I was first introduced the term “duality”
in 11th grade English as we read A Tale of Two Cities. Duality,
as my teacher/ex-beauty queen/southern belle turned author/scholar described
it, is the “two-ness of something.” The Miriam Webster folks call it the “quality
or state of having two parts,” but I think that Miss Tennessee 1976 had it
close enough. In A Tale of Two Cities, there are instances of mistaken
identity and parallelism left and right, but is there strong evidence of true
dualities? I’m not sure. The word “duality” came spring forth form memory
however, when we read Foe. As Susan Barton and Susan Barton were first
conversing, I couldn’t help but think “Oh my God. Duality. They’re part of each
other. They’re two!” The connection between the two though was never exactly
nailed down and examined; Coetzee did not give us the evidence to do so with
confidence. So, I was left again with the sinking feeling that I would not find
true duality exemplified in a novel.
Then we read Aura. This novel doesn’t
just exemplify duality, it embodies duality. The characters, the setting in
place and time, and even the physical presentation of the novel have elements that
are divided into two. Consuelo and Aura belong to the same soul. Felipe is made
to share a past and a future with the General. The General and Consuelo cannot
live without one another and are the entire purpose for the creation of Aura
and the entrapment of Felipe. As for the setting, the old and new street
numbers and building facades coexist. Both need to be present as the action of
the book is not confined to time. It does not hold to one generation, and the
duality of the setting allows the characters to exist independently of time
without being displaced.
The most obvious and exciting (in
my opinion) instances of duality in this novel are the publishing choices. The
fact that the pages with supposedly the same meaning in different languages directly
face each other is a very interesting format. The pages are presented together
as if to say that neither holds the whole meaning of the text. Even the title
and the art on the first few pages is mirrored. This motif of true duality is
physically and literarily evident in Aura, and it was definitely worth
all of my frustration to finally see it done right.
I find your line "Consuelo and Aura belong to the same soul" very interesting. I have never considered the possibility of belonging to a soul, but I think entertaining that notion engenders interesting implications about duality. If both Consuelo and Aura belong to the same soul, it seems that one is not precisely two, but that two branches off of one, that there is a unifying force which reconciles the inherent paradox of one being two. Fun stuff :)
ReplyDeleteIf I were to disagree now with what I just said, my comments would form an analogous duality to the Consuelo-Aura relationship as you read it. Two are one, in a sense, because two distinct opinions are my opinion, however, both belong to an analogous "soul"- the commentator Dan Farina- and the underlying unity renders sensible the ostensible paradox.
ReplyDeleteThe translation point offers an interesting look into duality. I like how you brought up the kind of "mirrored" image that each side of the translation provides. Reading Emily's blog post, I'm inclined to feel that the appearances look the same, but there are subtle cracks and distortions in the lining of the mirror. I think its interesting that you view the text to be not be complete without the other, an essential part of duality. I think its heavily divisive whether or not a person considers a translation to either be a weaker approximation of the text versus something to give you a better understanding of it.
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