Since we do not suffer post-holiday syndrome , we turn to the block without further delay. And for that, we want to rescue a letter to our (pretentious, that's true) about the unforgettable novel by Cortázar. Before having our own blog, how happy for us and gives us so much work, co- Jumping the walls and From the asylum were kind enough to link the text and comment. It is a vision of Cortazar's work and its possible relationship to psychotherapy. Rayuela is, in our opinion, eternal. On psychotherapy, we'll talk in some other post ...
And then our test:
Julio Cortázar, Argentine writer born in 1914 and living in Paris since 1951, published in 1963 Rayuela. Cortazar died in 1984 but, of course, how could it be otherwise, his work will survive. We are facing a peculiar novel, difficult to classify, difficult to cover, alien yet strangely familiar. I propose in this paper take a tour no desire to systematize the board of Rayuela, a journey from the existential point of view characters, situations, comments ... An analysis of the work and its possible relationships with psychotherapy, which is not nothing but a comparison of the narrative is constructed as it is read, and as for who he is read, and the construction of narratives as they still spoken and heard, and depending on who you talk and listen.
Rayuela begins with a call "steering board", which marks the beginning and a declaration of intent: " In its own way this book is many books [...]". Cortázar offers two options for reading: two default warrants chapters to two books are very similar but in reality, he says, Rayuela is a lot of books, as many as readers, as many as moments of each reader, as many as characters, chapters, conversations, actions and inactions ... Arises from the very beginning the need for choice. You have to choose one of the two possibilities of reading or even break the rules and sent random, but in any case must be decided and what is worse, the decision should be taken without prior knowledge, not knowing what to bring, not knowing the fate that awaits behind it ... And decisions are to be taken in life, those that mark, for better or worse, life. And this book is probably nothing more than a metaphor in which each one finds fragments of her own life. Presents us with the need to choose a particular action, which entails not choosing the other at least at one point. Every action taken results in thousand shares that were not realized. The human universe built on a lack inevitable, built on an unattainable desire. In the words of Cortázar: "[...] Making. Do something, do good, to pee, do time, the action on all their cards. But behind every action was a protest, because all meant to leave to get to, or move something to be here and not there, or go into the house instead of entering or not entering the next one, ie that in any event had the admission of a lack of something not yet done and that it was possible, tacit protest against the continued evidence of the lack of shrinkage, the paucity of this. Believe that the action could fill, or the sum of the actions could actually amount to a life worthy of the name, was an illusion of morality. It was better to resign, because the waiver was the protest action itself and not its mask. Oliveira lit another cigarette, and forced to do the minimum to smile wryly and hair taken in the act . "
an option is chosen reading or, as in my case, and then another, and the book turns out to be the same but only if the reader and the time are the same. In any case, we have chosen and we must take responsibility for the election and its aftermath. In the book, as in life. But, luckily, and since memory is fragile and there is oblivion, you can re-endorse and re-discuss the elections, facts, emotions, you can re-build and co-construct the lived, re-think reality. It could, in short, psychotherapy.
My intention is to carry out this analysis through a summary of the novel, which I consider necessary to understanding of the ideas that try to convey, but I doubt the full convenience of this option (again options). And I doubt I fear that any summary will do justice to Rayuela and also am only able to summarize the book I've read ... How can we tell what is, what would Rayuela for another?. The only way to get an idea, albeit vague, about what he's talking Rayuela is read or, in some sense, to travel.
However, despite the above, I presume with some comments about what happens in novel, the actions and words that are, in order to develop my analysis of it. Provided, of course, still remember that talk about what is Rayuela for me, my particular way through the lines of Rayuela. Perhaps no other way to talk about Rayuela , or perhaps about anything.
The work has two distinct parts. The first is entitled, so suggestive, "there's side " and its action takes place in Paris, probably sometime around the beginning of the 60's of last century. The second course of time following the first and titrated, seeking a certain symmetry that is only apparent, " From this side." Here for Cortazar, though he lived 33 years in Paris, was of course Argentina. One of the characters in the first part says, do not grasp what it says, perhaps not even understand it himself, that Paris is a great metaphor. My idea, as I outlined before, is that Rayuela is itself a metaphor for life. And I think so, though perhaps come to understand either, because the novel begins as life: in the middle of everything, or maybe in the middle of nowhere, the action is already under way without knowing where it came from or where it goes, the characters appear without warning or be presented, all appear to have a meaning we do not know ... or want to think that it is while we strive to look, not knowing if we discover or invent. And it includes a history as to life, with all the arguments started. Rayuela as a metaphor for life or, perhaps, of reality, which is built as it is told and re-told. And in it, a man, Horacio Oliveira, an Argentine in Paris, looking to find a woman who, at present, only responds the name of the Maga. And the voice of Horace speaks to us from a future time. Look for La Maga as sought in the past, but knowing that this time will not find it, fearing they will never find it. The early chapters on everything and perhaps the whole first part is written from a later time, from some point (perhaps because of this side ), commenting on past events, dead facts, telling one of the possible stories that accounts than it was. And Horacio us back to earlier times at the beginning of their relationship with Maga, although it was called Lucy, was actually only Maga. It tells how a neighborhood were cited in some time, but without specifying a site ... how they looked, in fear of not being under the threat of another to do so. And the shadow of destiny hangs over the words of Horace, written as a destination, at a future time from which past and remember the last time that already seems to glimpse the future. As Horacio Oliveira himself says: "And look barely knew and now we wove life you need to carefully Desencontro ." This way of seeing and telling the temporality Rayuela reminds me of another work much later. A mid-80's British comics writer Alan Moore publishes what is arguably his masterpiece and certainly one of the highlights of comic superheroes and the so-called ninth art in general: Watchmen . One of the great details of this story is a character set, or perhaps trapped in an experience of temporality we might call, if possible put a name, present continuous. While living every moment of your life simultaneously, is still living in the past what has already occurred, while at the same time is in its future living all that has happened. Only his mind is slipping in some way, you can not pay their full attention as do others, because he lives at once in all times and, more importantly, this carries an ominous mark, the can not be future generator because the future is already happening. Something similar happens in Rayuela at least side beyond: the story tells Horacio Oliveira, among others, seems to move in several days at a time and not take us long to discover that the love between Horace and the initial Maga and is doomed from the moment of birth or perhaps before, as is life itself, and return to the metaphor.
other characters are emerging, some barely targeted. Maybe just friends or colleagues in a given space and time, interested in literature, music, painting, bohemian lifestyle, alcohol and some other things, taken all in different proportions according to each and all according to each meeting. They form a picturesque group is probably not a group at all, although they call themselves, with some fun and little pomp, without knowing if meaningful, "The Serpent's Club." Are certainly strange fruit of a century, germinated in a magical city. They meet as friends, to talk about art, philosophy, literature, words and more words listening to music, drinking alcohol ... Appearing trying to impress each other with their sharp wits, really just looking to convince themselves of his intelligence and brilliance, to sustain this conviction to achieve their little airs of superiority towards a world culture and society of those who know they are children but to those who despise. Airs of superiority which need not to fall, to survive, to be able to read Sartre when he says: " man is a failure, a god impossible a useless passion," without having to worry about the consequences of the phrase, having to deal with the conduct to which those consequences lead in fact. La Maga is, perhaps all, as all of them and all of us, a strange figure. In those meetings of philosophers distinguished drunk failed musicians and scholars without a trade, it seems to be the only one, Oliveira tells us, is able to approach the essence of things without even knowing it does (perhaps no other way), the only one that seems in touch with the essence of life, the only one living life instead of thinking. Meanwhile, Oliveira, as he knows, and suffers, is unable to reach, but merely attempted to indulge in intellectual intricacies billion to keep afloat and just a narcissism that defends the vacuum ... O of nausea, as would the illustrious French. In this book of Sartre, a man faces the emptiness and meaninglessness of existence, knows the absurdity and reacts to it with inevitable dread. Rayuela is a work less existentialist who Nausea, but Oliveira faces the absurdity of existence (of his own existence, others are just silly figures of speech) without fear or joy, with a certain weariness fraught with cynicism . Ortega said that wasted effort leads to melancholy, and Oliveira and does not seek, but do not know if it once did. Do not want to be a melancholy and flees to nowhere on the path of cynicism ... But what is a cynic but a melancholic movement? Even if that movement, that flight, as I feared Saint-Exupery, has never taken anyone anywhere. "Only by living absurdly could ever break this infinite absurdity " Oliveira repeats, although it seems that he does not know what that break, or what later. In the words of Shakespeare, are difficult to overcome, and possibly Horace had signed the same, though not without some additional comment or footnote, " life is the story of an idiot, all sound and fury, signifying nothing ." And Oliveira would also agree in saying that, after all, all these are just words and words ... Words that only appear to want to unravel the mystery and get to the core, see further, beyond the absurd, about life. Apparently only because often the words are really just a shelter to make sure you do not go beyond a trick to stay on this side of the window, a patina of language placed on top of the world, a name placed on top of everything to tame it, to stop frightening to contain the sinister side of the Real (with a capital, a French-style dark).
And Oliveira remains trapped in a destiny actually he is the sole author. Away from La Maga without really knowing why, without wanting to leave but want to avoid ... Perhaps only at losing her, feel that they want to lose ... Maybe just to feel. Horacio know is falling, but in the fall, feel the air on his face and would like to close my eyes and dream of flying ... but can not. The absurdity takes hold of him and novel ... wandering thoughts, acts flowing ... A surreal trip through the rain to accompany an old artist to home ... Associations of ideas, lists of words written with "h" that is not theirs first, always silent, silent perhaps something, perhaps the Oliveira message seeking or who fears find ... A meeting Dada Club members at the home of Maga, which is not de Oliveira ... with the presence of death spreads out through the pages anxious they seem, they are made, endless, with Maga baby still in the cradle forever as words and words, this time, not distract anyone occupy the scene ... And the sinister looming, inevitable, terrible ... Until the target has been amply pointed to comply with and enforced. It goes off the City of Light. La Maga Oliveira disappears and only then, does not want to see her, can not help seeing her again, in every woman who walks away and every woman who comes ... Y loneliness comes, but really, the unintended ... friends abandon him the way you have friends to leave, never actually showing you were there, so you destroys the present and the past while ... Change in the narrative of their lives and change in the security world was supposed to, which does not seem earth beneath the feet firm ... It's fun to question the existence of reality, smoking a cigarette with a buddy, but it is dangerous to do alone ... Oliveira roams his last hours in Paris, having abandoned the Maga, having been abandoned by all, with a drunken beggar, looking almost delirious, always in search of paradise lost, who knows where, who knows when ... And in that direction or guide stroll along the Seine, arm docharde , drunk, depressed and deeply alone, seem to hear the echoes of a song that The Beatles had to write forty years later, perhaps without thinking Horacio Oliveira absolute, or maybe not but think of the presence of Horacio Oliveira in every man: " Under the bridges of the Seine / of those who lose the north / sleep without passport / and is frowned upon mourn .. .. "
And Oliveira returns to Argentina. I get an old friend, Traveler, so similar and so different from him. It appears his wife, Talita, so different and so similar to Maga. The triangle is formed and it is not part of the woman who accompanies Oliveira, a former lover which means nothing in history that gives him nothing except probably do more this lack of Maga, delve into the wound not close, some sort of self-punishment, not atonement for having allowed to lose the Maga, for wanting to lose the Maga. Oliveira talks, Traveler and Talita still want to make fun of a world that ignores them, but they are getting it in some way and that ignorance do not care. But the talks are feeling about something they know will never reach. Horace, in particular, would be alien to a world he despises. But to no avail. There is a foreigner who discovered Camus, indifferent to his surroundings, without having or seeking meaning in their life or death. Not a stranger in a strange land and dreamed Heinlein, owner of another culture, another nature, another power ... possessor of a sense of self, without fear or need to hide his fear, without search. Horace is they can not be them, though he would like. From somewhere he had left saying, " By then I had realized that searching was my sign emblem of the night leaving aimlessly, because of the slaughter of compasses. " Search for meaning, perhaps there ... Search existing knowledge useless. As stated by Francis Ponge: " can not get out of the tree by means tree." May be unable to find a purpose for life from life. Might need to seek other means.
and unreality, or the Real as Lacan would say again, peeps again ... Another scene terrible and absurd, with the death guessing background as a destination, without, justification or meaning (perhaps death may otherwise?). Oliveira started a crazy game, putting a board between your window and your friends and asking Talita near you mate ... The action moves slow and calm, but downhill ... Talita's life with a man waiting in each window in game. Talita's death, dangling over an abyss so real and metaphoric, at stake. And in this game there is no possible victory in the heat so oppressive feeling across the open pages of the book ... And Oliveira Talita not want to, but the Maga hallucinates in her knowing that freaks ... And he fears losing Traveler Talita, Horacio lose or lose ... And Talita, between two men she knows two giant with feet of clay, not knowing what love ... But the scene ends with a sigh of relief escaped my lips, again except Talita Traveler, with Horacio alone ... Death postponed their meetings.
Our three characters caught in a triangle that does not want but which can not escape, working first in a circus, then in an asylum. The symbolism wilder, makes us obvious. The novel, on this side, slides from a relative atmosphere of bitter humor, sad clown, comedy with an air of melodrama, to one dominated again by the sinister, by crazy pathetic in the sense worthy of both words, by the tragedy that is looming, looking at once absurd and inevitable. We leave the circus to enter the asylum, in the same way that leaves children for adulthood, the same way ending the game and laugh and we must begin to be responsible for their own elections (again choice and doubt) and its consequences, in the same way that routine, tedium and boredom of life eat you if you not resign to escape ... But Oliveira is not resigned. As he sang Andrés Calamaro, compatriot Cortázar: " Life is a prison with open doors ...". Suddenly and without warning, Oliveira seems to tire of playing on the edge of things and decided to take the plunge ... The madness that surrounds him in the madhouse in the world, invade, is locked in a room, take cover as a child, looks out the window is raised, after the passage, jump ... Find, always seek other means to leave the tree to reach the end, perhaps to stop looking ... Below, a hopscotch board painted on the floor after running in the background all the work. Next to him, patients and staff, the mad and the sane, dressed differently to create the illusion that there is a boundary that limits the madness ... a sample, in short, the world. And Horacio that after crossing it, trying to get out of it. Stressing between the improvised audience, Talita and Traveler, looking on the front line Oliveira choose (always choose) between life and death. Sartre said that anxiety was to know that you're on the brink of an abyss and that nothing prevents you jump if you wish. Oliveira is on the edge but, peek, anxiety has already been back. We were also told the French that the danger of climbing to a high place was not falling but thrown away, but no longer afraid Oliveira hazards, has no fears, only assumed its condemnation to freedom ... It seems that is tired of being a man trapped in a world that fails to be foreign. It seems to have tired of looking at things and cases that are known absent. Nietzsche, for his part, wrote that if you look into the abyss, the abyss stares back, but when Oliveira looks down, looks he gets is that of his friends, fearing for him, suffer for him ... And try to convince him to return to the madness, to undertake the journey more difficult, not to yield to the attraction of the void, to stay with them. Trying to hold, at the most difficult. And the end may be considered ambiguous, but may not be considered end. It all ends as it began, abruptly, leaving a thousand questions in the air. As life ends without closing most of its arguments. But each one, each reader, maybe each character must choose (again, and again, the choice) to interpret what happened, stay with a message. Mine is finally jumped Oliveira, left the room, she recovered and resumed his life will probably not change much, perhaps without changing anything. And it was pulled because he was not alone, because the moment of staring into space, there were people who supported him, grabbed him, brought him back. After Paris, side there friends abandoned him, will only ... In Argentina, this side , friends are there, even at the final. I think this makes a difference, I believe that such a meeting with the check that loneliness is not absolute, it can save a person from the final surrender. Here comes into play psychotherapy, the role of human encounter between two people who, though not occur in a situation of equality between them, does not cease to have that meeting paper. The relationship established is a rope between different beings, a cord capable, or strong, to hold and pick up, maybe to save someone from the abyss, maybe not. And with psychotherapy, the narrative. The fact that one can come to realize that not only can learn to see that there was someone else, somewhere you, for which one makes a difference, at best, in the world. And knowing the history narrated incorporating these others can also make a difference for yourself.
And certainly have nothing to do Rayuela with another letter when he directed his steps about her ... And certainly have nothing to do with Rayuela writing if I reroute my feet on it ... Men read several different stories on the same story, but the same man read different stories on the same story at different times ... The stories are changed, the reality is constructed and reconstructed, the past, fortunately, you can always change ... for better or for worse. Let us hope, at least, have someone else to turn to, who have in our history and tell us in his.
Bibliography:
- "Hopscotch." Julio Cortázar. Editorial Alfaguara. 2003.
- "Nausea." Jean-Paul Sartre. Alliance Editorial. 1990.
- "The Stranger." Albert Camus. Ballantine Books. 2001.
- "Stranger in a Strange Land." Robert A. Heinlein. Plaza & Janes. 1997.
- "Watchmen." Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. Norma Editorial. 2001.
- "Knowing delusional." Fernando Colina. Editorial Síntesis. 2001.
- "Media Veronica" to "High dirt." Andrés Calamaro. 1997.
- "When I speak of destiny" in "Tell me in the street. " Joaquín Sabina. 2002.
- "Fauna and Flora." Francis Ponge. 1942.
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