16 March 2011

Kafka and the end of the world


31. I dreamt that Earth was finished. And the only human being to contemplate the end was Franz Kafka. In heaven, the Titans were fighting to the death. From a wrought-iron seat in Central Park, Kafka was watching the world burn.
- Tres, Roberto Bolaño


Tres, translated by Laura Healy, is coming in September from New Directions.

For a limited period, excerpts from Bolaño's "A Stroll Through Literature," the final section of Tres, can be accessed online at BOMB Magazine, Issue 115/Spring 2011.

More here. Via: Work in Progress.



Cross-posted from The 2011 Roberto Bolaño Reading Challenge.

06 March 2011

Don Q, via Syjuco


Authorship and the self-determination of characters


At the start of Miguel Syjuco's puzzle novel Ilustrado, a character named Miguel Syjuco began investigating the mysterious death of his mentor, the writer Crispin Salvador. There's no shortage of possible motives to his death. Salvador blazed through the Philippine literary scene with a series of books that divided the critics and earned him a lot of enemies. The character Syjuco reflected on Salvador's career as he searched for papers left behind by the deceased in his apartment:

To end his own life, Salvador was neither courageous nor cowardly enough. The only explanation is that the Panther of Philippine Letters was murdered in midpounce. But no bloody candelabrum has been found. Only ambiguous hints in what remains of his manuscript. Among the two pages of notes, these names: the industrialist Dingdong Changco, Jr.; the literary critic Marcel Avellaneda; the first Muslim leader of the opposition, Nuredin Bansamoro; the charismatic preacher Reverend Martin; and a certain Dulcinea.

Dingdong Changco Jr, Nuredin Bansamoro, and Reverend Martin are not-so-veiled references to actual personalities in Philippine politics and church affairs. If they were not Danding Cojuangco, Nur Misuari, and Bro. Mike Velarde, then they were at least possible stand-ins or stereotypes of these recognizable personalities who continue to persist in Philippine society: the oligarch and Marcos crony, the Muslim separatist leader, and the fanatical preacher.

Two names are not readily identifiable: Dulcinea and Avellaneda. Who are they in Salvador's life? Avellanada is mentioned earlier on as Salvador's fiercest critic. And we learned later that Dulcinea's relation to Salvador is quite significant after all.

Syjuco's "quixotic" quest to find out the truth about Salvador's death brought him to unexpected places and enabled him to confront some of these characters. "Quixotic," along with "messianic," is a word that appears in page 21 of Ilustrado (via), mentioned in Salvador's Paris Review interview while he is discussing his current engagement in polemical writing.

Dulcinea is of course the name of Don Quixote's object of affection. Don Quixote, the messianic knight errant, is so enchanted with Lady Dulcinea of Toboso that she almost becomes his battle cry, the sole reason for his existence. She is a lady of incomparable beauty, peerless, the one and only muse that drives him to chastity, spurning the designs of other women. The only catch is that Sancho Panza also knew Dulcinea, the three of them being inhabitants of La Mancha, and if we are to believe Squire Sancho, then she is in reality a crude peasant woman, not a lady of noble birth, certainly a far cry from Don Quixote's idealization. (In some ways, what Dulcinea is for Don Quixote, is probably what "the Intended" is for Kurtz in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.) Cervantes's sharp irony is always in full effect as Don Quixote is to finally "meet" Lady Dulcinea later, but this time only in enchanted form.

To discuss the circumstances of the character Syjuco finally meeting the Dulcinea character in Ilustrado is to spoil a lot of things. Let me just say that it is one of the best parts of the book and completely overturns the whole puzzle, such that what one is looking at all along is not a completed jigsaw but the jigsaw turned upside down to reveal another puzzle.

At the start of the second part of the history of the ingenious knight Don Quixote, in its prologue, we are told that a "false" second part of the Quixote was published in 1614, a year before the actual second part by Cervantes came out. In one of the rare moments in the errant knight's history, the "real" author of the Quixote directly speaks to the reader of the book ("illustrious or perhaps plebeian reader") in a furious, or at least ambivalent, tone about certain licenses taken by another writer, a native of Tordesillas, to continue his history and to do so in very poor imitation. Cervantes's resentment is evident as he starts to refute and discuss the disagreeable personal attacks to his character in the spurious second part. The full title of this second part is Segundo tomo del ingenioso hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha ... compuesto por el licenciado Alonso Fernández de Avellaneda, natural de la villa de Tordesillas. Avellaneda is a pseudonym. The identity of the author was never known.

Yet another notable scene in Ilustrado is the character Syjuco's "confrontation" with the critic Avellaneda. This direct reference to the author of the false Quixote, in the guise of a literary critic, is a brilliant play on a book that is, like the true Quixote itself, concerned with truthful transcription of history and ultimately with the question of authorship.

The last chapters of the Quixote are almost devoted in fact to the question of authorship and of Avellaneda's poor depiction and appropriation of the characters of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. What better way to demonstrate the falsity of Avellaneda's version than to point out that Don Quixote is "no longer in love with Dulcinea del Toboso" and that Sancho Panza's wife is not given the same name she had in the first part (Part II, Chapter LIX). It is understandable that Don Quixote flared up whenever mention of this second part reaches him.

It is almost as if the whole conception of the "real and truthful" second part of the Quixote is but a kind of direct response or reaction to Avellaneda's book. In any case, Cervantes has given Cide Hamete Benengeli enough leeway to write and publish the continuation and to faithfully incorporate what happened outside in his history. As the events in real life directly impinge on the fictional, the extra-literary is given a life of its own.

The Avellaneda affair has so consumed Don Quixote that, on his own initiative (yes, possibly without any intervention from any author, real or imagined), he intentionally changed his itinerary just to prove that he is the authentic character, to assert his own palpable existence. Here he and Sancho are speaking to a certain Don Álvaro Tarfe, a character from the false Quixote(!), who they "accidentally" met at a village inn. They were able to persuade Don Álvaro Tarfe that they were the real characters (Part II, Chapter LXXII, tr. John Rutherford):

   'I do not know,' said Don Quixote, 'whether I am good, but I do know that I am not the bad Quixote, as proof of which I should like you to know, Don Álvaro Tarfe sir, that I have never in my life set foot in Saragossa; on the contrary, having been told that the fantasy Don Quixote had taken part in the jousts in that city, I refused to go there, to prove to all the world that he is a fraud; and so I went straight on to Barcelona ... And although what happened to me there was not very pleasant, indeed was most disagreeable, I can bear it all without heaviness of heart, just for the sake of having seen Barcelona. In short, Don Álvaro Tarfe sir, I am the Don Quixote de la Mancha of whom fame speaks - not that wretch who sought to usurp my name and exalt himself with my thoughts. I entreat you, sir, as you are a gentleman, to be so kind as to make a formal declaration before the mayor of this village to the effect that you have never in all the days of your life seen me until now, and that I am not the Don Quixote who appears in the second part [by Avellaneda], nor is this squire of mine Sancho Panza the man whom you knew.

Don Álvaro Tarfe was convinced and subsequently executed an affidavit in front of the village mayor and the notary (both of whom, as it happened, conveniently entered the very same village inn they were eating in) to the effect that "Don Quixote was not the man who appeared in print in a history entitled The Second Part of Don Quixote de la Mancha written by one Avellaneda, from Tordesillas." De facto and de jure then, Don Quixote's authenticity was validated beyond reasonable doubt.

Don Quixote's reactions to the spurious sequel and the actions he took to uphold the truth demonstrate the freedom granted by the storyteller to his own characters, such that the character is given complete power to set the record straight in the story he found himself in. The storyteller has transferred to the character his right to self-determination, to speak for himself, to chart his own plot in his own story. Right up to his own death, Don Quixote was so affected by the false character impersonating him that the author of the false history, Avellaneda, even featured in his last will and testament, albeit in a tone of reconciliation.

The author Syjuco, in the spirit of granting his characters the same freedom and right to self-determination, has produced Ilustrado. It is a novel that is a fitting tribute to what is authentic and original in books.



Related post:

Don Q, via M. Menard


01 March 2011

GIVEAWAY: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Black Dossier)



  • The prize is the graphic The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Black Dossier) by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. Hardcover in very good condition.
  • The giveaway is open to all readers with address in the Philippines. One address per reader, one reader per address.
  • Entries are accepted through email. Email subject: Extraordinary Giveaway. Please include your full name, complete address, and blog/site (if you have any).
  • Deadline is midnight of 15th March, local time. The winner will be chosen using a random number generator.  I'll update this post and announce the winner here.



    “Ang Maisisilid sa Bulsa” (Eugene Evasco)


    What Can Be Stored in a Pocket

    Our yellowing photographs;
    Petals of ylang-ylang;
    Wilted leaves of santan;
    Three sticky bottle caps;
    And a rusted nail bolt.
    Bus tickets stuck together;
    A brittle letter, torn and tattered;
    Postage stamps,
    Unused;
    And filched songhits.
    Worn pencil, cigarette butts
    Filthy towel (crusted with sweat)
    A scandalous pen
    Faded ribbons from a recent gift.
    Dusty calling cards, picture of Nora
    A foul-smelling wallet, a folded palanca
    Tear-stained handkerchief
    Soiled.

    I cannot store you
    In my pocket.




         TRANSLATED FROM FILIPINO

    19 February 2011

    Don Q, via M. Menard


    I have already told you that enchantment can take many different forms, and it could be that these have changed in the course of time, so that what happens nowadays is that the enchanted do all the things that I do, even though formerly they did not. So one cannot either argue against the customs of the times, or draw any conclusions from them. I know for certain that I am enchanted, and this is enough for the comfort of my conscience; because my remorse would be great indeed if I thought that I am not enchanted ...
    - Don Quixote, Part I, Chapter XLIX, tr. John Rutherford


    Jorge Luis Borges, author of "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote," couldn't be more forthcoming. His analysis is unimpeachable (from the "unauthorized" translation by Norman Thomas di Giovanni):

    It is a revelation to compare Menard's Don Quixote with Cervantes's. The latter, for example, wrote (part one, chapter nine):

    ... truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of great deeds, witness to the past, example and admonition to the present, warning to the future.

    Written in the seventeenth century, written by the 'lay genius' Cervantes, this catalogue is no more than a rhetorical eulogy to history. Menard, on the other hand, writes:

    ... truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of great deeds, witness to the past, example and admonition to the present, warning to the future.

    Truth, the offspring of history. Now there’s an idea! The blind man couldn’t be more authoritative. By way of two short quotations from two ‘distinct’ sources (Cervantes and Menard), the self-appointed literary executor of the self-appointed author of the Quixote is almost committing that unpardonable crime in the republic of letters – plagiarism.

    I don’t believe that a translator of the Quixote in English had yet the privilege to also translate the Pierre Menard story. But let us assume that the words of John Rutherford (translator of my Quixote Penguin edition) are faithful to the words of Cervantes. That is, its reliability as assured as the glorious recounting of the illustrious knight errant's history, by the Arab historian Cide Hamete, through his conscientious Moorish translator. Thus, the Borges persona in the Borges story will now gush, in translation, via Monsieur Menard (Part I, Chapter IX):

    ... truth, whose mother is history: the imitator of time, the storehouse of actions and the witness to the past, an example and a lesson to the present and a warning to the future.

    If there is any objection to the veracity of these lofty thoughts, then they must read Anthony Bonner's translation, in Ficciones (Grove Press, 1962), who saw fit to include the original words [the brackets below are present in the translation]:

    Written in the seventeenth century, written by the "ingenious layman" Cervantes, this enumeration is a mere rhetorical eulogy of history. Menard, on the other hand, writes:

    ... la verdad, cuya madre es la historia, émula del tiempo, depósito de las acciones, testigo de lo pasado, ejemplo y aviso de lo presente, advertencia de lo por venir.

    [... truth, whose mother is history, who is the rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, example and lesson to the present, and warning to the future.]

    If there is another cause for objection to be made, then they must answer to Sancho Panza. As with Cervantes, it is always a revelation to read Borges on the conundrums of a perfect translation, the perfect transfer of truths, judgements, and meanings. And so the passage quoted in the ingenious history can be stretched to infer an equation of "history" with "translation." Just substitute the word “translation” with “history” and a striking duality is achieved. The history that Cervantes was recounting is labeled as a translation from the Arabic language, and the story that Borges was telling is about an unsung French scholar whose fluency in Spanish language is evident, isn't it, from thirty-nine words of wisdom. So in a sense, it is the role of the translator as historian, the ideal kind, that is being depicted and repeated. The translator as a practitioner of history can mean being a model student of contexts and milieus, word plays and puns, who happily immerse himself into the language where the work to be translated is happily swimming, baiting it out carefully and putting it in the happy aquarium of another language.

    Truth is the offspring of history because true history derives its authenticity from a semblance of truth. History is hanging on to the truth, to the words that express this truth, like a squire who hangs on to his every master's words. So we recognize from the vagaries of translation the creation of something non-definitive and yet heroic for striving so hard to replicate the sense and the poetry of its source text. Each translation (history), is an artifice (document) in the service of art or life, a literary theory which stands trial to the test of time.

    Cervantes could not have anticipated the multiple transfers of meaning, truth, and realism through translation, right? Menard did, yes? If we define History as a direct transfer of reality, the ongoing moment, or the unfolding of events, then the text of that History is another history. The historian tries as much as he can to replicate real events truthfully, in words and paragraphs and chapters. Otherwise, he stands accused as inventor of history. The same with translations, of poetry in particular. During the priest’s burning of books in Don Quixote’s study (Part I, Chapter VI), a translation of poems was summarily dismissed for its supposed failure to recreate the Italian original.

    'Well, I've got that book in Italian,' said the barber, 'but I don't understand a word of it.'
    'Nor would it be a good thing for you to understand it,' replied the priest, 'and we could have done without that captain bringing it to Spain and turning it into Castilian, because he left behind much of what was best in it, which is what happens to all those who try to translate poetry: however much care they take and skill they display, they can never recreate it in the full perfection of its original birth.

    We are certainly lucky to have come upon Monsieur Menard's poetic endeavors, even if he demonstrated his mastery of translation in just a few precious words. The narrator of Don Quixote knew that only a 'truthful' Spanish rendering of the knight's tale from the Arabic can bring it to life, can give birth to history. And so he worked toward achieving the ideal of translation (Part I, Chapter IX, Rutherford translation):

    I had to draw on all the discretion I possess not to reveal how happy I felt when I heard the title of the book [History of Don Quixote de la Mancha, written by Cide Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian]; and, getting in ahead of the silk merchant, I bought all the papers and notebooks from the lad for half a real; and if the lad himself had had any discretion and had noticed how much I wanted them, he could well have expected and indeed exacted more than six reals. Then I went off with the Moor to the cathedral cloister and asked him to translate the notebooks, or at least all those that had to do with Don Quixote, into Castilian, without adding or omitting a single word, and I offered to pay him whatever he asked. [my emphasis]

    This sentiment was echoed by Don Quixote's friend Sansón Carrasco, BA, as Sansón distinguished between the poet and the historian (Part II, Chapter III):

    '... it's one thing to write as a poet and quite another to write as a historian: the poet can narrate or sing events not as they were but as they should have been, and the historian must record them not as they should have been but as they were, without adding anything to the truth or taking anything away from it.'

    The task then of the translator of a history, specially a history riddled with poems and song-and-dance numbers like the Quixote, is very hard indeed. For how does one strike a balance between narrating events objectively ("as they were") and interpretively ("as they should have been")? Clearly this applies to the genre of historical poem, or history in prose poem. It's wonderful how Pierre Menard found the solution to the problem: he subjected the text through a very careful scrutiny of its every nuance and substance. That is, through the most exacting of filters: the truth, only the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

    Menard’s version of the Quixote is timeless because it superseded any and all versions before and after it. Those who translated the Quixote (in any language) before Borges wrote his story can only be considered, at best, "proto-Menards." The proto-Menards are prefiguring Menard’s excellent job. Those who made further attempts to translate the Quixote after Borges published his story are, sorry to say it, just Menard-wannabes. Menard supplanted all possible translators. He is the definitive and restored version.

    There are, however, two writers who have interesting opinions about this Menard affair, and I recently had a conversation with their ghosts. One is a certain Avellaneda, author of an extant second part of the Quixote. The other is a certain Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. The former vehemently disputed the whole thing and would not accept the Frenchman's lucid version. He insisted that his inspired sequel can hold his own against the ravings of a madman, "an unpublished fraud" (to quote Avellaneda's strong words), and against the imagination of the madman's equally mad protégé Jorge Luis Borges, "inauthentic fanatic." The latter Cervantes, presumably the original author of the Quixote, was amused, smirking at the former's tantrums. Another writer, someone straight from the Ming dynasty, was close by, meditating.


    I started Don Q in July as part of the "Windmills for the Mind" read-along, hosted by Stu at Winstonsdad's Blog. I finished it a few weeks ago.



    Related posts:

    Don Q, via Cide Hamete Benengeli

    Half a Don Q

    Don Q, via Cercas

    Don Q, via translators

    "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote" (Jorge Luis Borges)