“Fernanda worried whether or not [Aureliano Segundo] might not falling into the vice of building so that he could take apart, like Colonel Aureliano Buendía and his little gold fishes, Amaranta and her shroud… José Arcadio and the parchments and Ursula and her memories.”
-One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabrial García Marquez, p321

We all suspect our families of cursing us with certain traits. I have a friend whose family is prone to producing lawyers and teachers. The twin spectres of alcoholism and mental illness run in other bloodlines. Marquez’s 1967 novel deals with the “cursed” Buendía family and the peculiar types of solitude in which the members live.

Building in order to destroy can be seen in One Hundred Years of Solitude as a nostrum for the traumas the cursed brothers and sisters suffer in the world outside their ancestral home. Colonel Aureliano Buendía, exhausted by an un-winnable war, traps himself in a cycle of creation, destruction, and renewal. Each day he makes a small golden fish pendant, which he then melts down in order to make a new one. The rhythmic, cyclical nature of his action brings to mind the image of a mental patient rocking themselves. It is a pointless, lulling physical action, so in comitting himself to it, Aureliano abandons reason. His sister, Amaranta, is unlucky in love. She delays her death by weaving and unpicking her own funeral shroud.

The eloquence of this quote for me comes from the fact that until this point in the novel, the casual reader probably hasn’t drawn parallels between the family members’ various endeavours. Then, suddenly, the little golden fish, the winding funeral shroud, the continual rebuilding of the house, become one and the same thing. It is a reminder of what families are: regeneration. As each member dies, new members marry in and bear children. This quote is Marquez’s way of unifying his themes and motifs: the cyclical nature of time, family, and building to destroy.

“But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at; I am not what I am.”
-Iago, Othello. Act One, Scene One lines 64-65.

Here, Shakespeare coins the phrase we now use to describe sensitive, open-hearted people. Which, incidentally, is something Iago is not. He does not want to expose his heart; rather, he keeps his desires hidden for fear of someone using them against him. Iago is the original cynic. He scorns Roderigo’s ideas about courtly love (”It is merely a lust of the blood…”). He vies and manouvres for control. He turns Othello against Desdemona with lies; my teacher likes to refer to this as “poison in the ear”. And Iago, above everything, is a pragmatist. His answer to Roderigo’s pained proclamations of love? “Put money in thy purse.” Get some money, then she’ll love you.

The reason I picked this quote is because, unfortunately, our generation is plagued with Iagos. I think we would all like to be seen as machiavellian manipulators. I think we would all like to put money in our purses. Greed, as Gordon Gekko says, is good. People uphold utilitarian ideals – pleasure is good, and we should seek it out in its hiding places. As long as more people benefit from something than suffer, we call it “good”. Sacrifice one for the good of the many. In short, when we look at each other we see pawns, empty vehicles of flesh and blood and bone. We are spiritless, hopeless, careless. We are sex-obsessed. We do not wear our hearts upon our sleeves. We are not what we are.

I know I’m probably going to get third degree burns from the flames I’ll get about this, but it’s really something that I feel needs to be said. In my opinion, this whole Michael Jackson thing is being blown so out of proportion by the people of our generation. I can understand being sad about someone who has had such an influence on the music industry passing away but this is just getting ridiculous now. I’ve seen so many Facebook/Twitter statuses saying “MJ WAS THE KING I AM CRYING SO MUCH MY LIFE IS SO SAD RIGHT NOW DUE TO HIM DYING” and it just makes me wonder how much of an influence he could have had over the people of our generation.

As most people who read this know, I’m seventeen. Michael Jackson’s last real album was HIStory in 1991 (yes, I know Invincible came out in 2001 but it had no real noteworthy songs on it). That was the year I was born. I grew up with his songs present in my life but they didn’t really have an influence on it. Any changes Michael Jackson had made to the music industry were all ready well included by the time I was old enough to appreciate his music. I imagine the generation before me respect him on a different level because he was the king of pop during their era – they probably had posters of him during his prime on their walls and the like. But my generation only got the end of his life, really.

What I’m trying to say is, whilst he was (and always will be) a large presence in my generation’s lives, I don’t think it was large enough for his death to warrant the amount of grief that some people my age are giving it. It just screams bandwagon to me, because this are all the same people who were making pedophile jokes not two years ago. It sickens me, almost, to see how involved some people are getting when they really have no claim. Like I said, I can understand to a point my parent’s generation getting upset (like Mariah Carrey at the memorial, from what I heard) but I find it insulting to his memory when people my age try and stake a claim to his grief so much.

As far as the memorial goes… I didn’t watch it. I find grieving for someone to be a very private thing. I’m sure it was a very moving ceremony, and the people included were probably glad to have a way to show their respect for their loss, but I personally couldn’t be as intrusive as that. He wasn’t a major part of my life and watching his memorial/funeral and grieving for him wouldn’t have felt right. I respected him as a musician and enjoyed his music, but that’s it.

Quote of the Week

“Praise bounteous
providence if you will
that grants even an ogre
a tiny glow-worm
tenderness”
Chinua Achebe, Vultures

Vultures is a poem about the profusion of love in unexpected places. I like to think that humanity, love (even if just for those closest to you, even if for just one person) and kindness exist in the coldest hearts. The poem is featured in GCSE English AQA anthologies in a cluster of poems from other cultures. Achebe is a Nigerian essayist, author and poet. His most famous work is Things Fall Apart (1958), a critique on British colonialism in Nigeria and its effects on the native Igbo culture.

More Guardian Local articles

Review of William Control’s Hate Culture / Diamonds in the Dark / List of Christmas films that are less crap than “Will You Merry Me”

I am going to move the Register Czar, my two-week old literature blog, over to for-aell.net. Starting with: some links.

My Guardian Local articles
Teacher prevents students from holding charity gig for Help for Heroes / College students plan to run London Marathon 2010 dressed as lungs / Watchmen review / Mercedes Benz World!

Recommended
Craig Clevenger’s short story, Mother Howl, which can only be described as a post-modern extravaganza complete with Greek mythology, extended metaphors and absolutely no speech marks.

Slung from Blogger.

My new shoes

I realised I hadn’t written anything in quite a while and I think it’s probably because I don’t have anything to write about. The summer’s here and I’ve not been out much since I’ve finished college, so I haven’t had much… “interaction”, as it were, with things that might give me a stimulus to write about. Well, actually, I did go out, but it was only to go shopping. And even then I literally just ran into Primark, bought what I needed (yay new shoes) and then left. My God was it hot, though. If the weather is nice tomorrow then I’m spending all of it sunbathing.

I feel really bad for not having anything to talk about, especially when you compare it with my huge rant about people being ignorant concerning the transgendered community. This post seems to fail in comparison. Oh, wait. Just thought of something. It’ll be small though (that’s what she said); not because I can’t be bothered but because I don’t really have much to say about it. When I was walking through town, heading to the shop, I noticed a homeless person sitting on the side asking for money. I had my headphones in, so I couldn’t hear him, but I knew for a fact he asked me for spare change all the same. But instead of saying “no, sorry” or even acknowledging him in some way, I just stared straight ahead and pretended like he didn’t exist. Why do we do this? I immediately noticed this was something wrong, yet I still did it. I notice it every time I do it, in fact, and yet I still don’t try and change it.

Why don’t we acknowledge the invisible people? Why don’t we give them spare change? I honestly don’t know. I feel embarrassed admitting it, yet I know tomorrow if I see a homeless person, I’ll still ignore them. Hopefully I’ll be able to change one day, but I guess before that I’ve got to realise why I do it. Help?

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