As I stated in my opening note, a true survey of "American Literature" would include (at the very least) work from Canada and Mexico if not the Americas as a whole. At the same our country's tastes have grown increasingly multicultural, both within and beyond our national borders. Zadie Smith, Marjane Satrapi, Sally Rooney, Roberto Bolaño, Elena Ferrante, and Karl Ove Knausgård are all fine examples of foreign books that captivated large American audiences, and the work that trailblazing international authors did in past generations has helped set the state for today's breakout voices, including Mexico's Valeria Luiselli.
Luiselli has taken the literary world by storm: in 2014 she received the National Book Foundation's "5 under 35" award, and still not having reached that age, she published four books in two different genres — the essay collections Sidewalks (2013) and Tell Me How It Ends: an Essay in 40 Questions (2017); and the novels The Story of My Teeth (2015) along with her debut, Faces in the Crowd (2012) — all of which have been well-received, with Teeth being a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. This year's Lost Children Archive — a narrative version of Luiselli's experience doing aid work for immigrants first explored in Tell Me How It Ends — is sure to be a favorite for all of the major literary awards. It's also 400 pages long, which is why we aren't reading it, but that doesn't mean that Faces in the Crowd isn't a fascinating book that offers startling insights into the immigrant's experience of America.
Because it's the new millennium, books and authors make trailers now, and in the film above, Luiselli offers her own introduction to Faces in the Crowd, telling us that the novel "is told in four different times and by two different narrators." She continues:
The first narrator is a woman, probably in her early forties, with two children in a house in Mexico City and a husband, whom she's slowly drifting away from. And the other narrator is a Mexican poet, who in fact existed and lived in New York in the 1920s, his name was Gilberto Owen. He narrates, almost from his deathbed in the 1950s, and he tells the story of his youth in New York, as does the woman narrator, the first narrator, tells the story of her youth in New York when she was working in a publishing house and trying to find the new Bolaño, and she comes across Gilberto Owen's poetry. He recorded the minute details of his everyday life in Harlem, which was a neighborhood that I had arrived to, and it was a neighborhood that sorta didn't have any depth for me — I had just arrived, I was a newcomer to it — and his letters became a sort of mirror for my own experience of the beighborhood and gave that neighborhood a depth it didn't have.
I started writing a novel from the viewpoint of Gilberto Owen, sorta trying to record and imagine that area in the 1920s. At some point, I got married, I became pregnant, I planted a tree, and the rest of the chicles attached to growing up. When I finally went through the phase of pregnancy, which was a for me a very traumatizing phase because I didn't write, I didn't read, I didn't even watch movies, I just slept, basically. When I finally got through that I started writing again and I took out this material from the archives I had but it didn't seem as alive as it had once seemed. It sorta seemed absurd to carry on writing as nothing had happened so I had to find a viewpoint and a different tone to somehow go back into that material and I started intervening in it.
From there she goes on to discuss the essential multicultural nature of Harlem, which was only starting to develop — alongside the Harlem Renaissance — as Owen found himself in New York. Nevertheless, he found himself caught in-between cultural circles, and this spirit is a big part of what Luiselli tried to cultivate in her novel.
- Thurs. November 14: pgs 1–53
- Tues. November 19: pgs 54–105
- Thurs. November 21: pgs 106–146
And here are a few additional readings that might be interesting:
- Mina Holland reviews the novel for The Guardian: [link]
- Hector Tobar reviews the book for The Los Angeles Times: [link]
- Stephen Piccarella reviews the book for Electric Lit: [link]
- "Smashing Snow Globes: A Writer On Essays, Novels And Translation" on NPR's "All Things Considered": [link]
- Luiselli on translating the stories of detailed immigrant children in Rolling Stone: [link]
1. The narrator goes back and forth from past to present. She isn't living in the past anymore, but she also is not entirely in her present. There is a sense of ghostliness. Do you think she is a 'ghost' in her present day life? If so, why?
ReplyDelete2. Why do you think the narrator is recalling the signal she got when finding the plant on the rooftop? Do you think by her recalling this, she will reconnect with Gilberto Owen?
Hannah Morgan
Lizzie writes:
ReplyDeleteAfter visiting Gilberto Owen’s building there is a shift in the translator, she even states “If I believed in turning points, which I don’t, I’d say that I began that night to live as if inhabited by another possible life that wasn’t mine, but one which, simply by the use of imagination, I could give myself up to completely.”. Why do you think Owen had such a strong impact on her?
Luiselli mentions that she was inspired by Ezra Pound’s poem “In a Station of the Metro”, which is about Pound seeing a dead friend’s face in public. Ghosts are mentioned throughout the beginning of the story, by both narrators. What significance, if any, do the ghosts have and what could they possibly represent?
1. Throughout the reading, the narrator says multiple times, "Not a fragmented novel. A horizontal novel, narrated vertically." What does she mean by this?
ReplyDelete2. Death is a major theme throughout the novel. Owen talks about his multiple deaths, and states "In Manhattan I died every so often." What is the meaning of death in this novel? Is he talking about actual death? His consciousness? His purpose? How does this connect to both narrators?
1. In the latter half of the novel Owen describes seeing a woman in the subway, "The woman appeared to me most often when two trains on parallel tracks are traveling almost the same speed for a few instants...the brown skinned woman with the sad eyes continued appearing to me up to my last day on the island," (pg. 89). What does this woman, and the other people who appear to Owen, mean?
ReplyDeleteIs she supposed to be the other narrator who once saw Owen's face in the subway? "I saw Owen's face among the many other faces of the subway...I was sure he had seen me too." Why do they keep appearing to one another?
2. During one of Owen's conversations with Homer he says, "If you dedicate yourself to writing novels you're dedicating yourself to folding time." Luiselli's novel jumps around in time and place in both narrators lives. What does this non-linear time structure bring to the novel? Is this the kind of folding time Owen is referring to?