. He/she must either suspend disbelief or make a distinction between the types of memories from which history is produced. Both Bergson and Proust maintained that the memory which informs official history is distinct from that which informs works of fiction. The one is a voluntary and conditioned memory, in which things are remembered sequentially while the other is an involuntary memory where things are remembered in a disjointed manner, often lending to the formation of remarkable associations between diverse events and the imposition of fantastical/mythical interpretations upon them. Marquez, similar to all magical realists, opts for involuntary memory, lending to the presentation of a history which defies the official national memory and the limits of our credulity. Were readers, however, to suspend their disbelief and realise that Marquez’ presentation of the three loci, and his projection of them as sinister beings as opposed to inanimate structure, mirrors the way in which involuntary memory informed the manner in which events were recollected and passed down across the generations, we may very well begin to understand that Marquez’s presentation of place, as discussed above, is not as incredulous as it should be.
That Marquez’s narrative and his presentation of reality, of fact, emerge from within the parameters of involuntary memory, infused with the earlier discussed elements of magical realism, is informed by involuntary memory and is affirmed through the dream image which occurs three times in the narrative. This image, which appears to Delaura in the form of a dream, prior to his meeting with Sierva Maria, is immediately linked to the unfortunate young protagonist:
“Delaura había sonada que Sierva Maria estaba frente a la ventana de un campo nevado, arrancando y comiéndose una por una las uvas de un racimo que tenia en el regazo. Cada uva que arrancaba retoñaba en seguida en el racimo. En el sueno era evidente que la niña llevaba muchos anos frente a aquella ventana infinita tratando de terminar el racimo, y no tenia prisa, porque sabia que en la ultima uva estaba la muerte.”
As is ultimately revealed, the window through which Sierva Maria looks out onto the frozen fields is the window of the Salamabca seminary from which Delaura and the bishop used to, years earlier, look out of onto the same scene. Later, when incarcerated in her cell awaiting her exorcism, Sierva Marie makes a passing remark which indicates that she has had that same vision/dream. As she tells Delaura, “He conocido la nieve,”further explaining that in one of her dreams, “estaba frente a una ventana donde caía una Nevada intense, mientras ella arrancaba y se comía una por un alas uvas de un racimo que tenia en el regazo.”The reader experiences an incomprehensible déjà vu; Sierva Maria is not only describing Delaura’s dream image but is claiming it as her own, using many of the same words and descriptors which Delaura had earlier employed. When the dream image reoccurs for the third and final time, it heralds Sierva Maria’s imminent death:
“… volvio a sonar con la ventana de un campo nevado, donde Cayetano no estaba ni volveria a estar nuncia. Tenia en el regazo un racimo de uvas doradas que volvian a retonar tan pronto como se las comia. Pero esta vez las arrancaba una por una, sino de dos en dos, sin respirar apenas por las ansias de ganarle al racimo hasta la ultima uva.”
Granted that in this version of the dream, as dreamt by Sierva Maria, there is a small variation on the original, the main point here is that dreams and images are co-mingling. Delaura’s dream is shared and repeated by Sierva Maria and, testing the limits of credulity even further, the place within which the dream unfolds is real for Delaura but imaginary for Sierva Maria.
This cannot be history and can hardly be categorized as factual or realistic yet, Marquez insists that, as with all his narratives, it is. Indeed, he even frames the story within a factual context. The Prologue is clearly dated 1949 and depicts the reporter/narrator as recounting his visit to the Santa Clara convent, which was being converted into a luxury hotel and there, witnessing the opening of crypts and being witness to an amazing discovery in one of them:
“… una cabellera viva de un color de cobre intenso se derramo fuera de la cripta. El maestro de obra quiso sacarla por completa con la ayuda de sus oberos, y cuanto mas tiraban de ella mas larga y abundante parecía, hasta que salieron las ultimas hebras todavía prendidas a un cráneo de niña … extendida en el suelo, la caballera esplendida media veintidós metros con once centímetros.”
The narrator then tells of a mythical tale his grandmother spoke of when he was a child; the legend of “una marquesita de doce anos cuya cabellera le arrastraba como una cola de novia, que había muerto de mal de rabia.” The discovery made in the crypt puts a new twist on the legend. The discovery is factual evidence that the grandmother’s legend was not a mythical tale, after all, but history which, due to its incredulity, was told as fiction.
A new reporter, a source of authority and credibility, is the narrator of this fantastical tale; the reporter tells us that a corpse has spouted hair and that hair is a heavy mane of rich copper. We begin to wonder whether, indeed, any of this can be true. Throughout the narrative, this question constantly repeats itself, ultimately taking us to the point where we can no longer separate fact from fiction, history from myth. Marquez insists that this is history and, as recounted, we disturbingly suspect that this may, indeed, be fact/history.
Throughout the narrative, history mingles with myth and facts become coterminous with history. Shaw tells us that Marquez insists that he was writing facts and warns us against jumping to hasty conclusions regarding his treatment of them. On the literary and theoretical levels, we understand that history and facts were conveyed through the devices particular to magic realism. On another level, however, we come to understand that reality is far more complex than we can ever imagine it and that history speaks only of the believable facts, and excludes those which the generations could find unbelievable. As Shaw advices, no hasty conclusions regarding Marquez treatment of fact and history shall be made but we may, nonetheless, affirm that reality is like an iceberg whereby only an eight is visible to the naked eye, and the remainder is shrouded beneath icy and unfriendly deep waters.
Bibliography
Echevarria, Roberto Gonzales. Alejo Carpentier. Texas: University of Texas Press, 1990.
Flores, Angel. “Magical Realism in Spanish American Fiction,” Hispania, 38 (1955).
Monegal, Rodríguez. “Lo Real y lo Maravilloso en El Reino de Este Mundo,” Revista Iberoamericana, 37(1971).
Posaa-Carbo, Eduardo. ”Fiction as History: The bananeras and Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ One Hundred Years of Solitude,” Journal of Latin American Studies, 30, 2(1998.
Roh, Franz. German Art in the 20th Century . New York: Greenwich, 1968.
Shaw, Donald. A Companion to Modern Spanish American Fiction. London: Tamesis, 2002.
Toukey, Ann. “Notes on Involuntary Memory in Proust.” The French Review, 42, 3 (Spring, 1974).
Zuluaga, .Conrado. Puerta abierta a Gabriel Garcia Marquez: aproximacion a la obra del Nobel colombiana. Barcelona: casiopea, 2001.
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Mario Benedetti’s `Ida y Vuelta’ Literature as Socio-Political Critique
Mario Benedetti, one of Uruguay, if not South America’s most celebrated writers, is renown for his exploitation of a wide array of literary genres for the purpose of criticising the socio-political conditions of both his nation and continent. His writings, whether his novels, plays, poems, short stories, political articles or polemical songs, are both reflective and critical of the political discontent and socio-cultural idiosyncrasies which were fomenting throughout and characteristic of Latin American/Uruguayan politics and society. Benedetti’s writings, with their inherent ideological concerns and message, betray an intricate relationship between the worlds of fiction and reality; between literature and contemporary history. It is a committed, or `engage’ literature, as some have described it and, while appreciated by some critics, vehemently criticised by others. Indeed, some critics have maintained that Benedetti’s works, insofar as they are guided by ideological and socio-political concerns, have little poetic and aesthetic value. That some critics should interpret his works as such indicate that Benedetti’s intentions were never to produce works which flattered critics but works which criticised his surrounding reality.
To claim that Benedetti’s literary works are so overpowered by ideological and socio-political concerns that they are ultimately rendered bereft of aesthetic and poetic value is not only an exaggeration but, an exaggeration predicated on erroneous readings and interpretations of works such asIda y Vuelta, La Víspera a indeleble, El Ultimo viaje y otros cuentos and El Cumpleaños de Juan Ángel, to name but a few. Benedetti’s literary works, including the most overtly political ones of the late 1960s and 1970s, are not simplistic representations of political ideology and concerns, nor is their intent a primarily didactic one, as has been claimed. Instead, they seek the transformation of middle-class myths and contemporary history into literary and artistic renditions which highlight the inherent idiosyncrasies of the stated even as they sound a call for awakening, for reform. Benedetti aspires towards the analysis of the Uruguayan mindset, worldview, contemporary history and the peculiarities of Latin American culture within an aesthetic framework. This approach has led to both the popular and critical acclamation of Benedetti as the “Generation of 1945′s” voice and pen. Within this group, a circle of writers and artists who, through their aesthetic productions sought the exposition of reality’s inherent contradictions, Benedetti was hailed as the embodiment of a literary movement which, through art, sought to change self-contradicting, idiosyncratic and truth-defying reality of the contemporary Latin American socio-political culture and landscape.
In terms of literary style, Benedetti’s works clearly betray the influence of writers such as Onetti, James Joyce, Virginia Wolfe and Marcel Proust. As his critics have maintained, in his search for a style which could best express his concerns and maintain a realistic focus, Benedetti turned the aforementioned writers, in his opinion, the masters of Western literature. He did not, however, simply replicate their literary style but, instead, reformed and reshaped their narrative strategies, ultimately lending towards the creation of a uniquely Benedettian style, which both shocked and surprised readers with its abruptness; a deliberate abruptness whose underlying intent was to shock his Uruguayan and Latin American readers out of their stupor and the middle-classes out of their self-satisfaction.Therefore, one can affirm that Benedetti’s literary style reflected his preference for realism and, at the same time, echoed his ideological and socio-political concerns and intentions.
Within the vast body of Benedetti’s works, whether fiction or non-fiction, novel, poetry or drama, the above stated holds true. There is, throughout his works a persistent concern with reality and a determination to draw uncompromisingly realistic portraits of that reality as a means of both criticising it and sounding a call for reform. In the process, Benedetti dissected most everything related to contemporary Latin American culture leaving, not even literary critics and artists unscathed. Indeed, through a thematic and textual analysis of “Ida y Vuelta” this essay shall emphasise that in expressing his socio-political concerns, Benedetti criticised both politics and culture ad, politicians and critics. Far from producing a work which flattered critics, Benedetti’s intention were centred upon the creation of a critical theatre which, among others, criticised the critics themselves
Despite his affiliation with the realist genre and his predilection towards a critical theatre as opposed to a theatre which flatters critics, Ida y Vuelta is categorised as a comedy. At first glance, this “play within a play,” purports to be a comedy but upon a deeper or more critical analysis, is not. Indeed, “Ida y Vuelta,” juxtaposes existential with base reality and fuses several literary styles into a single, multilayered one which both shocks audiences/readers and provokes them into a reconsideration of their supposed realities. While referring to Uruguayan politics throughout, both overtly and covertly, and despite its being an unwaveringly localist work (considering the multiple references to the 17th and 18th of July, the day of the first Uruguayan constitution), “Ida y Vuelta” is inherently universal and tragic. Certainly, it cannot be categorised as tragic in the classical sense but can be in the humanistic sense insofar as it ultimately revolves around the notion of the futile search for the self and for meaning. It is tragic, universal and humanistic because it is ultimately about the quest for heroism, meaning, truth and love, in an age which recognises the value of none of these and, most definitely, neither encourages nor promotes them.
Benedetti, through the fictional author of the work, apparently allows his characters the freedom of improvisation, implying that the characters are in charge of their own fate and not the playthings of an egoistical author. Commenting upon this, critics have maintained that in so doing, Benedetti was rebelling against dramatic conventions and declaring his disregard for those authoritarian critics which insisted upon artists’ adhering to them.
El autor refuses abidance by conventions and repeatedly claims that his characters have assumed an independent. Certainly, the characters are all imagined by el autor and the audience/readers are fully cognisant of this from the outset. Nevertheless, once the characters leave el autor’s imagination and are transferred onto written pages, they appear to assume an independent corporeal form which leaves el autor, himself, in a sense, empty. El autor is left empty because the subject and characters which he had thought of on a daily basis and which, to an extent, were his raison d’être, have left him. In a way, this leaves him somewhat disoriented and incapable of even recognising the work as finished because, his single
“una idea en borrador; tengo que decirla en voz alta, tengo que asistir a mis propias imágenes, tengo que saber si a ustedes les gustan y, muy particularmente, si me gustan a mi. De modo que quisiera mostrarles el material humano de que dispongo, y escuchar después esos inevitables consejos que ustedes siempre saben fabricar, eras recomendaciones que todo buen espectador tiene guiñas de alcanzar al autor nacional. Después veremos, ustedes y yo, si esto sirve para una comedia.”
He identifies his work, the play the audiences are about to see and the drama which the readers are about to read, as a humanistic one, born of the nation itself. El autor, however, due to his having lived with the characters, the story, for such a long time, and as a direct result of his long-term preoccupation with it and them, has, seemingly, lost his objectivity and is profoundly concerned with the reception of others. Indeed, he seeks to protect himself against negative reactions by defining the work as “rough,” even as he, himself, betrays his own reluctance to let go through the aforementioned descriptor. Just in case, however, the play is both well-received and “finished,” el autor announces that he is preparing an work of classic, an “una Nausicaa minuciosamente homérica” (65). With el autor serving as his bookish mouthpiece, in these brief introductory lines, Benedetti tells his readers/audience of the humanistic and localist nature of his play. In other words, he is telling us that this is a serious piece of work which revolves around the human condition, per se, and unfolds within the framework of Uruguayan socio-political life. At the same time, and through el autor, he depicts both the human condition and socio-political life as inherently funny, if only because of its idiosyncrasies and mediocrity. This is succinctly expressed through el autor, who draws his own reality/life from imagination and fiction and who, even though it is his own work, is unable to judge it as finished or not and, indeed, even before allowing us a glimpse into his drama, tells us that he is preparing a classic epic of Homeric proportions.
Critics have made a number of interesting comments about the Autor’s introductory remarks, as discussed in the above. Ruffinelli maintains that these remarks are an explicit statement of disregard of critical opinion. Benedetti is telling his audiences what the play is about, rather than allow critics to interpret it for them and, in the process impose their assumed meanings upon it. He is further responding to possible criticisms with pronounced nonchalance. It is as if, in Ruffinelli’s opinion, Benedetti is telling critics that if they do not like the work, if they regard it as “unfinished,” there is little which can be done as the drama is finished and, indeed, is being acted out on stage. If one were to accept Ruffinelli’s interpretation of el autor’s introductory remarks, “Ida y Vuelta” opens with a criticism of the very people whose profession it is to criticise drama – the literary critics.
Following upon el autor’s claim that “Ida y Vuelta” represents the human condition, critics have drawn attention to the names Benedetti gives his characters. Juan and Maria (not to mention Carlos), as has been pointed out, are common enough in Uruguay, indeed throughout much of Latin America, to signify Everyman and Everywoman. The implication here is that these are merely functional names, assigned to the characters for the benefit of the audience and in order to allow them a greater opportunity to follow the events of the drama and digest it. It is important, however, to maintain a focus on the commonness of the designated/selected names because the aforementioned commonality, or normalcy, of the names speaks of the characters’ colourless, uncompromisingly ordinary and plebeian, so to say, personalities. Destiny brings them together and their sense of spiritual affinity, not to mention common interests, unites the two. The circumstances of their coming together are almost tediously common/normal, just as are their lives and jobs.
As a means of emphasising the uncompromising ordinariness of their lives, Benedetti has el autor ordering the theatre employees about, instructing them to arrange the set furniture in such a way as to visually communicate the stated. At the same time, and as a means of highlighting the absolutely nonsensical nature of their work, Benedetti writes the following:
“El Parlante. —! Rrrrrrr!
Juan.— (Aprieta un botón) ?Señor?
El Parlante.— (Voz grave) Og og og og.
Juan.— Si, señor.
El Parlante.— Og og og og. og og og og og.
Juan.— Si, señor, en seguida. (Sigue escribiendo cada vez mas frenéticamente, mientras vuelve a oscurecerse ese lado de la escena.).”
A few lines later, separated only by stage directions and el autor’s comments,
“El Parlante. —! Rrrrrrr!
Juan.— (Aprieta un botón) ?Señora?
El Parlante.— (Voz muy aguda) Ig ig ig ig.
Juan.— Si, señora.
El Parlante.— ig ig ig ig. ig ig ig ig ig.
Juan.— Si, señora, en seguida.
Sigue escribiendo cada vez mas frenéticamente, hasta que se apagan las luces, con excepción del circulo que rodea al autor.”
There are minor, almost imperceptible changes in the above quoted lines. Juan’s “senor” is Maria’s “seniora,” his his ‘og, og …” becomes her “ig, ig …” As a matter of fact, similarities as such that the “og’s” and “ig’s” are in perfect correlation; in each, repeated four times in the first instance and nine in the second.
It is interesting, at this point, to question why, given the semi-identical nature of these two passages, Benedetti bothered to insert any variations in the first place. In this instance, the extreme similarities versus minor differences denote a number of things about life itself. In the first place, it tells us that even though the human race is ultimately reducible to an identical, identity-less and faceless mass, were one to search closely enough, differences and identifying features/character traits would become apparent. In the second place, similarities, assuming the form of tedious repetition here, express the monotonous, boring, uninspiring and repetitive nature of life itself. Life unfolds, Benedetti seems to say, according to a single pattern and, day in and day out, that pattern is repeated, with minor variations. Life emerges as tedious but it is tedious because the human inclination towards acceptance of their lot and resignation to their fate. In their self-satisfied, logic-defying contentedness, Everyman and Everywoman have forgotten the value of leaving their mark and, indeed, no longer know how to. Hence, Juan and Maria express unquestioning compliance and perfect submission to their superiors; a compliance and submission which, Benedetti seems to hold responsible for the rise of dictatorship in his country, not to mention all of Latin America. All Juan and Maria do is obediently type down the words spoken to them, without comprehending either the meaning of that which is being dictated or the purpose of their task. It is in order to emphasise this lack of understanding and detached disinterest that Benedetti uses nonsensical sounds such as “ig” and “og,” in lieu of words. In this respect, Juan and Maria, as Everyman and Everywoman, represent Uruguay’s self-important, mediocre middle. In exposing the absolutely ludicrous nature of such mindless submission, Benedetti is justifying his own refusal to submit to the authority of literary critics.
In light of the above, references to 17th July assume unique importance. It was on that date, 17th July, 1830, that the first constitution of an independent Uruguay was announced. That date and its implications loom large over the drama as if to draw attention to the clash between political reality and political ideology, as in idealism. The Uruguayans are independent and free; the law of the land, their national constitution, has given them liberty and independence. Yet, the characters Benedetti creates, be it Maria, Juan or Carlos, are inherently dependant and persistently incapable of being free. Believing in fate, accepting destiny and unquestioningly following orders, they cannot exercise liberty nor do they have it within them to do so. Political reality is, therefore, juxtaposed against political idealism to expose a tragic reality; masses which are enslaved by their own design and who are complicit in their own subjugation. It is important, in this respect, to point out that on the office wall, all that hangs is a map of Montevideo and a calendar depicting a single date, 17th July. Through this, some critics have claimed that not only does Benedetti establish a political climate of expectancy, as if saying that the Montevideo-ians will rise again as they did before, but is juxtaposing the promises of the past against the bitter reality of the present. Latchman has, quite interesting, added that Benedetti is paving the way for the Montevideo-ians’ rebellion through his own rebellion against critical opinion.
The following lines are quite important in light of the argument presented:
“Rijo.-No sabes lo que significa asistir a esa libertad. Que un tipo venga y te diga: el señor Tal, morfinómano. Como quien dice escribano o corredor de bolsa. Eso se llama amplitud. Mira, una vez en una fiesta bastante familiar, me fueron presentados varios señores y sus respectivas damas. Uno decía: “Mi señora.” Otto: “Mi novia.” Otro: “Mi querida.” Pero hubo un señor muy culto, con mucho don de gentes, que me dijo: “Le presento a mi amante” y el amante era un tipo de bigote, con un bruto tórax de levantador de pesas. Te das cuenta que amplitud? … Aquí somos unos neófitos. Capaz que ves un día a te mujer del brazo con otro y te pones furioso.”
In the very first sentence, Rijo speaks of freedom, of liberty. The remainder of the passage, however, undermines his very conceptualisation of the term and his understanding of its implications. Suffice to say that a man, a supposedly free one, is offering his fiancée, his lover to another. There are two things to note here. The first is that within the matrix of traditional Latin American culture, this is not only unheard of but the man whose lover/fiancée/wife betrays him with another is regarded as having lost the very essence of his manhood. By depicting, or having Rijio tell of a man offering his fiancée to another, Benedetti is, very succinctly, commenting on the extent to which traditional Latin American culture and values have been degraded and the degree to which they have been perverted. In this, Benedetti is strongly criticising what the Uruguayans, Latin Americans, have done to themselves and is openly holding them complicit in their own de-humanisation, de-masculinisation and subjugation. The second thing to observe here is that liberty has become a meaningless concept. Liberty, implying the freedom to preserve one’s honour, protect one’s family and keep to oneself what belongs to him/her, has been perverted to the extent that it now means the freedom to participate in one’s own de-masculinisation, humiliation and subjugation. As may be inferred from the stated, Benedetti is not only uncompromisingly critical of his society and the middle class but, he expresses his criticism in a manner which is designed to shock his audience/readers out of their self-satisfied stupor. “Ida y Vuelta” is, indeed, an uncompromisingly critical drama, one which spares neither audiences nor critics.
In this play the concept of youth is related to that of freedom and liberty. As Cótelo notes, the notion of youth evokes an image of hope and vitality and recalls to mind all the possibilities which the future holds. Youth, as per the traditional perspective, implies rebellion, freedom and limitless ambition. To an extent it is synonymous with liberty which similarly evokes images of vitality, rebellion and the possibilities which both the present and the future hold. With specific reference to “Ida y Vuelta,” Maria and Juan symbolise youth and, importantly, the law, the national constitution has defined them as free. Yet, just as the times led to the perversion of the fundamental implications of freedom and liberty, Juan and Maria ultimately emerge as perversions of youth and all that which it symbolises. They are seemingly devoid of ambition and vitality and do not, at any point, display a spirit of rebellion. Apart from this being perfectly exemplified through the very nature of their jobs and their submissive acceptance of senseless dictations but, it is further emphasised through references to Juan’s brief sojourn in Paris. As Cótelo points out, references to the “existencialistas caves” of Paris and the city’s museums are so glib and casual that they tell of an ever-decreasing interest in, and appreciation for, culture, high art and values. The youth, as Benedetti appears to suggest, have lost interest in all of the past, present and future, do not have it in them to appreciate culture and high art but, instead, are on a quest for ephemeral and artificial pleasures. The following exchange is relevant to what has just been said:
“Rijo.— Museos? Que museos?
Juan.— De arte, por ejemplo. El Louvre, el Museo del prado …
Rijo.— Ah, esos … Si estuve alguna vez.
Juan.— Notables, Everdad?
Rijo.— Ahí tenes … eso so es igual que aquí. Te aburrís lo mismo.”
Rijo, Lust’s, dismissive attitude to the high art and culture which the Louvre represents, supports the above stated and emphasises that youth has submitted itself to the artificial, temporary and superficial pleasures offered by the submission to lust. In making this particular comment, or observation, Benedetti is, once again, dissecting Uruguay society and the national mindset for the purposes of exposing their mediocrity. Indeed, the observed mediocrity is such that, not only have real values been replaced with artificial ones but, Lust prevails over reason and intelligence. Should we recall that, only a few lines earlier the man who had offered his fiancée to another had been described as “muy culto,” the extent to which culture has been debased and the degree to which Lust dominates over sense and sensibility, effectively sweeping the very notions of honour and masculinity aside, becomes all the more apparent. It is, thus, quite humorous that Juan, disgusted with the Europeans’ “artificio” and “indeferencia,” returns to Montevideo.
If, through Juan, Maria and Carlos, Benedetti dissected and critically exposes the middle class for all of its idiosyncrasies and mediocrity, revealing the extent to which fundamental values have been perverted, he effectively does the same vis-à-vis authority through the figure of el autor. As earlier noted, despite its being his brainchild, the fruit of his supposedly creative labour, el autor is incapable of determining whether or not the work is complete and even before displaying that work for the audience’s judgement, speaks of a grand opus he is currently working on. It is interesting here to note, as does Ruffinelli, an almost perfect correlation between authorial attitude and authority and political attitude and authority. Indeed, Benedetti is referring to the persistent tendency of his country’s leaders to proclaim great projects which will change the face of Uruguay and the lives of her people and their predilection for announcing the completion of those projects before they really have been completed, followed by their declaration of a new and grand project which they are working on. The implication here is that not only are Uruguayan political leaders weak and indecisive but are as empty and as superficial as their promises and public declaration.
If, in his reference to his grand opus, Benedetti is declaiming his nation’s politicians, he is also directly criticising Uruguay’s literary figures and her critics. El Autor quite obviously confuses literary genres and even as he aspires towards epic theatre, he produces a rough draft and while he presents a satire/a comedy his penultimate aim is tragedy. He speaks of Shakespeare and of Homer, of comedy and tragedy, simultaneously expressing the breadth of his literary knowledge but the superficiality of his understanding. Ultimately, el autor can only speak of his proposed grand works – works of Shakespearian and Homeric greatness – but cannot produce them. Benedetti’s portrayal of el autor expresses his own opinion regarding the contemporary state of Uruguayan literature and is, effectively, criticising the critics for their inability to separate the chaff from the wheat. To all intents and purposes and to the extent that critics have failed to incite Uruguayan drama and theatre towards its precious heights but, indeed, appear quite content with its contemporary mediocrity, Benedetti is questioning the very worth of the opinions penned by his nation’s critics.
In addition, as he establishes a relationship, a sense of identification between Rijo and el autor, Benedetti sheds additional light on the former’s character and gives audiences plenty of food for thought. As critics have remarked, not only is Rijo the personification of Lust but he is that which the autor dreams of being, is his hidden self and his own interpretation of his being (suppressed persona), as opposed to his seeming (public persona). The interrelationship between the two is establish numerous times throughout the play, as when Rijo is portrayed as “de ida,” someone who is cynical and un-idealistic as el autor aspires or imagines himself to be or in the fact that of all the characters, only Rijo and el autor are the professionals, the one a profession actor and the other a professional playwright, to name but two examples. Indeed, as some critics have argued, Rijo is el autor’s suppressed `I.’The question is what does this mean?
In establishing a correlation between el autor and Rijo, Benedetti is commenting upon the extent to which Uruguayan high culture as been reduced to base sensationalism which is solely capable of giving a fleeting, forgettable, sense of pleasure.He is further commenting upon Uruguayans themselves and the degree to which they have resigned their minds and are only tolerant of fleeting, hedonistic pleasures. In other words, through his representation of el autor, Benedetti criticises Uruguayan culture and society.
Throughout “Ida y Vuelta,” Benedetti, as opposed to el autor, constantly proclaims his lack of interest in whatever opinion critics may have of his work and voices his own opinion on the critics themselves. There are multiple examples of this, such as when el autor mentions that the work which is about to be presented is just “una idea en borrador” or in his constant references to `improvisation.’ What Benedetti (not el autor) is saying here is that man of the works which are being played on the Uruguayan stage, to critical acclaim, are little other than rough ideas and improvisations. Yet, instead of criticising them as such, many are acclaimed as `groundbreaking works of genius, heralding a new age in Uruguayan drama.’ This is a reference to the state of contemporary Uruguayan drama and criticism which Benedetti’s Uruguayan audience would have understood. By recalling this, Benedetti imposes upon readers/audiences such questions as who judges works of art as grand or otherwise and who, indeed, in this day and age has the requisite talent and the necessary devotion to art to produce such works. Benedetti is questioning the very ability of critics to criticise and judge art and, in so doing, is creating a drama/theatre which is fundamentally critical of the critics themselves.
Benedetti’s criticism of both contemporary art and critics, and by association contemporary Latin American socio-political conditions and reality, reaches its peak in the last pages of “Ida y Vuelta,” when el autor proclaims the following:
“El teatro es otra cosa mas digna, mas rígida, mas monumental digamos. Cuando un personaje de Sófocles, de Shakepeare o de Calderón, dice una cosa, la seguirá sosteniendo mientras viva …”
And, a few lines later he directly addresses the critics:
“Además, los críticos pueden formular objeciones al ritmo, al dialogo, al tratamiento de los personajes, pero jamás al argumento … porque este … es de Homero.
Although el autor, an inherently ridiculous figure, is speaking those lines both to exhibit the breadth of his theatrical knowledge and to appease critics lest they judge his work too harshly, Benedetti is communicating something else altogether. In the above two quotes, Benedetti, not el autor, is calling into question the very notion of what constitutes theatre, drama. Is it supposed to be dignified and are all dramatic works expected to fit into the mould established by Sophocles, Shakespeare or Calderon? The critics certainly seem to think so, with the inference being that they have attempted the imposition of rigid conventions upon drama, ultimately stifling the creative spirit. While el autor is seemingly apologetic for breaking conventions in his `play within a play,’ Benedetti is not for doing the same in “Ida y Vuelta.” Benedetti is determined to break the mould and while the critics may object, the true artist, the free person, will not listen to any but his muse. This is Benedetti’s communiqué to his critics and this is his message to the Uruguayans – the freedom to choose one’s own path and the right to rebel against stifling conventions imposed from above.
The argument presented in the above is clear – Mario Benedetti was, to a great degree, writing for his country and his people. Acting in the capacity of a socio-political observer and artist, in “Ida y Vuelta,” he embarks upon a quasi-vicious attack upon the Uruguayan mindset, contemporary culture, middle classes, socio-political life, contemporary art and literary critics. His purpose, however, is a constructive, not a deconstructive, one. Quite simply stated, he is exposing Uruguay to Uruguay and the middle class to the middle class, literary artists to themselves and, in the process, deliberately shocks in order to incite reform and awakening. Indeed, to instigate reform, to wake Uruguay and its middle class from their stupor, and incite artists to reclaim their creative spirit rather than pay heed to critics and their opinions, he seeks to flatter no one, whether audiences or critics but, instead, to shock and criticise all. It is, thus, that Benedetti’s drama ultimately emerges as a critical theatre as opposed to one which flatters either critics or audiences.
Bibliography
Benedetti, Mario. “Ida y Vuelta.”
Cótelo, Rubén. Narradores Uruguayos. Caracas: Monte Avila, 1969.
Curutchet, Juan Carlos “Los montevideanos de Mario Benedetti.” Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, 232 (April, 1969), 141-148.
Englekirk, John E. and Margaret M. Ramos. La Narrativa uruguaya. Berkeley: Berkeley UP, 1967.
Fornet, Ambrosio. Recopilación de Textos Sobre Mario Benedetti. Havana: Case de las Americas, 1976.
Latchman, Ricardo. “Montevideanos por Mario Benedetti,” in Carné Critico: Ensayos, Ricardo Latchman, ed. Montevideo: Alfa, 1962.
Ruffinelli, Jorge. Mario Benedetti: Variaciones Criticas. Montevideo: Astillero, 1973.
Villegas, Juan. “Historicizing the Latin American Theatre,” Theatre Journal, 41, 4(1989), pp. 505-514.
Zeitz, Eileen M. “Entrevista a Mario Benedetti,” Hispania, 63(May 1980), pp. 417-419.
Zeitz, Eileen M. “Los Personajes de Benedetti: En Busca de Identidad y Existencia.” Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, 297 (March, 1975), pp. 635-644.
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La migliore risposta che ho trovato è stata:
Answer by Maria
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o qui
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