Week Fifteen

"O aprendes a querer la espina o no aceptes rosas" (Fuiste Tú, Ricardo Arjona)

I have a confession:

I don't know any Spanish. Listening to these Latin American songs was hard, because I only could read the translations. Even the best translations lose the original depth and meaning of words. So I think that this particular line talks about accepting roses, thorns and all. At least, that's how I'm going to interpret it.

 This whole song is about a broken relationship, so, the rose in this situation is the relationship. At least for a while, it's beautiful and sweet and enjoyable. But, despite all that, there are going to be bad parts- the thorns. Whether it's fighting or distrust or jealousy or anything else that can plague a relationship, something else is going on other than happiness. This creates an interesting paradox in my mind. When something is beautiful, I think of it as completely and totally beautiful. If The Mona Lisa was smudged, it wouldn't be as lovely as it is. But nothing about a thorn is beautiful. So how can the rose be lovely despite these thorns? Taking it back to Arjona's song, how can a relationship be beautiful or good if bad parts of it exist? I'm not sure that I can successfully give an answer to this question, but I can think of a song that addresses this issue.

 

It comes back to what we've said all semester: it's complicated. Why are the good and beautful things in life mixed with the bad and ugly things? Well, there must be opposition in all things. As much as I would love to have no sorrow, no pain, no suffering, I know that feeling these things enables me to feel happiness, joy, and all sorts of wonderful feelings. So, is it hard to accept a rose, thorns and all? Of course it is. But is it worth it?

Always.    

 

Week Fourteen

"But I think diseases have no eyes. They pick with a dizzy finger anyone, just anyone." (The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros, 59)

The House on Mango Street pulled on my heartstrings from page one. And it never let up. Page after page, my heart ached for Esperanza and her situation. That's why I chose this quote to discuss this week. In my interpretation of this text, I feel that "diseases" can be replaced with "trials." Surely Esperanza knows what it's like to face trials that were not of her own choosing. And why does she have to face these trials, such as living in a house she hates, being surrounded by people who she can't help or change, and being abused by those she thought she could trust?

Because trials have no eyes. Sometimes our trials come from poor choices we make. But most times, they come unexpectedly and unwelcome. A family from my ward back home just lost their father and their brother in an airplane accident. Why does this family have to go through that trial? It's not because of something they did or didn't do. It's just part of the human experience. As hard as it is to think about, trials are for our good. Without these experiences, we would not have a chance to grow and become refined. 

Check out this video. Your trials might not be the same, but I'm going to assume that you can relate in some way to this situation.

I honestly have no idea what it's like to be an immigrant or part of that kind of community, like in The House on Mango Street. I don't know what trials people like Esperanza have to go through on a daily basis. But I have trials of my own- and you have trials of your own- and we're all just trying to get through it together. Maybe the really hard trial you're having right now will one day help you to relate to someone better in the future.

We just have to trust the Lord. He knows what He's doing.

Week Thirteen

Making choices is hard. When Professor Mack said that we could choose our favorite work to write about this week, I honestly froze up a bit. It's not that I don't have favorite things. For example, my favorite color is blue. My favorite book series OF ALL TIME is Harry Potter. My favorite food is pizza. But what is my favorite work/text/film from this class?

That's a tough choice. From Diego Rivera's murals to Bless Me, Ultima, the works we've looked at in this class have all been fantastic. But because I have to choose, I would say I particularly enjoyed Black Orpheus.

To me, this movie is a Gesamtkunstwerk. The cinematography is beautiful. Unlike the flat, insubstantial movies we have today, each angle meant something. The lighting meant something. The staging meant something. For example, at the end of the film, Orpfeu falls off the cliff and lands with arms outstretched as if he were hanging on a cross. We talked about this symbolism in class, and it is a very significant aspect of the film. 

 Another reason I think this film is a total work of art is because of its reference to ancient myth. The story of Orpheus and Eurydice comes from Greek mythology. The integration of a modern, Latin American theme with a Greek myth is very well done. This use of mythology helps me to connect better with other Latin American works. In my mind, Latin America art and literature and film seems so different than Western art and literature and film. The origins of Latin America are so different than the origins of my own country, that sometimes it's hard for me to relate to these works. But this film helped to realize that, although our cultures are very different, we often draw from the same sources. 

I guess what impacted me the most about this film is that it shows that, at the end of the day, we're all human. Despite cultural differences, we are all still human.    

Week Twelve

"'Is that how long eternity is?' Agnes asked bravely. 'Is that how long the souls have to burn?'

'No,' Father Byrnes said softly, and we looked to him for help, but instead he finished by saying, 'when the little bird has moved that mountain of sand across the ocean, that is only the first day of eternity!'"(Bless Me, Ultima, Rudolfo Anaya, 202.)

The context of this quote is that the Priest is trying to explain eternal suffering in Purgatory to Antonio and his friends. He uses the analogy of a small bird moving a mountain of sand, one piece at a time. Although it is a fitting analogy, the Priest is using scare tactics to frighten the children from making mistakes that could lead them to Purgatory.

How else do people use scare tactics to promote reform? 

Politicians are notorious for using intimidation to dissuade people from following their opponents. More often than not, a political ad is usually composed of misrepresentations. For example, this attack ad about women's rights sheds a frightfully bad light on President Obama. Although there is truth in this video, there is also more there that is not being acknowledged.

For the Catholics in Bless Me, Ultima, God seems to be like a politician in this regard. God is not merciful. He is not kind. He is not gracious. He punishes those that need to be punished. His purpose is to be intimidating to keep His people righteous. He makes it clear that, if you choose to follow his opponent, you'll end up suffering in Purgatory for eternity. And quite frankly, this scare tactic is effective. Fear is a great motivator.

Although the Priest has good intentions- he wants the children to stay righteous- creating fear is not always helpful.

But there is hope. For the people in Bless Me, Ultima, this hope comes from Mary. She is the merciful protector that will ultimately prevent us from suffering. This would also be like the kind politician that simply states his agenda and moves on without attacking his opponents. (Okay, there aren't actually any American politicians like that. Let's pretend.)

Ultimately, we just have to remember to hope.

Week Eleven

"'You are to bring honor to your family,' my mother cautioned. 'Do nothing that will bring disrespect on our good name.'" (Bless Me, Ultima, Rudolfo Anaya, 53)

Why are names so important? I have theories, but I don't feel they adequately delve into the subject. However, for the sake of this post, my main theory is simply this:

Names create a sense of individual identity. Within a group, they create a sense of unity.

This is a crucial component of Bless Me, Ultima. Although I have only read a portion of the novel, it's clear that the Márez and Luna families place much emphasis on their name. This is something we discussed in class. But I want to take it a step further.

Why do we need a name to identify who we are?
Antonio is not simply Antonio. He is Antonio Juan Márez y Luna. He has his father's name and his mother's name. He is identified as an individual (Antonio) but within an established group- in his case, two established groups. He is a culmination of everyone that has come before. Expectations, behaviors, everything is based off of who preceded him in his family.

 We are a product of what has come before. Whether or not we were raised by biological parents, aunts, uncles, adoptive parents, whoever, the idea is the same.

We were raised by someone who was raised by someone else, who was raised by someone else, who was raised by someone else. I could go on, but you get the point.

Our names connect us to the chain. Maybe they aren't actually important when it really comes down to it. But the symbolism of a name, that identifiable, connecting component, is important.

Does this make sense?

Week Ten

"He stopped before the canopy adorned with his coat of arms. Two crowned lions upheld a shield displaying a crowned phoenix, with a device reading I rise from my ashes." (The Kingdom of This World, Alejo Carpentier, 140)

This is concept art of Fawkes the phoenix from Harry Potter. Since reading those books, I have been intrigued by the phoenix. Although I know it's a mythical creature, I find the concept of rebirth comforting. 

In my last post, I referenced the passage from The Kingdom of This World where Macandal is tossed into the fire. Although his followers believed that he escaped the fire by turning into another creature- in a sense, rising from the ashes- the reality is something quite different. Macandal's experience is not like our own though. We get tossed into fires on a frequent basis. These fires may come in the form of school, work, family issues, relationship problems, illness, and anything else that causes us stress. But unlike Macandal, we can actually rise from the ashes of these fires. 

We go through trials and tests that sometimes seem too hard to bear. Even small trials can be difficult to get through. Like the phoenix, though, we can get roughed up from these trials to the point that we figuratively burst into flames. We yell at our roommates because we are so tired of them not washing the dishes. Or we get so mad about a failed test that we can't forgive ourselves for not studying harder or paying more attention in class. Or we break down because we just can't fight with a friend anymore.

But then, after our moment (or moments) of weakness in whatever form it takes, we rise from the ashes. We find that we've grown and that we are stronger than before. It wasn't easy, but nothing in life is. 

I would say that this is a subtle, but recurring, theme in The Kingdom of This World.

Do you have any experiences where you've had the chance to rise from the ashes?

Week Nine

"Pandemonium followed. The guards fell with rifle butts on the howling blacks, who now seemed to overflow the streets, climbing toward the windows. And the noise and screaming and uproar were such that very few saw that Macandal, held by ten soldiers, had been thrust head first into the fire, and that a flame fed by his burning hair had drowned his last cry.... That afternoon the slaves returned to their plantations laughing all the way. Macandal had kept his word, remaining in the Kingdom of This World." (The Kingdom of This World, Alejo Carpentier, 46)

 As I scanned my memory for a time I may have witnessed such chaos, I stumbled on an event that, even though I may want to forget, I never will:

September 11, 2001

 I was just a kid when I saw the attacks unfold on that somber morning. I didn't understand the magnitude of what was happening. But I remember the news coverage showing people running and screaming and crying. I was going to include a video of a news report from that morning, but it was just too much.

I would venture to say that you can remember this tragedy anyway. If not, there are videos on YouTube.

What interests me the most about 9/11 and the pandemonium that occurred around Macandal's death is how much our perception can be skewed, our memories can falter. Or, in other cases, we may completely ignore reality. I think of all the conspiracy theories revolving around the terrorist attacks. The slaves that followed Macandal were entirely convinced that he made an escape. They were completely unaware that he was burned in the fire.

What do we overlook while we're amongst the pandemonium?

We are rarely in such devastating and chaotic situations. But our lives are busy. The pandemonium of daily life can consume us, and, if we're not careful, we may miss what is really happening, good or bad. 

Next time you find yourself getting caught up in the maelstrom of life, take a step back and understand what is going on around you. Otherwise, you may miss something that you'll regret.

Week Eight

"The Library is not infinite." (Library of Babel, Jorge Luis Borges, 79)

Wait, does he mean the HBLL? 

Perhaps not...

By the end of the first page of Library of Babel, I already felt like I was trapped here:

Which naturally made me think of this:

Tangents aside, I want to address infinity. In the first line of this short story, Borges informs the reader that "Library" equals "universe." By the transitive property, then, we could also say, "The universe is not infinite."

I wholeheartedly disagree. It isn't just because I'm a Mormon. Science tells us that there's a vast world out there. Scientists may not use the term infinite, but they know on some level that quantifying the universe is a daunting, if not impossible task. A couple of years ago, astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson gave a forum address at BYU. He interwove faith and science and humor and humility. He is brilliant. Watch this video, and I imagine you'll understand.

We are in the universe and the universe is in us. The same elements that comprise my skin, my hair, my brain are the same elements that comprise the night sky, the stars, the planets. Now, I'm not a scientist, so I don't know if we are actually made up of the same elements. (I wish I had a fact-checker to look these things up for me.) But I appreciate the principle behind it: my eyes, hair, skin is made up of particles. The sun, moon, stars are also made up of particles. We are all connected and everything is infinite. 

I think of infinity and eternity often, as it is something that I simply don't understand. I like boundaries and limits. I get that because my brain is finite. But no beginning, no end? That is beyond me. I'm glad that I know that one day I can understand. Until then, I will just appreciate

Week Seven

"Hadn't he even let his wife go off and leave him? The day when he learned his wife had left him, the idea of going out in search of her didn't even cross his mind. He let her go without trying to find out at all who she went with or where, so he wouldn't have to go down to the village. He let her go as he'd let everything else go, without putting up a fight." (Tell Them Not to Kill Me!, Juan Rulfo, 286)

Juvencio, the "he" that is being referred to in this passage, is not an ideal, moral person. He is a murderer and a coward. Even worse, though, Juvencio is apathetic.

Apathy, that debilitating attitude that prevents positive change, that makes people feel weak and powerless. Even though there is a big push for those of the rising generation to act and to be a useful part of society, we are still infected with apathy. But I think there's more to it than simply "not caring" about the world around us. Dave Meslin addresses this issue in his brief Ted Talk.

I don't know if I completely agree with all of his points, but I do agree that there are barriers holding some seemingly apathetic people back from doing what they know is right. As young adults, it's easy to overlook the needs of the community or, on a smaller scale, those around you, on a daily basis. We get caught up in homework, tests, social activities, church responsibilities, family responsibilities, and various other obligations. But how often do we take the time to reach out and change the world around us? We tell ourselves it's too hard or that we are inadequate for such a task. These, I believe, are the barriers that Dave Meslin is referring to. 

So, how do we fix this apathy problem? 

 

   To me, it really is as simple as doing. 

But what do you think? Are you going to be apathetic to this blog post or are you actually going to act and respond? It's up to you. 

Week Six

“Then he reproved her, saying that it was imprudent to visit such houses. Villela might learn of it, and then…

‘Impossible! I was exceedingly careful when I entered the place.’” (The Fortune Teller, Machado de Assisi, 48)

It was then that I knew that Villela would indeed see her and that the story would end in death. No, I’m not a super sleuth, I have just read a few morbid short stories in my day. (Favorites: The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe and A Rose For Emily by William Faulkner.) These two lines say so much, yet so little. On a quick read-through, these sentences would be overlooked, like much foreshadowing is. This particular instance of foreshadowing reminds me of Pride and Prejudice when Elizabeth Bennett says that she doesn’t care what Mr. Darcy thinks because she doubts she will ever see him again. Spoiler Alert: she sees him again.

I think that life is made up of overlooked foreshadowing. For instance, at the start of a new semester, I assess the students in my classes and determine who I would or would not like to do a group project with. And I nearly always end up working with those I didn’t want to work with. (The same thing happens with Church callings. “Please, I don’t want to be FHE group leader. Anything but FHE group leader.” The next day: “We’d like to extend a calling to you to be… FHE GROUP LEADER!” You know you’ve been there.)

My point is simple: we miss a lot of opportunities because we overlook foreshadowing in our lives. Obviously Machado’s story wouldn’t have been the same if Camillo and Rita had recognized that moment as foreshadowing. But in real life, I think we could make our lives a lot better if we seized opportunities that may be foreshadowing. In a way, we could almost choose what path we want to take in life. 

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Week Five

Andrés de Santa Maria, The Harvesters, 1895

This is one of my favorite scenes in art. Before I saw the title or even started to contemplate this painting, something else came to mind:

Jean-François Millet, The Gleaners, 1957

Millet's painting came almost 40 years earlier than de Santa Maria. It's likely that de Santa Maria was familiar with Millet's work and he likely wanted to recreate it.

Though de Santa Maria's version is quite similar to Millet's painting, there are some obvious differences. de Santa Maria chooses to have one woman actually bending over and picking while the other two women stand, but in Millet's painting, two women are bending over while the third is just about to be reach for the plants as well. So the depiction of these harvesters or gleaners is slightly different.

That's a very small difference, and I almost suggest it with tongue in cheek. But the differences that really matter are two things.

1. The backgrounds. In Millet's painting, we see a lovely pastoral scene, typical of European paintings of that time.  But in de Santa Maria's painting, we see mountains and a vast expanse of land. The landscape is so different in Latin America than it is in Europe. This difference helps to emphasize the essential Latin American and European feelings we get from these paintings.

2. The clothing. I don't know much about clothing styles in 19th century Europe and Latin America, but I can tell you that they differ quite a bit. Millet's gleaners look European and de Santa Maria's gleaners look Latin American. 

These differences are all on the surface. The similarities- and one in particular- are what really impresses me.

We all have to glean.

We are all different, that can't be denied. But at the same time, we have this unbreakable connection with every other person alive or dead: Humanity. We are all human. And, call me crazy, but I think that's more important than any difference

Week Four

I may be the only one, but I think that Iracema is difficult to understand.

I read the first nine chapters once through and I couldn't think of any connections to make.

So I read the passage again and still nothing.

I went back to the book again and just flipped through, thinking that maybe it was the flowery language that was preventing me from making an insightful and entertaining comment about this novella. 

And I finally came up with an idea.

From the Chief's encounter with Iracema: "Vile is the warrior who allows himself to be protected by a woman." (Iracema, José de Alencar, 24)

In one of my other classes, we have been talking about "Minnedienst" which is a German term that essentially describes how a man (particularly a knight) does everything for the woman of his dreams. He fights battles for her and he tries to woo her. He would certainly be a disgrace if a woman was to protect him. 

This idea is apparent in other cultures as well. I think back to fairy tales that speak of men rescuing helpless women.

This raises a question in my mind:

Why is it so undignified for a woman to protect a man? Why does the Chief tell Iracema that she should not be protecting Martim?

Women are capable and strong. Iracema herself is an incredible example of that. She can defend herself, as proved by her first encounter with Martim (whom she shot) and by the way that she dealt with the Chief. Women are able to fight their own battles, to forge their own way in this world.

But I'm from a time when this way of thinking is not only acceptable, but it's encouraged.

They lived in a different time when chivalry was important. 

I want to conclude with a question for you. Does the Chief's admonition apply today?

Week Three

Do not pity the people. Let us die quickly, if we do not win, and we shall make our dais of the people who die supposing the cowardly gods do not favor us. (Stephen Schwartz, Victors and Vanquished, 187-8)

Although there is certainly a lot to say about the fall of Tenochtitlan, I was struck by the quote above. It's likely that the reason that it means so much to me is because of another quote that I feel is quite similar:

"Do not pity the dead.... Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love." (J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 722)

Pity.
What a terrible feeling.

Have we not all felt pity towards someone at some point? We see an aged woman struggling to load groceries into her car at the supermarket or someone with a physical or mental handicap trying to accomplish a seemingly simple task or someone who has lost her hair due to cancer treatment and what do we feel? Often times, pity. But we shouldn't feel pity for these people, for they clearly have gone through hardships that we probably can't even imagine. These people possess wisdom and strength that others may never gain, especially those that choose to pity themselves and others.

This is something that has bothered me while reading Victors and Vanquished: The Spaniards seem to pity the natives because they seem less sophisticated than the soldiers with their advanced weapons, fancy clothes, and big boats. But when I think of the people living in Tenochtitlan, I do not understand how anyone could pity these people. They created a city out of nearly nothing. They were wealthy, smart, and productive people. These are not people to be pitied. These are people to be admired, people to learn from.

Our pity doesn't lead to conquests or destroying cities like that of the Spaniards. But that doesn't justify our often mean or accusing thoughts towards others. If the Spaniards hadn't sought to destroy Tenochtitlan out of greed and pity, Mexico would be a much different place today. So, if we no longer feel pity, perhaps our lives would be a little happier and we would be a little more aware of the incredible people all around us. 

 Because they are certainly there.

Week Two

He was going to embrace him, and those great Princes who accompanied Montezuma held back Cortés by the arm so that he should not embrace him, for they considered it an indignity. (Stephen Schwartz, Victors and Vanquished- The March Inward, 135)

I think we can all agree that Cortés made some mistakes during his visit with Montezuma. In my opinion, the biggest mistake that he made was ignoring the culture that was so obviously in place. When Cortés chided Montezuma in regards to the way they worship, I was appalled by his lack of understanding of the culture. No, I don't think that human sacrifice to idols is particularly effective worship, but it's not quite apropos to tell someone they're going to hell. This was a pretty glaring example of cultural misunderstanding, but not every example in the text is so obvious, and that's why I like the quote above. There really is no way that Cortés could have known that hugging was undignified, because his culture was (slightly) more like this video:   

 I imagine that not everyone in Spain at that time was as willing to hug strangers as the video portrays, but my point is that hugging was (and is) a sign of friendship and good will. At least it is in some cultures. But in others- like Montezuma's- it's not appropriate or appreciated. In class, we talked about this idea, that there are varying cultures even within the Latin American culture. I think it's so important to remember that culture changes everywhere you go. For example, I grew up in Nebraska and moved to Utah for college. Despite the fact that they're both in the United States, you better believe that I discovered many cultural differences. 


Ultimately, everyone is different. The culture of one country is going to be different than that of another country. There will even be different sub-cultures within that country. We are all stuck behind the lens of culture that we grew up with. But as we try to understand these different cultures and ideas, we will have our eyes opened to a great wealth of knowledge and new ways of life. As I consider this, though, I realize that some things we just won't understand. And that reminds me of this video:

  

Sometimes people are just different.

Week One

Her being is divided between what she really is and what she imagines she is, and
this image has been dictated to her by her family, class, school, friends, religion and lover. She never expresses her femininity because it always manifest itself in forms men have invented for her. (Octavio Paz, The Labyrinth of Solitude, 197)

There is a feminist part of me that wants to argue with Paz. I want to tell him that women are more than what society makes them. But if he were to ask me "How so?" I would not be able to come up with a solid answer. As I ponder what femininity is, I think of dresses and the color pink and women's suffrage and bra-burning and I'm struck by my own thoughts. This is exactly what he means. Even though I am a women, I cannot think of a definition of femininity outside of what I've learned from my own culture and essentially what has come from men. In context, Paz describes women as objects, as counterparts to men. So, with this rationale, it would only make sense that femininity or womanhood is what men have created for the objectification of woman. Although this paints a pretty bleak picture, I would suggest that Paz makes a really good point. Whether we like it or not, womanhood is often reduced to what a society cultivates its women to be. I can really only speak of my own society here in America, but women here are cultivated to behave in certain ways. Yes, there are women who break the norms and are CEOs and presidents of major corporations, who work full-time while their husbands stay home to watch children, who function in important political positions. But is this because the men of the country allow it? We have yet to have a female president or vice president in our country. I would suggest that this is in part because the men of the country still have control. They ultimately have the power to allow or to ban women from participating in certain roles. Paz suggests that objectifying women is part of men easing their solitude, but I'm not quite sure if I agree. I have to believe that there's some other motive.