Sense, Feeling, and Magic

In the first chapters of Tropic of Orange, I first noticed a very pronounced emphasis on sense and feeling–which goes along with the idea of “magical realism,” as well.  By feeling I really mean an emphasis on “seeming”–what seems to be or what is perceived or felt by the individual is more important, perhaps, than what actually is, or it has a more pronounced affect on that character.

Raphaela is perhaps the character most embodying this. In the description of the orange tree, Yamashita writes that “Rafaela somehow felt this particular orange was special” (12) and that the line in the tree that “seemed to shudder with pleasure, if lines could shudder with pleasure” (13). She describes the baby orange as seeming to “grasp” the line as if it were its parent.

In the opening scene of the book when Rafaela sweeps the house, ridding it of dead and alive things that had come in during the night, the text takes on many elements of magical realism. The Bedford Glossary’s definition says that it often includes the incorporation of “the carnivalesque, folklore, and myths” and deal with “hybridity and postcolonial themes” (279). I’d say that both of these things are working here, as Raphaela sweeps up the dead and alive things for which there “was no explanation” (3). Yamashita writes, ambiguously–“Sometimes they were dead, sometimes they were alive. As for the scorpion, it was always dead, but the snake was always alive.” What is this fanciful and dream-like vision supposed to mean? What are the animals in the house meant to represent? The author also writes that the broom seemed to “twirl” in her hands in a “kind of dance” when she swept. Is what we’re reading here a reference to folklore or mythology of South American cultures, or is this the sensory perception of the character with no relation to the folklore of her country?

These are not realistic notions to most readers (but to some they might seem quite commonplace)–they are certainly in the realm of the magical and the fanciful, and each character in the book seems to feel these things to a different degree. Gabriel almost never–his chapters are the ones most embedded in the “real world.” The things he feels are rooted in reality, the thoughts he has, the things that worry him, etc., are not magical or involving animals or emotional descriptions of trees. Interestingly, the character who does value very much what “seems” to be is Buzzworm. His chapter opens up with, “Buzzworm figured that some representations of reality were presented for your visual and aural gratification so as to tap what you thought you understood” (25). His preoccupation with listening to the radio also goes along with the idea that he values feeling and sensory input over cold hard reality (as most of us probably do). His interest in palm trees–and his insistence that people appreciate palm trees more–is intriguing because he seems to like them because they can see over things and past things–they have a view of life from above. Yamashita writes that “Everything going on down under those palm trees might be poor and crazy, ugly or beautiful…all sorts of life that could only be imagined from far away. This was probably why palm trees didn’t need any water to speak of” (33). Buzzworm seems to believe that the palm trees “feed” on more than just water–they grow tall off of life.

Some of Yamashita’s writing–particularly the portions about Raphaela–reminds me of the Haitian author Edwidge Danticat, who wrote mainly about Haitian women of the past and present who had either left Haiti or were still there. Her stories were heavily imbued with elements of fantasy, magic, folklore, and superstition–these elements were not incorporated in a way that made them seem obviously untrue, however. They were never made to seem like mere folklore or myth, but were presented as fact–which they were, to the characters who believed them. The women Danticat wrote about, particularly in Krik? Krak! had more than blood to tie them together through generations–it was also their beliefs, their stories, their tales of magic and superstition. I think what’s important in Danticat’s stories–and these chapters of Tropic of Orange–is that to the characters, these feelings and senses are incredibly real, and isn’t that all that really matters in the world of a novel?

On a completely different note, I stumbled across this short article today on the use of the word queer, and I thought it was incredibly relevant to our discussions in class from the theory toolbox about queer theory and other related subjects. I also made a blog post on this subject a few weeks ago but anyways, I think it’s an interesting and enlightening read if anyone wants to check it out.