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I couldn’t resist tapping into the early work of an author who flashed like a comet into my reading pleasure with his delightful and stirring “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin” (1994) and “Birds Without Wings” (2004). While the former delved into a Greek island community invaded by Italians in World War 2. the latter rendered a portrait of a multicultural community in Anatolia shaken from death throes of the Ottoman empire and World War 1. Here our ensemble cast is from a village in some nameless South American country, spanning the range from peasants of native, black, or mixed races to wealthy immigrants, socialites, corporate oligarchs, and army members of various ranks. The former wends their way toward revolution against oppression and exploitation by the latter. Happily, there is some real character development and a fairy tale touch as folks of many walks of life end up working toward some utopian freedom by the end.
Some of the main characters include Don Emanuel , a wealthy landowner turning playboy and hippie, Dona Constanza Evans, the hauty but lusty wife of an oligarch, Aurelio, an orphan from ranching peons who gets empowered by a Native tribe in the rain forest, and Remedios, a female guerilla leader with a chip on her shoulder after sustaining the torture deaths of her parents as a girl. All these characters get nudged into changing their ways starting with an atrocity committed by one Sergeant Figueros, starting with an attempted rape of a beloved village girl and then escalating to a hand-grenade assault on a crowd. Rebel forces hiding in the mountains start gaining more forces, and they get bold enough to kidnap first Dona Constanza and then the general high in the government’s military command, General Fuertas. It turns out that Constanza likes the cut of one young rebel’s jib and that the general is sympathetic to the group’s despair over the corruption and brutality of soldiers like Figueros, which the general wasn’t aware of. The collective finds less brutal ways of fighting back against the government (poisonous spiders placed in tents, releasing caimen in the night, fake ghost hauntings) and grow their hope for autonomy somewhere remote from government reach.
This plot schema would not seem to not leave much opening for satire and humor. Much lies in the dialog among his well-crafted characters and its content of constant clashing between world views. The whole society is in a pathetic situation of suffering civil wars that have killed nearly 200,000 people, with little change in the situation of Liberal and Conservative politicians changing administrations every few years without touching the power of corrupt and greedy business leaders and their reins on the military. This picture seem close to the reality for many countries in South America.
The oligarchy was a large network of immensely rich landowners, descended from the conquistadors, who had been illiterate robber barbarians who had destroyed entire civilizations in the name of Jesus, the Virgin, the Catholic kings, and gold. In this way they ensured a perpetual sinecure in paradise for their immortal souls, and perpetual admiration from generations of schoolchildren who were taught in history lessons of their magnificent and daring exploits against the pagan savages whose phenomenal towns and monuments one can still see today (in ruins).
The absurd, but also realistic, element of this scenario involves the self-defeating factionalism among the socialists and communists and their inability to translate their affinity with the oppressed masses into coherent action:
The People’s Liberation Force was mainly a demolition group, whereas, for example, the People’s Vanguard was mainly an ambushing group, the People’s Liberation Front specialized in blackmail and extortion, and the Revolutionary Socialists in assassinating important people. The People’s Liberation Force probably chose its particular specialty because it was one of the safest; there is , after all, very little danger in planting bombs and then retreating to a safe distance. It apparently never perceived that you cannot alleviate the plight of the masses by destroying the infrastructure built up painfully slowly for their benefit on what little national wealth remained. But however paradoxical its behavior, what happened to the People’s Liberation Force was simply according to a general rule that applied to all humankind. The rule is that people always think that if they are very expert at something, that thing must be extremely important. The People’s Liberation Force was expert at explosives and therefore thought that what they did was crucial.
Some of the humor comes from a type of hyperbole that reminds me of Terry Pratchett in his Discworld series:
All this is history, but it does not do justice to the reality of the times in terms of the demonic wind of brutality and inhumanity that scoured the bodies and the souls of innocent and guilty alike.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ceded precedence to the Beast, the Mega Therion, which visited such inconceivable havoc upon the lives people that when it was finished, La Violencia had claimed over two hundred thousand of them. It is hard not to believe with hindsight that an infectious morbidity of the soul had contaminated the whole nation with an insanity of bloodlust thinly disguised at ideology and moral stance. There was a spreading sickness of ethical depravity that blew apart the eternal calm of the countryside and covered everything with a sticky slime of obscenity, viciousness, barbarity, and pointless cataclysm.
The insidious role of the Americans in supporting repressive puppet regimes favorable to social stability and business profits gets some zings in the tale. Their military training is extended to the secret police, which includes torture. As a result:
Brand-new methods of scalping, beheading, disemboweling, and quartering were improved and perfected by empirical experimentation and assiduous practice.
Don Emanuel, based on his past military experience, advises the rebel band that has adopted him and Dona Constanza:
It would be a mistake to kill Americans. …For one thing they are quite happy to throw their men away in futile causes. Secondly, they always believe they are in the right and that God is personally fighting for them, so they never give up. If you kill one gringo, they will send two in his place, and if you kill them, they will send over a fleet of helicopters. In any case it is better for you if you do not kill them, for they will do you a lot of good. …Although they are fanatical, they are mostly decent men. When they are present, our officers feel ashamed to commit atrocities. …No one understands their Spanish “so their advice is always misconstrued.” It helps to keep our army in chaos.
From the bits on de Bernieres in Wikipedia, it seems a stint as a young man from Sussex teaching English in Columbia stirred his imagination enough to compose his trilogy of the clashing and blending among Latin American cultures. That takes some chutzpa for an outsider. Like a blend of Vonnegut and John Irving, he walks the line between absurdism and sentimentality, with a comparable underlying playfulness. As much as de Bernieres acknowledges himself to be a “Márquez parasite”, he doesn’t really stray too much into magical realism. He calls the series “tragicomedies”. His hybridizing a tragic and dark realism with interludes of slapstick comedy strike me as closer to Shakespeare in form than Márquez. I ended up appreciating the author’s nice balance of warm-hearted treatment of his characters and jaundiced vision of South America, finding it both entertaining and inspiring. Mileage can vary among other readers, particularly given the range in people's tolerance of politically slanted satire.
Some of the main characters include Don Emanuel , a wealthy landowner turning playboy and hippie, Dona Constanza Evans, the hauty but lusty wife of an oligarch, Aurelio, an orphan from ranching peons who gets empowered by a Native tribe in the rain forest, and Remedios, a female guerilla leader with a chip on her shoulder after sustaining the torture deaths of her parents as a girl. All these characters get nudged into changing their ways starting with an atrocity committed by one Sergeant Figueros, starting with an attempted rape of a beloved village girl and then escalating to a hand-grenade assault on a crowd. Rebel forces hiding in the mountains start gaining more forces, and they get bold enough to kidnap first Dona Constanza and then the general high in the government’s military command, General Fuertas. It turns out that Constanza likes the cut of one young rebel’s jib and that the general is sympathetic to the group’s despair over the corruption and brutality of soldiers like Figueros, which the general wasn’t aware of. The collective finds less brutal ways of fighting back against the government (poisonous spiders placed in tents, releasing caimen in the night, fake ghost hauntings) and grow their hope for autonomy somewhere remote from government reach.
This plot schema would not seem to not leave much opening for satire and humor. Much lies in the dialog among his well-crafted characters and its content of constant clashing between world views. The whole society is in a pathetic situation of suffering civil wars that have killed nearly 200,000 people, with little change in the situation of Liberal and Conservative politicians changing administrations every few years without touching the power of corrupt and greedy business leaders and their reins on the military. This picture seem close to the reality for many countries in South America.
The oligarchy was a large network of immensely rich landowners, descended from the conquistadors, who had been illiterate robber barbarians who had destroyed entire civilizations in the name of Jesus, the Virgin, the Catholic kings, and gold. In this way they ensured a perpetual sinecure in paradise for their immortal souls, and perpetual admiration from generations of schoolchildren who were taught in history lessons of their magnificent and daring exploits against the pagan savages whose phenomenal towns and monuments one can still see today (in ruins).
The absurd, but also realistic, element of this scenario involves the self-defeating factionalism among the socialists and communists and their inability to translate their affinity with the oppressed masses into coherent action:
The People’s Liberation Force was mainly a demolition group, whereas, for example, the People’s Vanguard was mainly an ambushing group, the People’s Liberation Front specialized in blackmail and extortion, and the Revolutionary Socialists in assassinating important people. The People’s Liberation Force probably chose its particular specialty because it was one of the safest; there is , after all, very little danger in planting bombs and then retreating to a safe distance. It apparently never perceived that you cannot alleviate the plight of the masses by destroying the infrastructure built up painfully slowly for their benefit on what little national wealth remained. But however paradoxical its behavior, what happened to the People’s Liberation Force was simply according to a general rule that applied to all humankind. The rule is that people always think that if they are very expert at something, that thing must be extremely important. The People’s Liberation Force was expert at explosives and therefore thought that what they did was crucial.
Some of the humor comes from a type of hyperbole that reminds me of Terry Pratchett in his Discworld series:
All this is history, but it does not do justice to the reality of the times in terms of the demonic wind of brutality and inhumanity that scoured the bodies and the souls of innocent and guilty alike.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ceded precedence to the Beast, the Mega Therion, which visited such inconceivable havoc upon the lives people that when it was finished, La Violencia had claimed over two hundred thousand of them. It is hard not to believe with hindsight that an infectious morbidity of the soul had contaminated the whole nation with an insanity of bloodlust thinly disguised at ideology and moral stance. There was a spreading sickness of ethical depravity that blew apart the eternal calm of the countryside and covered everything with a sticky slime of obscenity, viciousness, barbarity, and pointless cataclysm.
The insidious role of the Americans in supporting repressive puppet regimes favorable to social stability and business profits gets some zings in the tale. Their military training is extended to the secret police, which includes torture. As a result:
Brand-new methods of scalping, beheading, disemboweling, and quartering were improved and perfected by empirical experimentation and assiduous practice.
Don Emanuel, based on his past military experience, advises the rebel band that has adopted him and Dona Constanza:
It would be a mistake to kill Americans. …For one thing they are quite happy to throw their men away in futile causes. Secondly, they always believe they are in the right and that God is personally fighting for them, so they never give up. If you kill one gringo, they will send two in his place, and if you kill them, they will send over a fleet of helicopters. In any case it is better for you if you do not kill them, for they will do you a lot of good. …Although they are fanatical, they are mostly decent men. When they are present, our officers feel ashamed to commit atrocities. …No one understands their Spanish “so their advice is always misconstrued.” It helps to keep our army in chaos.
From the bits on de Bernieres in Wikipedia, it seems a stint as a young man from Sussex teaching English in Columbia stirred his imagination enough to compose his trilogy of the clashing and blending among Latin American cultures. That takes some chutzpa for an outsider. Like a blend of Vonnegut and John Irving, he walks the line between absurdism and sentimentality, with a comparable underlying playfulness. As much as de Bernieres acknowledges himself to be a “Márquez parasite”, he doesn’t really stray too much into magical realism. He calls the series “tragicomedies”. His hybridizing a tragic and dark realism with interludes of slapstick comedy strike me as closer to Shakespeare in form than Márquez. I ended up appreciating the author’s nice balance of warm-hearted treatment of his characters and jaundiced vision of South America, finding it both entertaining and inspiring. Mileage can vary among other readers, particularly given the range in people's tolerance of politically slanted satire.