[lit-ideas] Re: Borges's "South"
- From: "Lawrence Helm" <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 14 Nov 2007 10:40:21 -0800
Well, I enjoyed the story and laughed out loud at several points. Maybe I
wouldn’t enjoy a story which made equal fun of the American cowboy.
I haven’t read Borges’ “The South” but I’m reminded a bit of Conrad’s The Heart
of Darkness – Heart of Darkness-lite, perhaps. It took Pereda three years or
so to become a knife-wielding gaucho looking for trouble. If I were to look at
Pereda seriously, which is difficult, I would feel uncomfortable at his
aimlessness. He falls asleep and wakes on his horse someplace decrepit and
rundown with not even a windmill to tilt at – only rabbits to hunt in order to
survive, and survive for what? His children don’t need him. He resigned from
society; so there is no point in his staying in Buenos Aires; so he may as well
return to his gauchos who put up with him and never complain – and what after
all is there to complain about? Not getting paid? What do they need money for
as long as they can eat rabbits?
Or could we say something like Orhan Pamuk did in Snow, “the rooms were so dark
he could barely make out the shape of the furniture, so when he was compelled
to look at the snow outside, it blinded him – it was as if a curtain of tulle
had fallen before his eyes, as if he had retreated into the silence of snow to
escape from these stories of misery and poverty.” Perhaps a serious Pereda
would see his return to Capitan Jourdan as such an escape.
Lawrence
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On
Behalf Of Jlsperanza@xxxxxxx
Sent: Wednesday, November 14, 2007 10:14 AM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Borges's "South"
I don't think a lawyer like Pereda would be so much in the know about Dahlmann
and the South, as featured in Borges's story that the writer makes use of.
Dahlmann is notably an immigrant, while Pereda identifies with the
'autochthonous breed,' it would seem.
I selected some passages below, but don't get much of the gist. In general,
Chileans won't understand the gaucho mentality, and he pokes what is intended
as 'fun' on the town/country distinction in Buenos Aires. In general, people
imbued with both traditions don't find it difficult at all to have, to quote
Horace?, 'res in urbe', or 'urbs in re", as I do.
Most of the humour must be lost in translation, but Chileans have their own
brand, and I'm not saying I would find even the original funny.
There are many other BETTER parodies of gaucho life. My favourite is "Don
Fausto", which tells the story of a gaucho who goes to the Buenos Aires opera
house to see the eponymous opera by Gounod, and later retells what he saw to
his gaucho friend.
"Don Segundo Sombra", my favourite gaucho thing, is more like a Bildungsroman
and a very serious one at that, which is about the rite of initiation, where
the older gaucho plays the role of the 'erastes' of the Greeks -- a sort of
coach that would be responsible for the 'eromenos' to become a virility, or
something like that.
There are 'initiation-things' in Martin Iron, too, especially
(i) the sequence where Martin Iron teaches his two sons about how to live
(ii) the duel between Iron and Cruz, which has been analysed by literary
critics like D. Forster as a one-to-one initiatory duel alla Achilles/Hector.
Cheers,
JL Speranza
Buenos Aires, Argentina.
-----
In "The Unsufferable Gaucho" Tr. C. Andrews, New Yorker.
"It’s hard not to be happy, he used to say, in Buenos Aires, which is a perfect
blend of Paris and Berlin"
"He took a siesta until one."
"sat through Cuca’s piano lessons in silence, or Bebe’s English and French
classes, given by two teachers with Italian surnames"
Well, at least the surnames are not Japanese!
"He went to his favorite café, on Corrientes, where he would stay until one at
the very latest, listening to his friends or friends of theirs discussing
issues that he suspected he would find supremely boring if he knew anything
about them, after which he went back home, where everyone was asleep."
Cafe society? Don't think so.
"finally contented himself with organizing his huge, chaotic library."
Not like mine which is anything but chaotic.
"In his opinion, the best Argentine writer was Borges"
"That was when Pereda decided to go back to the country."" Buenos Aires is
falling apart; I’m going to the ranch"
"In Coronel Gutiérrez, the man said. Ah, that’s all right, the lawyer thought,
I’m going to Capitán Jourdan."
Yes, most towns in the pampas are named after military people who killed
Indians.
I’m getting off at El Apeadero. Pereda tried to remember a station of that
name but couldn’t."
"Inevitably, he remembered Borges’s story “The South,”
-- very good, indeed.
"The bread was hard and unleavened, the way the Jews make it, Pereda thought,
remembering his Jewish wife with a touch of nostalgia. But no one at Mi Paraíso
seemed to be Jewish."
Actually a lot were. There's even a film, "Los gauchos judios" -- but based
more on northern provinces, not Buenos Aires.
" For a moment, he thought that his destiny, his screwed-up American destiny,
would be to meet his death like Dahlmann in “The South,”"
"One night, he asked them about their political opinions. At first the gauchos
were reluctant to talk about politics, but when he finally got them to open up
it turned out that, in one way or another, they were all nostalgic for General
Perón."
"His entry into Buenos Aires, as he imagined it, had the ambience of Christ’s
entry into Jerusalem or Brussels as depicted by Ensor." gauchos.
"When he arrived at Constitución Station, a few people stared as if he were
wearing fancy dress, but most were not particularly perturbed by an old man
attired like a cross between a gaucho and a rabbit trapper. The taxi-driver who
took him to his house inquired where he was from, and when Pereda, lost in his
own ruminations, failed to answer, he asked if he spoke Spanish. By way of
reply, Pereda pulled out his knife and proceeded to cut his nails, which were
as long as a wild cat’s."
"Do I stay in Buenos Aires and become a champion of justice, or go back to the
pampas, where I don’t belong, and try to do something useful. I don’t know . .
. maybe something with the rabbits, or the locals, those poor gauchos who
accept me and put up with me and never complain. The shadows of the city
declined to provide an answer. Keeping quiet, as usual, Pereda thought
reproachfully. But when the day began to dawn he decided to go back."
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