Italo Calvino's 1983 Speech to Columbia U, NYC

 Hi everyone,

Yesterday, Rich had suggested that I post the speech that Calvino gave at Columbia in 1983 discussing Invisible Cities. Below you can find the link. You will, of course, need to log in through UAS to access the article (just click the big red button that says "Read and download" and then put your uaonline login).

www.jstor.org/stable/41806854

See you all in class tomorrow! Good luck to those of you still to present :) I'm really looking forward to seeing what you come up with.

--Olive

The God of Small Things; The Analysis of Relationships

     Throughout The God of Small Things, Roy uses the style of relationships between the characters, to progress his impressions of society in this culture and this time period. From the beginning of the piece, Roy uses the interconnectivity of the twins, Estha and Rahel, as one of the only close relationships within the piece, as the Indian culture during this time period is still very rooted in uncleanliness and the severe class culture that pervaded the society for decades before the introduction of Marxist ideals.

    Furthermore, Roy uses this inter-connective style of relationship in order to advance the idea of "untouchability," as Estha underwent trauma regarding the lemon-orange drink man in the beginning of the book, so by default, Rahel also feels unclean and unworthy within the society they find themselves adhering to. 

    Through this closeness the twins feel, Roy is able to propagate the idea that all the other relationships contained in this story are inherently shallow and focus on self preservation above anything else. This is shown numerous ways, but very strongly through the character Velutha, as he is an "untouchable" by the previous society's standards, and is therefore disregarded by Ammu, even they have strong ties from their childhoods together. 

    Roy uses these examples, any many more, to prove how futile relationships are in the shadow of societal pressures, as his observations prove that relationships do not often overpower the impacts that society have on individuals, as the fear of an establishment greatly outweighs the desire to jeopardize ones safety in favor or vulnerability and closeness. 

Generational Trauma and God of Small Things

 Last class (or a couple of classes ago) we were discussing generational trauma in God of Small Things. Our discussion of Roy's narrative structure led us to the view of generational trauma as existing all at once, rather than linearly across time. This reminded me of a photo that I couldn't find in the moment but have since found. I thought I'd share it all with you. Below is Britchida's "Generational Trauma."

--Olive

New History in the History House

    Throughout God of Small Things, I have been thinking of the many connections to Calvino's Invisible Cities, specifically his city Zaira: "A description of Zaira as it is today should contain all Zaira's past. The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the grating of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls" (10-11). Here, Calvino shows the intense role that history plays in the physicality of a place. Time and space are combined to provide the city. It stands, built not by cobblestone alone, but by clocks as well. Roy uses the History House as an example of this in God of Small Things: "The rooms [of the History House] themselves were recessed, buried in shadow. The tiled roof swept down like the sides of an immense, upside-down boat. Rotting beams supported on once-white pillars had buckled at the center, leaving a yawning, gaping hole. A History-hole. A History-shaped Hole in the Universe through which, at twilight, dense clouds of silent bats billowed like factory smoke and drifted into the night" (309). It is obvious that this house contains many histories within its wills like the lines of a hand. There is the fading of the pillars, the sagging of the roof, the rotting of the beams, the creation of a hole. One can almost hear the crashing of the roof as the pillars succumbed to rot little by little until one final splinter snapped, sending the tiles to the floor with an echo heard up and down the Meenachal.

    It is in this house that we the readers witness yet another piece of history, another crash heard up and down the Meenachal, through the eyes of the poor two-egg twins. Velutha's sudden and despicable death is a deep crease in the lines of the History House's hands. And in the twins, too: it is obvious that this trauma follows them through adulthood, perhaps not as a physical scar, but painful and deep nonetheless. This is the role of memory. It presents itself not as a line in the hand, nor as a worn and stained Venetian façade, but as a warping reminder within one's head. It is like a wrinkled scar on the a once-new, once-pink brain. Alternatively, it is like the sun, the object which every other object in the system rotates around. The gravity of a memory like this is immense, sagging and pulling on the very fabrics of spacetime. It is as if the twins are always sprinting in elliptical orbits around Velutha's death (and indeed, Sophie Mol's as well, for which they are unjustfully blamed! this may be a binary star system) trying not to fall into the deep gravitational well that is formed in their minds and as a subtle red stain on the floor of the History House.

--Olive

In Memoriam: God of Small Things and The Storyteller

   In class yesterday, someone mentioned that God of Small Things was already turning out to be "a book of death." Indeed, the novel begins with the death of Sophie Mol, lain out for us in intense detail as if Arundhati Roy had set Sophie Mol in our very hands rather than a book. Throughout that entire first chapter there is death around every corner; the first paragraph ends, "Then the [bluebottles] stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun" (1). This is a wicked beginning. I'd like to note that "bluebottles" here almost certainly refers to a nasty little species of blowfly, so pleasantly dubbed Calliphora vomitoria (orig. Linnean taxonomy Musca vomitoria). They can be found in wet temperate and tropical regions across the globe, but, as with many dead things in this novel, they originally come from Europe. Calliphora vomitoria feasts mainly on dead animal bodies, in which they lay their eggs to grow as carrion maggots. In contrast to the beautiful fruits of the previous lines, this little detail really sets the mood. Flies are symbols of the devil and death, after all. Following this, and including Sophie Mol's death, the reader encounters the Reaper several times in the first chapter alone. And these last few chapters, 6 through 10, continue on with this trend: we witness the death of Ammu (167), alluded to in chapter 1, and of Chella (214), the mother of Kuttappen and Velutha, each along with the use of their body and space after death. We know Sophie Mol's death will come.

   Part XI of Walter Benjamin's "The Storyteller" details the role of death in storytelling. "[The storyteller] has borrowed his authority from death. In other words, his stories refer back to natural history" (151). Benjamin tells of Johann Peter Hebel's "Unverhofftes Wiedersehen" (Unexpected Reunion), in which the author condenses the 52 years between the Lisbon earthquake (1755) and the English bombardment of Copenhagen (1807) into one small paragraph. Benjamin states, "Death appears in [Hebel's passage] with the same regularity as that of the Reaper in the processions that pass round the cathedral clock at noon" (152). The same may be said of God of Small Things. For natural history is death. Go to any natural history museum and you will find bones, artifacts, structures, all killed or destroyed or stolen. And we see that through God of Small Things: death of bluebottles, of birds, of wasps and snakes and humans. Of "Our Sophie Mol."

   But compared to the novel, the roman, the death is not final: memory is important in Roy's story. We spoke yesterday of the circular nature of the two conflicting time periods. They act as memories. As Rahel navigates Ayemenem as an adult, she navigates her Ayemenem childhood once again. There is very little of the novel that is chronological, but it exists rather as a series of memories, many little snippets of scenes from the child Rahel's point of view. This, too, is important to Benjamin. He quotes Pascal ("No one dies so poor that he does not leave something behind"), and goes on to say, "Surely it is the same with memories too - although these do not always find an heir" (154). The memory is then the driving force of the story. And it is the driving force of God of Small Things just the same. It is what keeps the story moving, keeps it alive, draws the narrative as a circle (infinite) rather than as a line or, worse, a novel-shaped box (limited). God of Small Things may be a book of death, but it is just as much a book of memory.

See you all in class.

--Olive

Stories of Resilience

 For the power and privilege symposium, I attended the "Stories of Resilience" panel. This panel focused on Native American student attendance in Alaska colleges. Valerie Svancara and Barbara Sikvayugak interviewed multiple Native American students and asked about their stories, emotions, and experiences when it came to college. The responses were generally very similar, the students were encouraged by their family and community to attend, students felt as though they could be setting an example for their community by attending, students seeking a form of freedom, etc. I found this panel very interesting and informative and I enjoyed listening to the first hand quotes that they kept and read from participants. It created a deeper level of intimacy and connection to the panel. I think this panel could be compared to the reading we did this week, specifically the piece by Cherrie Moraga. As Moraga wrote about the Chicano tribe movement, I was listening to the movement of seeking a higher education in Alaska Native teens. Native Americans have not had it easy the past few centuries. They had their land stolen and then were treated like trespassers. I also was told once by my Native American friend, Jade, that she believes there is a wrongly associated idea of Native American people being uneducated and this naturally leads to lower self esteem and achievement in Native American children. This is obviously grossly inaccurate, but it just goes to show that our country is not yet where it needs to be in terms of there being no racism or stereotypes. I think this was a great panel and I'm glad to have watched and listened. 

The Changes

 "I recognize the dangers of nationalism as a strategy for political change." Cherrie Moraga

While reading the two papers for this week, I couldn't help but compare them to our current climate and society - which one can only assume is the goals of the papers themselves. It raised the question in me of, "have we truly changed as a society?". While, yes, I do think we have made progress and growth, it is unsettling to think that we are still having the same issues that we've been having for over 100 years. Some people still do not accept the LGBTQ+ community and don't believe that they should have the same marriage rights as heterosexuals. Immigrants are still often viewed at a lower status than American citizens and treated like they do not belong here. Women aren't taken as seriously in the working world and are often paid less than their male counterparts. Black people are still brutalized and facing forms of the same racism we've seen for generations. 

With all of that in mind, I can't help but feel like we haven't truly progressed as a country. There is no valid reason why we are still facing the same issue of treating other humans as our equals. As Jurny mentioned in her post, why is there push back when people try to change America for the better?

I think there is plenty of room for continuous growth and progression within America, because we cannot just settle at things being 'better than they used to be', but we need to continue in a positive direction and I can only hope that our generation and the generations that follow are finally the ones to start creating cemented positive change.