Coming to the end of the course I find myself reflecting on the first novels I read when I started taking an interest in this field. They were the giants of course, boom texts like “Cien años de soledad”, and “Pedro Paramo” indigenista works such as “Los Rios Profundos” and Feminist works such as “Oficio en tinieblas” and “La casa de los espiritus”. Generally my interests in terms of literature move more towards poetry and less towards fiction, but in this case, I didn’t notice much of a difference. These novels had such a great combination of aesthetics, metaphysical ideas, and social commentary, and neither was sacrificed in name of the other. “Los rios profundos,” for example was a novel which combined beautiful narrative language with a harsh social reality, and the two play back and forth throughout the text.
Looking at the novels we read in the course, I’m struck by how much that has changed in the 21st century. It seems as though aesthetic and content have bifurcated into two separate tracks running in different directions. The novels which we read that were aesthetically pleasing, such as Lauer and Cueto, offer little in terms of content. The stories were either vague and obviously designed to show the world how much of a genius the author is, in the case of Lauer, or thin and not very well developed as in the case of Cueto. On the other hand the novels which were driven by content such as character, story, and social commentary such as Villegas, Piñeira and Pitol, offered little in terms of aesthetics. The writing was stark, and driven by detail. In many ways its a sad step in the evolution of the novel in Latin America, which during the 1960’s seemed to combine the best of both worlds. Say what you want about the economic origins of the “boom” and the trendiness of magic realism, these novels were beautifully written, were complex but accessible, and often contained stories and characters which were fascinating to read. In few instances is it possible to find a text that can demonstrate both aesthetic skill and political and social compromise.
To what do we owe this evolution? is it because of the neoliberal mindset in which the educated writer with knowledge of aesthetics no longer feels the need to become politically involved and thus is free to navel-gaze and intellecturbate all the live long day? Is it because the fields of literature, aesthetics and philosophy are no longer valued by the middle class as worthwhile pursuits since they are not economically viable? Is it both? Is it something else entirely?
All I know is, it has been a very long time since I have read a book that has made the world stop spinning on its axis. I often put the author and the text through a rigorous screening process “Why should I believe you?” “Are you just trying to glorify yourself or are you telling me something interesting? “Is this the book you wanted to write? or is this the book you felt would earn you the most cultural/economic capital?” Heraclitus wanted his honest man. I want my honest novel: a child of love, nothing more, nothing less.
I think it’s an interesting point to think about: why are we so prepared to “believe” these authors who are part of reading lists worldwide and have stood the test of 40 years? (Not that long, really; in literary terms it’s nothing.) And why are we so suspicious of the contemporary?
All this is made worse by the fact that, OK, yes, these books won prizes, but there is little scholarship on them since they are so recent, and so we have little critical prestige or authority that we can use to back up our arguments. We’re on virgin territory. But isn’t that great?
If only we could get together again in 100 years and see which of these authors has stood the test of (relatively short) time.