Hopscotch officially is taking over my summer. I would never have thought a book that doesn't even reach 600 pages would take this long! I have to read a page, re-read it with Google nearby (to define words and search for all types of allusions [literary, musical, historical]), then read it again as many times as I need to really understand it. I love doing this; I love working with the text, jumping around from chapter to chapter, stopping and searching online, jumping right back in the text. I have been writing notes as I read, partly in an effort to organize some thoughts for posts on the novel, but also for the benefit of my own mind. It's wonderful finding connections, really understanding some ideas Cortázar seems to be trying to get through to the reader. There's a lot to say on the expendable chapters, which lend a surprising amount of clarity to the rest of the novel.
Jabberwocky: In my second reading I noticed a passing (and very random) mention of this: "Beware of the Jabberwocky, my son." (page 74). I decided to look it up because I could not exactly picture what a Jabberwocky was, thus neither could I signify its meaning in regards to the text. I did my routine search and started reading (mostly sticking to Wikipedia for convenience's sake) about Carroll's Through the Looking Glass and his nonsense poem, "Jabberwocky". This is an example of how even the smallest allusions in the novel can have strong connections. In Through the Looking Glass, Alice finds herself in a mirror world where even the writing is inverted. Wikipedia gives me this excerpt: "'It seems very pretty...but it's rather hard to understand!' (You see she didn't like to confess, even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) 'Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas--only I don't exactly know what they are!'" The nonsense in "Jabberwocky" is much like the nonsense spewed by drunk Horacio in this scene, as he wonders about the disorder and lack of meaning in his world. His words are often very confusing and jumbled, but I must agree with Alice in that it fills my head with ideas that flee as I try to ascribe words to them. The fact that Alice is in another world also plays into the novel, as Oliveria is hoping that what is usually termed "reality" is really a gateway to some greater, "purer" and unified place.
A motif I want to talk a little about is the image of a weathervane. I can't mention all the times Cortázar refers to this, but I did mark one down where Oliveira says: "Let's say it's all over and I'm wandering around here, walking up and down trying to find north, south, if I really am looking for them. If I really am looking for them. But if I'm not, what's this all about?" (pg. 94) The image of a weathervane is one that describes Oliveira himself; he is a completely passive character, obsessed with the merits of what he calls non-action, and he goes wherever the wind, his moods, and the city of Paris take him. Just as a weathervane sits on top of a building, towering above everything, so, too, does Oliveira think himself intellectually superior to others and throughout the novel he manages to distance himself from the people around him and reality in general. The weathervane motif also connects to the idea of something greater than what can be seen, for a weathervane is affected by wind, which, of course, cannot be seen.
One of the most frequent ideas to arise in the novel is the failure of words. In a very important chapter, Oliveira and Etienne, a painter, discuss the flaws of words in great detail. For Oliveira neither words nor paint properly explain so-called reality. On another occasion Oliveira states that "the Logos that madly pulls us up the zoological ladder is a perfect fraud," and that perhaps humans made a grave mistake in trusting logic. In addition to and perhaps more important than his denunciations through dialogue, Oliveira's internal thoughts display his distrust of words as he avoids concrete language when it comes to things that he finds important. Seeking shelter from rain, Oliveira finds himself one night in a disaster of a piano concert, which ends with him feeling enough pity to take the slightly mad pianist home. When that ends in her slapping him across the face, the failure of his attempt at pity actually leaves him crying (all this even though feeling pity and crying are, according to Oliveira himself, things he doesn't understand). When he tries to think about the events of the night, the piano recital, the walk home, his strong emotions, he says to himself: "Let's not get literary...let's forget about bringing up those bitchy words, those made-up pimps." (pg 124) Present in the expendable chapters are writings of a character named Morelli who discusses at length a potential novel he may write that rejects literature, a work that uses itself to denounce itself. There are many passages that discuss the nature of words and how they affect people, relationships, etc. that I really enjoyed. One of the most memorable of these passages discusses memory and how they are feelings, faces and places eternally turned into words...only words.
There are many other things I can say, but then I might not stop! I will finish soon, but first: a few examples of how the last chapters, many very short (less than a page), many very random, tie into the novel. One of these chapters, no more than 2-3 pages long, was connected to a story La Maga relates to one of the members of the Club about her childhood; more specifically, of her being raped as a girl. This passage, when I first read it, was most surprising because the other characters seemed to not take her very seriously. It was brought up a few times later, never for very long, but this extra chapter really made the violent intrusion stick out to the reader. The chapter, an episode from the rapist's childhood, used extremely vivid and suggestive language, echoing the rape of Lucía. Another example, perhaps a less unpleasant one, has to do with Horacio and a woman he was sleeping with. Pola, the woman, is never really given any depth throughout the chapters, except for her being diagnosed with breast cancer, and I was always waiting for some more mention of her; she is never even present in the first 56 chapters. Finally, though, the extra chapters tell about some experiences Horacio and her share; they are mostly sexual encounters, but Horacio actually finds emotional support in this woman and their connection seems much stronger than any first impression I had. One last example: I mentioned a character named Morelli before, how he is a writer whose notes and works make up many of the expendable chapters. This is interesting because the characters that make up the Club all admire Morelli and are frequently analyzing his works. In one of the 56 "normal" chapters, Oliveira sees an old man get hit by a car and starts musing on ideas such as otherness and the absurdity of life. When reading the novel a second time, the expendable chapters add a totally new dimension to this event when Oliveira convinces a friend to go visit the old man in the hospital. There they discover to their surprise that the old man is Morelli! They strike up a metaphysical discussion with him and are even asked by him to help organize his writings left behind at home while Morelli is in the hospital.
I hope everyone is enjoying their summer!
No comments:
Post a Comment