Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse was an interesting read. I enjoyed reading about the privileged Cécile and her problems, more so because her issues seemed both superficial and deep simultaneously. While reading this text, I couldn’t help but make parallels to Moravia’s Agostino because of how the genders have reversed in Sagan’s text. Cécile is more mature about her feelings for her father as opposed to Agostino, a boy at the verge of puberty. I found the bond between Cécile and her father quite interesting because of the possessiveness she has over her father and how she views him more as a friend than a father in most situations.
I was quite perplexed about what to feel for Anne, as our narrator herself kept swaying between love and hate for her. Initially, she was excited at the prospect of her joining them, but over time she grew more impatient with her because of Anne’s need to ‘fix’ her. Moreover, it was hard to tell who was being ‘dramatic’ and who wasn’t solely from Cécile’s perspective because she switched from emotion to emotion herself. I found her awareness of her privilege and her spoilt lifestyle quite funny because of how openly she expressed her joy for the frivolous parties she attended. Her father supported this and even found joy in the fact that she thought this way. His character was also a weird one, and I found Cécile’s description of him as a ‘big baby’ to be quite accurate.
Often, it felt as if Cécile played the role of the parent instead of her father. This was an intriguing dynamic to read because both made careless, impulsive decisions, often without considering others. Overall, I found this portrayal of frivolity to be humorous to read.
Additionally, I agree with the idea proposed in the lecture that certain words and phrases cannot be translated as their meaning is only conveyed in the intended language. I find how Cécile welcomes this feeling of melancholy funny, purely because she adds her twist to it with the sarcastic tone she seems to say it with.
All in all, I enjoyed this text thoroughly. My question to the class would be: what did you think about Cécile’s privilege? How do you think it impacted the decisions that she made and the way she views people?
Posted in Blogs, Sagan | Tagged with family, narration, relationships
Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse was an interesting read. I enjoyed reading about the privileged Cécile and her problems, more so because her issues seemed both superficial and deep simultaneously. While reading this text, I couldn’t help but make parallels to Moravia’s Agostino because of how the genders have reversed in Sagan’s text. Cécile is more mature about her feelings for her father as opposed to Agostino, a boy at the verge of puberty. I found the bond between Cécile and her father quite interesting because of the possessiveness she has over her father and how she views him more as a friend than a father in most situations.
I was quite perplexed about what to feel for Anne, as our narrator herself kept swaying between love and hate for her. Initially, she was excited at the prospect of her joining them, but over time she grew more impatient with her because of Anne’s need to ‘fix’ her. Moreover, it was hard to tell who was being ‘dramatic’ and who wasn’t solely from Cécile’s perspective because she switched from emotion to emotion herself. I found her awareness of her privilege and her spoilt lifestyle quite funny because of how openly she expressed her joy for the frivolous parties she attended. Her father supported this and even found joy in the fact that she thought this way. His character was also a weird one, and I found Cécile’s description of him as a ‘big baby’ to be quite accurate.
Often, it felt as if Cécile played the role of the parent instead of her father. This was an intriguing dynamic to read because both made careless, impulsive decisions, often without considering others. Overall, I found this portrayal of frivolity to be humorous to read.
Additionally, I agree with the idea proposed in the lecture that certain words and phrases cannot be translated as their meaning is only conveyed in the intended language. I find how Cécile welcomes this feeling of melancholy funny, purely because she adds her twist to it with the sarcastic tone she seems to say it with.
All in all, I enjoyed this text thoroughly. My question to the class would be: what did you think about Cécile’s privilege? How do you think it impacted the decisions that she made and the way she views people?
Posted in Blogs, Sagan | Tagged with family, narration, relationships
Carmen Laforet’s Nada felt very modern, and others might disagree with me but I thought it even felt somewhat contemporary. Sure, that might be because the translation was done relatively recently (2008), but I think it’s more so to do with its timelessness. The story has so many themes that are fundamentally about people and their relationships to each other; I don’t think humans change all that much from one generation to the next, and I reckon many of our problems are the same as they were centuries ago, and will continue to be centuries from now.
I hesitate to delve into these topics too deeply, but two themes that really resonated with me in this book were those surrounding Andrea and Ena’s friendship, more specifically the way that Andrea views Ena and puts her on a pedestal, and that of a mother’s love.
These two themes fascinate me in different ways. The former reminds me of a friendship that I once experienced a few years ago and so I felt a little uncomfortable seeing a semi-similar dynamic play out on the pages of a novel. Not to get too vulnerable up in here, but I was especially struck by the power dynamics between Andrea and Ena. Ena clearly has more status, in a social and economic sense, and so Andrea often implies a sense of inferiority and admiration, almost worship. I do feel that the relationship between the two is more exaggerated than my own has been, but sometimes it takes a more extreme example to make the subtleties and nuances of people’s characters and relationships to become visible.
In this novel, there are two mother figures that particularly caught my attention. Ena’s mother, and Andrea’s grandmother. Yes, there are others such as Gloria, and Ena’s dead mother, but they didn’t pique my interest like the other two did. These two characters are very different in many ways, including with social standing, financial status, but especially in the way they view their daughters. Ena’s mother confesses on p197 that Ena holds a particularly special place in her heart, more than her sons. Andrea’s grandmother is accused later on in the book (p234) of having always preferred her sons to her daughters, and is therefore blamed for the consequences.
The dynamics of motherhood and fatherhood, alongside daughterhood and sonhood are things that I have thought about a considerable amount over the past few years, having listened to different conversations and experiences. I have heard both perspectives (not within my family); parents who especially value the firstborn daughter, and parents who prefer their sons. I think both perspectives are interesting, though not necessarily correct, and am aware of the damage they can have on the non-preferred children. This novel merely showed me more examples from a different time, place, and culture than those I have personally been exposed to, and I am grateful for that.
I now pose the question: what might Andrea’s life look like in Madrid, now that she has left her dysfunctional family behind? Do we think she might feel any abandonment guilt?
Posted in Blogs, Laforet | Tagged with Carmen laforet, motherhood, nada, power, relationships, status, vulnerable
Carmen Laforet’s Nada felt very modern, and others might disagree with me but I thought it even felt somewhat contemporary. Sure, that might be because the translation was done relatively recently (2008), but I think it’s more so to do with its timelessness. The story has so many themes that are fundamentally about people and their relationships to each other; I don’t think humans change all that much from one generation to the next, and I reckon many of our problems are the same as they were centuries ago, and will continue to be centuries from now.
I hesitate to delve into these topics too deeply, but two themes that really resonated with me in this book were those surrounding Andrea and Ena’s friendship, more specifically the way that Andrea views Ena and puts her on a pedestal, and that of a mother’s love.
These two themes fascinate me in different ways. The former reminds me of a friendship that I once experienced a few years ago and so I felt a little uncomfortable seeing a semi-similar dynamic play out on the pages of a novel. Not to get too vulnerable up in here, but I was especially struck by the power dynamics between Andrea and Ena. Ena clearly has more status, in a social and economic sense, and so Andrea often implies a sense of inferiority and admiration, almost worship. I do feel that the relationship between the two is more exaggerated than my own has been, but sometimes it takes a more extreme example to make the subtleties and nuances of people’s characters and relationships to become visible.
In this novel, there are two mother figures that particularly caught my attention. Ena’s mother, and Andrea’s grandmother. Yes, there are others such as Gloria, and Ena’s dead mother, but they didn’t pique my interest like the other two did. These two characters are very different in many ways, including with social standing, financial status, but especially in the way they view their daughters. Ena’s mother confesses on p197 that Ena holds a particularly special place in her heart, more than her sons. Andrea’s grandmother is accused later on in the book (p234) of having always preferred her sons to her daughters, and is therefore blamed for the consequences.
The dynamics of motherhood and fatherhood, alongside daughterhood and sonhood are things that I have thought about a considerable amount over the past few years, having listened to different conversations and experiences. I have heard both perspectives (not within my family); parents who especially value the firstborn daughter, and parents who prefer their sons. I think both perspectives are interesting, though not necessarily correct, and am aware of the damage they can have on the non-preferred children. This novel merely showed me more examples from a different time, place, and culture than those I have personally been exposed to, and I am grateful for that.
I now pose the question: what might Andrea’s life look like in Madrid, now that she has left her dysfunctional family behind? Do we think she might feel any abandonment guilt?
Posted in Blogs, Laforet | Tagged with Carmen laforet, motherhood, nada, power, relationships, status, vulnerable
