How delicate is an individual's identity?

The entire time I was reading Aura I was waiting in anticipation for something to happen. When I say something, I mean something out of the ordinary, something that would make us question what is actually true in this book, because that is what we have been manipulated to think about. From the time Felipe entered the house, I didn't trust the book. I kept thinking that the situation seemed off and something was going to happen. The first thing that seemed off was the fact that the entire house, except Felipe's room, was in the dark; it was emphasized that in the beginning Felipe could not really see Aura's face. However, I didn't understand the significance of the image of the burning cats or the several religious allusions, like Aura washing Felipe's feet, breaking the communion wafer, and laying herself down on the bed in the form of Christ on the crucifix. The obscure relationship between Consuelo and Aura confirmed my suspicions that there was more to the situation than what was revealed in the beginning. The relationship between Consuelo and Aura was made clear when they acted in unison when they ate and Aura was skinning the goat in the kitchen as Consuelo was acting out the movements.

I think it took Felipe a while to notice the strangeness of the situation he was in, because he was so excited about the money he would get out of the job, so he would do whatever Señora Consuelo asked of him. When he realized the full extent of the situation, he was surprisingly fine with it. He accepted the fact that he was unconditionally in love with Aura, so when he realizes that she is actually Señora Consuelo and he becomes the General, he accepts it. I think Felipe becomes the General through his memoirs. The memoirs take up so much of his time, they absorb and become his life. This also brings the characters' identity into question--is an individual's identity so malleable that it can be affected by simple things? Or, was Felipe the General all along, but he didn't even realize it?

Mirror Mirror

"Aura, kept here like a mirror . . . " Fuentes proposes the idea of a mirrored existence between Aura and the widow, dropping hints to his readers throughout the novel that supports it. One's actions influences the other's behaviors. Whenever the two characters appear together, they always act in unison. Fuentes draws us into believing that the will of one depends on the existence of the other. And so, the two characters gradually appear to be one in the same. It isn't until Montero discovers a photo of Aura with the General that is dated 1876 that we are finally exposed to the truth of it all. How can this be, if Aura is just a young girl and these journals and photographs are from years and years ago? The identities of the characters are suddenly taken into question. Aura is a representation of the widow, a youthful and beautiful character. Furthermore, Felipe himself seems to struggle with keeping himself as an onlooker as we are faced with the twisted conclusion of this novel. Felipe is the re-embodiment of the General. The General's memoirs lead Felipe to discover his old identity. The novel suggests a mirrored existence between the General and Felipe, similar to that of Aura and the widow. By entering the house at the start of the novel, Felipe is leading himself into a world where past and present implode, and the characters become one.

The Letter A

 

            While reading Aura, the name Consuelo really stuck out to me. My 7 years of Spanish did me some good because they taught me that feminine nouns and adjectives almost always end in --a. Out of the 100 most popular Hispanic baby names for girls in 2012, only about 20 of them end in a letter other than --a. Even in the English language, the top 6 most popular girl names in 2013 end in –a.  Moreover, in Spanish, masculine nouns and adjectives almost always end in –o. This is mostly why the name Consuelo caught my attention. Like Susan Barton of Foe, she is the father of her story who needs Felipe to keep the memories of her husband alive.

            According to Spanishdict.com, “Consuelo” is translated into solace. Consuelo needs to preserve a younger version of herself through Aura and a younger version of her late husband through Felipe in order to be at peace with her state of being. In many ways, she emanates characteristics typically associated with masculinity. She is authoritative and dominant. She lures Felipe into her house to preserve the General’s stories and she doesn’t allow Aura to leave its premises. Her power over these figments of her imagination is unyielding. In that dark and decrepit house, Consuelo is able to keep all versions of herself and her husband—young and old. Even as she grows older, her legacy lives on through Aura. She is the only one who holds her stories and she is the only one who can let her captives go.

I Want An A!

I want an A! Plain and simple. With the exception of one all of my posts – comments included – have been on time. I enjoy posting and believe that I put a respectable amount of effort into doing such. So, let that serve as a promise of sorts that my posting will continue through the end of the year. However at the same time, let this comment also serve as an indication that I am not half-assing my posts in an effort to get them in. They are thought provoking and very much intentional.

I have spent a good deal of time on my blog post this semester, and while a few may have been late or even off topic, they were well crafted and thoughtful. A recurring theme throughout the year was “challenging the norms”. In the syllabus, it is even stated that, “the blog is designed to allow you to react… to the external media to which you are undoubtedly and relentlessly exposed.” Whether the April Fools post or even the “I Don’t Want” post, I think it is safe to say that my blog posts have “challenged the norm”.  Speaking of such, as you may have come to realize at this point, you are reading – ironically – my self-grade proposal for my collective blog posts as a blog-post itself. If this is unable to meet the “challenging the norms” standard, I’m not sure if I ever will. I believe that, most importantly, my posts are fun to read (they sure are to write) and deviate from the banal cycle of mundane analysis that is undoubtedly so easy to fall into during an English class with an emphasis on reading.

It is for all of these reasons that I believe I deserve an A.

So Much For Sleep

As I was reading Aura, I couldn't help but feel like I was experiencing someone's nightmare. The second person narrative played a major role in this; it's an uncommon choice for a writer. One of only other times I have come across this narrative style is when I read A Series of Unfortunate Events about ten years ago. My favorite aspect of this book was by far the feeling of thinking you know what is going on before the protagonist does, only to realize that this scenario is one that belongs in a fantastical category and can't possibly be 'true'. Clues are dropped like breadcrumbs throughout the novel that Aura and the old woman are one and the same, such as their mimicked movements when in the same room. These details make the reader feel like he/she has figured it all out. But how can such a mystical and unlikely occurrence be one that can be predicted? The book is classified as horror and a work of fiction, but in many cases it reminded me of the magical realism of Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera.

In other news, I am getting my tooth for real this time on Wednesday. Unless that's yet another pack of lies.

Sight vs. Feeling; Appearance vs. Essence

While reading Aura, I found myself focusing on the significance of sight verses feeling.  In the Llorente household, Felipe often notices the darkness.  There are many moments where he can barely see must feel in order make sense of his situation.  I found this fascinating because one important theme of the novel is the aging process and attempting to hold onto the beauty of youth.  I believe as we age, though we may look different, we still retain our same essence or “feeling” within ourselves.  The parts that make us who we are are those things that cannot be seen.  However, they can be felt through our connections and bonds with other people.  Aura and Senora Consuelo are one and the same, though Aura is the younger representation.  Both characters, though, have the same essence.  Though Felipe struggles at first with the fact that they are different representations of the same person, at the end he understands.  He realizes that a person’s essene is more important than their appearance and shows this through his relationship with Senora Consuelo on the last page of the novel. 

One detail I am particularly curious about is Fuentes’ use of color throughout the novel.  I think it has a lot to do with the sight issue.  The colors are quite significant contrasts to the darkness, but I am having trouble determining how Fuentes wants us to interpret them. 

Love Stories

Similar to The Things They Carried, Aura also seems to be a love story. Felipe Montero instantly notices Aura’s beautiful eyes and they become intimate once he decides to live with Aura and Senora Consuelo. O’Brien fell in love with Linda at the age of nine and he tells his stories to keep her alive in his own mind. However, Fuentes puts a new twist on the love story by creating characters that model old lovers. Felipe represents General Llorente and Aura represents Senora Consuelo throughout the novel. Unlike The Things They Carried, we see the transformation of this young, undying love to old, undying love throughout Aura. O’Brien reminisces about Linda, but he never got the chance to grow old with her the way Senora Consuelo and General Llorente did. Neither O’Brien’s nor Senora Consuelo’s love has faded even in the face of death. Fuentes writes, “You love her, you too have come back…you’ll embrace her again when the clouds cover the moon, when you’re both hidden again, when the memory of youth, of youth re-embodied, rules of the darkness,” (Aura, 145). This re-embodied youth reminds me of O’Brien because he uses his stories not only to remember Linda, but also to re-embody his youth and love. When he tells his stories, he can bring Linda back as a spirit and O’Brien says, “There is the illusion of aliveness,” (TTTC, 218). Felipe and Aura seem to be an illusion of youth throughout Aura and as their story is told, they transform into their older selves. O’Brien creates an illusion of his youth with Linda through his storytelling methods, and Fuentes also creates an illusion of youth with his story of Felipe and Aura. These two love stories are powerful and display the power of storytelling because stories can recreate love and youth.

Aura: is a field of subtle, luminous radiation a person or object.


Carlos Fuentes novel Aura is similar to the previous books we have read, where everything is cyclic with no definite beginning and no definite end. Señora Consuelo character in the novel does not believe in the idea of an end. She creates this younger version of herself so that she can never see a true end to her life. Fuentes also has Señora Consuelo do the same for her husband. The memoirs that Felipe is instructed to write also let General Llorente live on. Felipe embodies the life of the general and throughout the novel it becomes clear that Felipe is the General and Aura is her Aunt Consuelo. The "niece" is given the name Aura because she is the youth and soul of her Aunt.

The first time it became clear that Aura was the younger version of her Aunt was at the dinner scene. Felipe noticed that as Señora Consuelo was talking, Aura remained still whispering to herself. Aura doesn't mimic the actions of her Aunt she performs them at the same moment. One can also look at how the scene is set up. There are four places set at the table for dinner but only three people actually will be attending. One could interpret that fourth setting as the place for General and Felipe is his aura.

Also as a reader, I question the motives of the main character, why does Señora Consuelo create this young version of herself? To win the approval of the General over and over again?

CHAC MOOL

After finishing Aura by Carlos Fuentes, my thoughts immediately brought me to his other short story that I read called Chac Mool. Both stories seem to have remarkable similarities, as Fuentes uses the same style of mystery and deception to confuse and captivate the reader in each story. Both stories involve transformation of characters. In Aura, Felipe becomes the General (Señora Consuelo’s husband) and Aura becomes her Aunt Consuelo. Likewise in Chac Mool, the rain god Chac Mool kills Filiberto, and transforms from a stone statue into a human. Additionally, both stories contain the element of fantasy as weird and rare incidences occur throughout both short stories. In Aura, there is the moment when the cats on roof are tied together and are burning. Señora Consuelo seems to have no recollection of having any cats or knowing about any cats. In Chac Mool, the pipes burst and flood the basement even though there is no tangible cause for pipes breaking. Also, there are laments and moans heard from the basement of the house, even though there is only the statue of Chac Mool there. More so, the stone statue starts to turn into human flesh and starts to grow hair, which causes Filiberto to think he is hallucinating.

            It seems interesting to me that Fuentes’ transformations seem to be opposite to how people would usually think they occur. Traditionally, people would want to transform into a younger version of themselves, not progress older. However, Fuentes coverts Felipe and Aura into an elderly couple. Similarly, usually people want to try to become god-like. Yet, Chac Mool converts into a mortal human rather than Filiberto changing into a god.

The role of Friday

The role of silence throughout the novel Foe confuses the reader and at the same time, carries the reader throughout the story. The vector through which silence embodies is in Friday, the seemingly mute slave. Friday mainly communicates through blank stares with all of the characters in the book. He never speaks, and this drives Barton insane. We as the readers are infatuated with the silence that Friday carries because Barton is fixed on it as well. Even more, we are concerned with what the silence hides. What does Friday hold to clarify the sea of lies that surrounds Barton’s voyage? Is it the truth? Or is it simply a meaningless falsity? The result of this ever-present silence produces a paranoia to discover the truth and its contents.

            It seems interesting to me that Friday has no tongue, which is why he cannot speak. The tongue is the strongest muscle in the body. With this instrument, humans can shape words that produce the truth, which is a powerful tool that we use to navigate our lives. Without this powerful muscle, we are weakened because we cannot tell the truth. The lack of having a tongue leaves Friday at a disadvantage because he cannot verbally communicate with others. However, it seems as though Friday does not want the truth to be known because he will not learn the letters of the alphabet. This gesture shows that the truth will be trapped in silence, which is lost to the readers throughout the book.

Exploring the Unspoken

Part IV of Foe is of particularly exciting because we finally confront the story's great silence and ever-present void, what Coetzee calls "the unspoken" (141). In Part III, "the unspoken" is quiet clearly defined for us: "Friday's silence" (142) and why he would sprinkle flowers on the water near the island (141). Moreover, Foe and Susan even describe how this silence must be breached by "[opening] Friday's mouth and hear what it holds: silence, perhaps, or a roar, like the roar of a seashell held to the ear" (142). This is, in essence, "the unspoken" heart of the story.

Part VI focuses on just this central void by literally transporting us there. The repeated phrase "The staircase is dark and mean" from Part III serves as a land mark, signaling to us that we are right outside Mr. Foe's house, just as Susan was at the beginning of Part III. We encounter the dead bodies of Mr. Foe and Susan in bed together along with the still living body of Friday. From here, the action of opening Friday's mouth parallels the exact description from Part III and therefore serves as yet another sign post, this time telling us that we are entering the heart of the novel. Thus, as we listen to "the sounds of the island" (154) emerge from Friday's parted teeth, we witness the unspoken heart of the novel become spoken.

From this point forward, it isn't as clear what goes on. It appears that the narrator (whose identity is not clear) discovers Foe's transcript for Susan's book in the dispatch box and is transported to the shipwreck near the island. Here, we descend into the seaweed and the shipwreck and into "the home of Friday" (157) where the narrator once again opens his mouth. The stream that pours out is the supposed heart of the novel and spreads across the world. What this stream is exactly, I can't say. For me, this is a part of Part IV that requires further analysis that I'm hoping tomorrow's class can initiate.

So as we prepare to discuss Part IV in class, I believe that we must work to understand what exactly is the stream that emerges and therefore the unspoken heart of the novel? How does this central meaning incorporate all that we have observed throughout the novel? And who is the narrator in Part IV and how does this anonymous narrator impact the conveyance of the story's meaning?

Late&Language

Once we decided as a class to extend the deadline for blogposts, I promised myself that I would do everything in my power to complete the posts on time. Yet, here I am, writing my blogpost at 12:20 a.m. after I completed all my other homework, laundry, and various extracurriculars. One thing I've learned about myself throughout the entire blogging experience is that I struggle to meet deadlines that are not heavily enforced and that do not come with a penalty if not met. Even though I always am thoughtful and insightful in my posts, it's vital that I meet the deadline that my classmates all agreed on because of the importance of respect and discipline. That being said,  as I was reading part 4 of Foe, I found myself thinking becoming frustrated with the ambiguous language and choppy sentences throughout the five pages. But then I found myself reflecting on why language must flow, transition, and be worded perfectly? Why must writing fit a mold that I've constructed in my mind? I think that part 4 challenges the reader to develop their own interpretation of the novel and discover the identity of the narrator.

Tastier Confections To Be Had

Throughout Foe, I have admired Susan Barton's persistence in ensuring that her story, the story she wants to be told be Foe, is indeed told. My understanding shifted slightly in Part 3, as did Susan Barton's attitude towards Foe. When referring to meeting up with Foe again, she writes "all the joy I had felt in finding my way to Foe fled me. I sat heavy-limbed" (117). Foe encourages her over and over to explain Bahia, for he is telling her tale his way, not hers. I recognized this theme from earlier in the novel, when Susan was so resistant to assimilate and learn Cruso's ways on the island. I was better able to understand Susan's opposition to explaining Bahia to Foe, for she refers to silence of Bahia in her narrative as "my own silence" for it is "chosen" and purposeful" (122). Once again, the repetition of choice and having one's own voice be heard stood out to me. I admire Susan's aspiration and dedication to being a "free woman who asserts her freedom by telling her story according to her own desire" (131), yet I was very conflicted by her rigidness and somewhat selfish behaviors. Coetzee carefully juxtaposed the idea of "choice" and "freedom of speech" with Friday's inability to speak and ultimate silence throughout the book. I was even more frustrated with Susan in Part 4, due to her inability to believe in Friday. It seems as though she quickly gave up on him and that was very disappointing to me.

Like my fellow classmates, I am very confused by Part 4 of Foe. I am excited to discuss this further in class.  

Seeing Is Believing

     It's interesting that the final chapter offers an enormous amount of sensory details, contributing to a sense of reality, yet blurs lines regarding the authorship of the story and letters.  Many of the sensory details have to do with a lack of of sense. We read about a lack of light. The narrator feels around the room. The narrator can't see faces, because they're covered with scarves. The environment seems stagnant, yet the narrator searches on - for a pulse, for a sound, for answers. Everything seems so real to reader. The narrator drifts to a shipwreck then - this also has many sensory details. Everything seems so real, which only leads me to question everything further. Much like the sensory details take us into the story, the sounds that the narrator thinks he or she hears from Friday's mouth, or anything the narrator sees around him or her stimulates memories and the imagination. Why does Coetzee include so many details in a chapter that crosses into the imaginary? What can we be left to trust from what we read then?

Meaning in Lies

Today, I was talking to my psych professor about free will.  As I described the philosophical argument against free will, she responded by saying, "well, I'd like to at least think that we have free will".  Foma are everywhere.  I keep thinking back to the first class when we were all asked if we ever tell ourselves white lies, and if we ever put our faith in something that might not make the most logical sense or be 'true'.  Throughout this course, I have realized how many things I put my (blind? ignorant?) faith in because it makes me “brave and kind and healthy and happy” (CC pretext).  Determining to believe that I have free will, and that my fate is not predetermined, regardless of what the actual 'truth' is, allows me to feel that there is more meaning to my life.  Is this wrong?  Is this disregard of a quest for finding out what's actually true negative?  And, in the end, do we derive the most 'truth' from the lies that we tell?

???

I went into the last section of Foe under the impression that the narrator was going to be consistent from the rest of the book.  You can understand my exceptional confusion in this last part.  The change of narration is not the only part of this 5 paged section that overwhelmed me.  I had a very difficult time following the sequence of events throughout this section.  Yet despite my agitation, I appreciated the ending of Foe on a whole.  I found it fitting that Friday was the focus of the last several paragraphs.  A man of no words surrounded by many.  Friday has always been a curious character, and one who intrigued Barton a great deal.  As Coetzee finishes his book with Friday's mouth open, I was left wondering the fate of Friday.  This last section of the book left me fairly perplexed, confused and frustrated by what I just read and how it affects the rest of the story that I had already read.

Manipulation is where you find it.

After reading part four of Foe and realizing I am more confused than ever about the narrator and occurrences in the story, I have decided to write about something else. I haven't posted since before spring break, so I thought I'd fill you in on what I've been up to. I went on a road trip from Anna Maria Island in Florida to West Hartford, Connecticut. On the way we made several stops at awesome locations and I got to experience the country in a new way. I had never really been to the South before and it was very interesting to compare with my liberal, New England perspective. I should qualify all of this by explaining that I had strep throat for the entirety of the trip, so I was more cynical than usual. We drove from Florida to Savannah, Georgia. Savannah was adorable and charming, but also extremely confederate, which was weird for me, but allowed me to analyze how I was being manipulated all over the East Coast.

Savannah has so much historic charm. There is Spanish Moss all over the trees lining the streets and there are town squares in the center of all the blocks. After walking around, however, it became eerily evident that the town was promoting their role in the civil war, which many today would call the "wrong side" of the war. We were so blinded by the charm of the village we missed the dangerous messages being shared with us. We were being manipulated to ignore the historical despair the area represents. At least that was the reaction I got when describing it to people when I returned home. It seemed like I couldn't explain the beauty and the significance of its history without people thinking it was wrong to promote that confederate mentality.

This misrepresentation reminded me of Susan Barton, or Foe's depiction of Friday in Foe. He is made to seem animalistic. He is fed by Susan, he cannot communicate with people, and he is depicted as lacking consciousness. This seems unrealistic though. How can a he be so dependent on others and also so against them? Savannah is similar to Friday in the sense that their holding on to something. It's not clear why because they seem to be misunderstood. They're treated as wrong and lesser, when in reality they are just themselves. I'm still not clear as to how I feel about the end of the book, and that is probably clear in my inability to explain my perspective on Friday's character.

The Home of Friday

This part of the final section really grabbed my attention. On page 157, "But this is not a place of words. Each syllable, as it comes out is caught and filled with water and diffused. This is a place where bodies are their own signs. It is the home of Friday". I can only imagine that speaking underwater must be what it is like to have no tongue. The frustration that comes with not being able to communicate, trying to push heavy words out of your mouth only to have them dissipate like bubbles in water. The home of Friday is this silence and mystery since after all, Friday is nothing but a living corpse, forever a mystery trapped in a body that might as well be at the bottom the ocean.

Lost (Possibly)

It’s a burden, I guess, the freedom we do have. Though I consider myself relatively self disciplined and was relieved by the change of deadlines for our weekly blog post, here I find my self again, embarking on my review of the week (or three, in this case) with only a couple of small hours until the finished product is due. Even after three weeks of notice, the blogging process remains a last minute task I struggle to plan for. Of course, freedom grants me the right to begin my thought process whenever I choose, but does it not also grant me the opportunity for greater success?

Once Susan begins reading what is presumably her script, does she continue reading or is she revising her thoughts? Has she been concealing a longer connection to Friday, one that predates the island and Cruso and constructed background she previously recalled? It’s interesting that the quotations extend only as far as he opening line, and then disappear. I don’t have the slightest idea as to what their presence (or lack there of) means, or if it’s even Susan speaking at this point. The text leading up seems to indicate Susan’s narration, but the issue of Susan 2, who claims to know as much of the original Susan’s adventure, being a possible narrator, muddies the situation. It almost seems as if Susan 2 is the most likely narrator for the closing pages, as she sees two people in the bed. I am expecting, however, that all of my ideas about the fourth sections will radically change by tomorrow.

A Crime Against the Reader?

            Thus far we have faced some pretty strange and perplexing modes of manipulation. Ambrose Bierce tricks us into thinking Peyton Farquhar survived, Tim O’Brien never says definitively whether or not he killed a man, and Werner Herzog put his own spin on the true and tragic tale of Timothy Treadwell. However, J.M Coetzee tops all others’ efforts with the ending of Foe, which is practically a crime against the reader.

            I was very baffled by the ending to Foe. I reread it twice, thinking that maybe it was just I but it appears from reading the blog that others share my sentiments. I do not think the ending provides any closure whatsoever, and don’t exactly see how it pertains to the rest of the story. It definitely makes me doubt everything I read beforehand, as Susan Barton appears to have died. Is Coetzee trying to show us the importance of perspective, and how there are many sides to every story? I for one do not see the purpose of this ending, and it left me very disappointed.

Part IV: My Interpretation

After rereading Part IV of Foe around five times, I’m pretty much just as confused as I was after reading it the first time. However, here is my interpretation of the ending to this novel:

           

            The narrator in Part IV is someone we had not heard from prior to this.  In Part IV we saw that he/she entered the house of Daniel Defoe and found a note that read, “Dear Mr Foe, At last I could row no further.” I immediately thought of the first line of this novel, which reads, “At last I could row no further.” In class we talked about the different possibilities of how Susan's story was formed and manipulated and if some of the characters were even real. After reading this last part, I believe this narrator from Part IV found Friday, a dead Susan Barton, and a note to some author “Mr. Foe”. Then with help from his imagination, he created a story. This narrator created and wrote the entire story we read in Part I, II, and III.

           

            Is any of this accurate? I have no idea. I do not know what J.M. Coetzee really meant in this last part, but maybe that’s the point. I am sure there are purposefully many different interpretations of this story. Therefore I realized that no matter how many times I reread it, that sense of confusion will never completely go away.