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Power and women’s writing in Chile: 1973—1988

Loach, Barbara Lee, Ph.D. The Ohio State University, 1990

UMI 300 N . Zeeb Rd. Ann Aibor, MI 48106

POWER AND WOMEN'S WRITING IN CHILE:

1973-1988

DISSERTATION

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for

the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate

School of the Ohio State University

By

Barbara Lee Loach, B.A., M.A.

*****

The Ohio State University

1990

Dissertation Committee: Approved by:

J. Giordano J. Kubayanda ^ _____ ^Adviser S. Susimerhill Department of Spanish and Portuguese To Grlnor Rojo and Joe Kubayanda

for their examples of excellence and perseverance

XI ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would li3:e to express my gratitude to the following

individuals for their assistance and support: Justo Alarcon and his staff in the Critical References Section of the

National Library, Santiago, Chile; Steven Ashby, Judy

Johnson, Philip Jones and Brian Kennedy for their valuable input; and Dr- Ray Bartholomew and Dr. Duane Wood for scheduling and financial arrangements.

I also appreciate the direction given by the members of my committee. Dr. Jaime Giordano and Dr. Steven Summerhill, and the guidance given by Dr. Grlnor Rojo and Dr. Josaphat

Kubayanda, who have served as very capable advisers.

In addition, I would like to thank my students, friends and family for their patience and understanding during the completion of this project.

Ill VITA

December 13, 1954 ...... Born - Fostoria, Ohio

1977 ...... B.A., Cedarville College, Cedarville, Ohio

1978 ...... M.A., Bowling Green State University, Bowling Green, Ohio

1978-1980 ...... Instructor of Spanish, Cedarville College, Cedarville, Ohio

1980-present ...... Assistant Professor of Spanish, Cedarville College, Cedarville, Ohio

FIELDS OF STUDY

Major Field: Spanish and Portuguese

Minor Field: Contemporary Latin American Literature

IV TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION...... ii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... i ü

VITA ...... iv

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ...... vi

INTRODUCTION ...... 1 CHAPTER PAGE

I. POWER, GENDER AND WRITING...... 6

II. THE SOCIO-HISTORICAL CONTEXT: WOMEN AND POWER IN LATIN AMERICA AND CHILE ...... 46

III. POWER AND THE LITERARY T E X T ...... 96

IV. THE THEMES AND SPACES OF RESISTANCE...... 166

V. THE DISCOURSE OF RESISTANCE ...... 217

CONCLUSION...... 272

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 285 LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

Works by or about Michel Foucault: DP Discipline and Punish

HS History of Sexuality, yolume 1

P/K Power/Knowledge

SP "The Subject and Power"

F/F Feminism and Foucault

Works by Isabel Allende: AS De amor y ^ sombra

CE La casa de los espiritus

ET, Eva Luna

Works by Diamela Eltit: PP Por la patria

Works by Elizabeth Subercaseaux:

Canto El canto de la ralz leiana

Works by Ana Vâsquez:

AR Abel Rodriguez y sus hermanos

BJH Los Bûfalos. los Jerarcas y la Huesera

VI INTRODUCTION

"Los procesos histôricos a veces son reflejados no por

acontecimientos dramâticos, sino por la callada

determinaciôn de un pueblo que, en un estado de conciencia personal, cada uno toma esa decision y al tomarla produce un

acontecimiento histôrico déterminante."

— Isabel Allende

In December 1985 the Revista Iberoamericana published an entire volume dedicated to the status of women's writing in Latin America. According to Sharon Keefe Ugalde, this volume represented a "benchmark” in the study of female writing, reflecting the current energetic state of women's literature in Latin America (Ugalde 222). Yet even though a number of excellent studies in recent years have led the way in foregrounding the talents and contributions of Latin

American women writers both past and present, the works of many women writers remain to be discovered and analyzed.

This study focuses on the novels of four contemporary

Latin American women authors who write within the context of post-1973 Chile. The ten novels included in this study were all published between 1977 and 1988 and encompass the 2 particular socio-political realities which impinged upon

Chilean society and letters during that period. These works were selected for their historical and literary significance, as examples of the new directions in which

Latin American women's narrative has been developing. In order to gain a broad perspective on the nature of these directions, it was decided to include all of the novels by these authors, rather than just selecting representative works. The fact that two of the authors reside in Chile

(Subercaseaux and Eltit), while the other two have lived in exile (Vâsquez and Allende), provides an additional source of revealing comparisons and contrasts. While Isabel

Allende's works have enjoyed wide circulation in a number of countries (and only belatedly in Chile) , the other three authors— Diamela Eltit, Elizabeth Subercaseaux and Ana

Vâsquez— have received minimal attention outside their homelands (Vâsquez being more widely known in her adopted homeland of France than in Chile). But the works they have produced all display experiences and significances that merit close examination, particularly as they illustrate the status of women and women's writing in Latin America.

The critical approach selected through which to analyze these works is the model of feminist reader-response criticism proposed by Patrocinio Schweickhart. This method is appropriate primarily because it highlights the significance of reading the texts from a feminist 3

perspective that privileges women's experience and ways of

knowing. The reading process itself calls for a "dialogue"

between reader and author that alternates between

identifying with common themes and ideas, and distancing

oneself from the text because of particular socio-cultural

differences. The result in this present study is an

understanding of the texts within their particular cultural

circumstances, with an awareness of the significant issues

and differences that exist between the author and the

reader. The organizing concept used to approach the texts

centers on the identification of power and its exercise in

society. Traditionally, men have wielded power most overtly

in society, particularly in the "public" sphere of politics.

Women's domain has centered in the "private" sphere of the

home and the family, and is perceived generally as power­

less. The central question of this paper regards the nature

of power as force versus an alternate form of power based on knowledge, relationship and caring— a "woman-centered"

theory of power. After identifying the salient features of

traditional concepts of power, the discussion draws upon

recent ideas by Michel Foucault in an attempt to "uncover"

those unseen networks of power and resistance that oppose

totalizing theories. These ideas form a starting point for

the development of the concept of a moral theory of power. 4 that is, a theory that emphasizes power as the capacity to do and to enable others, rather than to dominate and coerce.

With these ideas as the framework for analysis, the ten novels are examined with the goal of uncovering the presence or absence of the notion of an alternate theory of power.

As will be seen in Chapters III and IV, the struggle of power and resistance lies at the heart of each of the novels. In Chapter V, the effects of censorship and exile on the literary expression of each author signals the existence of a struggle between power and resistance at the metatextual level also.

As will be seen in the conclusion of this study, all four authors are engaged in the process of establishing themselves as the subjects of their discourse, breaking away from identities and modes of expression imposed by traditional androcentric society. This process is central to the creation of an authentic voice that speaks for itself and on behalf of marginalized others in society. While some of the images and ideas portrayed necessarily convey a sense of powerlessness, there is a definite turn in the direction of creating empowered images as well. It is through the process of searching out those alternative expressions of power and resistance that a more balanced concept of power can be constituted for the good of all; an increasing number of Latin American women writers, including those studied in 5 this paper, are playing an active role in bringing this process into fruition.

In order to facilitate the location of materials listed in the Bibliography, the contents have been arranged according to six divisions which roughly follow the development of ideas in the text: Works by or about the

Authors, General Theory of Power, Textual Theory, Studies on

Women in Chile and Latin America, Criticism on Chilean and

Latin American Literature, and Chilean and Latin American

History. CHAPTER I

Power, Gender and Writing

In 1981 Judith Lewder Newton published a book on

nineteenth-century British literature in which she reflected

on the shift in contemporary feminist criticism from the perception of women as oppressed victims to that of active

agents of change who use non-conventional means to exert power in society. She cited Nina Auerbach who observed that

"women's power . . . is a power that must be 'searched out

and insisted upon'" (Newton xvii). Newton described women's power as a "form of resistance to distorting ideologies— to those values, images and ideas which insure either that

dominant social relations 'are seen by most members of

society as "natural" or not seen at all'" (xvii). For

Newton, the specific context of women's literature served as prime evidence regarding those so-called "universal"

ideologies and the ways in which female characters have had to "subvert" power in order to wield it in a male-dominated

society.

Traditionally a neglected subject— except for studies

of those occasional "extraordinary" women in history— the relationship of women and power has become the focus of new 7 investigation over the last several decades. Again referring to Newton, cna o£ the pioneering works in recent years on this subject was Berenice Carroll's Liberating Women's History (1976) in which feminist historians deliberately revised the traditional representation of women as oppressed victims, and attempted to institute in its place "the true history of women [which] is the history of their ongoing functioning in that male-defined world, on their own terms" (359, original emphasis). As the concept of women and power has evolved, it has been necessary to re­ examine existing power structures and to attempt to redefine the notion. Significantly, emphasis has shifted from the idea of "control" or "domination" to that of "agency" or

"capacity," with a subsequent expansion of the limits and directions of power relations.

Some questions arise as to the legitimacy of such a redefinition of the concept: is it just a feminist ploy to usurp power from male-dominated institutions, or perhaps a psychological "security blanket" to resort to as one recognizes one's exclusion from the "true" power structures of modern society, at both the level of individual male- female relationships and on a societal level as well? How far has the current usage of the term "power" diverged from its historic meanings? What are the definitions and models, the origins and exercises of power within a society? What 8 might those "terms" be by which women exercise power, and how do they differ from a male-dominated use of power?

As philosopher Peter Morriss has noted, it is much easier to talk about power than to define it accurately.

The Encvclooedia of Philosophy asserts that "power" is

interchangeable at times with "influence," "control" and

"domination," and suggests a continuum of meanings with

"influence" at one end, "domination" at the other, and

"instances of authority" in between (Edwards 6: 424).

Three concepts commonly associated with power are the notions of relationality, intentionality and effectiveness.

That is to say, in order to perceive power, it must be exercised in relation to an object or person; otherwise, it exists as mere potentiality. Furthermore, in contrast to

"influence," or the ability to alter some thing or some one

in any manner, power infers a conscious exercise of the will to effect some specific change, to bring it about or accomplish it (Morriss 29, Kuper & Kuper 636).

For the social scientist, power is always seen in the context of social relations and power "over" someone else, rather than in a "pure" sense of power "to do" something, or capacity (Morriss 32). In reality, power relationships occur at every level of society, from the institution of the family to international political systems, and concern

issues such as the distribution, magnitude, scope and domains of power as a commodity (Sills 12: 407). Thus the 9 analysis of power is often primarily concerned with "the identification of elites and leadership, the discovery of the ways in which power is allocated to different strata, relationships among leaders and between leaders and nonleaders, and so forth" (Sills 12; 405).

The field of psychology has also contributed to the meanings of the term, by focusing on motivational aspects, i.e. the need to have impact and a concern over influencing others (Corsini 3: 63). In this sense, power can be defined as a capacity or potential to influence others while resisting the influence of others on oneself. Often seen in interaction with other variables such as maturity and gender, the concept of power as motive carries a very strong significance for interpreting and predicting human behavior, while power apart from motive is intrinsically neutral

(Corsini 3: 63; also see McClelland).

In contemporary literary criticism, the concept of power has become the focus of lively and intensive study, sparked by the contributions of writers such as Michel

Foucault. Even though Foucault's works deal primarily with social theory rather than with literary criticism, his observations on discourse and the relationship between power and knowledge have had a major impact on postmodern literary theory (Magi11 Critical 2: 502). Essentially, Foucault inverts conventional dynamics of power, because instead of emphasizing the institutions which establish power, he 10 proposes analyzing the power relations which give rise to established institutions, from the smallest "capillaries” of power up to the most complex systems. In some ways,

Foucault's approach offers a correlative to the redefinitions of power structures which some feminist authors propose. To comprehend the significance of this

"inversion" and its potential and limitations to articulate a "woman-centered" theory of power, it will be appropriate to first review some of the historical views of power.

Because of the focus and limitations of this study, an exhaustive analysis of the historical development of power constructs is not feasible; consequently, only a representation of major views will be discussed.

The notion of "power over" has appeared frequently in works throughout history, most notoriously from the time of the Renaissance and Niccolô Machiavelli. His writings on the structure of the state and the responsibilities of its ruler represent "a decisive turning point from classical- normative to modern-empirical theory" (Sills 12: 406), reflecting the social shift from a theocentric to a humanistic worldview. The theory of power commonly referred to as Machiavellianism is one based on the expedient use of any means— good or ill— to obtain and secure control over others. According to Macchiavelli, while force should not be equated with power, it can be seen as a tool to achieve and maintain power; as such, it justifies the exercise of 11 cruelty and fear. But legitimate power, vested in the possession of authority, is more stable and is consequently more expedient for the good of the state (DeMolen 330). It is important to note that the implications of this political theory eventually resulted in the full autonomy of the state, and the severing of its connections with all other forms of man's ethical and cultural life (Machiavelli 156) .

In the history of political thought, Machiavelli's writings have been recognized for displaying a clear grasp of the emerging realities of absolute power, a concept which later acquired widespread aceptance in Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries under the guise of the divine right of sovereignty (Kuper & Kuper 819). For a time, absolutism was welcomed as an alternative to the prevalent strife of war, but growing secularization and the doctrine of individual free will gradually diminished support for this view (Kuper & Kuper 764). Thomas Hobbes

(1588-1679), while advocating the view that men must rationally consent to the absolute power of the sovereign, nevertheless also believed that the ruler governed initially by the consent of the people as they sought protection from anarchy. This second aspect of Hobbes’ theory alligns him with John Locke (1632-1704) and Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712-

1778) as proponents of the "social contract" theory.

Although there are notable differences of belief among the three, together they constitute a school which stands 12 between Machiavelli's ideas and the political theories which evolved in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Sills 14:

376) . The social contract theory is seen as an important advance because it excused the individual from absolute subjection to external religious and political authorities

(Kittay and Meyers 5)• Rather than focusing on the subjects' duties owed to the state, this theory emphasized the rights of the individual, and sourced the authority of the state in the "general will" of the people, the "common good" which all citizens would accept if they laid aside personal interests (Kuper & Kuper 764). As this belief developed, with its emphasis on the ideal of personal liberty, it obstensibly eliminated the need for universal guidelines to dictate how individuals should live their lives. The light of human reason was to become the standard by which moral principles were embraced or rejected.

Personal autonomy became one's entitlement to pursue his own version of the good in his own way (Kittay and Meyers 4).

It has been said that such a self-centered point of view had the effect of divesting any moral connotations from the word

"right" since in this case an individual would choose to enter a society and remain in it because it represented the best means by which that individual could preserve his own life, rather than because of any duty he might owe to his fellow citizens (Sills 14: 377). So in a sense what 13

Machiavelli proposed for the state, effectively divorcing it from moral constraints, the social contract theorists also

implicitly proposed for the individual members of society. In the nineteenth century, one of the major figures to arise in the study of a theory of power is the German philosopher and poet Friedrich Nietzsche. In comparison to the views previously presented, Nietzsche focuses more exclusively on the individual exercise of power. Indeed, one of his philosophical obsessions was what he himself termed "the will to power, " which he saw as the fundamental motive underlying all human activity. This theory is developed at length in the texts The Will to Power. Beyond

Good and Evil, and Thus Snake Zarathrustra (Solomon 203)

As Nietzsche’s thinking in this area developed, the notion of power came to have an increasingly central place in his explanation of human motivation. He came to see life itself as essentially a will to power, that is, the feeling that one is in command of oneself and the future by freeing himself from belief in God and the hope of an afterlife, and by surpassing others who hold to such beliefs (Magi11 world

3: 1438). In some ways, Nietzsche's beliefs form a logical progression from the previously presented views, especially in the concern to separate morality from power. For

Nietzsche it was vital to reject those values which would seem to weaken one’s power over others, such as those espoused by historical Christianity, i.e., humility. 14 patience, longsuffering, and self-denial. The will to power calls upon the individual to overcome obstacles, to set himself in an elite position above the "herd," and to maintain that position through knowledge and the exclusion of inferior others. In his monolithic construct of life as solely the will to power, Nietzsche rejected any human sentiment or communion as weakness, as well as traditional morality and spiritual values. As in the case of

Machiavelli, he was more concerned with "what is" than in

"what is right," or perhaps he was saying "what is, is right" when it comes to asserting oneself in this world.

In recent years, the writings of Michel Foucault have provoked a thorough reconsideration of the concept of power and its functions within society. In works such as

Discipline and Punish and The History of Sexuality, volume

1, Foucault exercises his role as a genealogist, ". . . a diagnostician who concentrates on the relations of power, knowledge and the body in modern society" (Dreyfus and

Rabinow 105)Of particular concern to Foucault is the role of the body, and what he calls "bio-power" deployed in

"the subjugation of bodies and the control of populations"

(HS 140). Thus, Foucault's main purpose in writing

Discipline and Punish is to study "the political technology of the body" or the power relations and the object relations involved in the development of modern penal systems.

Similarly, The History of Sexuality focuses on the deception 15 of the repressive hypothesis and "... the expanding technologies for the discipline and control of bodies, populations and society itself" (Dreyfus and Rabinow 174)• In The History of Sexuality Foucault clarifies what he means by "power" by presenting the following four aspects: rather than a commodity to be possessed by institutions and mechanisms, he sees it as "the multiplicity of force relations immanent in the sphere in which they operate;" it includes the process of ceaseless struggle in which the relations are engaged; it is also the support that the force relations find in one another that form a chain or system, or that isolate them from each other; and finally, power must be understood by the strategies in which these "force relations" take effect, whether in the state apparatus, the law, or various social hegemonies (HS 92-93, underlining added). In contrast to a binary system of those who dominate and those who are dominated, Foucault calls attention to the constantly changing foci and struggles that make up human dynamics; "... Power is exercised from innumerable points, in the interplay of nonegalitarian and mobile relations" (K3 94) . The convergence and linkage of local oppositions produce hegemonic effects seen in the major dominations sustained by these confrontations (HS 94).

According to Foucault, only the institutions and holders of power have been studied historically, not the mechanisms of power relations. The structure of the state 16 represents a relatively new political form of power which controls by both individualization techniques and totalization procedures, in which a person is isolated from community life, but also denied self-expression (SP 212-

213). As the state increases the number of realms of existence over which it exerts control, it will continue to accrue power and privilege to itself. In light of this,

Foucault recommends analyzing institutions from the standpoint of power relations rather than vice versa (SP

222), and in ascending order from the smallest mechanisms to global domination and institutionalization fP/K 96).

Foucault therefore calls for an examination of the strategies of power and the points of articulation between power and knowledge. Truth is not seen as something absolute and autonomous, but as an instrument of and a producer of, power: "We are subjected to the production of truth through power and we cannot exercise power except through the production of truth" (P/K 93). Furthermore,

"Each society has its regime of truth, its 'general politics' of truth; that is, the types of discourse which it accepts and makes function as true" (P/K 131). Truth in western societies is characterized by the following traits: it is centered on the form of scientific discourse and the institutions that produce it; it is subject to constant economic and political incitement (the "demand" for truth); it is the object of immense diffusion and consumption; it is 17 produced and transmitted largely under the control of a few great political and economic apparatuses; and it is "the

issue of a whole political debate and social confrontation

('ideological' struggles)" (P/K 131-132).

As Foucault sees it, the challenge is not how to emancipate truth (knowledge) from power, but how to separate it from the social, economic and cultural hegemonies in which it presently operates. In regard to this, he discusses the increasing vulnerability to criticism of institutions, discourses and practices which has emerged in recent years, calling into question the inhibiting influence of "global, totalitarian theories." He also cites a mounting "insurrection of subjugated knowledges" to challenge totalitarian theories. These subjugated knowledges are the "historical contents that have been buried and disguised in a functionalist coherence or formal systematization" (P/K 80-81), which, in this context, has resulted in a narrowing of the concept of power to the ideas of commodity, repression or force. Even the seemingly positive notion of sovereignty-obedience is really just a disguised form of domination-subjugation (P/K 91-93).

In practice, then, he calls for the examination of relations, specifically of oppositions in areas which have developed in recent years. This is not with the goal of attacking institutions of power, but rather the forms of power extant in societal networks. Some of the oppositions he cites include opposition to the power of men over women, of parents over children, of psychiatry over the mentally

ill, of medicine over the population, and of administration over the ways people live. These all involve struggles to assert the right of a person to be an individual and to be a member of a community, i.e., struggles against the

"government of individualization;" and the "privileges of knowledge," the régime du savoir (P/K 211-212).

Thus, it can be seen that power exists by restricting the field of actions of others, through limiting access to knowledge and self-actualization. "Every power relationship implies, at least, in potentia. a strategy of struggle," in a constant interchange of domination-resistance, whether the latter be in an active or passive mode (SP 225-226).

Indeed, the very existence of power relations depends on a multiplicity of points of resistance, distributed also in irregular fashion over time and space (HS 96). Modern power is tolerable only when it masks itself, and succeeds only to the degree that it can hide its own mechanisms (HS 86).

Resistance is crucial for both the functioning of power and for its disruption (Dreyfus and Rabinow 147). The task of genealogy, according to Foucault, is to seek out discontinuities where others have found continuous development, in order to create a "profound visibility" and a space from which to challenge hegemonies (Dreyfus and

Rabinow 106-107) 19

As has been alluded to already, Foucault's conception of power is based on interactions of a multiplicity of relationships, rather than on a commodity held by certain individuals or institutions and denied to others. This belief has been fundamental in opening a space for a reconsideration of power structures, and for allowing previously excluded groups to explore the practices and institutions of power in society. Contemporary feminist thought in particular has benefitted from interaction with

Foucauldian notions. Even though Foucault rarely referred to the women's movement specifically in his writings, he was known as an outspoken defender of women and other oppressed groups. And while not all Foucauldian constructs nor their implications may be compatible with feminist theories, some of his ideas do lend themselves quite well to recent feminist thought regarding the forms and exercises of power in society.

In Feminism and Foucault ; Reflections on Resistance

(1988), editors Diamond and Quinby highlight four specific areas of convergence between the two approaches:

(1) Both identify the physical bodv as the site of power, that is, as the locus of domination through which docility is accomplished and subjectivity constituted. (2) Both point to the local and intimate operations of power rather than focusing exclusively on the supreme power of the state. (3) Both bring to the fore the crucial role of discourse in its capacity to produce and 20

sustain hegemonic power and emphasize the challenges contained within marginalized and/or unrecognized discourses. (4) And both criticize the wavs in which Western humanism has privileged the experience of the Western masculine elite as it proclaims universals about truth, freedom, and human nature, (x, underlining added)

They also indicate that one of Foucault's most valuable contributions in relation to feminist concerns has been his explication of power/knowledge which brings to light the

"complex network of disciplinary systems and prescriptive technologies through which power operates in the modern era"

(xi). By questioning traditional concepts of power and power structures, Foucault has opened a way for groups normally excluded from power to highlight and countermand so-called "universal" beliefs.

Nevertheless, feminist criticism of Foucault has arisen from perceived shortcomings in his theories. One central criticism expressed by a number of women writers is that

Foucault failed to recognize the specific situations faced by women in struggling for power. In Feminism and Foucault.

Martin, Morris, Bartkowski and Bartky all point out that

Foucault is an "androcentric writer" (26) who has failed to treat the differences between the bodily experiences of men and women, as well as the differences in relationship to the various institutions of modern life (62). Bartkowski sees the problem as one of suppression of discourse: 21

The receptive locus of power once again speaks of and for itself about that which is given no voice— resistance. By overlooking the mouth (who has spoken?) that produces the ’truth' of confession, we get yet another patriarchal history of sexuality, which may know itself as such but gives no voice to its 'other half.' (45)

Linda Alcoff also obseirves this omission in Foucault and describes it as part of the post-structuralist tendency to minimalize difference and to see the subject as merely a construct of society. In her opinion, Foucault and the post-structuralists err seriously when they "... deny not only the efficacy but also the ontological autonomy and even the existence of intentionality" in social reality (Alcoff

416). Ironically, post-structuralists become guilty of creating their own totalizing theory, ". . . a total construction of the subject . . . [that denies] the subject's ability to reflect on the social discourse and challenge its determinations" (417) (which, ironically, is exactly what the subject Foucault attempts to do in his role as a genealogist). Not only does Foucault's nominalist ontology relegate gender to the invisible status of being merely a social construct, but it also nullifies any meaningful reference to the concept of morality (420).

According to Alcoff, Lacan's use of psychoanalysis and

Derrida's use of grammar, as well as Foucault's history of discourses, all serve to "deconstruct" the concept of the 22 subject as having an essential identity and an authentic core that has been repressed by society (415)

What elements would be included, then, in a woman- centered theory of power? A survey of recent women's writings on the concept of power reveals some common elements that can be developed into a unifiable theory. This present theory is proposed not as a replacement for existing theories, but as a legitimate alternative that contributes to the affirmation of not only women's roles in society, but the roles of any group commonly excluded from traditional power structures. It must be observed that the same pitfalls represented by masculine theories of power can affect a woman-centered theory, i.e., a reverse sexism, a tendency to a monolithic or totalitarian ideology, an affirmation of irrefutable, self-evident truth claims not subject to criticism, and exclusionary practices. However, the fact that these studies offer many points of commonality while representing a variety of disciplines in the social sciences and humanities would indicate the existence of an unsolicited harmony of thought that lends strength to this theory. Recent developments particularly in the field of feminism and moral theory are generating significant contributions to the subject, filling in the gap left by

"gender-blind" philosophers both past and present.

A number of women writers divide the development of a feminist theory of power (sexual politics) into three 23 phases, occurring in the early 1970s, middle 1970s and early

1980s. Feminist writings in the early 1970s were often characterized by a reactionary stance that viewed women as victims of male-dominated society. One of the most controversial books published during the height of the women's movement in the 1960s and 70s was Kate Millett's

Sexual Politics (1970). In an approach that essentially attacked the male-dominated power structures, she attempted ". . . t o formulate a systematic overview of patriarchy as a political institution" (Millett xi). She defined the term

"politics" as "power-structured relationships, arrangements whereby one group of persons is controlled by another" (23).

In a statement similar to Foucault's, she described power as based in "personal contact and interaction between members of well-defined and coherent groups: races, castes, classes and sexes" (24) . Millett presented, however, a binary power structure in which the pervasive nature of patriarchy becomes a system which controls "every avenue of power in society" from the level of the family to the inter/national level of industry, technology, education, politics and economy. Patriarchy assumed a position of representing the human norm, "the subject and referent to which the female is

'other' or alien" (46). Furthermore, she expressed another idea similar to Foucault's with this observation: "If knowledge is power, power is also knowledge, and a large factor in their subordinate position is the fairly 24 systematic ignorance patriarchy imposes upon women" (42).

Women are consequently forced to resort to certain "accomodational tactics" in order to cope: "an ingratiating or supplicatory manner invented to please, a tendency to study those points at which the dominant group are subject to influence or corruption, and an assumed air of helplessness involving fraudulent appeals for direction through a show of ignorance" (57).

For Millett, the best solution was one which ironically involved a use of force similar to that by which patriarchy had maintained its domination for so long: "There is no way out of such a dilemma but to rebel and be broken, stigmatized and cured" (233). Consequently, the second half of her book then launched into a vehement attack against some of the "counterrevolutionary sexual politicians" who helped to shape and preserve patriarchal attitudes (i.e.,

Arthur Miller, D. H. Lawrence, Norman Mailer and Jean

Genet).

A shift in focus becomes evident in the middle 1970s when women turned away from attacking male authors and their stereotypical "images of women," in favor of a positive emphasis on the associations between women and power, seen as personal autonomy, resistance to dominant values, and the capacity to achieve (c.f. Carroll Liberating. Fetterley,

Newton). Studies from this period often reveal a utopian attitude that would see women and their attributes as 25 holding the keys for revolutionizing society and curing the ills inflicted by men and their abuse of power. Others promoted the erradication of all difference based on gender, believing that sameness would solve many of the conflicts and inequalities experienced by women (Mitchell and Oakley).

In the early 1980s, however, feminism began to move away from pursuing an equality framed in the ideals of gender neutrality to a preoccupation over norms of difference, while simultaneously refocusing from a commitment to ideals of individual rights to an insistence on moralities of caring (Kittay and Meyers 262) • Some feminists began to express concern about the discovery of a whole new set of problems faced by women who had tried to

"make it" in the world by adopting male value systems and codes of conduct. The noted psychologist Jean Baker Miller has studied the "post-feminist" dilemma experienced by professional women imitating male models of success, independence and power. She discusses the conflict felt by women who are struggling with positions of power that threaten relationships or self-image, and recommends an alternate concept of power oriented toward community and enhancement of others rather than reduction (J. Miller 42-

44). A similar example can be seen in a compelling article titled "Women and Moral Madness," in which Kathryn Pauly

Morgan argues that women are forced into a double bind when they are socialized into a model of "womanly virtues" or 26 into one of "liberated" independence and self-sufficiency

(in Code 146-167). She too calls for a model of feminist ethics which would incorporate "... a sense of moral imagination, moral empathy, and moral feeling into an integrated, other-connected self" (162). Furthermore, recent articles in popular magazines such as Time ("Women face the '90s," 4 December 1989) have also begun to explore the disillusionment felt by many women as feminism enters a new decade without having attained the utopia envisioned in the 1960s and 70s.

Significantly, recent research in a number of fields, including philosophy, social science and psychology, has begun to radically challenge beliefs about women's epistemology and value systems. Perhaps one of the most influential developments in women's studies in the last few years centers on the field of moral development and gender difference. Investigators in the areas of epistemology, ethics, psychological development, and education, among others, point out that there are significant and legitimate differences in the ways women and men may perceive and respond to their circumstances and environment. While not always agreeing on whether these differences are sourced in biology or socialization practices, these researchers do emphasize that such differences in no way legitimize claims of superiority or inferiority for either gender. Through their studies, these researchers are conscientiously trying 27 to establish a sense of balance regarding the impact of gender in a number of areas.

The relationship of women and power is an example of this need for readjustment, as illustrated in recent works such as Women and Moral Theory by Eva Feder Kittay and Diane

Meyers (1987) and Feminist Perspectives: Philosophical

Essays on Method and Morals by Lorraine Code, Sheila Mullet and Christine Overall (1988). The editors of both of these books insist that women's ethical concerns must be recognized as legitimate components in moral theory, and that the relegation of concerns such as responsibility, connectedness, caring and interdependency, to an inferior importance is a serious moral error. As Katzenstein and

Laitin point out in their article, "Politics, Feminism and the Ethics of Caring," (in Kittay and Meyers 261-281), there seems to be a general consensus among all types of feminists that caring and responsibility now form the focal point for feminist politics (263). Furthermore, central to this conviction is the belief that the private and public spheres cannot be separated:

To foster mutual caring and responsibility in the private domain required the exercise of political power on the public stage. To achieve responsibility and caring in public life demanded that values learned and exercised in personal relationships and family life had to be transported into public arenas of authority. (263) 28

In the section that follows, the key components of a woman- centered theory of power (perhaps better termed a "moral theory of power") alluded to above will be developed at length in order to illustrate how such a theory might be conceptuali z ed.

In the field of psychology and cognitive development, researchers including Nancy Chodorow, Carol Gilligan and

Mary Belenky have observed that women tend to be more concerned than men with interdependency in relationships, and with giving and care as expressions of power. Indeed,

Nancy Chodorow's book The Reproduction of Mothering (1978) has become the cornerstone of a whole restructuring of the ways in which female development is studied and understood.

Throughout the history of modern psychology, female patterns of development have been generally assumed to be either identical to male patterns, or, in a more overtly sexist manner, actually inferior to male patterns. For example,

Freud's theories of the Oedipus complex led him to conclude that "... women were deprived by nature of the impetus for a clear-cut Oedipal resolution" and the emotional detachment assumed necessary for a strong sense of justice

(Gilligan 7). In contrast, Chodorow gives a positive interpretation of female development by indicating that since daughters experience themselves as female like their mothers, they develop a sense of empathy rather than the 29 estrangement that boys experience. Consequently, "... girls come to experience themselves as less differentiated than boys, as more continuous with and related to the external object-world, and as differently oriented to their inner object world as well" (Chodorow 167). In terms of relationships, then, masculinity is defined through separation and is threatened by intimacy; conversely, femininity is defined through attachment and threatened by separation. This difference is then seen as a liability in a psychological theory based on increasing separation as an indicator of developmental maturity (Gilligan 8-9).

Chodorow's efforts in questioning the so-called "objective" findings of science have forced the issue of gender neutrality into the foreground, and caused investigators to uncover biases in testing procedures and to subsequently re­ evaluate orientations based on gender differences.

Consequently, instead of considering intimacy, interdependency and nurturing as evidences of weakness in comparison to the orientations of autonomy and individuation, some researchers have come to propose a more

"human" model which balances and draws strength from both tendencies. As Gilligan explains:

Women's deference is rooted not only in their social subordination but also in the substance of their moral concern. Sensitivity to the needs of others and the assumption of responsibility for taking care lead women to attend to voices other than their own and to include in their judgment 30

Other points of view. Women's moral weakness, manifest in an apparent diffusion and confusion of judgment, is thus inseparable from women's moral strength, an overriding concern with relationships and responsibilities. (16-17)

Along the same lines, the notion of the home and family as the "private" sphere, or a "woman's world," has traditionally been considered as relatively restricted and powerless in comparison with the male "public" domain. But instead of considering "women's work" as oppressive,

Adrienne Rich and others argue that their own particular struggles have enabled women to develop unique capacities, perceptions and priorities that should be viewed as strengths (Grimshaw 160). In addition, this private sphere almost always has formed the center of "female networks of skills, friendship and support" which strengthen women as they perform innumerable daily tasks. Women's informal networks also exist as a critique of the highly competitive and hierarchical "public" world of men, in addition to the crucial role the home historically has played in the process of socialization (Grimshaw 15).

A second consideration that appears frequently in feminist writings deals with the element of knowledge, and the ways in which women's ways of knowing may differ from men's. One extreme would suggest that males and females experience mutually exclusive views of the world (Grimshaw

82, citing works by Ruth, Stanley and Wise, and Spender). 31

As a consequence, women have not been allowed to construct their own meanings of reality since males have historically done so, to the exclusion of women. It is the duty of women, therefore, to construct a "female reality" or to name their own experiences (Grimshaw 83)- In a less radical separation, Elaine Showalter, drawing upon a model created by anthropologists Shirley and Edwin

Ardener, envisions women as participating in two overlapping realms of consciousness: the dominant male sphere in which they have learned to function, and the subordinate "muted" female sphere to which men have no access. The consequence in literature is a "'double-voiced discourse' that always embodies the social, literary and cultural heritages of both the muted and the dominant" (Showalter New Feminist 263).

This concept has also been discussed by social scientists as the "binary view" that women share with other oppressed groups. As Chaney explains in Supermadre (1979), it is " .

. . what W.E.B. Dubois has called 'double consciousness,'" that is, the ability of the subordinate to fulfill his obligation while also remaining aware of the master's reactions. One application of this concept for the situation of women is described as the way a woman must always glance over her shoulder ". . . t o gauge how her performance is affecting her superiors" (Chaney 33).

Two important works in the area of cognitive development which have already been alluded to are Carol 32

Gilligan's In a Different Voice; Psychological Theory and

Women's Development (1982) and Mary Belenky, et. al..

Women's Ways of Knowing; The Development of Self. Voice and

Mind (1986). Following Chodorow's lead, Gilligan's study calls into question a model devised by Lawrence Kohlberg for

the study of the development of moral judgment because it

concludes that women generally display a regressive or

inferior level of moral judgment in comparison to "adults"

(i.e., males). Gilligan contends that moral reasoning for women is more contextual and relationship-oriented, so that

instead of seeing clearly defined choices of right or wrong, women tend to choose options that will preserve

relationships based on the particular circumstances of a

situation. In the second work mentioned, the authors present a theory of five stages or levels of knowing that women

experience in the process of self-actualization. While the

conclusions of this study are based on a relatively small

sampling of contacts, a judicious application may provide valuable insight regarding the moral reasoning of women.

The first level is characterized by silence, since women in this situation depend completely on others for knowledge,

and can be said to have no knowledge of their own. Words are seen as weapons to be used against them, and the images of authority are usually stark, brutal and wordless. In the second level, that of "received knowledge," women still 33 depend on others to be their source of knowledge. Words are central to the knowing process, and there is an unquestioned acceptance of authority. A significant change takes place at the third level, that of "subjective knowledge," because these women begin to move from silence to a "protesting inner voice" that rejects external authority in favor of subjective authority. There is a fear of the written word as an instrument of oppression to be used against them, and a disillusionment with failed (male) authority. Learning comes by inward listening and watching. At the fourth level, "procedural knowledge," one’s own voice diminishes and lacks authority, so that there is a return to accepting external authority— as long as it is characterized as knowledgeable and benign. Learning comes through observation, and knowledge is both connected to others

(subjective), and separate (objective); that is, empathetic but also "reasoned reflection." Finally, the ultimate level of knowing is that of "constructed" knowledge which integrates the voices of reason, intuition and others’ expertise. There is a high tolerance for internal contradiction and ambiguity at this level which combines both subjective and objective knowledge. A key result is that of moral consistency, and a desire for commitment and action, to "aspire to work that contributes to the empowerment and improvement in the c[uality of life for others" (Belenky 152). Rather than unquestioned self- 34 abnegation, this commitment is a conscious choice based on the perceived need to care for others and to make a significant contribution to society.

A redefinition of power that includes these elements— caring, relationship and knowledge— while "expanding" and

"liberating," also produces conflict at the level of identity. A woman who begins to move away from the traditional role of silent subordination is faced with balancing her desire to care for others and also to affirm her own identity. Belenky's and Miller's studies show the pattern of this struggle, but also the results as women learn to deal with the ambiguities of their position. This process is central to the shift in thought from viewing women as victim to acknowledging her power on her own terms.

Rather than seeing power as control or force, women choose to view power in terms of agency or capacity and exert influence in a number of ways although they are not usually recognized as significant. And rather than resorting to techniques of deception, strategy and manipulation in order to exert covert power, women can turn to new ways to define themselves and their roles in society, at the same time without relying on male strategies of hierarchy, violence or cunning (Grimshaw 138).

Thus, a woman-centered theory of power based particularly on the recognition and re-evaluation of women's ways of thinking and acting can serve to complement and 35 humanize a traditional patriarchal view of power as force and control. As the complexities of life and knowledge are reexamined— as Foucault, some feminists and others have attempted to do— androcentric biases can be identified and mitigated. Lest feminists commit the same error as patriarchalists in developing "totalitarian theories," professor Mary Hawkesworth admonishes that "... feminists need not claim universal, ahistorical validity for their analyses” since "feminist accounts derive their justificatory force from their capacity to illuminate existing social relations, to demonstrate the deficiencies of alternative interpretations, to debunk opposing views."

The advantage of feminist views is that ". . . they surpass androcentric accounts because in their systematicity more is examined and less is assumed" (Hawkesworth 557). A feminist theory of power seeks to illuminate traditional "malestream" views by asking questions about the very nature and exercise of power (see Newton xvii; Grimshaw 47; Jones in F/F 126;

Millett 32; Gilligan 16; Hartsock, Kazemek, passim).

The field of literary criticism has also been affected by gender considerations in recent years. As the focus has shifted from the author to the text to the responsibility of the reader, questions of the effects of gender on interpretation are inevitable. Reader-response criticism represents a range of critical theories that examine such 36

interactions of readers and texts. Fundamentally, the

reader is seen as an active producer rather than as a passive consumer of meanings; the question arises when one tries to determine to what degree the reader may derive/produce the meaning of the text (Magi11 critical 4:

1823). According to some critics (Iser, Poulet), the text

itself controls the range of valid meanings available to the reader. Other critics (Fish, Holland) hold to the view that the reader is primarily responsible for giving meaning to a text. The whole concept of reader-response criticism is necessarily conditioned by a number of such variables, and

"perpetually subject to construction and reconstruction"

(Magill 1823). Central also to the theory is an understanding of the reading process. Cognitive reading theory pinpoints two essential aspects of the process that influence a reader's understanding of a text: 1)background knowledge and experience of the reader; and 2)knowledge of linguistic and literary codes, expectations of the text and the author's intentions; in sum, "viewpoint" (Flynn and Schweickart xv).

A reader's interpretation of a text is conditioned by the filter of his own experience and his ability as a reader.

In turn, Jonathan Culler enumerates three aspects related to a "viewpoint" which are common to the reading process:

1)shared notions of how to read; 2)what sort of inferences are permitted; and 3)what counts as evidence and what must 37 be explicitly argued for (Culler in Suleiman and Grosman

53). An awareness of the reading process is crucial for developing an understanding of the text's influence on the reader, and the subsequent consciousness of the effect on one's own expectations and beliefs about the world (Culler in Tompkins 116).

Among all the background experiences and viewpoints possible for readers to hold, the question of the influence of gender is fundamental. In his book On Deconstruction

(1982), Culler asks, "If the meaning of a work is the experience of a reader, what difference does it make if the reader is a woman?" (42). How indeed does gender condition experience and expectation in a literary text? Annette

Kolodny in her article "A Map for Rereading: Or, Gender and the Interpretation of Literary Texts" (1980), gives three examples of women's texts which were formerly deemed inferior by critics, but which when reread with attention given to gender, yielded new insights regarding the status and thinking of women of their times. Particularly interesting is the discussion of the short story "A Jury of

Her Peers" by Susan Glaspell which, in essence, is an illustration of how men and women "read" experiences differently. Kolodny concludes with a recommendation for

"re-visionary rereading" by both men and women of texts written by women in order to put them into their proper context. 38

The question then arises as to whether men and women always read texts differently, and how they might differ.

In actuality, men and women may derive similar interpretations from a given text, due to the fact that both men and women learn to read from a male-centered point of view. Crawford and Chaffin attribute this to a "muted group theory" (such as the ones by Showalter, et. al., mentioned earlier) which proposes that when groups of people co-exist in a society marked by asymmetrical power relationships, language and norms for its use are controlled by the dominant group. Members of the muted group must learn to express themselves in the dominant language; those thoughts which cannot be adequately articulated by the dominant language remain unvoiced and even unthought within the muted group (in Flynn and Schweickart 21). The result is that many women readers and women writers "... have adopted the dominant group's perceptions that selfhood, love of adventure, strength, and autonomy are embodied only in males" (23)•

For this reason and others, Patrocinio Schweickart insists that reader-response criticism needs feminist criticism, since the consideration of gender has signficant impact on interpretation. In its current state, reader- response criticism tends to be "utopian" in overlooking differences based on race, sex and class, and the conflicts associated with those realities. The incorporation of a 39 feminist perspective foregrounds the factors of gender and politics usually suppressed in dominant models. According to Schweickart, Culler's categorization of reader-response theory as either text- or reader-dominant constructions is inadequate for developing a feminist theory of women readers: "text-dominant models leave women at the mercy of androcentric texts, and reader-dominant models obscure the oppressive action of such texts" (Flynn and Schweickart xiv). Furthermore, for women reading women's writing, this approach would confer authority on one woman at the cost of silencing another (xiv). As the reader becomes aware of androcentric tendencies, s/he becomes an empowered feminist reader who is involved in the process of rereading texts by both men and women. Iser describes the process by which a reader encounters affirmation of assumptions, followed by rejection and finally a re-orientation as s/he experiences the text; for the woman reader, this process occurs on two planes, as she experiences the text as a reader, and also as a woman engaged in resistance to masculine texts, or recovery of feminine texts (Schweickart's models, in Flynn and

Schweickart, xiv). According to Iser, the text acts as a mirror to reflect the reader's disposition, but also serves to create a reality different from the reader's (Iser in

Tompkins 56-57). Schweickart sees a similar process as the woman reader relates to the experiences in the text written 40 by another woman, but then also distances herself to the degree that the experiences differ (because of time, culture, social conditions, etc.) in what she calls a "dialectic of communication." In this dialectic, first there is a moment of identification of reader and author through mediation of the text; second, separation as the reader acknowledges the author's absence as an impediment to

"dialogue;" and third, the development of a reading that balances identification and separation; "reading becomes a mediation between author and reader, between the context of writings and the context of reading" (54).

According to Schweickart, the reductionist problems usually associated with reader-response criticism are resolved with such a dialectic:

In the dialectic of communication informing the relationship between the feminist reader and the female author/text, the central issue is not one of control or partition, but of managing the contradictory implications of the desire for relationship (one must maintain a minimal distance from the other) and the desire for intimacy, up to and including a symbiotic merger with the other. The problematic is defined by the drive "to connect" rather than that which is implicit in the mainstream preoccupation with partition and control— namely, the drive to get it right. (55)

Thus, both reader-response criticism and feminist criticism function to "induce a heightened awareness of the way perspective conditions comprehension and interpretation" 41

(Flynn and Schweickart, xxi). Culler's ideas of what constitutes "shared notions of how to read," "inferences," and "evidence" are redefined according to the impact of gender. By means of illustration, and as a synthesis of the preceding points of discussion, Josephine Donovan in her article "Toward a Women's Poetics" (1984), proposes that feminist criticism (gynocriticism) must be grounded in a woman-centered epistemology derived from women's cultural experience and practice. A proper reading of women's literature in particular "... must be informed by an understanding of women's ways of seeing, a woman's epistemology" (99). She then outlines six specific

"structural conditions" that have "shaped women's world­ views" in contrast to male-centered views (101). These conditions can be summarized as follows; l)the psychology of oppression and the internalization of otherness shared by all women; 2)confinement to the private sphere, the cyclical nature of existence, women's work perceived as interruptible; 3)creation of objects for use rather than exchange; personal, concrete realities; 4)physiological experiences associated with childbirth, etc.;

5)responsibility for childbearing role; concept of "holding" seen as preservation, keeping, rather than as acquiring; respect for life; excessive control as a liability; and

6)differences in psychological maturation processes between boys and girls (101-105). Awareness of these conditions 42 provides one appropriate framework for analyzing literature by women, and for challenging traditional androcentric texts and criticism.

In the context of this study, the process of reading involves identifying those shared experiences common to all women which are usually considered as insignificant by androcentric readers (both male and female), particularly in relationship to searching out those exercises of power as defined above. It also involves distinguishing between

North American and Latin American perceptions of the roles of women, and of theories of writing, in a "dialectic of conversation" with the texts under consideration.

The next chapter will consider the particular historical and cultural circumstances in Latin America, specifically in Chile, that have influenced the ways in which women live and write about their experiences. Some of the questions to be answered are: How are the experiences faced by Latin American women different from those faced by

North American women? What forms has feminism taken in

Latin America? What are the political and social hegemonies faced by Latin American women and other marginalized groups?

What are the sites of resistance and the "invisible" expressions of power in society and women's literature? To what extent has a moral theory of power crystalized in the thinking of Latin American women? 43

Notes

1. As a collection of Nietzsche's private notes organized and published by his sister, The Will to Power has somewhat questionable reliability by itself (Edwards 5: 510). The excellent studies written by Robert C. Solomon and J. P. Stern on Nietzsche's works have been used for organizing and summarizing the material in this section.

2. The progression of Foucault's thinking on the subject of power was often developed more tangentially than directly, as is the case in the above mentioned texts. In a later essay titled "The Subject and Power," included in the book by Dreyfus and Rabinow in 1983, Foucault sought to remedy the lack of a specific study on the topic. Although he cautioned that the ideas contained in this previously unpublished essay should not be regarded as a theory or methodology of power, its importance in representing one of the more developed expositions on the concept written before Foucault's death in 1984 should not be discounted. Thus the following ideas will be summarized not only from the earlier works mentioned, but also from this essay, and from the anthology Power/Knowledge (1980), which represents Foucault's later thinking and responses to critics as well.

3. Dreyfus and Rabinow expressed concern over how Foucault could focus his work more on those areas of resistance, as seen in the following passage. Because of the French author's untimely death, this realm of exploration has been left to other researchers.

Foucault is faced with a dilemma concerning the status of those practices which have escaped or successfully resisted the spread of bio-power. While dispersed, these practices escape disciplinary totalization but offer little resistance to its further spread. However, if Foucault were to advocate directly focusing on them in an ordered way, even in the name of countertradition or resistance, he would risk their takeover and normalization. Short of offering us an answer to this extremely thorny problem, it would seem incumbent on Foucault to use his work to locate the endangered species of resistant practices and to consider how they could be strengthened in nontotalizing, nontheoretical 44

and nonnormalizing ways. If truth is to operate in society so as to resist technological power, we must find a way to make it positive and productive. Whether such a possibility exists remains an open question. (201-202)

4. Indeed, as valuable as the deconstructionists have been in decentering and countering dominant discourse, they also have been criticized for an elitist or utopian stance that does not account for the realities of daily existence, particularly in the case of women. As Christopher Norris explains in his study of the life and works of Jacques Derrida, "These [social and/or ethical] problems are henceforth regarded, not as crucial issues in the working- out of a coherent moral or political creed, but as symptoms of a merely local and transitory stage of discursive production" (221). Janet Todd also warns that although deconstruction may initially seem attractive to feminists, "[i]n the end the Derridean route leads to a denunciation of •feminism' seen as phallogocentric, constructed within the traditional culture of hierarchical binary opposites" (Todd 126). Todd refers to Gayatri Spivak and her article "Displacement and the Discourse of Woman" in which even as a deconstructionist Spivak expresses concern over Derrida's use of "woman" as metaphor. This tendency to make women into a generalized woman is yet another example of the objectivication of woman, according to Todd (128). She concludes that while the deconstructionist insistence on problematizing "truth" is a helpful model for feminism, feminists should beware of a "'sexualized' deconstruction which may indeed make of woman something intrinsic to the entire conceptual system but which also fails to read her texts or notice her corporeal presence in the present or the past" (129) . A similar critique can be directed toward the writings of leading French feminists such as Helene Cixous, Luce Irigaray, Monique Wittig and Julia Kristeva who see women's sexuality as the key to authentic self-expression, 1'écriture féminine. Ann Rosalind Jones, in "Writing the Body: Toward an Understanding of 1'Ecriture féminine" (Showalter New Feminist) describes the ideas set forth by these women as powerful but also problematical. Her two main criticisms of 1'écriture féminine center on the "monolithic vision of shared female sexuality" that ignores the lived experiences of women within specific cultural, racial and economic situations (371), and the belief in an "innate, precultural femininity" based in female physiology that also disregards social and familial conditioning (367- 368). She calls for a philosophical and pragmatic approach that involves the analysis of power relationships between 45 men and women in order to end oppression and to allow women to discover who they are and what they can be (369). CHAPTER II

The Socio-Historical Context:

Women and Power in Latin America and Chile

The history of women in Latin America is a field that has gained much attention in recent years, particularly since the United Nations initiated the Decade of the Woman in 1975. Since that time, many studies have been undertaken to examine the roles women have played in the social, economic, political and cultural arenas of their respective countries, and the changes they have produced and also experienced. Many historians have recognized the need to fill in the gaps in traditional historical research by focusing on the previously "invisible" contributions and status of women— usually subsumed under information gathered from men as representatives of the culture as a whole— by reaching back as completely as possible even to the pre-

Columbian and colonial periods.^ While it is apparent that many of the cultural roles and stereotypes that control women's lives today have their roots in the European and

Amerindian cultural heritages of Latin America, it is also becoming evident that long-held stereotypes do not in fact always reflect the present-day realities of life for women

46 47 in Latin America. Also given the tremendous social influences of the twentieth century, i.e. urbanization, modernization, technology, and the Euro-American women's movements, the profile of women in Latin America today is an extremely complex picture.

Just as Nina Auerbach and others have indicated the need to "search out" and "insist upon" the existence of women's power in a North American context, Asuncion Lavrin writes for the same purpose in her book Latin American

Women: Historical Perspectives (1978). As she reviews the names of women who have been objects of historical study in the past, she charges that the emphasis has always been put on "extraordinary women" such as Sor Juana Inès, Eva Peron, and the mistresses of famous men (4). As a result, until recent years the achievements of "ordinary" women have been neglected or discounted. In order to rectify this situation, Lavrin writes and gathers essays which concentrate on the role of women as active agents of change in Latin American society, a research strategy which has been followed in subsequent studies in this area.^ By doing so, Lavrin and others seek to resist the hegemonic tendencies of a patriarchal discourse which has sought to circumscribe the power of women and other marginalized groups through the centuries.

To begin such a study, it is necessary to examine the nature of some of those official discourses and the extent 48

to which their dissemination through key social institutions

has affected the identity and status of Latin American

women. At the same time, it is essential to explore the

relations between official discourse and actual practice,

specifically in the areas of politics and the family, and

the ways in which Latin American women exercise power "on

their own terms" in these arenas. Then the discussion will

center on the development and struggles of Latin American

feminism as a strategy of resistance to dominant discourse,

both in politics and literature. After this groundwork is

laid, the discussion will focus on the particular

circumstances faced by Chilean women, leading then into an

overview of the four authors and works selected for this paper. In the most general sense, the history of women in

Latin America has been conditioned by the cultural

constructs known as machismo and marianismo. The first term refers to the glorification of the male's physical strength,

sexual prowess and virility; the second refers to the glorification of the female's self-abnegation, sexual purity

and motherhood as imaged by the Virgin Mary. As Lucia

Guerra (1980) and Ann Pescatello (1976) indicate, these concepts can be traced back to both the pre-Columbian Indian cultures and to the Iberian-Arabic cultures transplanted to the Americas from the time of the Conquest. Since then, the notions of male domination and female subordination have 49 permeated every social institution, from the most private sphere of the home, to the public spheres of education, religion, work and politics, in ways unique to Latin

American cultures. The official discourse promoted by each of these institutions facilitates indoctrination into the traditional sex-role models still frequently accepted as the natural order by many Latin American men and women. While the societal expectations based on these traditional sex- role models have enabled men and women to experience a measure of order and security, a sense of "knowing one's place” in society, they have also insured a perpetual power imbalance, as men continually strive to assert their authority over women, and women resort to manipulative tactics in order to achieve their desires and goals.

Disillusioned by the failures of North American feminism, some Latin American feminists have begun to express the belief that only as men and women recognize the benefits of complementary relationships and full participation by both sexes in all social spheres, public and private, that the need for mutual exploitation will disappear (Santa Cruz 15).

Historically, the institutions of the family, the educational system, the Catholic church, and the state have prescribed and perpetuated male and female sex roles in

Latin American society. From earliest childhood, boys are encouraged to be aggressive and extroverted, while girls are taught to be submissive and retiring, and both follow 50 preestablished role models provided by parents and other older relatives (ECLAC 24). As Edna Acosta-Belén indicates in her assessment of Latin American educational systems:

Even in the countries that have shown considerable progress in educating women, traditional patriarchal values continue to be taught in schools. . . . Schooling plays a crucial role in instructing Latin American men in dominance over women, sexual freedom, virility and aggressive behavior. . . . It is not uncommon to find . . . the widespread belief (particularly in rural areas) that it is more important to educate boys than girls, (in Stoner Latinas 112)

For centuries, the Catholic church has promoted an image of the Virgin Mary as a model of passive resignation and submission for all women to emulate. The accompanying veneration of motherhood implies that every woman's highest calling and fulfillment is to be found exclusively in the bearing and raising of children. In the world of work and politics, the belief is generally accepted that women should hold positions which replicate their domestic roles as nurturing care-givers, rather than be allowed to hold positions of visible authority and power. The discourse put forth by authorities in all of these institutions continually reinforces the notion that a woman's place is indeed in the home because she lacks the understanding and the skills in order to be able to significantly participate in the public sphere. The next section of this chapter will 51 explore the relations of power in two of these institutions in particular, that of politics and the family, and the avenues open to women for the exercise of power in each.

Traditionally in Latin America, men have discouraged women from political participation, obstensibly because the inherent "feminine purity" would be tainted by the muddy waters of politics, or simply because women were not considered to have the intellectual capacity necessary for electing officials, much less for holding office themselves.

As a recent United Nations study noted, "The fact that doubt has always been cast on [women's] ability to participate and the appropriateness of their participating tends to make their possibilities of participating on an ec[ual footing with men in the taking of [sic] important decisions all the more remote" (ECLAC 47). Many politicians, believing in the tendency of women to be conservative and concerned about family security, see them as a force to be manipulated in order to maintain social and political control (Chaney 88).

Even when women have been admitted to political parties, they have been typically relegated to an inferior status, excluded from policy making (Chaney 90-91), and have rarely attained any significant positions in government at the national level (Seager and Olson 70).

From the women's point of view, there are a number of other reasons for avoiding political activity. While attitudes have been changing in recent decades, there is 52 still an aversion to wielding power, based in part on past experiences in which men have abused power for their own advantage, and the politicmerla or political corruption that is all too common in Latin American countries (and elsewhere) (Chaney 89). Adriana Santa Cruz, in her assessment of the women's movement in Latin America, refers to the need to overcome the "trauma of power" which she defines as "repulsion against authoritarianism, and the critical position of women towards the institutions which have isolated them historically" (17)-

But the commonly held perception of female passivity regarding political issues in general is an incomplete one.

It has been noted that women's political activity actually tends to increase during times of national crisis, especially in repressive regimes, and then to decline once the crisis has passed, or when legitimate means of political power are established (Chaney 23, ECLAC 46). Women's aversion to politics can also be seen as the result of a justifiable skepticism, a "shrewder assessment of political reality." As one study suggests, "... the male does not seem so aware that no one has much political power in any case; moreover, . . . why should women invest time and effort in politics if they have so few stakes in the outcomes?" (Chaney 164-165). Indeed, since most women are constantly consumed by the pressures of daily life, economic difficulties, distressing living conditions and marital 53 conflicts, . . it is not clear what the political system in its current form has to offer them" (Nash and Safa 232).

Furthermore, a perceived lack of participation can also be explained as a deliberate political action, one of protest or refusal to condone the policies of a dictatorship, or as an expression of disillusionment with an exploitative political system (McGee vii, Nash and Safa 233).

Inspite of all the opposition and objections, women have and continue to participate in political processes, generally within the boundaries established by law and society. At the most basic level, women do vote in local and national elections. But contrary to the North American perception, voting is considered more as a civic duty rather than as a political activity, and is therefore seen as an acceptable option for women, a passive expression of preference.

In general, the degree to which a woman does become involved in political activities is determined by her socio­ economic class, the cultural value assigned to the particular role she plays, and the extent to which she has had opportunity in the past to participate in social or political organizations (ECLAC 47). A United Nations study delineates the following pattern of political involvement:

In short, it may be affirmed that the participation of women depends in the first place on the living conditions of the groups to which they belong, the motivation being different in 54

each case. Accordingly, the participation of women in the lower strata is motivated by the wish to achieve improvements for their family group and must be expressed collectively. Women in the middle-income groups may be mobilized for more personal reasons related to politics or work or in support of the cause of women as such. Women in the upper groups scarcely participate at all, tending to give more modern expression to their traditional roles instead, although small numbers of them do enter into conflict with the dominant values in their social milieu. (ECLAC 46-47)

Thus, the most active participation comes from the professional middle-class women who have achieved a significant level of formal education.

As mentioned earlier, women who do enter politics have often assumed roles that are often reflections of their domestic responsibilities. Elsa Chaney's study of women in

Peru and Chile confirms this to be the case in those two countries: "A woman official most often defines herself as a kind of supermadre. tending to the needs of her big family in the larger casa of the municipality or even the nation”

(21; see also ECLAC 44) . The study Women in the World by

Seager and Olson indicates that this is a universal phenomenon: "When women do hold cabinet posts, they are often appointments in areas considered to lie within women's traditional interests— not considered to be very serious: women get appointed to be Ministers of Consumer Affairs, not

Ministers of Defence" (115). But because of the perceived benefits of sex-role differentiation, Latin American women 55 seem to prefer assignments in which they can wield a moral, humane influence that rises above the male politicmerla

(Chaney 133-135). They are often champions for social issues which benefit both women and men, and especially in the context of repressive regimes, are at the forefront of the human rights protests. Granted, this inclination can be explained by the formal and informal socialization processes that direct girls into a cultural education rather than the training for leadership that boys receive (ECLAC 24), but it can also be seen as an expression of female power not traditionally recognized as such. Thus, one can point to a number of factors that affect the involvement in and attitudes toward Latin American women in politics. Particularly crucial are the reality of class barriers which prevent women from uniting as a political force to change the current systems, and the reality of gender barriers that keep men and women in traditional roles. Without changes in these areas, only a minority of privileged women will have any access to formal political power.

This dilemma in the political domain has its underlying roots in the long-standing sex-role differentiations instilled in males and females during childhood. The same distinctions which have largely denied women access to the public sphere have allowed them to develop other avenues of influence in the informal institution of the family, thus 56 affording them some alternative means of self-expression and empowerment. But because of traditional societal and cultural beliefs, women's roles in the family have not been widely recognized as a significant force in society, by either men or women. It should be noted again that this discussion, as well as the preceding one, is of necessity a generalization, given the complexity of factors that shape

Latin American families, and the wide range of life styles conditioned by class, urbanization, technological development and income distribution (Scott 21) . Yet while it must be acknowledged that influence from other Western cultures is having an impact on traditional beliefs and conduct, the foundational values discussed herein still seem to represent an essential element of life in Latin America.

Historically, the family has functioned as a vehicle for preserving social and economic status in Latin cultures:

"The white woman . . . had the specific role of maintainng the family's status and its racial purity" (Lavrin 6).

While this necessitated a great deal of social restrictions for women during the colonial and neo-colonial periods, some were still able to wield significant power within the patriarchal system, although without enjoying true equality:

Among the socioeconomic elites, husbands and fathers recognized the unwritten privileges of women as mistresses of their homes

the men were missing, women could assume their role. This social phenomenon was not confined to the wealthy, since among the poor, for whom consensual unions were quite common, a significant number of women were heads of households. (8)

Pescatello describes the ambiguous status that women have endured throughout the centuries in Latin America, being excluded from formal expressions of power, but capable of great influence through their own spheres of contact. For example, as has been mentioned previously, during the wars for independence from Spain, women played vital roles in supporting the campaigns, although never in positions of command, and generally retreated to the private sphere of the home after the conflict was over. Throughout the rest of the nineteenth century, a woman's social stratum and role in society were largely determined by economic conditions; marital status, class, race and region (urban or rural) also placed or removed restrictions on a woman's behavior (Power

170). Educational opportunities were an additional factor in the amount of "freedom" a woman might enjoy.

According to Pescatello, the same factors continued to influence the status of women in this century. It is her contention that although laws and practices generally supported the continuance of a patriarchal society, in actual practice, women retained a power "often of equal disposition" with men's so that, "... in the figure of the mother and thus as 'head' of the household, she has been the 58

central figure in the family and thus in society" (231).

Indeed, the concepts of the matriarch and the extended

family are particularly significant as expressions of power.

The matriarch stands as a unifying figure between former and

future generations, and as an authoritarian figure in a practical sense, since often times other family members will not act without her consent in a matter. Her influence extends also to other family units who depend on her approval for social acceptance (Chaney 48-49). Through the social networks represented by the extended family, and of friends and kin in the compadrazgo system, women provide a sense of continuity and community which rivals "official" authority structures (Pescatello Power 44).

It can be seen, therefore, that although the woman has generally been confined to the private sphere of the family and the home, her power and influence have not been definitively curtailed. For example, although it is often assumed that women's economic activities are generally insignificant, actual patterns of participation reveal the opposite to be the case. As Alison MacEwen Scott has indicated, although it is assumed that women do not work after childbearing, that their job commitment is low, and that they are content with low-paid, tedious work, actual statistics show the contrary;

Many Latin American women are extremely active both in the peasant economy and in the lower ends 59

Of the urban economy, and although they may have a short break in employment after the birth of a child, they often work throughout their adult lives. They also show a high commitment to education, and may have higher levels of education than men at comparable levels of occupational status. (25)

The stereotypical view of women described earlier is

perpetuated in actuality by male employers and workers, thus

restricting women's opportunities in the labor market.

But paradoxically, this belief in inherent male

superiority and authority over women which has persisted

throughout the centuries has been upheld by Latin American women as well as by men. As the system of machismo/marianismo has its outworking in daily life, the woman is venerated as the chaste, spiritually superior

figure who preserves familial and cultural values for her

family. While the man's world is the public one of work and politics, the woman exerts her influence and expertise in

the home, and enjoys almost exclusive power in shaping the

lives of her children and in managing her husband's

resources. The problem lies more in conceding validity to

such exercises of power. As Pescatello contends, "We must move away from the study of the narrow male elite groups and

shift our attention to the heretofore inarticulate, the power base of history, as it were, rather than the power manipulators" (Power 233). By refocusing our attention in

this way, the prime importance of the institution of the 60 family, and the centrality of the woman in that institution, will acquire new signficance.

All of this is not to say that there are not inherent difficulties in such an arrangement within the patriarchal system; double standards, marital infidelity, sexual abuse and other forms of exploitation continue to occur— the so- called "dark side of gender relations" in Latin America

(Scott 24). And as women attempt to break out of traditional gender roles, they experience tension and pressure when those in power over them would compel them to conform, and as they themselves feel torn between asserting their individuality and retaining the social values they have been raised to believe in (Scott 23). Thus, for many, the traditional roles are still acceptable because they offer a sense of security and identifiable limits in which to operate, however confining or lax those may be. But given the remarkable transformations in Latin American society in recent decades, many women have been forced by necessity to make difficult choices. As the number of female heads-of-household grows, and the "feminization of poverty" runs its course, women will have to rely more and more on their own resources and on each other, as they continue to strive for a more just and equitable society

(Stoner Latinas 583-594) . The development of feminism in Latin America has had a significant impact in highlighting the inconsistencies 61 between official discourse and actual practice in recent years. The articulation of resistance and an alternative power have been vital in bringing new perspectives to women regarding their place in society. But the overall impact of the movement has been curtailed by internal conflicts and a reticence among various groups of women to "change the rules" of the "gender game" or to identify themselves with unacceptable tenets of the North American feminist movement.

An analysis of the development of Latin American feminism shows some important differences from its North American counterpart that must be recognized in order to appreciate the focus of Latin American feminist concerns.

The first major obstacle to overcome in understanding the situation of Latin American women— apart from the recognition of the obvious inherent differences caused by the geographical and cultural diversity of such a vast continent— is the need to acknowledge a number of factors not always considered important from a North American standpoint. The historical influences in the development of

Latin American feminism contribute to present day differences. Although much investigation remains to be done in the area of Latin American women's history, some interesting trends have been uncovered. As has been mentioned, there are indications that some women did participate in popular uprisings and other political activities during the colonial period, and especially during 62 the wars for independence (Lavrin 11). After independence from Spain was achieved, those Latin American women returned to their traditional roles and were legally restricted by the new governments’ implementation of the Napoleonic civil code as to their options for social involvement and advancement (12). The primary options open to them included charity work, deemed "appropriate for women, fitting well the image of nobility and dedication assigned to the feminine sex;" and education, as long as it helped "prepare women to be better mothers and wives" (12).

One outcome unforeseen by promoters of women's education, however, was the development of a self- consciousness among some women that led them into feminist activities. Studies conducted regarding feminist movements in many of the individual countries of Latin America indicate that most active feminist movements developed in the late nineteenth century and peaked during the 1920s and

1930s (Stoner "Directions" 108). In contrast to their North

American counterparts, Latin American feminist campaigns were directed primarily at social reform, such as legal and social equality for women, and protective legislation for working women and children, with suffrage accorded only secondary importance (Lavrin 13). Then, as some women's movements gained momentum, they alligned with mainline political party platforms; "The success of feminist movements has nearly always hinged on their attachment to 63 nationalist revolutions. . . . Feminists acted as powerbrokers during revolutionary periods and convinced most of the political contenders that women, if given the vote, would support peace, social justice and democratic rule"

(Stoner 108-109). On the whole, feminist movements were comprised of a minority of Latin American women, generally those middle-class intellectuals who had the means and the outlet to speak out against oppression and in favor of social reforms (Lavrin 315). It can be said that women in conservative philanthropic organizations also worked for reform and shared feminists' concerns over social and economic injustices. But these women did not hold the same views regarding women's rights in politics and society, or regarding the state's responsibilities to provide for women and children in need (Stoner 110) . And inspite of the initial gains realized by the Latin American women's movements, culminating in most cases with gaining the right of suffrage (in most countries during the period 1920-1949), contemporary women's movements have been slow to realize any significant improvements since mid-century.

Thus, from the very beginning, Latin American feminism and North American feminism have taken different approaches to dealing with women's issues and social problems. One continuing area of divergence concerns the issues of race and class. Whereas the women's movement in the United

States generally focuses on the desire for women to be equal 64 with men, regardless of class, Latin American women see the crux of the struggle to be entrenched in the larger concerns of class and race domination:

Most of the women's movements in highly industrialized nations fail to realize, or even reject, the significance of these global political concerns for equality among the sexes. Since they are less concerned with the level of economic development than with women's share in the fruits of this development, they press for such reforms as better educational and job opportunities and greater participation in the political process. Although these are rights denied women in many Third World countries, their implementation, given the present class structure, would benefit primarily a small segment of middle- and upper- class women who are in a position to take advantage of these new educational and occupational opportunities and to participate in the political process. For these reasons, many women, particularly in the Third World, reject the demand for equality within a given structure of inequality.^ (Nash and Safa x)

Indeed, this is also one of the key areas of internal struggle that prevents feminism from gaining a stronger endorsement among women: the anomaly of upper class women employing lower class women as servants in order to free themselves to have more time to participate in activities outside the home (Stoner Latinas 588). While the use of servants has allowed Latin Americn women to devote more time and energy to social issues than North American women enjoy, it is hard to justify the subordination of one group of women for the benefit of another. 65

Associated with the differences already cited regarding the impact of machismo/marianismo. another factor for consideration involves the disparate perceptions of feminism and femininity held by North American and Latin American women. Indeed, a primary reason why feminism has been so slow in gaining influence in Latin America has been because of a rejection of the perceived errors of Anglo-American feminists. A citation from Lynn Stoner's article on Latin

American women's history pinpoints the main objections;

North American feminists obviously made an impact on Latin American feminist movements, although not always the one anticipated. Latin American feminists were quick to distinguish themselves from their North American counterparts, whom they viewed as antimale and antifamily . . . To be sure, the North American experience prompted Latin Americans to demand the vote and offered models for organization. Latin American feminists, however, felt that their issues differed, and they created their own brand of feminism emphasizing the importance and dignity of bearing children and caring for the home. They rejected free love and hatred of the patriarchy, views they ascribed to North American feminist dogma. ("Directions" 109)

While some Anglo-American feminists have pushed to eliminate gender-based differences in order to establish equality of the sexes, and have often tried the tactic of becoming "one of the boys" to prove their equality with men, Latin

American women see sex-role differentiation as the key to their strength. For example, the influence of marianismo 66

and the regard for motherhood are still valued in Latin

American society by both men and women. Thus, "... women

have been reluctant to abandon traditional models of

femininity, even in politics, because such models may give them access to power, in the home or in social activities"

(Lavrin 18). The same opinion is expressed by Jane

Jaquette;

Insofar as the North American feminist movement is based on frustration with female powerlessness on the personal as well as the political level, and I think the obvious desire of women to break into the "male" world is clear evidence of this kind of frustration, then the feminist movement will not have the same appeal in Latin America nor can it expect "consciousness" on the part of Latin American women. . . . A whole generation of North American women have become convinced of their powerlessness relative to males and have moved to destroy the role differentiation they perceive as its cause. The Latin American woman correctly perceives role differentiation as the key to her power and influence. (Pescatello Female 20; see also Lavrin 315)

Elsa Chaney, in her study of women in politics in Peru

and Chile, also points to a reluctance to endorse North

American views on feminism and femininity. She distinguishes between "old" feminists who worked within the male-dominated system to achieve initial legal and social reforms and gain the right to vote for women, and the "new"

feminists who would take up the battle for full feminine equality. According to Chaney, neither group will achieve 67 lasting success without a fundamental change in the roles of both men and women. Yet those who are willing to challenge the system and push for full emancipation exist in isolated groups in the large Latin American cities, and are often reluctant to confront men directly in the militant tones that characterized the beginning stages of the North

American feminist movement. Instead, they wish to advance by "excelling in their professions and by remaining as feminine as possible" (Chaney 81). Chaney finally concludes that Latin American women should not emulate North American patterns of women's liberation, but should instead acknowledge their own reality, their own issues, and "... decide their own course of action in the context of their own culture and aspirations" (11). Thus, in a number of crucial issues, Latin American and North American feminist viewpoints differ significantly.

Yet, inspite of the objections to feminism as a philosophy, many of its tenets have been embraced and appropriated by Latin American women in recent years. A notable example is the marked increase of participation by women in a variety of political organizations, especially in human rights violations protests in nations such as Chile and Argentina. According to some researchers, "one of the most striking changes in the past ten years has been the growth of women's organizations, particularly in urban areas" (Stoner Latinas 592). These groups encompass a wide 68 span of ideological positions, and many are related to established political parties. Political activism, whether in the form of campaigning for public office, or participating in protests against repression, has helped generate "a sense of political solidarity that is being expressed in terms of gender" (593). Most remarkable is the new image attributed to the Virgin Mary, . . a prophetic figure, full of strength and courage, committed to the messianic liberation of the poor from historical and social injustices" (501). This new image has become a symbol of hope and liberation which can be used as a force for change in Latin America. As more women join a self-conscious awareness of domination and the belief in the possibility to change society through their unique capacities and networks, the traditional relations of power will be transformed.

The conflict between patriarchal discourse and women's desire to express themselves and find fulfillment outside of the home can also be traced in the writings of Latin

American women. Literature, as the "translator of image and arbiter of society," has served the dual purpose of confirming existing social relationships and of socializing women into conventional roles (Pescatello Female xii).

Unfortunately, in the history of Latin America, women have been spoken for, rather than be allowed to speak for themselves (Gonzâlez and Ortega 26). Woman's voice has been 69 marginalized, distorted or silenced by the prevailing patriarchal "official" discourse, especially in the field of literature. Elena Poniatowska points to a double discrimination founded not only in gender biases but also in the Conquest and the religion it brought (Poniatowska 465).

Another writer sees Latin American women writers as hampered by the triple constraints of family, church and society

(Correas de Zapata and Johnson 29). Aside from the few women who have attained recognition in the traditional literary canon (Sor Juana, la Avellaneda, Gabriela Mistral), there exists a plethora of unacknowledged women writers, victims of a Foucauldian régime du savoir imposed by a male- dominated culture and economy. Even when women dared to speak, according to Marjorie Agosln, "... the woman who wrote believed that she had transgressed the laws and violated the order imposed by a society where the accepted principles were subject to the approval of father. Father and Fatherland" (Agosln in Stoner Latinas 389). Appropriate themes for women writers (as dictated by male writers and critics) centered on the private domestic world of women, their personal experiences and emotions, and the search for fulfillment through love (Franco "Apuntes” 40, Mora and Van

Hooft 157). Only since the 1950s (apart from a few earlier exceptions) have women writers such as Rosario Castellanos,

Marla Luisa Bombai and Mercedes Valdivieso dared to venture beyond those barriers to explore the themes of female 70 sexuality, social consciousness and political denunciation, as well as explore new modes of self-expression (Ahern 19,

Guerra "Desentranando" 51-53, Mora and Van Hooft 170).

In the last several decades, consequently, the upswing in the number of recognized women writers and quality works points to the creation of a space of "profound visibility" as Foucault would describe it, which has provided many women writers with needed opportunities to gain a voice and conduct dialogues among themselves and with their male counterparts. The discussion on a theory or theories of writing is still tentative, but some of the more established notions parallel the salient characteristics of Latin

American feminism.

First of all, it is clear that Latin American women writers reject the universalizing tendencies of Anglo-

American feminists to speak on behalf of all women in all cultures. Gonzâlez and Ortega express this concern in the introduction to their collection of essays La sartén por el mango (1984), citing the inadequacy of other models to speak for the Latin American experience. According to Beth

Miller, the rejection of North American feminism by Latin

American feminists has impeded the development of a feminist

literary theory, even though the feminist movement has had a definite impact on the research in anthropology, history and political science (B. Miller 11). This attitude can be seen as part of a more encompassing resistance by Latin American 71 writers (female and male) to the imposition of a foreign literary identity by North American scholars (B. Miller 13).

Thus, it should not be assumed that Latin American women writers will readily embrace or conform to any one theory from another culture, although they may find commonalities with other systems. They are clearly in the process of forging their own identity and voice.

Another fundamental issue is the role of race and class. Women's literature as well as women's rights form part of a larger struggle that encompasses all minorities and oppressed groups. For Sara Castro-Klarén, Latin

American literature becomes a convincing illustration of

Foucault's subjugated knowledges, and Latin American women's writing as representative of a more inclusive struggle (in

Gonzâlez and Ortega 38-43). Elena Poniatowska writes in order to decry the poverty, ignorance and indifference that plague Latin America, and alludes to writers such as Marta

Traba, Griselda Gambaro and Claribel Alegria who have allied themselves with the oppressed. Poniatowska herself has tried to give voice to those who have none, such as Jesusa

Palencares, the protagonist of Hasta no verte, Jesus mio

(Poniatowska 466). Others have spoken out against repressive governments, as in the case of Isabel Allende in

Chile, and Cristina Peri Rossi in Uruguay, to name just two.

Perhaps it is because of a sense of vital urgency and oppressive reality that, up to this point in time, Latin 72

American women writers have turned more toward political concerns rather than the philosophical approaches discussed by their more politically, socially and economically

liberated sisters in North America and Europe.

Margara Russotto's criticism of Virginia Woolf constitutes one specific instance of this "class gap," by saying that "a room of one's own" is not enough:

Tendremos quizâs, eso si, un simulacro de habitacion; que en todo caso serâ invadido por los ninos, la humedad, las palomas, los excrementos del gato, el ruido sospechoso de alguna descarga de agua, la apariciôn sûbita de hormigas tropicales. Y las 500 libras— que libras no serân— tendremos que ganârnoslas en las varias y perdidas ocupaciones que ha inventado la humanidad. (Russotto 13)

This harsh reality described as typical for many in Latin

America reveals yet another point of conflict: the differences experienced among Latin American women them­ selves due to class and race distinctions. Historically, middle- and upper-class women everywhere have had much greater access to the time and financial means necessary to write and publish. And the degree of commitment to feminism in women's rights issues parallels the degree of commitment to feminist causes in literature. Generally, the upper- class, older generation of women writers reject the label

"feminist," and their works often portray women as separate and unequal victims who despair of ever changing the 73 partriarchal system. Their works are marked by passive protest and a reticence to challenge masculine models (see

Sefchovich, Garfield, B. Miller). In contrast, the younger writers are often political activists who see literature as a weapon to be used in the fight against oppression. They speak with more openness, power and assertiveness, because they have a greater self-consciousness and knowledge of patriarchal oppression. They express a desire to change the system of cultural and political domination through their writing, and imagine new possibilities for human relationships (see Guerra "Desentrahando," Agosln

"Aproximaciones," Peri Rossi). Lucia Guerra illustrates the contrast between the two positions with her own assessment of writers including Marla Luisa Bombai:

El reconocer la problematicidad de la relacion heterogénea entre el Yo [femenino] y el Mundo significa denunciar, de manera implicite, las contradicciones y deficiencies de la sociedad de la época. Este aspecto pone en evidencia la posicion ideologica de las escritoras estudiadas guienes, como miembros de los estratos sociales mâs altos, comparten los valores de su clase, aceptando la primacia del rol de la mujer como portadora de patrones de comportamiento y slmbolos tlpicos de la burguesla. . . . [Sus obras] se limitan a dar testimonio de la situaciôn de la mujer sin oponerse a las categories de la ideologla liberal dominante. La obra literaria, leios de constituir un instrumente positive en el proceso de liberaciôn. mâs bien parece ser la protesta soterrada de cmienes aceotan une posicion subordinada y pasiva y ng obstante reconocen que el orden burcmês anula todo impulso vital y auténtico en la existencia femenina. ("Algunas reflexiones" 38-39, emphasis added) 74

Concomitant to the differences regarding the purposes of literature, there also persists a variety of opinions on the existence and nature of feminine writing. According to

Beth Miller, the women who reject or pretend to reject feminism generally claim that a writer's mind is androgynous. The women who could be classified as more politically involved prefer to emphasize the difference between writing by men and writing by women as conditioned by experience (Miller 21). Of course exceptions can be found for either stance; yet the belief in a distinct female essence as the foundation for writing does not seem to be widely accepted.*

A general consensus, however, does seem to point to a unique influence of women's experience and knowledge that distinguishes "feminine" texts from "masculine" texts. Ester de Miguel warns of the trap inherent in the argument of biological difference, noting that such an argument can be used by men to relegate women to a position of permanent inferiority (Miguel 55). Ferré and Traba (in Gonzâlez and

Ortega), Peri Rossi, and Sefchovich also all speak of the importance of feminine experience.

Among those writers who believe that writing is androgynous, there is also the perception that there is no need to insist on an overtly feminist element in literature, but only for each individual writer to express what concerns 75 him/her most. For those who do perceive a difference between feminine and masculine writing, based on world view and experience, women's writing should be seen as distinct, but not in terms of masculine writing. That is to say, women's writing should not be seen as inferior, or superior, or against men's writing. Latin American women writers generally reject the idea of attacking male writers, as their North American counterparts have often done. As

Alaide Foppa expressed it, "Ya no; 'somos iguales, queremos ser iguales,' sino: 'somos diferentes y nos gusta ser diferentes'" (Foppa 7). The difference then lies in the experiences communicated in the texts, and also the ways in which readers interact with them. As Latin American women writers exchange views and consciously examine the writing process in which they are involved, the interfacing of theory and praxis will yield new insights and directions for their endeavors.

The history of Chilean women has a number of parallels to that of other women in Latin America, but also a number of significant differences. The concepts of machismo/marianismo have certainly influenced gender relations among Chileans, and the institutions of family, education, religion, work and politics have contributed to the perpetuation of sex-role differentiation. But there have been several historical factors which have helped 76

ameliorate the dichotomy, at least in comparison to the position of women in other Latin American countries. As a result, Chilean women's participation in the public sphere, especially in education, work and politics, has been at a higher level than that experienced by women in other societies.^ Furthermore, the advances gained by Chilean women in the feminist movements from the turn of the century have established a number of rights and privileges that today's women continue to enjoy and build upon.^

It must be noted that the benefits are not distributed evenly, since the lower-class women continue to struggle for basic economic and social rights, and for all women the gap between law and practice is of great concern; in addition, the Pinochet regime's repressive tactics discriminated against women as a class inspite of official rhetoric to the contrary. Yet inspite of such opposition, during the last thirty years Chilean women have made great strides in recognizing, challenging and countering patriarchal domination through a number of political and social channels.

The beginnings of the women's movement in Chile can be traced from the period 1880-1920 when a number of women's organizations materialized, largely impelled by the need to achieve social and economic reform, i.e., child care, improved working conditions, unionization, and the need for women to have means for cultural and social development 77 outside of the home (Meza 26-28). Some of the principal organizations to come out of this early period include the

Partido Civico Femenino (PCF), founded in 1919, which sought to produce change through the established social order; and the Movimiento de la Emancipacion de la Mujer (MEMCH),

founded in 1935, more directed toward the progressive or

leftist feminists (Meza 26). This second organization placed a greater priority on defending the working class women and the campesinas than the first one did, and also called for greater social involvement for all women

("prâctica civica") (Meza 27). The third main organization, the Partido Femenino Chileno (PFCH), was founded in 1946 with the goal of perfecting democracy through the advancement of the condition of women. Women of this party

in particular identified with the presidential candidate

Carlos Ibanez in his campaign to bring about purification, moral redemption and the defeat of masculine "politiquerla"

(Meza 28). The climax of all this activity came in 1949 with the granting of suffrage for women, and the election in

1953 of the first woman senator, Maria de la Cruz, president of the PFCH. Unfortunately, the women's movement suffered

its most severe crisis shortly thereafter, when de la Cruz was accused of ethical misconduct, and dismissed from her position after only seven months in office. This incident virtually caused the demise of women's political parties in

Chile, as almost all women lapsed into a disillusioned 78

"civic passivity" as a result (Meza 28). During the following two decades, women continued to participate in politics, but primarily as supporters of mainline male- dominated political parties, rather than as proponents of their own goals.

In national elections in the 1950s and 1960s, male politicians saw the women's vote as crucial for the support of the conservative candidates. And especially since the presidential election in 1970, women have been used as a key

ingredient in the struggle for political power in Chile.

The period of 1970-1973 deserves particular attention because of the central role played by women in the political area of that time. The Allende administration, while endeavoring to broaden the base of political participation to all segments of society, did "too little, too late" when it came to incorporating women into the political process.

As Ana Maria Arteaga indicates in her article "Politizaciôn de lo privado y subversion del cotidiano" in Mundo de muier

(Todaro 563-592), although the Allende government granted the incorporation of women into the local governmental units

(the "Juntas de Vecinos"), the tasks assigned to the women were primarily extensions of domestic roles such as daycare

(576). A particular example of the prevailing traditional discourse can be drawn from one volume of a series of bocks on Chilean culture and heritage printed by the Allende government's publishing house Editorial Quimantû. The text 79

La muier chilena by Amanda Puz depicts Chilean women as

self-sacrificing, heroic mothers who are also shallow, dependent creatures guided by intuition (Chaney 46). The

conclusion of the book, as follows, only hints at the possibility of a new life for Chilean women in the future:

Para la chilena estâ abierto un mundo fascinante. En la medida que sepa equilibrar con sabiduria sus roles eternos de madre y esposa con los nuevos de ciudadana y trabajadora, serâ una mujer feliz y capaz de hacer feliz. Hoy dla se sacrifice porgue es pionera; manana tendra que sacrificarse tal vez todavia mâs, pero mâs adelante se verâ recompensada cuando ella misma o sus hijas sean seres desarrollados integraImente. (Puz 91)

Some writers would indicate that this era of "civic passivity" does not show a lack of interest for feminist causes nor a lack of discrimination against women, but rather a shifting of emphasis to treating women's problems as another element in the larger picture of global liberation where class divisions are more important than gender differences (Meza 38) . The article previously cited by Ana Maria Arteaga, however, offers a stronger indictment

of the political establishment:

The historic lack of vision of the left with respect to participation of women was— as we know- -opportunely capitalized on by the opposition of the center and the conservative right. Thus, while the government of the Popular Unity party through an abstract discourse directed toward undifferentiated citizens invited women to defend and take on as their own a global project of 80

social transformations. the opposition called upon them [women] directly and specifically to mobilize for their own concrete interests; their security and that of their children, families, home with a discourse perfectly coherent with their social identity, (in Todaro 576; original emphasis, my translation)

The specific event referred to in the above quotation

is that of the "March of the Empty Pots" against the Popular

Unity government when women took to the streets, banging on empty pots as a symbolic protest against the food shortages and rationing then in effect. In this instance, the conservative right capitalized on the increasing frustration and conservatism of the middle and upper-class Chilean women to eventually bring about the overthrow of the Allende government.

Thus whereas the Popular Unity government's discourse was ambiguous at best, advocating social change but assuming maintenance of gender-determined roles (Valenzuela 96), the opposition forces deliberately utilized the traditional view of women as a means of social control and political power, both before the military takeover and subsequent to that time. Michele Mattelart cites multiple examples from the media, popular press and propaganda announcements disseminated by the opposition in order to undermine the

Popular Unity government during the period 1971-1973 (in

Nash and Safa 279-301). 81

The most recent period of Chilean feminism began in

1973 with the institutionalization of traditionalist discourse. Giselle Munizaga and Lilian Letelier have analyzed tactics employed by the Pinochet regime since the takeover in their report "La mujer y la acciôn hegemonizadora del régimen militar" (in Todaro 523-562)•

They propose that the military regime did not "invent" anything; it merely recuperated and reorganized the existing spaces of power and non-power to use them in the implementation of its own strategies. It built upon the archetypes deeply rooted in woman's conscience that bring her to accept a political role defined by men and by an authority structure imbued with the symbols of order and stability (536). Described briefly, there were four main vehicles for propagating discourse: 1)members of the ruling regime, especially by Lucia Hiriart de Pinochet;

2)governmental institutions directed toward women, such as the Secretarla Nacional de la Mujer; 3)sanctioned official private institutions (Centros de Madrés or CEMA); and

4)official and sanctioned mass media. Each of these vehicles communicated a message of women as collaborators with and beneficiaries of the authoritarian regime (526).

In Pinochet's particular "regime of truth" regarding the role of women, his first strategy was to create a myth of women as the prime actors in saving the fatherland from destruction, recuperating the natural order, and amplifying 82 authoritarian values (536-537). Pinochet's history of women made use of two discourses to guide them in the correct interpretation of their social role, depicting them first as volunteers. warriors in a crusade against Marxism, and secondly as virtuous mothers. preservers of national values.

Afterwards, they became an army of volunteers in the service of the fatherland, and mothers submissive to the universal father, incarnated in the military (and ultimately in

Pinochet himself, the leader of the national "family"). A third discourse, which may seem to contradict the first two, is that of the modern, liberated "consumer," portrayed as living in a material paradise without problems. These images are incorporated into two models, then, to regulate society: the power-state model, within which the family becomes the unit of discipline and observance of authoritarian values, and the the power-market model, in which the woman is the key for mobilizing the family as a unit of consumption, thus supporting the stability of the socio-economic structure (560).

Even though the Pinochet regime showed a clear determination to continue its policy of promoting a traditional view of women for its own political purposes, this period was also marked by a resurgence in feminist activity not seen since the attainment of voting rights in

1949. Patricia Chuchryk in her study of the situation of

Chilean women has identified and analyzed the positions of 83 various opposition groups arising from the time of the military takeover (in Jaquette Women's Movement 149-184).

Almost immediately after the coup d'etat, women organized to protest human rights violations and to support the families of victims of repression, taking advantage of the "public invisibility" to move when it was extremely dangerous to do so (Chuchryk 156). And then as the military regime's economic policies resulted in devastating widespread poverty and unemployment, many women were compelled to join the work force and to devise new survival strategies to support their families. As Chuchryk points out, these popular economic organizations met not only women's economic needs, but also gave them "a focus for political organizing and self- education, as well as a means of self-empowerment" (154).

Another study included by Chuchryk suggests that although these women do not employ the language of conventional political discourse, their language and practice challenge authoritarianism in a way that conventional political discourse cannot, "... precisely because their resistance to the regime, expressed in daily life survival strategies, is their discourse" (155). Chuchryk projects an increasingly important role for Chilean women for the future of democracy in that nation. Cooperation among the various groups will be crucial in order to overcome prevailing patriarchal/authoritarian practices. 84

In that regard, the writings of Julieta Kirkwood have

contributed significantly to the development of Chilean

feminism, especially in her analysis of the link between state authoritarianism and authoritarianism in Chilean

society in general (Chuchryk 168). Kirkwood defines

feminism as . . the rebellion against tremendous

differences between what is postulated for the entire human race, and what we women concretely experience in our daily

lives" (Teiiendo rebeldlas 33). And rebellion is the act of

informed women who are conscious of their rights as a group, uniting to change theory about women's equality into practice fFeminarios 52). According to Kirkwood, as women become conscious of patriarchal domination and take an active role in breaking the cycles of cultural and political oppression, they will be able to project a new identity, that of person (19).

In the history of Chilean literature, only a select number of women have achieved recognition for their works.

Among the most frequently acknowledged twentieth-century writers are Gabriela Mistral, Maria Luisa Bombai, Marta

Brunet and Mercedes Valdivieso. They can be considered as pioneers in Latin American and Chilean women's writing, since their works depict women wanting to break away from the traditional expectations for "man-centered females" whose worlds are limited to husband, children and church

(Taylor in Miller and Tatum 24). They were also among the 85 first to give voice to women's sexuality in literature. As

Lucia Guerra states in reference to the novel La brecha

(1961) by Mercedes Valdivieso, "[p]or lo tanto, mientras para aquellos que se aferraban a los patrones tradicionales la novela era escandalosa, para otros, especialmente las

Hujeres, constituia un poderoso portavoz de una conciencia posible que vislumbraba la herrumbre de la institucion matrimonial, la mitificacion de la saternldad y el poder aliénante de la sociedad capitalista" (Guerra "Desentrahando" 53). The works of these women represent the beginning of the search for the genuine expression of a social and aesthetic identity not imposed by patriarchal discourse (55), the foundation upon which contemporary women authors have built for themselves.

The contemporary period of 1973-1988, a time of tremendous social upheaval and political repression in

Chile, is paradoxically also a period of significant literary activity by writers both within the country and in exile. The four women chosen for this study— Elizabeth

Subercaseaux, Diamela Eltit, Ana Vâsquez and Isabel Allende-

-present a variety of themes and styles that are indicative of the cultural contexts they represent, in accordance with the social options available to them. Their works offer a rich source for understanding the social and gender-related issues currently extant in Chile, as well as fertile ground 86 for literary analysis. Since most of these works have been published within the last ten years, and have had only limited circulation (except in Allende's case), plot summaries will be included as needed in the following chapters.

Elizabeth Subercaseaux (1945-), a well-known journalist in Chile, has written two brief novels dealing with the gam oesinos. silendra (1986) is described as a collection of short stories, but can be considered as a unified whole due to the recurrence of key characters, themes and setting.

Only seventy-eight pages in length, Silendra tells the stories of a number of campesinos who suffer in fatalistic silence as nature and a repressive government attack and destroy their way of life. In a narrative style similar to that used by Juan Rulfo, the campesinos' powerlessness is starkly highlighted by the simplicity of language and images.

In a continuation of the stories portrayed in Silendra.

Subercaseaux's second novel, El canto de la raiz leiana

(1988), focuses on the lives of one particular family and their edenic attempts to establish a town of their own, and a new way of life. Subercaseaux skilfully unravels reality by subverting time, logic, social conventions, cause-effect relationships, and reality-fantasy oppositions in order to portray an ambiguous, multi-faceted world. A mutual exclusion reigns as the campesinos are excluded from the 87 world of power, and outsiders are treated with suspicion in

Tapihue. Subercaseaux becomes a voice for the "doubly oppressed" camoesinos living in a repressive regime.

The second author, Diamela Eltit (1949-), speaks out on behalf of another "doubly oppressed" group, those associated with the hampa. the urban poor of Santiago- But in contrast to the apparently simple language and style employed by

Subercaseaux, Eltit's intense experiments with language and style virtually defy the reader to apprehend the significance of her works. The title of her first novel,

Lumpérica (1983), is a neologism that signals the beginning of a linguistic/psychological adventure that draws the reader into the chaotic world of marginalized persons living in Santiago. The story takes place in a public plaza where an unidentified woman spends the night inspite of the general curfew imposed by the government. Interspersed with stream of consciousness passages depicting the woman's erratic state of mind are unidentified interruptions of cinematographic instructions describing this scene, and a third set of scenes describing an individual being interrogated by the police. Linguistic experimentation, visual disruptions in the form of different types of print and spatial arrangements of words on the page, the inclusion of photographs of the author as part of the text, all contribute to an obvious break with traditional forms of discourse. Admittedly experimental, it is nonetheless a 88 manifestation of a personal struggle to find one's own literary voice.

In 1985 Eltit received a Guggenheim Scholarship for literature, which enabled her to devote herself more exclusively to her writing. In 1986 she published her second novel, Por la natria. Although this novel is somewhat less disruptive linguistically, the visual impact is still an important factor, as well as the focus on marginalized persons. It again deals with a group of people associated with the hampa. generally prostitutes and thieves, and in particular with the woman Coya, who has an incestuous relationship with her mother. Of Eltit's three novels, this one is the least accessible to outsiders, since it draws upon experiences, language and mind frames unique to Santiago's outcasts.

Eltit's most recent novel, El cuarto mundo (1988) is the most intense work, even though it is at the same time the shortest in length (128 pages, compared to 200 and 280 respectively). Uniquely imaginative, it begins with the conception of twins, one male and one female, and their struggle for domination and identity in the womb. The siblings' struggle is paradigmatic of the struggle of the self and the other, the establishment of sexual identity, and the traumas of separation/connectedness. The failure to achieve separation is portrayed by the male twin's conversion into a transvestite named Maria Chipia, which 89

alternates with an incestuous relationship with the female

twin. Ultimately occurs the birth of a child, which is in

turn identified as the text itself, the product of an

incestuous relationship between diamela eltit [sic] and her

"twin brother," her authorial identity.

Both Subercaseaux and Eltit write from within the

political context of contemporary Chile. In their works,

the effects of repression are strongly felt rather than

declared directly— in part because of self-censorship, but

also perhaps because it is so pervasive that it does not

need to be pointed out. Both reveal a sense of urgency,

however, to speak out on behalf of the "oppressed of the

oppressed" in ways that vividly portray the plights of these

groups.

The next two authors. Ana Vâsquez and Isabel Allende, write as Chileans, but with a wider perspective, in the

sense of being able to distance themselves geographically

and emotionally as they assess the situation. Ana Vâsquez, an ex-professor of psychology at the University of Chile, went into exile in France with her husband and family in

1973. Her first novel was published in French in 1977

(although it was originally written in Spanish), and dealt with the days immediately following the overthrow of the

Allende government in 1973. Los Bûfalos, los Jerarcas y la

Huesera is an autobiographical novel in many ways, according to Vâsquez, as she and approximately 140 others sought 90 asylum in one of the embassies before receiving safe conduct

out of the country. Two axes of opposition are developed in the novel: the conflict of the repressive regime versus those who would fight for freedom, and, more significantly, the clashes that take place within the embassy compound among the various social and political groups represented by the refugees. Vâsquez portrays many of the characters as self-centered, mercenary, disillusioned, cowardly and

lacking in any understanding of the ideology for which they are risking their lives. Thus the embassy becomes a microcosm of the country in its divisiveness and lack of unified opposition to the controlling forces. While the first half of the text centers primarily on the dynamics that occur among the male leadership in the embassy, the portrayal of the female characters, especially in the second half of the novel, provides an alternate commentary on the situation.

Vâsquez's second novel, Abel Rodriguez y sus hermanos

(1981) also presents the effects of the overthrow, this time in one particular family in an adaptation of the biblical

Cain-Abel conflict. The narrative structure of this work is much more complex than that of the first novel: three narrative views are intertwined out of sequence in a gradual revelation of the conflict between the two brothers, and its consequences for both. Initially, Abel's daughter Monserrat is attempting to avenge the death of her father, although 91 the means and the reasons for doing so are not disclosed.

Then the narrative shifts to the lives of Abel and his brother Ramon in alternating chapters, with Abel's imprisonment told by a third-person narrator, and Ramon's painful memories presented from a first-person perspective.

Gradually the source of the conflict is revealed as sibling rivalry and jealousy spurred on by Ramon's wife and son who are momios. or people sold out to the repressive regime.

Eventually Ramon betrays Abel to the secret police, but is unable to deal with Abel's sacrificial death for which he is ultimately responsible. The novel is not propagandistic in the sense of portraying the characters as totally good or evil, and leaves open the question as to whether Ramon is really a traitor or just an indirect victim of the system, as his brother was a direct one. Although the two main protagonists of the novel are male, the portrayal of the female characters, such as Monserrat, Ramon's wife Betty, and Abel's companion Carmen, is also important to consider.^

Isabel Allende (1942-) is the best known of the four among North American readership, due in part to the name she shares with the late Chilean president Salvador Allende. A career journalist and television personality in Chile, she fled to Venezuela after the overthrow of the government in

1973. She gained international attention when her first novel. La casa de los esnlritus. was published by Plaza y

Janes in Barcelona in 1982. Essentially an autobiographical 92 novel, it is also a matriarchal history of Chile up through the time of the oolpe de estado. It has been criticized as a blatant imitation of Garcia Mârguez's Cien anos de soledad. but it also offers a unique woman-centered perspective of events. Allende's second novel, De amor y de sombra (1984) continues where the first novel leaves off, by presenting

Irene, the strong heroine who risks her life to expose governmental persecution and then flees her unnamed homeland. The so-called "magical realism" that was in evidence in the first novel has been dropped from this second effort, in favor of a realism thinly veiled by the narrative mode and the romantic involvement of Irene with the photographer Francisco Leal.

The most recent novel, Eva Luna (1937) reflects the influence of Allende’s adopted homeland of Venezuela. The story of the protagonist Eva Luna takes place in a Caribbean setting, and has elements of both the picaresque novel and the BiIdungsroman or the Kunstlerroman. the development novel of the artist. This novel, like its predecessors, has been criticized as nothing more than an extended soap opera plot that sacrifices aesthetic depth for popular appeal (one critic described it as "entre la calidad y el éxito").

Indeed, the fact that all three novels have already been translated into English and published in North America would appear to attest to their "marketability." But when 93 examined according to the contexts of feminist reader- response criticism and a woman-centered theory of power, these works manifest a significance usually overlooked by androcentric critics.

Chapter III will be concerned with the examination of power relations as seen in the texts mentioned above, particularly as they are manifested in the principal characters in each of the novels. Three categories of power relations will focus (in order) on those excluded from and/or those who reject any desire for traditional power, those who exercise power through traditional means (i.e, force and domination), and those who exercise power through caring, relationship and knowledge.

Notes

1. Among the most significant recent studies in Latin American women's history are Supermadre by Elsa Chaney, on women and politics in Peru and Chile (1979); Latin American Women: Historical Perspectives by Asuncion Lavrin (1978); Sex and Class in Latin America by June Nash and Helen Safa (1976); and two books by Ann Pescatello, Female and Male in Latin America (1973), and Power and Pawn: The Female in Iberian Families. Societies and Cultures (1976). The most comprehensive critical bibliography to date, Latinas of the Americas: A Source Book, edited by K. Lynn Stoner (1989), lists some 3,000 sources in its 600+ pages on the topics of feminism, literature, urban and rural development, religion, education and others. The chapter on "Women in Latin America" by Muriel Nazzari in The Cross-Cultural Studv of Women: a Comprehensive Guide edited by Margot Duley and Mary Edwards (1986) also contains a selection of annotated entries on a variety of historical topics.

2. In addition to the works listed above, the following can also be cited as texts dealing with the concept of Latin American women and power: The Women's Movement in Latin 94

America. edited by Jane Jaquette (1989); Jean Franco's Plotting Women: Gender and Representation in Mexico (1989); Sandra McGee, Women and Politics in Twentieth-Centurv Latin America (1981); and Francine Masiello, "Discurso de mujeres, lenguaje de poder," Hispamerica (1986). 3. Lynn Stoner, in cautioning historians to avoid studying Latin American women according to North American women's experience, emphasizes that the divergence which takes place between the two movements actually began in the periods of conquest and colonization. She reminds us that while the North American frontier family depended on both men and women to share hardships in the settlement of the land, the South American experience was defined by urban setttlement, scarcity of European women and extractive economy, all of which "carefully defined the gender spheres for the white population by keeping white women away from the violence of conquest and settlement" (Stoner "Directions" 120). She also reiterates the significance of racial and class differences among Latin American women themselves. As she explains, "the racial and class barriers originating in the conquest have divided women ever since. Consequently, any study of Latin American women must carefully define the class and ethnicity of each group it examines because a standard image of Latin American women does not exist" (120).

4. Rosario Castellanos has written a number of essays on the concept of language and women's writing that show the influence of the French feminists. Celia Correas de Zapata can also be cited as an exeimple, with her concept of "libertad ontolôgica." However, the majority of women writers who have written about the subject seem to be influenced primarily by Virginia Woolf and Simone de Beauvoir; the contemporary French critics such as Cixous and others who hold to a view of 1 ' écriture féminine have yet to gain significant acceptance by the Latin American writers.

5. For example, Elsa Chaney refers to Isabel Le-Brun de Pinochet and Isabel Tarrago as two precursors of the women's movement, both of whom opened a private high school for girls in the 1870s. As a result of their influence, the minister of education decided to grant women the right to take university entrance exams. "The University of Chile was the first in the Americas to open its doors to women, and ten years later, in 1887, the first two female graduates, Ernestine. Pérez and Eloisa Diaz, received their degrees as medical doctors (in gynecology and pediatrics), followed in 1892 by [two graduates] in law." As Chaney points out, from that time, at least legally, all professions have been open to Chilean women (56). 95

6. Chaney also documents the important work done by Amanda Labarca Hubertson as a pioneer in the suffrage movement and a leader in women's education in Chile. Among her accomplishments, in 1922 she was the first woman appointed as a regular professor of the University of Chile, and later she served in the Ministry of Education. She also wrote widely on pedagogy and authored several textbooks (57). 7. Vâsquez's third novel, Sebasto's Angels (1985) reflects the adaptation to a new environment. Again published in French, it was co-authored in Spanish by Vâsquez and her son Cacho. This novel illustrates the struggles faced by exiled Chileans living in Paris, particularly the difficulties encountered by young people who are less interested in maintaining ties with their original homeland than are their parents. CHAPTER III

Power and the Literary Text

Analysis of the link between power and the literary text is the third logical preliminary step before engaging in the examination of the texts themselves. In an article published in Signs in 1975, Barbara Bellow Watson explores the relationship between power and the literary text, emphasizing the value of literature to deal particularly with the concept of women and power:

When we turn from the political statements about power to the literary works that may bear upon them, we turn from the abstract to the imagined specific, and not just to specific characters in specific circumstances but to the deeper specification of meanings through language, imagery and structure. (112)

Also important for Watson is the need to observe women in literature as acting and perceiving, not only as acted upon and perceived; "... women as agents . . . as agonists though not always protagonists" (115). While this may be true enough, Watson's attitude reflects a failure to acknowledge the possibility of empowered female writers or characters (one of her primary examples is Kate Chopin's

96 97 self-destructive Edna Pontellier in The Awakening) . Thus in her conclusion she can only hope that;

[i]f women cultivate through literature and through introspection their dearly bought insights into the abuse of power, its subtleties as well as its horrors, it may be possible to make some progress toward detaching the ego from power and experimenting with more humane and liberating uses of power. (118)

In a larger sense, Watson addresses a critical problem which many other feminist critics have examined over the last two decades: the question of authority for the marginalized writer. Muriel Schulz's chapter in Language and Power (Kramarae, Schulz and O'Barr) poses the question from the standpoint of the North American minority writer and the two-edged dilemma he or she faces:

If the writer's voice lacks authenticity, readers will dismiss the work as failing to express universal experience. If it lacks authority, readers will dismiss it as trivial or peripheral. (206)

Schulz goes on to say that developing an authentic voice is difficult for minority writers because their experience has perennially been interpreted for them by others (207), causing them to associate the authentic literary voice with the white dominant male. Their own experiences are perceived as deviant, "other," potentially threatening to 98

the established order, or unacceptable for a number of other

reasons. As long as the Anglo-American literary

establishment continues to be controlled by white males,

black and women writers have limited options: they can

acknowledge defeat and renounce the attempt to form an

independent tradition, "pass" into the dominant tradition,

or continue to write out of their own experience and endure

separation and limited audience contact (215). Schulz

concludes with a pessimistic view of the future of minority

writing:

Minority literature continues to occupy a place outside of the mainstream. Its writers may name their literary output "authoritative" and "authentic," but if mainstream readers refuse to accept it as such, their attempt at naming misfires. Members of the dominated class have succeeded in writing their own, authentic voices, but we may yet need to find a way to confer authority upon these voices- (216)

Thus, the establishment of the subjectivity of the marginalized writer (the authorial "I" in the sense of writing from personal experience and with recognized

significance) , and the acknowledgement of the validity of his or her discourse form the two central struggles of

contemporary literature.

In the context of Latin American literature, women writers have had to confront issues of authenticity and

authority much in the same way that minority writers in the 99

United States have. In the past, female characters were almost always portrayed by male authors as stereotypical objects included largely for their ornamental value ("landscape" according to one Mexican critic) (Welles in B.

Miller 280), and women writers were generally dismissed as inferior by readers and critics alike. The first step in the process of establishing literary "independence" evolved with the characterization of women by female authors; such characterization is generally "more convincing" precisely because the characters can no longer be readily identified as types (280). Marcia Welles' analysis of five novels by earlier generations of Latin American women authors (Bombai,

Serrana, Bullrich and Lynch) indicates a break from stereotyping through the pervading theme of alienation of woman from the traditional role of wife and mother (281). A sense of incongruity between the protagonist's expectations and perceptions of reality produces a sense of "dis-ease." and alienation— in short, of female powerlessness (282).

Linking this notion to Sartre's concept of alienation as the

"subject's awareness of his own objectivity in the presence of another", and to Beauvoir's definition of woman as

"other" and "object," Welles highlights the first painful steps of self-awareness experienced by these characters and their authors in the vital process of establishing identity and rejecting patriarchal domination (both culturally and literarily) (284). 100

The current status of female writing in Latin America as described by Sharon Keefe Ugalde, is marked by a cycle of

"subversiveness-destruction-deconstruction followed by reconstruction-creation” (224). The destruction of oppressive stereotypes, begun by female writers of earlier generations, now "leaves women the space to discover their

identity and to transform and create images that inscribe their unique experience and essence" (224). And as Eliana

Ortega and Nancy Saporta Sternbach point out, language and

images are key factors in the construction of subjectivity, the consideration of oneself as a speaking subject (in

Horno-Delgado, et. al. 14). Referring once again to Ugalde,

"the deconstruction-reconstruction process is . . . paramount in renovating the language and discourse needed to

formulate female identity" (226). Some of the techniques that she identifies in contemporary Latin American female writing will be enumerated in later chapters, as they manifest themselves in the texts involved in this study.

The concept of power, of empowered and powerless

individuals, is one of those themes that needs to be re­ considered, particularly in texts by women. The conventional notion of power as a commodity to be exercised over others is a narrow, specialized use of the term in comparison with the view of power as knowledge and relationship revealed in expressions of responsibility and caring. Of the three categories of characters previously 101 outlined, one extreme would be represented by those characters who manifest their own rejection of all exercise of power, whether for personal advancement or for the benefit of others. Also represented are those individuals who are excluded from traditional power, because of their own marginalized socio-economic status in society or because of societal conventions, and because they yet lack an awareness of alternate forms of power. The second category is comprised of people who wield traditional authoritarian power, and the third, those who choose to use their capacity to care, their knowledge and relationships for the good of others. Such individuals are themselves "empowered" because of the impact they can have on others, and because of the power they also impart to others, enabling them to achieve their potential as well.

Analysis of the primary characters portrayed in the novels by Subercaseaux, Eltit, Vâsquez and Allende reveals characters all across the power continuum. There does seem to be a pattern, however, of gradually moving toward balance, in that Subercaseaux's characters are essentially overwhelmed by a sense of powerlessness in the face of invisible, unanswering authority; Eltit's characters are involved in the process of destroying conventional power relations and resistance to traditional authority;

Vâsquez's characters are caught in power struggles as those excluded from traditional power attempt to acquire power 102 through traditional means; and Allende's characters seek to achieve power through alternate means, emphasizing knowledge and relationship. These categorizations are, of course, generalizations; possible explanations for such a pattern will be considered in the conclusion of this chapter.

In the novels considered, the majority of the characters in the category of powerless individuals come from the ranks of the campesinos. the marginalized urban poor, and persons trapped in traditional societal roles. As has been mentioned, these types of characters predominate in the works by Subercaseaux and Eltit, although they are also represented in the works by Vâsquez and Allende. Although the prevailing direction of this study is to highlight those empowered female characters present in the texts, both male and female characters can be identified for each category.

The tiny fictional village of Tapihue is the setting for the action in both of Subercaseaux's works, Silendra and

El canto de la ralz leiana. The simple country folk who inhabit this village represent perhaps one of the most oppressed segments of an oppressed society. They are the victims of external forces— seen and unseen, natural and man-made— to which they can only respond in passive resignation, attempts to escape, or death. In general, they are silent beings who live without understanding or questioning the factors that impinge upon their world, and 103

lack the bonding relationships necessary for strength and

resistance.

Silendra is composed of a series of thirteen portraits

or episodes depicting the town of Tapihue and eleven of its

inhabitants: six females, four males (two chapters deal with the same boy who is known by two different names) and

one ox (supposedly the reincarnation of a male relative of

one of the characters). The oppressiveness of life is seen

in the fact that of these eleven characters, six die, four

experience the death of immediate family members, one goes

insane, and only the priest, don Francisco, maintains his

identity and the capacity to care for others. The natural external forces at work in the story include a devastating

flood, an earthquake and a volcanic eruption.

Significantly, the holders of traditional power never appear directly in the story even though their impact is felt: the patron, whose granddaughter takes away the dress Enedina is making for her own daughter Francisca; and the ominous

Captain, whose soldiers— with or without his instructions— raid the area, carry off husbands and fathers in a military helicopter, and drop most of them to their death into the mouth of a volcano.

Reflective of Belenky's scheme of the levels of knowing

(see Chapter I, 32-34), the majority of the inhabitants are characterized by silence, possessing no knowledge of their own, fearing words as weapons to be used against them, and 104 perceiving authority figures as stark, brutal and wordless, silendra, the name of one of the female characters, as well as the title of the book, suggests a life absorbed by silence. The first character presented, Enedina, illustrates the silence produced by powerlessness. Lacking even the power of conventional knowledge provided by literacy skills, she speaks very little. When she does speak, her short phrases do not appear to the listener to have any relevance, although they may actually reveal a deeper estado vital;

"Estoy cansada de infinites," or "Hoy es jueves también, como ayer."

The key relationships in Enedina's life are also indicative of deeper, unspoken problems. Enedina is likened to the roots of a tree whose branches are her children, connoting a virtually non-sentient level of existence. The analogy continues in that as the branches of a tree do not stoop to speak to the roots, Enedina's five children never speak to her or call her "mamâ." Neither does she address them by name, and the only time she kisses them is just before she goes to the woods to hang herself (14).

The cause of her despair is not immediately evident although the signs indicate that, rather than this being a normal way of life for Enedina, some profound disruption has occurred. Her listlessness and apathy, her paleness and her indifference towards her family and her home, all testify to 105 a "dis-ease" which afflicts Enedina and finally provokes her suicide. Even the silence of her children, slinking through the hallway like cats, reflects Enedina's depressed state of mind. Only later, when Adela tells her story of the massacre, does the reader learn the cause of Enedina's grief; her husband Vitoco was one of the men carried off in the helicopter, never to be seen again, leaving Enedina alone, pregnant, with four children to care for (24). With the sense of powerlessness so overwhelming (the lack of knowing how to survive, the lack of words to express her grief and anger, the impossibility to fight back against an invisible enemy, and the devastation of broken relationships), Enedina finally gives in to the weariness, the pain, and the desire to die.

The story of Juana (27-29) also serves as an illustration of pervasive silence and powerlessness. An old woman stumbles into town, evidently a beggar or perhaps a witch, given her gaunt physical features and her ragged clothes. The only ones who notice her are the child Raûl, watching from a window, and a stray dog, who begins to lick her ankles. Raul thinks she might be someone's grandmother, but sees no children with her; Raul's mother is too busy to even notice, as she tries to chase down a hen for the evening meal. The old woman does not speak, but responds to the dog's attention with a feeble smile and with tears.

Suddenly, she drops dead in the middle of the street, a 106

tragic picture of total destitution. Soon everyone runs out

to see what has happened, and the reactions of the

bystanders are just as poignant. They decide they should

notify the relatives, but no one knows who she is, or can

identify where she is from by the clues they observe in her

appearance. Finally, Raul's father, Gilberto, declares that her name must be "Juan" because all those who have no name

are called "Juan"— the conventional, convenient answer given

by authorities when faced with an unidentified body. The

child Raul points out that the deceased was a woman, so the priest changes the name to the feminine form "Juana," as if no further explanations were required, or as if that were all the "truth" they needed to know. Only Raul and the dog have any concern for the woman as a human being.

Two illustrations of the fear of the written word are

seen in the situations of Antonia and silendra. Antonia appears in the chapter "Florin" (37-42), and even though the narrative is centered on the little runaway boy Florin (who

is actually Vitoco, the son of Vitoco and Enedina), it is told largely from the perspective of Antonia, the woman who takes him in. Since Antonia and her husband Abel have no means to keep the boy, she decides to write a letter to the priest in Sauzal, since he is known for taking in abandoned children. When months go by without any response from the priest, Abel insists that Antonia take Florin to Sauzal herself. When they arrive and talk to the priest, he 107 recognizes Antonia as the sender of the letter and admits that he received the letter. But he says that he did not open it or read it because there is no longer any place for children in Sauzal. The only recourse for Antonia and

Florin is to return home. Thus Antonia's attempt to use the written word to bring about good on behalf of another is rendered powerless by religious authority, and actually produces more harm than good, as Florin suffers yet another rejection.

Silendra also suffers the anguish of betrayal by the written word (65-73). When her husband Juvenal disappears, she goes insane and locks herself in her house with her two daughters. Gradually they begin to starve to death, and

Silendra emerges only when she discovers that both daughters have indeed died from starvation and illness. She then goes to the priest to confess, and blames her madness on a piece of paper which she shows to him. On it are written the vows of faithfulness which Juvenal and she had made to each other when they married; included in the promise is the pledge that the surviving partner will honor the grave of the dead spouse by scattering earth on the coffin. But as long as

Silendra does not know where (or if) her husband is buried, she is prevented from completing her vow and bringing peace to Juvenal's body and soul. The incompletion of the vow is so torturous for her that she cannot bear to go on; the 108 priest's words are ineffective as he tries to console her.

She collapses and expires at his feet, silent and tearful.

It can also be observed that the introduction to the story reveals a conspiracy of silence among the various types of printed materials mentioned— the genealogical records that are washed away in the flood, leaving half the population without "official" existence; and the maps and the newspapers that further deny the existence of Tapihue itself and the troubles that have occurred there.

The authority figures that hover like a malevolent shadow over the town are faceless, nameless, and unresponsive to the crimes committed against the inhabitants of Tapihue. Only two people in the village dare to speak out against the crime. Adela, an old woman who heard about the massacre from her son, speaks from the corner in the kitchen where she has existed, unnoticed, for years.

Ironically, her voice is not heard until after she dies— the brief silence of death is broken by her declaration against the crime committed by the soldiers of the Captain. Her family listens, immobile, unable to comprehend or respond.

Adela's son Cochate, who witnessed the massacre and survived, has suffered a mental breakdown as a result. Now he speaks incessantly of the event, but of course his claims are discredited by those in authority (the patron and the doctors). His questions regarding the whereabouts of his 109 friends and relatives, as well as his appeals for help to the Virgin of the Air, are answered with silence.

Subercaseaux's second book, El canto de la raiz leiana, can be described as a variation on the theme presented in the first book. Some of the same names reappear, although the characters have changed, and the makeup of the town

Tapihue is different also. The sense of oppression is less overwhelming, in part because of the "canto" sung by the priest and several of the inhabitants, representing perhaps the belief in a better— although elusive— world. And although the natural disasters are less imminent, the man- made "forces of evil" manage to penetrate more directly into the world of Tapihue, as evidenced by the disappearance and death of two inhabitants.

The plot revolves around the desire of the protagonist, a campesino named Salustio, to establish a new town

(Tapihue) where children can play freely in the streets and the neighbors' chickens are free to roam back and forth in everyone's patios (9). Salustio conceives of this town in a dream, and sets out to find the place where he can build it, complete with houses, a church, and a priest with "ojos infinites" (10). His wife Clarisa points out to him that towns are not just invented, but that they are born of history ("Estan en los libros desde siempre," 10). But

Salustio sets out, finds a suitable place, and returns to take Clarisa with him to establish the town of his dreams. 110

In some ways he is reminiscent of the ancient patriarch

Abraham, called out of his homeland to establish a new race in a promised land never seen before.

The silence of silendra still prevails for some of the characters in Canto; for example, Salustio and Clarisa travel in the silence of the mountains, the sky and the clouds that envelop them, in addition to their own personal silence. Their neighbor Enedina speaks very little, and her children are labeled as "mute;" Filuca, the priest's companion-housekeeper, is literally a deaf-mute (ironically, the perfect audience for don Francisco's stories.) But at least Salustio and Clarisa are involved in dialogue with each other, and with some of the other inhabitants of

Tapihue. They ask each other questions, and frequently argue, all for the sake of trying to understand each other and their circumstances.

Nevertheless, Salustio is essentially a powerless figure, even inspite of being the "creator" of Tapihue. He seems to live in a dream world, and is unable to distinguish what is real from what is imaginary. Clarisa blames his condition on listening too much to the priest's crazy notions, and warns him to change:

— No digo que estes dormido. Digo que despiertes de una vez y te des cuenta de que a este pueblo que no es pueblo llega cualquiera diciendo que es cura o que es dentista, y tû vas y le créés. (49) Ill

Gradually, the town he has established begins to desintegrate as people disappear or move away. Salustio and

Clarisa's son José goes to another town to get a job and find a wife, and is not heard from again (62). After finding all six of their children dead for mysterious reasons, Vitoco and Enedina decide to move to a mountain far away where no one will know them (89-92). Don Francisco's twin brother Baudilio and his city-girl companion Ruth

Chandia are expelled from the town for inappropriate behavior in public (88). When Salustio finds José's son

Gilberto and learns that José and his wife both disappeared one night (" . . . se lo llevaron una noche. Y a mi mamâ también," says Gilberto, 75) he is overcome by hatred, and turns his anger against God (75-76). Some time later, when

José's body returns to town, carried in an ox-drawn cart,

Salustio is overcome with grief, and wants to believe that his life has been all a painful dream (80-82). Eventually, even Salustio and Clarisa abandon Tapihue, and move back to their old home (93). Don Francisco verbalizes the hopelessness that they all feel:

"Todo esté lejos . . . También los primeros dias de Tapihue y el huracân de malas bestias que de jo esta tierra oscura, y los hombres sin ser hombres y las mujeres recorriendo los caminos con la mirada perdida, y los ninos escondidos. El miedo entré por las rendijas y se apoderô de todos, hasta de los animales y los pinos y el estero." (99) 112

In many ways, nevertheless, Clarisa is a woman determined to rise above her circumstances by her own strength of will. After the initial sadness and feelings of emptiness ("ausencia”) produced by the move to Tapihue,

Clarisa abruptly decides to make the town her home, and goes to work (18-19). She is outspoken on behalf of her friend

Enedina when another priest refuses to baptize her children

(31-33), and is constantly challenging don Francisco's legitimacy as a priest because his behavior does not conform to what she has been taught to believe by the Church (49).

Clarisa tries to maintain the community's morality by insisting that Baudilio and Ruth Chandia leave, and by questioning the propriety of allowing Filuca to live in don

Francisco's house (52, 88). Most significantly, she takes it upon herself to go out and to search for her missing son, while Salustio stays home. Her determination to find José

("Voy a recorrer todos los caminos de la tierra hasta encontrarlos. La tierra no se traga a los hijos de nadie, ni a sus mujeres") is met by fearful and evasive replies

("Las gentes hablan poco y los ninos andan asustados" (64-

65).

As in the case of Adela in Silendra. it is only after

Clarisa dies that she attains the freedom to speak out and to continue her search from the spirit world (95). After 113

She'S gone, the house seems weighed down with silence, and

Salustio and don Francisco mourn in silence (104) .

Initially, when Salustio had first met the priest, Francisco was talking aloud to himself about the nature of the dead, that is, that they don't really know they are dead, but

continue to maintain contact with the world of the living, blurring the boundaries between life and death. Salustio's response to this was to think that Francisco was crazy, but

in the end this is exactly the situation in which Clarisa

continues to exist— suspended between life and death (95-

97). In the end, Clarisa, Salustio and don Francisco all try to escape the present misery by choosing to go away, disappearing enigmatically. For all three the search for wholeness goes on: Clarisa's search for her son, Salustio's

search for a place to call his own (14-15), and Francisco's

search for the companionship he had with Filuca (94). Thus the "canto de la raiz lejana" comes to represent that world where connectedness or a feeling of belonging is an

essential part of what it means to be fully human.

With these two brief novels, Elizabeth Subercaseaux

enters the silent world of the suffering campesinos and

gives voice and substance to their struggle. She portrays

individuals who are barely able to survive the tragedies of

life that assault them. Their lack of understanding about

themselves and their world, as well as the absence of any

lasting networks of caring and responsibility, leave them 114 utterly confused and isolated. In both situations, the only remaining hope is found in uncertain supernatural intervention (the Virgin of the Air, the song of the faraway source, life after death), since all present earthly powers seem to oppose the camnesinos.

While the overwhelming attitude in Subercaseaux's works expresses a sense of powerlessness, futility, and a desire to escape through death, Eltit's characters are involved in an aggressive resistance to institutionalized power.

Eltit's characters come primarily from the urban poor of

Santiago, from the hampa. a culture existing at the margins of traditional society. In each of Eltit's three novels,

Lumpérica. Por la patria. and El cuarto mundo. the protagonists are engaged in a process of negation against socially-prescribed lifestyles and limitations, as well as in resisting the unseen oppression of military rule. The result of the struggle for each is bare survival, but even that represents a type of triumph over totalizing power structures. As Julieta Kirkwood has declared in her writings on Chilean feminism, "La praxis polltica de las mujeres en tanto proceso y proyecto debiera ser el acto de neaacion permanente de aquello que se interpone a su liberaciôn; negaciôn de los mécanismes que reproducen su alienaciôn y, al mismo tiempo, negaciôn de todo aquello que constituyô el origen o genesis de la subordinaciôn genérica de la mujer" (Kirkwood Ser polltica 192, original emphasis). 115

According to Kirkwood, the use of force and violence is justified in combatting the force and violence by which women have been enslaved throughout history (193).

Consequently, before women can achieve a position of equality and freedom within society, they must destroy all those barriers which have held them back for so long (176-

177) . In many ways, Eltit's characters embody the types of radical actions that Kirkwood would support as legitimate means to resist authoritarian/patriarchal powerJ

Lumpérica. while admittedly an experimental novel, is none the less significant in its utilization of language, content and visual effects to deconstruct traditional narrative and traditional societal norms. The protagonist,

L Iluminada, is a street person who spends the night in a public plaza despite the government's strictly imposed dusk- to-dawn curfew. It seems she is accompanied by the lumperlo. a group of street persons like herself, although the last chapter describes her as spending the night in the plaza alone. From the casual spectator's point of view, L

Iluminada's appearance and actions are disconcerting, if not entirely alienating: her drab gray, ragged clothes; her shaved head; and her tendency to engage in self-destructive behavior, such as banging her head against a tree or the sidewalk, and placing her hand in a bonfire. She seems to live on a primeval level, animalistic in behavior, incapable 116 of verbal communication other than cries and incoherent noises. She has no relationships— her existence is bound by the plaza, and she even lives outside the circle of the lumperio. The only sympathetic gesture indicated in the narrative occurs when a man casually walking through the plaza reaches out to catch her as she stumbles— but this act is recast as suspicious behavior, as the man is interrogated and accused of "ruining the scene".

The only way to attribute any freedom or power to L

Iluminada is to effect an inversion of the scene, producing a photographic negative of the situation, thus exposing the unseen margins of power. For example, the people who inhabit the plaza control it as their world; they remain there in defiance of the government's orders, and display normally private actions in public, in defiance of the accepted social code. This inversion is praised by (one of) the narrator(s): ". . .de miserable en sublime la plaza.

Alucinada es. Porque la plaza produce desvarios" (13).

Other inversions are connected to L Iluminada's identity and existence. Her name is actually the identification literally imposed on her body by a flashing neon sign that looks down on and dominates the plaza. Her real identity is derived from another source, however: "Asi se reconoce en su propia imagen, la que se reflecta sobre el piso cuando el luminoso deja caer un nuevo haz da luz" (16)-

-that is, the shadow her body creates on the sidewalk when 117 the sign flashes. Other inversions include turning pain into pleasure ("si el dolor existe es obvio que su estado conduce al éxtasis" 15), and experiencing the scream before the wound (". • . no es la herida la que causa el grito, sino exactamente a la inversa; para herirse era precise el grito . . . " 19). The climax of this train of thought is seen as L Iluminada places her hand in the bonfire until it is severely burned, in order to rob the lumperio of the opportunity to hold power over her:

Porque en todo lo que resta de la noche no se acercarâ a esos. Su noche de gloria que de la desesperanza la impulsa a esta felicidad, a la extendida sobre el cemento frlo de la plaza. Ya no es sôlo ella, sino el robo que ha hecho de los otros. Y asi la quemada le darâ nueva cicatriz que le forjarâ el cuerpo a voluntad. (30)

Ail of these apparently self-destructive acts are intended to communicate defiance ("Falseada por imâgenes reniega del estratificado rollo que insiste en una forma de direcciôn," 162). But the counter-power she manifests is not effectively understood by the others. At one point she pretends to write on the sidewalk, and then acquires a piece of chalk and begins to write "donde vas" in large letters.

She is pleased with what she has written, but when the lumperio comes by to see her work, they begin to walk all over it until finally they completely cover it with their feet, perceiving the words as signs of aggression. They 118 drag their feet back and forth across the sidewalk until the words are erased. She tries again to write on the sidewalk, but after sensing the disapproving stares of the lumperio. she meekly erases the message herself (103-105). Thus all forms of rational communication are excluded.

After the seeming chaos presented in the first nine chapters of the novel (interspersed as they are with unexplained, unidentified scenes of an interrogation of a man who at one point apparently had been walking through the plaza, and also as well as by a series of "metatextua1" commentaries that seem to imply that the whole situation is being filmed) , the last chapter is written in a conventional narrative style without any of the experimental techniques previously included. The third-person observer-narrator describes a woman (L Iluminada) sitting alone on a park bench, without the wild behavior, the wounds, the burned hand, and without the lumperio. The street lights and the neon signs shine uselessly in the dark, since there is no one to see them except her. She is spellbound by the rhythmic flashing of the sign, and watches as it imposes its message on her and everything around her. Her sole act of defiance is to pull out a pair of scissors and cut off all of her hair, until her bare scalp is seen (194-195).

Perhaps a symbolic gesture of self-exposure, or the indication of the willingness to risk herself in order to gain freedom from the conforming power of society, she 119 simply remains on the park bench in silence as the next day dawns and people begin to return to their normal activities.

Her existence, her survival, her defiance go unnoticed by the rest of society. Yet now the inversion is complete, because the "normal" elements of society now seem to represent an inversion, compared to the "normal" nocturnal world of L Iluminada.

In Lumpérica the empowered reader is struck by a strong sense of alienation as the resistance to authoritarian power is expressed through negation. L Iluminada's struggle for identity and autonomy takes on the profile of inner turmoil as a means to defy the regimentation imposed by powers that are as pervasive and as unseen as light. Unfortunately, it seems that L Iluminada has only a subconscious awareness of her situation and is unable to articulate the reason for her resistance.

Por la patria is similar to the first book in that it too deals with the urban poor, the hampa. and features a marginalized female protagonist. While this novel is less experimental in composition than the first one, the particular use of language and visual effects is still an important ingredient. The central figure of the story,

Coa/Coya, manages to surpass L Iluminada in resisting the establishment, however. Coya works in a bar owned by her parents, and is involved in a number of disreputable activities such as gambling, prostitution, and even engaging 120 in sexual activity with both of her parents. Military raids in this section of town occur frequently; on one particular night Coya's father is killed, her mother disappears, and she and three companions are taken prisoner. The plot centers on the description, then, of how they survive past difficulties as well as present tortures, to eventually regain their freedom and former occupations.

In contrast to L Iluminada, Coya is conscious of the irregularities of the situation with her parents and can even articulate it, but there is little she can do about it.

Her situation also represents a negation, an inversion of the normal parent-child relationship: instead of the parents providing strength and comfort for their daughter, they demand such from Coya, in parasitic fashion. At one point she dreams of a completely different life— she imagines herself as a blonde, with a different set of parents, living in another neighborhood, and enjoying a legitimate marriage (98). But it is only an elusive desire:

VOLVI Prodiga y humilde regresé en mi mente: despacito las pisadas por el barrio y encantada con el barro salude como siempre a mis vecinas, en toda la cuadra me resigné. (99)

And ultimately she must face the reality of losing both parents, although the separation from her mother is more difficult to endure, as evidenced in the frequently-repeated 121

phrase, "no veo a mi mamâ." By implication, the uncertainty

regarding the mother's disappearance and whereabouts places

her among the ranks of the desaparecidos. Whether she chose

to run off with a blue-eyed stranger (Juan's version), or whether that stranger was actually a plain-clothed soldier who took her captive (Coya's version) is left in doubt. At

any rate, the sudden separation of mother and daughter is

devastating to Coya. Besides the struggle against government persecution at the hand of her torturers, Coya also struggles to establish

an identity for herself. She oscillates between two names

and two gender identities: "Coya," the title of the ancient

Incan princesses, and "coa," the name for the slang used by

some delinquents in Chile. The theme of androgyny (treated more at length in the following chapters) emerges in this text as Coya tries to decide with which sex she will

identify. She reaches her decision in the climax of the narration when her heterosexual lover Juan reveals that he was the soldier responsible for the raid in her neighborhood and the death of her father because he was jealous of Coya's relationship with her parents:

Lo miro asombrada [. . .] El ha sido, va a seguir siendo mi contramemoria- La rabia me impulsa a revolcarme sobre el agua del piso y me empapo. Tan mojada, traspasada de agua, retorno a la androginia. (272-273) 122

While still Juan’s prisoner, Coya's outrage becomes her strength as she defies Juan's schemes and vows to be victorious over him. Her condemnation is terse and irrevocable;

Erraste [. . .] Cuando ascienda en Coa, saldré a la ûltima arremetida y al clandestine mando [. . .] Entregarâs tu brazalete y me seguirâs por las calles como un desamparado y yo tendre que protegerte del compacte juicio que te vendrâ [. . .] Vagarâs por las calles, llorando. (274)

Another key element that sustains Coya and her friends during their imprisonment and torture is found in Coya's efforts to record the experience in manuscript form, obstensibly to pass the time, but also to testify against the wrongs they see:

Sentada al borde de la cama voy ordenando cada uno de los parlamentos, para darles voz, preparando para ellas una actividad, otra oportunidad sobre el vaclo del lugar abarrotado saturado de camas y de planidos inutiles y reiterados.

Escribo desatada, desligada de todo otro menester y el hambre. (194)

She senses the import of her actions, and sees beyond her own personal suffering, to the collective suffering of all oppressed women and men:

Hablo siempre de las cosas nuevas de la infancia, del estilo asombrosamente decadente de la patria. 123

[. . .] Las mujeres van a estar felices. Las mujeres estas van a delirar de gusto, le rebâti. Va a ser todo una gran copia, un sustituto, una toma colectiva del habla. (199)

In the end, Coya and her friends are released and sent back to their neighborhood, "veinte coas de raza coya" (277) who have gained a plurivocal power: "Se levanta el coa, el lunfardo, el giria, el pachuco, el calo, caliche, slang, calao, replana. El argot se dispara y yo" (278). As Coya and her friends resume their former lifestyle, they sense a new confidence sprung from their triumph over adversity and adversaries. Eltit's third novel, El cuarto mundo. is the shortest but also the most intense of her works. Within the confines of one family's experience, this novel lays bare multiple power struggles as they exist in dynamic patterns of change.

The protagonists are fraternal twins, a brother and sister in conflict from the moment of conception. The first half of the book is narrated by the brother ("Serâ irrevocable la derrota"), and the second half by the sister ("Tengo la mano terriblemente agarrotada").

The plot develops chronologically, from the twins' conception, through gestation, birth, childhood and adolescence. Almost all of the relationships in the family are profoundly destructive and "dysfunctional." The father is domineering and belligerent toward his wife, and 124 emotionally detached from the twins. When the third child,

Maria de Alava, is born, he displays a clear preference for her because of her physical and emotional similarities to him (38-39). The mother is passive toward her husband, obsessed with the care of the twins, and given to self- abnegating activities that she actually detests, such as working with disfigured blind children and invalids (16-17).

She also shows a clear preference for her son when he becomes ill and the daughter is "banished" to the other end of the house (28-29). All of the struggles result from the futile attempts of each person to establish an identity at the expense of another family member. Instead of bonding together in nurturing, caring relationships, there is nothing but fragmentation and mutual destruction

("autofagia" is used to describe the pregnancy [21], but there also exists "antrofagia" as each one consumes the life of the other).

In the climax of the first section, the turmoil of all the family tensions produces the inevitable implosion. The father discovers that his wife is having an affair with another man, and even though the father had carried on an affair on the side (27), the wife's attempt to break away from her husband's domination is unpardonable. The father's response is swift and absolute: after possessing her in full view of her lover, he takes her home, and the entire family withdraws from society in complete, literal enclosure 125 within the confines of their home (75-79). All of this only serves to intensify the turmoil:

En ese tiempo atroz e inaugural la familia se permitio todos los excesos salvo la penumbra . Mantuvimos vigentes neones, candelas, fluorescentes, para espantar la oscuridad que podia arrastrarnos a prâcticas solitarias censuradas por el orden. (79)

Each family member retreats to his or her own private world, with the abrogation of identity and rational communication:

Permanecimos frecuentemente ovillados y apoyados en los muros para evadir una définitiva masacre mental. Sentiamos que la dimension del delito se habia acentuado hasta formar una gruesa capa intangible que nos volvia cada vez mâs inestables. Casi no cruzâbamos palabras, saturados por el sonido metâlico de la voz de mi padre, quien no cesaba de fustigar a su orgullo. (79)

This oppression results in madness, especially for the twin brother who becomes a transvestite and calls himself by his sister's name, Maria Chipia. He is never able to escape the domination of his parents or sisters, and the outside world only brings more sinister harm. So now his identity merges with that of his twin sister, and she becomes the narrator of the second half of the story. Then, lost in meaningless rituals and the tedium of a form of internal self-exile, the various family members merely continue their existence, and wait for the birth of the child engendered by 126 the twins in incestuous relationship- Alienation from family and society is absolute, and the powerlessness of each individual to survive alone is complete.

All of the characters in Eltit's novels exist at the margins of acceptable society. In a manner even more intense than Subercaseaux's, Eltit enters and lives the world of the hampa and transposes it to the written page.

The individuals she portrays are not really interested in wielding power for its own sake, as much as they are desirous of gaining autonomy and the chance to live as they wish. The plaza, the bar, and the house all become battlegrounds in the struggle for self-preservation. Power is associated with oppression and is therefore rejected, but without being replaced by an adequate substitute. Thus, L

Iluminada, Coya, and "Maria Chipia" all continue in marginalization, just as the detainee in Lumpérica describes the beggars in the plaza; "Donde ellos estân se produce un vaclo" (38).

The historical events that have shaped Chile in the last forty years clearly provide the backdrop for the novels by Ana Vâsguez. While Subercaseaux and Eltit allude vaguely to recent events, Vâsguez uses her perspective gained from the psychological and geographical distance of exile to come to terms with the causes and effects of the golpe de estado.

Through the struggles of her characters, she explores the fundamental questions emanating from events of the 1970s: 127 loyalty, patriotism, freedom, justice, and a sense of identity are all recurring themes in her works. While almost all of her characters seem to be victims of powers beyond their control, some choose to resist those forces and maintain personal integrity, while others resign themselves to submit passively to those forces.

Vasquez's first novel, Los Bùfalos. los Jerarcas y la

Huesera (BJH), portrays the situation of a group of refugees seeking political asylum in one of the foreign embassies in

Santiago in the months immediately following the military takeover of the Allende government. As safe conduct passages become more difficult to obtain, the number of refugees in this unidentified embassy climbs from seventy to over one hundred fifty during the course of the narration.

In the beginning, most of the exiles are political refugees-

-former members of Allende's administration or leaders in the liberal parties. But as time goes by, many people who come into the embassy do not appear on the government's list of enemies, but are merely seeking free passage to another country in order to escape economic hardships. Almost immediately a socio-political hierarchy establishes itself in the embassy. The "Jerarcas" are the middle- and upper- class elite who enjoyed a number of privileges during the

Allende years, and who now occupy the most comfortable first-floor rooms in the embassy (23). The "Bûfalos" are the working class, "grass roots" supporters of the Popular 128

Unity (UP) party. They are hard-working, and maintain order in the embassy; they occupy the second floor, and sleep on rugs on the floor (83). The third group, the "Huesera,” represents the offscouring of society (literally, "la escoria," 29), and is comprised of lower-class, uncultured

("cursi") political opportunists or extremists who have no cause but their own self-gratification and preservation.

Their quarters are the least comfortable and the most crowded. While the novel is written from various perspectives, with many of the characters telling their own stories, several of the characters provide a more insightful view of the situation through their impressions and reflections upon their state. Pancho and Nelly represent the idealistic working-class union leaders, faithful to the UP cause. But as they see the self-centered behavior of the people around them, they begin to wonder how the UP lasted even three years in office (53-54). José and Ghislaine represent the upper-class elite who disdain all the rest, and are unconcerned with the practical questions of life— José is worried about some potentially cancerous scars on his face and back, and Ghislaine is preoccupied by her waning physical attractiveness. José had initially provided some leadership for the group, including a proposal for a commission to screen new refugees (22), but 129 becomes incapable of dealing with even the smallest issues as he continues to decline physically (301).

The lower class is represented by the amorphous "herd" from which only a few "colorful" individuals stand out. One such person is the crude "Guachuchera" whose outspokenness is mockingly described by the elite as "el slmbolo de 'un optimisme auténticamente popular'" (106). But it is clear that no one expects any positive contribution from this group at all. Besides the differences created by social classes, there also exist tensions among the members of the various political parties represented. One of Pancho's first moments of disillusionment comes when he realizes that "ese vasto abanico que llamaban Unidad Popular" (26) is really more rhetoric than fact. The socialists and the communists distrust each other, and all distrust the extremist MIR revolutionaries. Perhaps more painful for Pancho is the realization that he has been abandoned by his leader, "el

Puma" (138, 153). El Puma had been his mentor, introducing him to the teachings of communism, and encouraging Pancho to further his formal education (34-35). He always talked of glorious plans for the future, but once the military had overthrown the government and Pancho became a police target, el Puma left him to his own devices, and even apparently encouraged Pancho to turn himself in to the police (11-12,

198-199). 130

The time that the refugees spend confined in the embassy, an indefinite "parenthesis" (157) between the past and the future, gives many of the people the opportunity to reflect on their own lives, and what had gone wrong with their dreams. Pancho quickly loses his idealism and come to admit that all the groups, including his, are less than perfect (152). Now all he has to look forward to is raising his family in exile, in "una vida estrecha, imbécil, aislada de la lucha. Una pegueha vida de familia" (116). Thus, as Nelly watches him walk to the bus that will take him to the airport and to exile, she sees an image of defeat, "una espalda agachada" (221). Pancho's disillusionment represents the state of mind of most of the refugees, as does the unanswered question with which the novel closes:

"î,Volveremos?" (360).

Of the women portrayed in the novel, four are particularly outstanding for the distinct beliefs and lifestyles they maintain, as well as for the types of power they are able to wield: Ghislaine, Nelly, Elsa and Gladys.

Ghislaine, a former Ministry employee (18), represents the upper-class elite of Santiago. Her former lifestyle was adorned by material luxuries such as the most modern appliances and the most elegant furnishings (86). But after the overthrow, both she and her husband José went into hiding in the southern part of the country— José by himself

(129-131), and Ghislaine with their young daughter and with 131

Salazar, an employee in the GAP run by José (77-81). During that time, Salazar fell in love with Ghislaine, even though she was twice his age. Now all together in the embassy,

Ghislaine maintains the appearance of a stable marriage with

José, while also controlling the advances of Salazar and others. She fears that Salazar would eventually reject her as she aged, and hates herself for falling into a relationship born of adventure and now growing out of control like a tumor (82).

Ghislaine still retains enough beauty and grace to manage to charm even the guards when needed (170), but she realizes that her comfortable world has crumbled and that her personal future promises little (164, 234). Her political involvement is superficial, linked primarily to its impact on her own life. Only once does she seem to be aware of the plight of her country as a whole:

— Ahora que lo pienso, dijo Ghislaine, nosotros [. . .] la izquierda, tenemos miedo que nos torturen, que nos maten, pero ellos también tienen miedo, tal vez mis que nosotros [...] afuera, nadie se atreve a hablar, en todas partes ven enemigos, desconfian. Y nosotros, porque los miramos a través de las rejas, pensando que estamos encerrados y ellos en libertad, pero no nos damos cuenta [. . .] — îQue Chile es una gran prisiônî Cristian terminé amablemente la frase. . . (61)

As a model of traditional upper-class society, Ghislaine's only power is that "feminine arsenal" of manipulation. 132

In contrast, Nelly is the practical, sensible working- class woman who fights alongside her husband and upholds similar beliefs. Once just a "militante abnegada" who scarcely uttered a word (52, 273), she becomes active and outspoken in the union leadership, and eventually joins her husband in the embassy when she realizes that the police are searching for her too (55, 140).

When Nelly meets Ghislaine, the socio-economic gap between them becomes painfully obvious:

De golpe, los cuatro se helaron, y en ese momento Salazar vio a Ghislaine con los ojos de la Nelly. Para una dirigente como ella, Ghislaine era una "senora" del Barrio Alto. No habia puentes entre los dos mundos. . . . [C]uando [Pancho] vio a la Nelly a su lado, mas bien gordita, con el pelo crespo, vestida con el terno- pantalôn que se comprô a plazos para el matrimonio de la prima, el abismo que los separaba se le hizo évidente. (182-183)

But Nelly herself is not intimidated by Ghislaine or the other Jerarcas ("estos pequeno-burgueses que se las dan de erudites," 191), and reminds herself that the true people

("el verdadero pueblo") cannot allow itself to indulge in the excesses enjoyed by the elite (204). Neither is she intimidated by authority: she calls the Captain in charge of the embassy a "machista" who thinks women can't do anything (183); and she rebels against the superior attitude of el Puma who essentially uses Nelly to save himself (219). 133

When Nelly is appointed to oversee the preparation of meals and the housekeeping for over one hundred refugees in the embassy, she sees her role as important because the Jerarcas and everyone else is dependent on her (241). But her discouragement grows when no one will cooperate with her program, and her own son contracts typhus, compelling her to renounce her position inspite of the Captain's protests

(228). She also finally succumbs to the same disillusionment that Pancho felt but hated to admit (356), and she has no answer for those who are trying to evaluate their lives, asking her, "Nuestra lucha, y, o, mi propia vida. iQué hacemos?” (307). Hopefully, this ambivalence toward authority and toward her own involvement will become the first step in a clear realization of her own goals and responsibilities to her community.

Another woman who experiences disillusionment with politics and with her own life is the socialist Elsa. The daughter of a family of the southern agrarian "aristocracy," she was repulsed by the self-protecting greed that motivated families to intermarry in order to preserve title to the lands. Her relatives and their friends were unmercifully cruel to her as a child, so that Elsa came to despise them with a silent hatred that still lingered in her heart (232).

The opportunity for political involvement came unexpectedly, but brought to her a sense of self-realization previously unknown. In that "parenthesis" of the embassy, she becomes 134 involved with the socialist el Rojo, and the physical passion they share sustains both of them, the only source of meaning left to them after the disintegration of their personal and political hopes. Elsa is thoroughly critical of Allende, his political party and his government, even though she still refrains from verbalizing her criticism:

"Para ella, Allende era el gran iluso, por no decir el gran equivocado. Y nos llevo a esta tragedia. . ." (144). She dreads the moment when she will have to leave the embassy and resume her former life, a tedious and anonymous existence as a wife and mother for a family that she vaguely recalls (280-281). The embassy with all of its chaos represents a Paradise for her, in comparison with the living death she will face after being reunited with her family, but she is powerless to change her fate.

The fourth character, Gladys, appears in a minor role in the action, but nevertheless she is notable as one of those courageous, anonymous women who works "invisibly" against the repressive regime. She is a servant in a house on one side of the embassy, but covertly helps the refugees as she has opportunity. After she helps Pancho and his friends get into the embassy, she establishes a friendship with Pancho. She is aware of every stranger who comes through the neighborhood, as well as the police patrols, as she watches from a second-story window (54, 66). She is the one who calls Nelly and gives her the message from Pancho 135 when it becomes clear that Nelly must also seek asylum, and she is the one who provides the way for Nelly and the children to get over the fence into the embassy (176-179).

She is even willing to help the refugees risk hooking up an unauthorized telephone connection through her employers' house (76, 99). And she is one of the few people in the novel who has optimistic plans for the future (66, 227).

When Pancho tells her that she is courageous, Gladys laughs, but she demonstrates that she really is brave when the police inevitably come and search the house and arrest her and the cook. Pancho and the rest can only watch as Gladys turns and smiles at them before the soldiers push her into the truck (230) . Later, the cook returns, and the refugees learn that Gladys has been condemned to seven years in prison for her efforts (237). Nelly praises her compassion, and woefully realizes that Gladys will become "una torturada anônima" (231). Elsa also sympathizes with Gladys's plight;

"No todos se pueden dar el lujo de una muerte heroica"

(231), as she too recognizes the significance of their friend's sacrifice.

The wielders of authoritarian power appear only incidentally in the novel, as in the confrontations between the Captain and the refugees, and with the police. The main focus of the text is on those marginalized groups excluded from traditional power. 136

In Vâsquez's second novel, Abel Rodriguez y sus hermanos fAR), the characters are more directly involved in either resistance to or collaboration with authoritarian power. The conflict portrayed on a familial level comes to symbolize the conflict between opposing political views on a national scale. On one side is Ramon Rodriguez, who with his wife Betty (Marla Beatriz) and their son Moncho (Ramon), represent the extremely conservative upper class, concerned primarily with maintaining the status quo. On the other side is Ramon's older brother Abel, his younger brother el

Cachorro, Abel's daughter Monserrat and Abel's companion

Carmen— all politically liberal, lower- or middle-class people who want justice and equality for all Chileans.

As the story of the two brothers emerges (recounted principally from Ramon's perspective), the roots of Ramon's bitterness are gradually exposed. In a typical pattern of sibling rivalry, Ramon is jealous because Abel has always been able to achieve the things that Ramon only dreams about. Ramon's first adolescent sexual encounter, with the older woman known as La Gringa, ends with humilliating results (187-188); but Abel establishes a friendship with La

Gringa and shares discussions of music and art with her that are completely foreign to Ramon (60). Ramon begins a promising career in the air force, but has to drop out after one year to marry Betty, who is pregnant with his child, and the daughter of a captain of the carabineros. Ramon's only 137 recourse after dropping out of school is to go to work for his father in his Servicentro gas station and car repair shop. While Ramon's father approves of this show of responsibility, the mother clearly favors Abel, whom the father labels the "black sheep" of the family. Abel has gained this title for a number of reasons: he chose a disreputable career as an artist; he leaves the country and disappears for years at a time; and he eventually returns with Monserrat, his daughter by a woman who was married to someone else (64-65). Ramon cannot understand why his parents are willing to overlook Abel's shortcomings while at the same time they are so harsh with him. The jealousy intensifies as Abel comes to work in the station after their father's death, and frequently criticizes Ramon for mishandling company funds (189).

On the other hand, Abel has no idea why Ramon would hate him or betray him to the secret police. As he recalls the past, he thinks of the good times they had together, and how he looked after his little brother. Abel does not hold

Ramon responsible for their father's death (the result of a heart attack produced by the stress of trying to save the station from debts incurred by Ramon), although he does resent the fact that he has had to abandon his career as an artist in order to help Ramon in the station (217-223).

The political realities of the 1970s impinge upon their lives as Ramon resists the move to unionize the station and 138 grant concessions to the workers, while Abel promotes the same. Ultimately, the military overthrow destroys any fraternity left between the two, and after an argument that ends in physical and verbal violence, they never speak to each other again (225, 245-246).

This mutual hatred results in the destruction of both brothers. As the narration unfolds, it alternates between

Abel's torture and confinement in a FACH secret torture house, and Ramon's increasing insanity and confinement in a mental hospital, one year after the death of Abel and

Ramon's son Moncho. As Abel senses that his former lifestyle can never be restored, and realizes that he has indeed been betrayed by his own brother, he decides to die a martyr at the hands of his captors. As Ramon becomes overwhelmed by guilt and grief for the death of his father, his brother, and his son, on top of the utter futility of his struggle to live beyond his means, he sinks into a vegetative state of depression which will lead to his own demise.

But Ramon is not solely responsible for his disastrous life; he has been impelled to many wrong choices by the self-centered and power-hungry designs of his wife Betty and son Moncho. From the very beginning Betty is preoccupied with maintaining appearances of wealth, in order to be accepted by the Santiago elite. Consequently, she drives

Ramon to spend beyond their means, and to associate with 139 people above their own social class, while despising the

appearance and manners of the Rodriguez family. Moncho becomes a member of the fanatical fascist organization

"Patria y Libertad," and denounces Abel, el Cachorro and

Monserrat for their liberal political views. Together, Betty and Moncho convince Ramon to call the secret police and inform them that Abel has helped el Cachorro to hide a trunkful of weapons in the service station. Ramon resists at first, but eventually breaks down and gives in to their demands, spurred by his own hatred for Abel (180-181). Then

later, in the mental hospital, when Ramon realizes what has happened to him, he turns all of his rage against Betty and tries to strangle her with his neglegible remaining strength

(250).

As in the case of BJH. in AR the female characters represent different socio-political positions and differing expressions of power. Betty strives to cultivate the appearance of aristocratic society although she is really lacking in any understanding of culture or morality. After dropping out of school, her primary source of instruction is the "Manual de Carreno," a guidebook of etiquette for military officers' wives (58-59). With her bleached hair, provocative dress, and long nails, she emulates Hollywood movie stars, and is completely inept regarding domestic responsibilities (64-65). 140

Betty also shows herself unfit for motherhood,

lamenting the way pregnancy has disfigured her body, and feeling repulsed by the "other" growing inside her (93).

After an extremely painful and prolonged delivery, she vows to never have another child (98), and virtually turns into a

"regular customer" at the local abortionists. In fact, this practice becomes so routine for her that at times she forgets to notify Ramon of the procedure (106). On the other hand, she is outraged when she finds one of her servants suffering from a self-inflicted abortion, and throws the unfortunate girl out when she tries to defend her action (106).

After Ramon's father's death, Ramon decides to take

Betty to a hotel that caters to couples looking for a discreet place to have an affair. After spending several hours there, they decide to leave; while they wait for their car to be brought around, they hear another couple coming down the hall. To avoid being discovered, Betty pulls Ramon into a side room which she could not have known was there unless she was already familiar with the place. Ramon is then hit with the humilliating realization that all those times Betty was out of the house with her friend Ximena, they had probably been entertaining other men and making a

fool of Ramon (although he was proud of his frequent

activities with a number of prostitutes, including "la

Betty-nueva") (159-160, 109). The fact that Betty is a 141

"mujer moderns" (111), i.e., just as capable of infidelity as he is, is a devastating discovery. Some time later, they reach an "entente cordiale" in which neither asks the other about their affairs (191).

Betty's political involvement is virtually non­ existent. Both she and Moncho show no interest in the causes upheld by Abel, el Cachorro and Monserrat (150). She is appalled by Abel's decision to send Monserrat across town on the bus to attend a public experimental school in a poor barrio of Santiago, and prefers to believe that misery and poverty do not even exist (114). When the women of her barrio organize the "March of the Empty Pots" to protest shortages of essential foods and goods, Betty is reluctant to participate. But she ends up by going, attired in a fur coat so that people won't mistake her social status (199).

Finally, when Betty comes to the hospital, she pays no attention to Ramon because her main concern is to ask the doctor what she can do to escape looming financial problems, and maintain her expensive lifestyle (248-250). Her manipulative power is now ineffective, as her husband is beyond her reach, and her physical attractiveness is only a cheap illusion: "esta caricatura de femme fatale," as the doctor describes her (247). She is so concerned with financial bankruptcy that she fails to realize that she has long been bankrupt morally. 142

In contrast, Abel's companion Carmen and daughter

Monserrat are both openly committed to social causes.

Monserrat's political involvement began in childhood as Abel

made sure she was exposed to the realities of poverty and

misery (114), and continued as she interacted with other

students, so much so that, as Ramon observed, "Empezaba a

hablar de politica como si fuera un hombre" (150). Her

commitment becomes even more personal when she finds out

that her father is in prison. Since Monserrat is married to

Joaco, whose father is a friend of an important military

chief, and since she is also five-months pregnant, she can

search for her father with relative safety, while Carmen must go into hiding, lest the police capture her and use her

to force Abel to talk (16). As Monserrat talks to the other women searching for "disappeared" relatives, she becomes

convinced of the need for action rather than words or

gestures. As she explains to Carmen,

"Creo que ahora, en 1976, no hay otra manera de vivir con dignidad en Chile. . . . conocl a las 'mujeres de los desaparecidos'. . . Algunas teniamos rabia, odio y nos prometiamos vengarnos. Otras solo eran victimas, recibian la injusticia con una especie de fatalisme, no se rebelaban. Me cargaban esas mujeres. ;Yo encuentro que hay que rebelarse!" (255-256)

Moncho's belittling treatment of Monserrat, plus the knowledge that Ramon and his family betrayed her father for 143 self-serving reasons, give her the target she needs for revenge. She explains to Carmen her decision to blow up the service station, that symbol of greed and misery for the

Rodriguez family. She is determined to carry out the action, even if she has to do it alone, since el Cachorro's friends refuse to help or to take her seriously (8-16).

Just as el Moncho had treated her as a non-adult, El Crespo reduces her to her role of future mother. Monserrat's response is anything but meek and submissive:

— Ustedes son puros pretextos, palabras huecas, . . . puro bla-bla-bla. . . .Abel, mi padre, es ahora un cadâver, ^entienden? ;Un cadaver! Estcy aburrida de ese lenguaje politico que planea en las nubes, donde todos los anâlisis son claros, pero no tienen nada que ver con la realidad. Yo no quiero palabras, quiero una ayuda concrete. (15)

After destroying the station, Monserrat plans to leave the country, so that her child will not have to be born in a country "governed by assassins" (257). Because of the extreme situation in which she finds herself, the only way she sees to overcome her feelings of frustration and powerlessness is to fight force with force.

Carmen represents a more moderate position, in contrast to Monserrat. A former actress drawn into politics because of her association with Abel, she believes that she can best help her country be staying, joining the Resistance and 144 promoting change through acting in plays with political intentions (257-259). She prefers to plant "bombs" of intellectual questioning and popular support which will eventually explode in rejection of the current regime. But she also admits that her involvement is a way of feeling alive, of "doing something," rather than giving up (259).

While both women will fight in their own way, neither one expresses the consciousness of fighting for women's rights in particular, no doubt because the urgency of the situation focuses on the repression of both men and women. They see themselves as part of the larger cause of national freedom, and choose to work within the means available to them.

The direct confrontation betweeen traditional authoritarian power and alternate marginalized power provides the framework for each of Isabel Allende's three novels. Traditional power manifests itself at the national level through despotic political power, at the familial level through tyrannical patriarchal power, and at the individual level through manipulative practices. While male characters tend to predominate in these categories, traditional power is not the exclusive property of men; some women also attain significant power by this means, while some men exercise a more humane, "connected" form of power.

In each of Allende's novels, those who wield moral power ultimately triumph or hold to the promise of future triumph over wielders of authoritarian power. While Allende's 145 preference for such "happy endings" may seem unrealistic to some readers, she is nevertheless positing an alternate discourse and an alternate model for both the ruling upper classes and the lower oppressed classes to follow— models not previously depicted by (m)any other contemporary Latin

American women writers. In La casa de los esplritus (CE), wielders of traditional authoritarian power include male heads of families, such as Severe del Valle and Esteban Trueba; military types such as the colonel Esteban Garcia and the extremist Miguel; and women who work within the male- dominated system, such as Nivea del Valle and Trânsito Soto.

Esteban Trueba and his illegitimate grandson Esteban Garcia embody the traits of male superiority, cruelty, and physical violence, which allow them to control others through fear and intimidation. Trueba's case is unique because he sees himself as the benevolent patron who brings material benefits to the campesinos. and as the respectable family man who wants to preserve the family honor above all else.

Yet the means by which he chooses to impose his will fail miserably, because the campesinos come to despise him for keeping them economically dependent, and his wife and children withdraw from him, refusing to be treated like possessions. When Trueba reaches the end of his life and finds himself alone and stripped of power, he realizes the futility of forcing his will upon others; the Esteban Trueba 146

who narrates parts of CE reflects on his mistakes and

manifests a sincere attempt to understand why he has failed.

Esteban Garcia and Miguel fight on opposite sides of

the struggle that erupts in Chile in the 1970s. Esteban

Garcia represents the brutal, right-wing military that

overthrows the Allende government and initiates a campaign

to "purge" the country of agitators and restore order.

Garcia's battle is also a personal one, however; he is

determined to gain vengeance on the Truebas for his

exclusion from the family wealth and name (352). Miguel

represents the left-wing extremists who believe that the

only way to overcome the violence of the new regime is by

the violence of revolution, not mere reform (282).

Consequently, he is willing to use any means, including

force, to achieve his purposes.

The women in this category also represent disparate points on the social spectrum, in that while Nivea is the wife of a respected upper-class lawyer, Trânsito Soto is a

local prostitute who comes to run her own profitable

clandestine service in the capital. Nivea tries to work through the system, riding her husband's coattails as she and her suffragist friends campaign for the vote, but she

fails to realize that a more fundamental change in society

is also in order. Her granddaughter can see the incongruity that Nivea misses when, after having spoken to a group of

factory workers, Nivea and her friends go to an elegant tea 147 salon to discuss their success. Nivea never appears to have any real effect in changing the social or political system in her lifetime, and is in fact the object of much ridicule by men and consternation by women (75, 109). Trânsito becomes adept at manipulating powerful men in order to achieve her purposes, and has at her command men from both sides of the political fence (356). It is at great cost that she attains this power, but she does employ it for good, since she is the only one who can free Trueba's granddaughter Alba from the prison camp (353-354).

Similar figures appear in De amor y de sombra (AS) and

Eva Luna (EL). In M , military figures such as the ruling

General and lieutenant Ramirez exercise power through physical strength, force and compassionless disregard for others. The protagonist’s mother, Beatriz Alcantara de

Beltrân, as an aspirant to the upper-class, also tries to wield power by manipulating others, including her husband, and by maintaining the appearance of wealth and status. She has no compassion for the oppressed, no concern for politics, and prefers to ignore any indications of suffering and injustice in her country.

In ^ despotic political power is exercised by the chief of state (actually three different rulers, known successively as the Benefactor, the General and the

President, but in essence the same character) , and the mysterious "Hombre de la gardenia" who is in charge of the 148 secret police, and hence the most feared man in the country.

The colonel Tolomeo Rodriguez also represents a figure who can control by fear and intimidation, although physical violence is not directly associated with him. Humberto

Naranjo (alias el Comandante Rogelio) is the leader of opposition troups who uses force to try to overthrow the dictatorship. And Lukas Carié is the absolute tyrant of his family and village, a cruel man who believes that people can be categorized either as hammers or anvils, to strike or be struck (40). In addition, there is a female figure similar to Trânsito Soto, known as la Senora, who also gains significant power by manipulating powerful men from several political ideologies. She has a clear understanding of the realities of power, for, as she explains to Eva, "Lo mejor de este pais es que la corrupciôn alcanza para todos" (116).

The Senora also has to pay a high price to survive in this type of power struggle (118).

The wielders of authoritarian, patriarchal power in

Allende's novels provoke fear, hatred and revulsion for the destruction they inflict on others, but also derision at times, especially when their futile attempts to justify their actions lead to preposterous lies and cover-ups. At the same time, the portrayal of those men and women involved in active resistance to dictatorial control blends understanding and sympathy for their cause with a clear desire for change through more peaceful means. 149

Characters in this first category are silhouetted by both "powerless" characters and "empowered" characters, the latter group including the protagonists in all three novels.

The powerless characters include those who are passive, helpless to change adverse circumstances, or those outside of any power structures, and whose efforts to resist are nullified. In CE there are a number of figures who fit into this description, including Blanca, the only "normal" member of the Trueba clan; Ferula, Esteban Trueba's spinster sister; and the ranch foreman Pedro Segundo Garcia.

Blanca Trueba, daughter of Esteban and Clara, and mother of Alba, spends most of her adult life caught in the trap of an unfortunate marriage. While she is the first woman in the family who could marry for love rather than necessity, her relationship with the foreman's son Pedro

Tercero Garcia is totally unacceptable to her upper-class father and social milieu (152). Consequently, when she gets pregnant, Trueba determines to find a suitable husband and father for the unborn child, and vows also to kill the true father, Pedro Tercero (172-173). Apart from all the other disastrous results this has for the family, the contracted husband, the count Jean de Satigny, turns out to be a perverted and decadent parasite, from whom Blanca flees after only six months of marriage (222). But her only recourse is to return home to her parents, and live in a

legal "limbo": "... carecia de las libertades de una 150 soltera y tenia todas las limitaciones de una mujer casada, pero no tenia marido" (225). She has no formal training in order to make a living outside the home, and ends up earning some money by making ceramics and giving classes. While

Blanca does receive the attention of several suitors captivated by her beauty (including the "King of the

Pressure Cookers," 235), she resists all offers of marriage, even to Pedro Tercero, with whom she maintains a secret relationship. After more than twenty years of waiting, and after Satigny's death from natural causes, Blanca finally concedes to go to Canada to live in exile with her true lover Pedro Tercero (332) . Ferula suffers a similar fate in that she renounces all possibilities of marriage in order to care for her invalid mother, also devoting herself to charitable activities on the side. Years of self-denial and dedication to her mother's care take their toll, as Ferula ages and loses any prospects for either a mate or for an independent existence.

The only person who truly cares for Ferula is her sister-in- law Clara, but Ferula is unable to handle this relationship appropriately and sublimates complete devotion to Clara for the sexual fulfillment that she is missing. When Esteban realizes that Ferula is his rival for Clara's attention, he banishes her from the house. Ferula eventually dies alone in an abandoned apartment in abject poverty inspite of the 151 monthly stipend that Trueba provides for her, because, as

Clara perceives, ". . . le faltaba todo lo demas" (134).

Pedro Segundo, the foreman of the ranch "Las Tres

Marlas," demonstrates skills and intelligence which distinguish him from the rest of the campesinos under

Trueba's power. But instead of treating Pedro Segundo as an equal, Trueba humilliates him and takes advantage of him

(60). Pedro suffers in silence as he watches Trueba take his sister Pancha Garcia for his concubine. Even when

Pedro's son, Pedro Tercero, criticizes the patron. and urges his father to rebel, Pedro Segundo realizes what the consequences of such a rebellion would be for himself and for his family, and opts to passively endure oppression

(142-143). When Trueba vows to kill Pedro Tercero for his relationship with Blanca, Pedro Segundo packs up his belongings and leaves the ranch, because he does not want to be confronted with the dilemma of maintaining loyalty to his patron and wanting to avenge the murder of his son (174).

In ^ the powerless figures all come from the lower or middle classes and are victims of political and economic oppression. Digna Ranquileo is the campesina whose life is comprised of two cycles: in the winter, she is the submissive wife of Hipôlito, accepting abuse and hard times without protest; in the summer, she is virtually the head of the house, overseeing the crops and livestock, the family and its resources while her husband travels with the circus. 152

On several occasions Digna unsuccessfully confronts traditional authority. First, when her daughter Evangelina is born (the only one of her children born in a hospital), the nurse mistakes another baby for hers. Despite obvious physical differences, and the protests of both mothers, the doctor refuses to admit the error. Both mothers give their daughters the same name to make the eventual switch easier, but when a fire destroys the records in the Civil Registry, all hope of legally restoring the daughters to their original families is lost (39). Later, when Evangelina is fifteen, she develops strange convulsions that reportedly have curative powers. In Digna's search for help for her daughter, she appeals to the local folk doctors (the comadrona and the curandero), the "official" doctor at the hospital, and to both the Catholic priest and the Protestant pastor. But she is unable to convince any of these authority figures to take her seriously (74). Finally, when

Evangelina is kidnapped, raped and killed by lieutenant

Ramirez, her only help comes from the sympathetic reporter

Irene Beltrân, and the sergeant Rivera, who tells her the truth about her daughter's disappearance (168-171).

Other characters who struggle with a sense of powerlessness in the novel are several members of the Leal family. Professor Leal flees to America after Franco's victory in Spain; then, because of his outspoken activism against the government of his adopted country, he is forced 153 into early retirement on a reduced pension (34). Leal's son

Javier also incurs the disfavor of the government for his union activities; when he loses his position as a biologist, and the hope of ever working again anywhere, he loses his sense of self-worth: "Como cesante era un marginado, un ser anônimo, ignorado por todos porque ya no producla y ésa era la medida del valor humano en el mundo en que le toco vivir"

(138). He finally gives up completely and commits suicide

(136).

In Eva Luna, powerless characters are less prominent than in the other two novels. The wife and children of

Lukas Carle live in absolute terror of him; he humilliates his wife for his own sensual pleasure, and sees all of his children as worthless creatures (40-42). When some of his students can tolerate him no more, they succeed in killing

Carle, much to everyone's relief (75-79). Eva's mother,

Consuelo, godmother (la Madrina) and adopted grandmother,

Elvira, are all servants who create fantasy worlds or other imaginary escapes as their only means to deal with poverty and oppression. The transsexual Melecio suffers humilliation, rejection, and physical and emotional abuse from his intolerant father and from society at large, until he is able to initiate the sex-change process which transforms him into the actress Mimi (190-196).

The most passive figure in the novel is the Turkish girl Zulema, wife of Eva's friend, the hare-lipped merchant 154

Riad Halabî. Raised to believe that her role in life is to be someone's wife, and that marriage to Riad will bring her wealth and comfort, she is totally repulsed when she discovers her husband's deformity and sees the humble conditions in which he lives, in a climate and culture completely alien to her (137). She definitively retreats from life, refusing to even try to adjust to her circumstances. The only time she comes alive is when she seduces Riad's cousin Kamal, while Riad is out of town. But

Kamal flees in humilliation and shame for abusing the hospitality given to him by his cousin, and Zulema's heart breaks when she realizes Kamal will never return (155).

Unable to define herself in any other terms, she enters into a semi-vegetative state, and eventually commits suicide

(176).

It can also be noted that the characters who do exercise power in these narratives indicate no belief in the power of the common people to fight back against oppression.

The campesinos. the Indians, and the public in general in

CE, AS. and EL are almost always depicted as fearful, weak, aimless and unmotivated, and easily manipulated by the ruling powers.

Perhaps the most unique contribution of Isabel Allende to contemporary Latin American literature has been the inclusion of empowered characters who triumph over abusive power. Rather than portray her protagonists as pessimistic. 155 cynical or fatalistic victims who suffer for their attempts to change society or who despair of even trying, Allende presents genuine heroes— and more significantly, heroines— who use their abilities and position to speak out against injustice and to enable others to improve their circumstances. They experience an awakening of both self- consciousness and social consciousness, establish a sense of self-determination, and act in ways which demonstrate their concern for justice and their responsibility to others. Not coincidentally, all three female protagonists— Alba Trueba,

Irene Beltran, and Eva Luna— are involved in writing and recording history, aided by their male counterparts (Alba's grandfather Esteban Trueba, the photographer Francisco Leal, and the cinematographer Rolf Carié).

In ÇE Alba emerges as a young woman who is determined to set her own course in life. The significant influences in her life are numerous: the favorable signs at her birth; her relationship with her grandmother Clara and her mother

Blanca: the compassionate lifestyle of her uncle Jaime, the doctor; and her love for Miguel, the revolutionary— all of whom help open her eyes to the contrasts between the haves and have nots of Chilean society. After the military overthrow. Alba becomes involved in sending supplies to victimized families and in helping political refugees to reach asylum in various embassies. At first, it seems like an adventurous game to Alba, and she really does not have 156 the serious commitment to the cause that her friend Miguel has (281). Then she is arrested for her activities, emprisoned and tortured by colonel Esteban Garcia. After being beaten and raped repeatedly, having three fingers amputated from her right hand, and being confined to the

"dog house" (a cell not large enough to allow one to stand or even sit up), Alba decides to give up and die. But her dead grandmother's spirit appears to her and urges her to fight for her life and to record her testimony so that the world will learn of what was going on behind the façade of national peace and stability (348). As a result. Alba regains the will to live and finds herself beyond Garcia's power to hurt or control her (349).

After Alba is released from the dog house, she finds strength in the support shown by other female prisoners, especially a university acquaintance by the name of Ana

Diaz, who also encourages her to write in order to cleanse herself of all that is rotting inside of her (358). So as

Alba writes the history that forms part of the text we are reading, she gains confidence from the awareness that she is part of an infinite cycle of events, and the sense of being intimately linked to her grandmother outside of linear time

(362-363). She has triumphed over Esteban Garcia because she has overcome the hatred and desire for vengeance that would only perpetuate cruelty. As she writes, she verbalizes the determination not to remain a victim; 157

Quiero pensar que mi oficio es la vida y que mi misiôn no es prolonger el odio, sino solo llenar estas pâginas mientras espero . . . que lleguen tiempos mejores . . . . (363)

Irene Beltrân undergoes a similar transformation in AS.

The daughter of wealthy parents, she lives a sheltered life until she begins to work as a reporter for a popular magazine. Her assignments introduce her to all kinds of people and situations, from models to prostitutes, and from skydivers to farm workers. But when she interviews Digna

Ranquileo about her daughter Evangelina, she enters into a struggle that she did not even know existed in her country.

Her friend Francisco Leal, on the other hand, is accustomed to operating in several spheres: the artificial world of glamour magazines; the poverty of the poblaciones where he helps his brother José, the priest; and the invisible world of aiding political refugees. He sees firsthand the transformation in Irene as she experiences the shock and disillusionment produced by suspicion and the actual discovery of Evangelina's body in an abandoned mine.

Previously, she had innocently accepted her fiance's rationalizations for the military overthrow and subsequent actions (115-116), without questioning such exercise of power. But as she later confides to Francisco, "... hasta ahora he vivido sohando y temo despertar" (157). 158

Ultimately, she endangers her own life by interviewing the

soldier who incriminates colonel Ramirez (the same soldier

found dead thirty hours later), and daring to go public with

the truth. She is gunned down outside her office, but manages to survive and eventually escape with Francisco

through the mountains and across the border, after

entrusting the tape recordings of her interviews to

sympathetic church authorities.

Other characters who also take a stand against

government oppression and cover-up are the priest José Leal

(235-237); the homosexual hairdresser Mario, who plays a vital role in the resistance and in smuggling Francisco and

Irene out of the city (304-305) ; and Evangelina Flores,

Digna's real daughter, who goes into exile and testifies all

over the world of the massacre of her family and others, and

the government's attempt to hide the evidence (295).

The development of the character Eva Luna is notable

for the parallels with the stages of moral development and knowledge as described in Chapter I. In this text, which presents itself as a type of picaresque novel and

Kunstlerroman. Eva goes from being an illiterate servant and

street orphan to being an independent, successful writer of

soap opera scripts who also contributes to the resistance movement. As the illegitimate mestizo daughter of a domestic

servant, Eva has few options and opportunities in life. Her 159 world is limited to the servants' quarters of the mansion and the area inside the garden fence. She does not sense these restrictions, however, because her mother tells her marvelous stories and helps her to invent imaginary worlds of her own (28). After her mother's death, Eva follows a series of care-givers and matrones. but her world is still restricted to the house and occasional trips to the marketplace. Her first attempt to find freedom is short­ lived as the fear and confusion produced by the city convince her to return home after a few days (59-60, 64-65).

Up to this point, Eva lives subject to the whims of external authorities, and has no voice through which to protest injustice. She spends much time listening to others: her mother (25), the matron Professor Jones (51), the cook Elvira (56), and especially the radio soap operas

(69, 102).

Gradually, she begins to gain more knowledge about the world as she goes from job to job and sees the different ways in which people live. The beginning of the transformation from child to adult is prompted by Eva's acquaintance with the Senora, a madame in the red-light district of the city. Eva is entrusted to the Senora by her friend Humberto Naranjo, a street-wise gang leader, with the admonition that the Senora teach Eva how to read. But the

Senora decides to work on what she deems to be the more urgent need, i.e., Eva's appearance and manners: "Cuando 160 acabô conmigo eran las cinco de la tarde y yo estaba transfonaada en otro ser, largamente me busqué en el espejc, pero no pude hallarme, el cristal me devolvia la imagen de un raton desorientado" (112). Nevertheless, this represents the first step in Eva's journey of establishing her own identity. She objects when she realizes that the Senora, her "girls," and Humberto, are all trying to shield her from the sordid realities in which they operate. As Eva points out, they all gained a new dignity for themselves as they tried to protect Eva from evil; but Eva also realizes that she cannot continue indefinitely in "el limbo de la inocencia infantil" (118-119).

The next crucial step in Eva's formation occurs during the five years she spends in the rural village Agua Santa with the Turkish merchant Riad Halabi and his wife Zulema.

This period corresponds to Eva's teen-age years, and developing self-consciousness and sexuality.

Riad is personally responsible for empowering Eva by providing a teacher for her so that she can learn to read and write. Obviously, a whole new world opens for Eva as she becomes absorbed with all kinds of books and the potential for writing down her innermost thoughts (140-141).

The second significant contribution Riad makes is to literally give Eva her existence— he has her name registered with the authorities so that she can be issued the proper 161 identification documents, and thus "officially” exist (145-

146).

Through observing Zulema, Riad, and Kamal, Eva becomes aware of her own sexual identity and impulses (149).

Although witnessing the seduction is exceedingly traumatic for Eva (151-153), she eventually reconciles her emotional responses to the act, and is able to experience and enjoy intimacy with Riad (182-186).

As one sequence of events thus helps Eva to establish her sexual identity, her progress in reading and writing also causes her to grow in her understanding of herself and the world. After having passed through the stages of silence, listening and intuition (unconscious knowledge), she now involves herself in procedural knowledge— by literally reading the dictionary and encyclopedias, and straining to gain dominion over words (172-173). It is during this time that she realizes that knowledge is relative rather than absolute:

Sospechaba que nada existia verdaderamente, la realidad era una materia imprecisa y gelatinosa que mis sentidos captaban a médias. No habia pruebas de que todos la percibieran del mismo modo . . . , tal vez no veian los mismos colores ni escuchaban los mismos sonidos que yo. Si asl fuera, cada uno vivla en soledad absolute. Ese pensamiento me aterraba. (173)

This realization opens the way for her to set her own course and to discover the power of words: 162

Me consolaba la idea de que yo podia tomar esa gelatina y moldearla para crear lo que deseara, no una parodia de la realidad, . . . sino un mundo propio, pcblado de personages vivos, donde yo imponia las normas y las cambiaba a mi antojo. (173)

The primary consequence of these events is a new self- awareness and self-determination for Eva. During the bus ride back to the capital after saying good-bye to Riad, Eva takes inventory of her life and realizes that "Habia vivido hasta entonces a las ôrdenes de otros, hambrienta de afecto, sin mâs futuro que el dia de manana y sin mâs fortuna que mis histories" (187). Realizing also the impossibility of marriage with Riad, she decides to find her own way, as expressed in the single word "basta" which she repeats aloud to herself (187). From then on, events occur at a rapid pace as Eva finds

Melecio/Mimi, the companion who provides her the means by which to go to school, get a driver's license, find employment, and even the opportunity to write (207, 230).

Eva also gains the confidence and insight to be able to evaluate and terminate her relationship with Humberto

Naranjo (214, 263), and to defy the intimidation tactics of colonel Rodriguez (224-228, 274-278). She also identifies

Rolf Carié as the partner she has searched for all her life, winning the affection of a man who is committed to justice 163 and helping others (234, 257-259, 280-281). Although she is willing to participate in Humberto's plot to rescue some companions from a government prison, she does so in order to confirm her own strength of character, rather than for any political commitment (254). For Eva, real power resides in her ability to use words to overcome injustice, seen in her dedication to reveal the true story of the rescue plot by means of her telenovela scripts:

Yo escribia cada dia un nuevo episodic, inmersa por complete en el mundo que creaba con el poder omnimodo de las palabras, transformada en un ser disperse, reproducida hasta el infinite, viendo mi propio reflejo en multiples espejos, viviendo innumerables vidas, hablando con muchas voces. (273)

Eva now recognizes the image she sees in her mental mirror, and now uses words to speak out on behalf of others, breaking out of the silence and listening modes that had previously delineated the borders of her experience. She thus joins Alba and Irene and some of the other characters who embody an alternate form of power which responds to the needs of others, without diminishing them or oneself.

It is evident, therefore, that these four Latin

American women authors also seek the validation of their works' authenticity and authority through the criticism of stereotypes and the creation of non-stereotypical characters. The evaluation offered by Ortega and Sternbach 164 regarding Latina writing in the u s aptly describes the process in which these four are engaged; a process that counters official discourse because it . . fills in the omissions, flourishes between the gaps, and exposes its contradictions" (in Horno-Delgado, et. al., 13). The female characters portrayed by Subercaseaux, Eltit, Vasquez and

Allende exist outside of past traditions of middle-class wives and mothers who have no other identity than that imposed upon them by society; many of the characters demonstrate non-traditional relationships to their own selves, to their families and to society. Ortega and

Sternbach also echo Catherine Belsey's proposition that the constitution of oneself as a speaking subject is a central issue for feminism (14), and see the process of dismantling dominant ideologies as essential to that goal. As will be seen in the next two chapters, each of these four authors uses her writing to challenge the boundaries of accepted literary authority and to establish subjectivity through her themes and narrative techniques.

Notes

1. The power displayed by Eltit's characters can also be described as the "power of the powerless" as set forth by Berenice Carroll. Carroll proposes an alternate "inventory" of the powers of the powerless, including disintegrative (disruption of the operation of social organizations, economic institutions and political structures), inertial (passive resistance to change), innovative (demands for change), legitimizing (socialization of individuals or small groups— Foucault's "capillaries"), expressive and explosive (demonstrations, protests, terrorism), resistance and 165 collective/cooperative (concerted, conscious action) and migratory or population power (to move or reproduce, thus affecting any "balance of power") (608-614)• Carroll admits that this inventory may be speculative at best, but it does suggest a completely different perspective on the sub]ect of power, one that points to notions similar to Foucault's, regarding "subjugated knowledges" and alternate forms of power. CHAPTER IV

The Themes and Spaces of Resistance

The direction of Chilean narrative during the post­ overthrow years of 1973-1988 bifurcates into two parallel yet distinct reactions of resistance/accomodation to the socio-historical events that transpired during that period.

This bifurcation reflects the deep divisions that split the

Chilean culture in two, sending many citizens into exile, and leaving others to remain under the control of the ruling junta. As several critics have observed, Chilean expatriates have used the vehicle of literature as a means to denounce the overthrow and to come to term with its consequences (including life in exile), while many of those authors who have remained in Chile have opted to avoid current events or to deal with them only obliquely because of the limitations of censorship. Yet inspite of the literal distance separating expatriate authors from resident authors, both groups continue to re-examine the realities of their national identity, as well as their roles as writers within Chilean society. In order to contextualize and evaluate the themes and spaces present in the works involved in this study, it will be helpful first to survey the

166 167 analyses of a number of contemporary Chilean critics who have focused particularly on post-overthrow narrative.

In his article "La narrative chilena: historia y reformulaciôn estética" (1983), Juan Armando Epple traces the link between history and literature which has characterized Chilean narrative since its inception.

Beginning with La Araucana. Epple illustrates how Chilean authors have frequently drawn upon historical situations as frameworks for their fictional works, ". . .[buscando] reformular, en un proyecto estético, los rasgos distintivos de la vida y la historia nacional" (295). One of the most outstanding Latin American authors of the nineteenth century, Alberto Blest Gana, introduced realism to Latin

American literature with his series of novels depicting historical events from Chilean social and political life from the time of Independence to the end of the century. As time passed, the literature shifted from using history merely for descriptive purposes, to using it to highlight social ills. Epple points to late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century authors such as Luis Orrego Luco

(Casa crrande) and Baldomero Lillo (Sub terra) who focused on social problems through their works. Epple explains the preference for social realism by Latin American authors as a reaction to the events occurring around them: "El llamado realismo social surge en America Latina en un période de transiciôn politica en que se rompe el vieje orden 168 tradicional, revelando nuevas zonas geogrâficas y sociales que cuestionaban la imagen oficial de la naciôn" (296).

In any period of social and political crisis, the traditional forms of aesthetic expression become inadequate to articulate changing realities; the immediacy of events calls for more direct means of description, without benefit of time for reflection and embellishment. Literature then acquires a more documentary function, according to Epple, as it gives witness to the new parameters of reality (297) .

Epple cites two recent periods of social realism in

Chilean letters, one represented by writers from the 1920s, and another which emerged with the Generation of 1938. The first group concerned itself with incorporating various thematically diverse zones of national life into their works, portraying the conflicts of the emerging middle class and also the struggles of the lower class to establish a consciousness of its identity. The second group of writers undertook the task of defining the new social and cultural values that were appearing in the country as a result of the influence of the Popular Front government (298). With this group there arose a new awareness of a collective national experience, a desire for integration into a movement of social change, and a vision of literature as an aesthetic project (299).

A new generation of writers emerged in the 1950s, a group determined to reach beyond national realism to a more 169

"universal" experience by focusing on the existential conflicts of modern man and the latest narrative techniques developed in Europe and North America. Ironically, according to Epple, the most successful writers of this period were not those who renounced all national political and social projects in order to search for new values, but those who continued to confront the particular problems of contemporary Chilean society— and in the course of doing so, produced works which more intensely explored the human condition than those of the so-called "universalistas" (300). He gives the examples of José Donoso and Jorge

Edwards as two authors who highlighted the contemporary decay of traditional beliefs as they examined the values of the Chilean middle class (see also McMurray 132-139).

The decades of the 1960s and 1970s were times of rapid change and development in Chilean history and literature.

In a break with past traditions, the "nuevos narradores" of the 1960s (Poli Delano, Ariel Dorfman, Antonio Skarmeta and others) strove to overcome linguistic and cultural inhibitions, in an expression of affirmation and dialogue with the world. The rapid pace of political change in the nation compelled writers to search for adequate language and contexts to define their experiences, bringing new life and a new maturity to their literature, similar to that in works produced in other Latin American countries during the so- called "Boom" period (302). 170

A noticeable lull in literary productivity seems to

coincide with the years of the Popular Unity administration

(1970-1973). As Antonio Skârmeta observes, Chilean writers during the three years of the Allende government were

apparently so preoccupied with its impact or swept up by the

immediacy of events that they found little time for describing the experience (55)— that is, until the military

takeover that forever separated Chilean history into "un

antes y un después" (Moreno 381). The impact of the

overthrow was strongly felt in the cultural development of the nation, as many intellectuals and artists went into

exile, and those who stayed had to accomodate their work according to the restrictions imposed by official censorship, self-censorship and the lack of accessible publishing (Epple 302).

As a result, post-1973 resistance literature produced within Chile existed in one of two forms; either as clandestine publications of political denunciation that circulated outside the boundaries of military dictates, or as uncensored cerial in which new codes communicated through allusions or symbols, so that apparently neutral comments would be understood in their full significance by a public audience informed through the filter of collective experience (302).

Simultaneously, the literature produced in exile occupied itself almost exclusively with recent events. 171 trying to understand the significance of the Popular Unity government and its downfall. Expatriate writers enjoyed a freedom of speech not allowed to their fellow countrymen at home, and in their urgency to proclaim the truth about events, they produced a number of chronicles and testimonies that described the situation without any literary pretensions (303).

Both internal and external literary production struggled to overcome obstacles imposed by the military takeover:

Esta ruptura de la expresiôn cultural chilena impone a la vez limitaciones y retos a las dos alas del desarrollo literario: la obra que se escribe en el interior del pais debe sobreponerse al aislamiento y a la falta de libertad expresiva, y la que se escribe en el exilic debe desenvolverse desterrada del âmbito social y humano que aspira a définir en tanto literature nacional. (303)

But, as Epple points out, the search to recover a sense of identity through réévaluation of one's nationality, culture and history, is a positive factor in the renovation of literature and the goal of communicating the collective experience of a nation (305). Manuel Jcfré affirms a similar notion when he indicates that Chile itself is often featured as a principal character ("personaje central") in many of the works produced since the overthrow (Jofré 9). 172

Other writers who have studied the development of

Chilean narrative in the 1970s also indicate the existence

of two lines of thought and literary production. Antonio

Skârmeta, Fernando Moreno, Manuel Jofré, and Marjorie Agosin ("Aproximaciones") all offer evaluations of some of the more prominent authors and works of that period. Among the more

notable resident authors that they mention are Guillermo

Blanco, with his Dulces chilenos (1977), and Adolfo Couvé, with El picadero (1975) and La leccion de pintura (1979),

all dealing with psychological themes. Mario Bahamonde turns to historical themes with El caudillo de Copiapo

(1976), and Enrique Valdés depicts life in the southern

regions of Chile in his novel Ventana al sur (1974). La

Beatriz Ovalie (1977) by Jorge Marchant Lezcano explores the

life of Santiago's bourgeoisie, with some political

overtones involved; Fernando Jérez also describes the

struggles of some post-overthrow unemployed youths in Asl es

la cosa (1977), although in this case, without political

commentary. Skârmeta in his article also refers to some works identified as "subliterature," namely three novels written in the mid-1970s by Enrique Lafourcade which

trivialize the life and death of Salvador Allende and the

leftist program. José Rosasco also produced two novels: El

intercesor (1977), which seems to be a rather unconvincing

story about a prophet coming to announce a better world

(Skârmeta 63), and Donde estâs Constanza (1980), a nostalgic 173 evocation of lost childhood. In general, these authors and others have opted to explore non-political themes. As

Fernando Moreno suggests.

. . . ya sea por decision personal o por las coacciones ejercidas a través de la censura, la novela chilena del interior deja generalmente de lado la experiencia social para adentrarse en el anâlisis de mundos cerrados, desconectados del entorno vital, para dar paso a las evocaciones llricas, a los nûcleos intimistas sin otro asidero que no sea el del propio quehacer literario. (385)

In contrast, Chilean novelists living in exile have undergone a process of political self-examination as they have written about the critical period of the early 1970s.

One of the more notable authors in this category is Poli

Delano and En este luoar saorado (1977), which examines the events of the period 1953-1973. Two works by Fernando

Alegria, El paso de los gansos (1975) and Coral de guerra

(1979) both examine the events surrounding the military takeover, and Guillermo Atlas's La sang dans la rue (1978) explores the impact of the Popular Unity government. Ariel

Dorfman provides a scathing condemnation of Chilean social problems in his two works, Moros en la costa (1973) and

Chilex (1978), while Jorge Edwards has written a controversial novel titled Los convidados de piedra (1978)

in which representatives of various political factions recall personal experiences. José Donoso wrote Casa de 174 campo (1978) as a result of the impact of the overthrow, and

Antonio Skarmeta has also produced several novels dealing with the overthrow's effects, in Sone crue la nieve ardia

(1975), Novios Y solitaries (1975), and No paso nada (1980).

In a more recent evaluation of Chilean narrative, Luisa

Ulibarri delineates a number of themes which have characterized works published both within Chile and in exile during the fifteen years following the overthrow. In addition to underscoring the observations made by Juan

Epple, she confirms the existence of the two united tracks of contemporary narrative by citing comments made by literary critic Mariano Aguirre, and professor Manuel Jofré.

It is important to emphasize that repression has not produced the demise of Chilean literature; as Jofré has noted, "Aunque su lenguaje es imaginario, el discurso de la novela de estos 15 anos, de maneras muy sûtiles, casi undercrround apunta a un Chile reconocible y contemporaneo"

(Ulibarri "Largo" i).

Ulibarri's article, "Largo viaje hacia la noche," identifies the types of themes which have come to predominate in recent Chilean narrative. Logically, the themes of power and the dictator are two of the outstanding concerns she mentions. Power in all of its forms is a constantly recurring theme in many recent novels, whether portraying the patriarchal head of family (Esteban Trueba in

La casa de los espiritus or the Venturas in Casa de campo), 175 or a national leader (Fernando Jérez, % dla con su excelencia). These and other novels depict a power that exists as control through physical or psychological violence

(2). The theae of the dictator appears as a recurring idea in novels produced outside of the country, where writers have the freedom to be more overt in their descriptions, rather than confined to evocations of more individual conflicts (Alegria, Coral de guerra; Volodia Teitelboim, La guerra interna). (Since these concepts have already been discussed in Chapter III, they will not be reviewed at length in this chapter.)

Two other outstanding themes focus on images of the house and the journey. According to Ulibarri, the house has represented a number of ideas in Chilean narrative: early in this century, it represented traditional, "semi-feudal" order (Gran senor y raiadiablos); in the 1950s, it symbolized the traditional order subjected to disruptions from the street (Donoso, Coronacion), In the 1970s it became the habitation shared by the community, until 1974 when its space began to fall apart and desintegrate

(Vâsquez, Abel Rodriguez). In a larger sense, the house symbolizes the nation as a whole, as also seen in Donoso's

Casa de campo. Isabel Allende's La casa de los espiritus. and Marco Antonio de la Parra's El deseo de toda ciudadana.

As Manuel Jofré explains, "... [la] familia, lejos de ser 176 idilica, es una fuerza desintegrada, no coherente y alude al orden de la sociedad" (2) . Furthermore, the family, portrayed as it exists in an enclosed space, is often intimately linked with the figure of the "vieja loca” sitting alone in the attic or the patio who clearly and openly speaks her mind and thus functions as a social conscience for the rest (2).

As in the case of the concept of the house, the theme of the journey has also shifted in its significance. In works written in the 1950s, it often represented an internal search for identity, influenced by European existentialists, or at times a literal exploration of national culture or experiencing other lands. Since 1973, it has come to reflect the traumas of exile, of carrying one's identity with him/her, into a foreign culture; it may also deal with the traumas of returning to Chile and adjusting to the transformations found there, or even just journeying in one's memory to try to find an idealized past (Donoso, La desesperanza; Edwards, ^ anfitrôn'i . As Juan Epple explains, the pre-1973 image of the journey is a positive one: "... este viaje es un alejamiento momentâneo destinado a définir major el mapa intime de un pais que sigue siendo la amable casa que se ha heredado como un bien natural, y que puede transformarse para vivirla mejor"

(Epple 304). But afterwards, the journey becomes "...

[un] destine transitorio y problemâtico, que atrae sobre el 177 personaje las notas discordantes de la nostalgia, el absurdo, la protesta, la ironia, junto a la convicciôn de ser una parte precaria pero viva de una humanidad en proceso de reconquistarse . . ." (305). Thus Ulibarri's title

"Largo viaje hacia la noche" encapsulates the types of preoccupations dominating many of the works produced since

1973.

One other significant development in Chilean narrative in the fifteen years following the overthrow has been the emergence of a number of important female authors, especially since 1980. According to Mariano Aguirre and

Poli Delano, Chilean women writers have produced more and better quality works in recent years than their male counterparts (Aguirre, personal interview; Delano 9).

Within Chile in particular, this is due in part to the existence of talleres or workshops for women who want to learn to write, both as a means to articulate their own identities, and as a means to come to terms with events within their society (Bianchi in Rojo and Hassett 69). In addition to the four authors who comprise the object of this study, Delano mentions others such as Ana Maria del Rio and

Paulina Matta (both 1986 winners of national literature awards in Chile), Eugenia Neves, Lucia Guerra, and Adriana

Lassel who form a new generation of writers "[quienes] . . . han hecho notar con fuerza su presencia y han ocupado lugares importantes, ganândose sôlidos prestigios" (9) . 178

The ten novels in this study span a period of eleven years, with Ana Vâsquez's Los Bûfalos. los Jerarcas y la

Huesera appearing first chronologically, just four years after the overthrow. Her second novel, Abel Rodricmez y sus hennanos. was published in 1981. Isabel Allende*s three novels were published in 1982, 1984 and 1987. Diamela

Eltit's three novels appeared in 1983, 1986 and 1988, while

Elizabeth Subercaseaux ' s two books came out in 1987 and

1988. How do these novels correspond to the trends and themes delineated above? What notable changes in Chilean narrative have occurred in the second decade since the military takeover, as evidenced in these novels? Are there issues of particular importance to these female authors as they articulate their individual experiences and ideas?

As has been mentioned earlier, the two resident authors, Subercaseaux and Eltit, are both involved in writing about the "oppressed of the oppressed," those marginalized persons living in an authoritarian society without any voice or space of their own. As will be seen in the following thematic analysis of these texts, there is both a continuation of the tendencies common to the immediate post-1973 years for narrative produced within

Chile, and also an evolution as these writers engage in a subtle and subversive questioning of the status quo. The limitations of censorship are still evident in these works 179 produced between 1983 and 1988 in that, while both authors purposefully explore some of the socio-political problems extant in Chile, they do so at an individualistic level and in an oblique manner that refrains from pinpointing specific groups or events.’ Yet in comparison to the works from the period 1973-1980 mentioned above, these novels do acknowledge the existence of socio-political conflicts in a way that the earlier works were not disposed to do. Several of these texts focus on the themes of power, house and journey (while avoiding the theme of the dictator directly), and all of them illustrate the effects of outside disruptions on their particular narrative worlds. Through their novels, both authors focus on the normally unseen sites of resistance, and the desire to demarcate the parameters of one's own existence without the control of totalizing ideologies.

Subercaseaux and Eltit bring new perspectives and new responses to the conflicts assailing Chile in the 1980s. As women authors writing primarily (though not exclusively) about female characters, Subercaseaux and Eltit focus on the problems of the marginalized sectors of Chilean society, rather than those of the middle and upper classes, and on the struggles of women within those marginalized groups.

For Subercaseaux's characters, the struggle is exacerbated by the inability to understand and anticipate the actions of external forces (both natural and human) that move against 180 them. Eltit's characters are involved in a paradoxical process of negation as an expression of affirmation against authoritarian powers. Eltit's novels in particular also

show an unprecedented openness regarding sexual themes and gender identity, previously only vaguely alluded to by earlier generations of Chilean women writers. In addition, all three of Eltit's novels are self-conscious works in which the writer's relation to the text and the writer's role in society become key concerns (to be discussed in the conclusion)- Both Silendra and M canto de la raiz leiana are mythical in tone and content, in the sense that they depict worlds that are only remotely connected to daily reality, and characters who seem to exist only in the present.^ The narrative worlds represented are anything but utopie, as events occur almost completely out of control, and life is disrupted at every turn. As in the case of many novels, the setting intensifies the experiences and feelings of the protagonists by providing mental images which heighten the emotional impact of the situation, either through direct association or stark contrast (Chatman 143). The spaces that predominate in these narrations are enclosed places that help convey the sense of being trapped and powerless: the one- or two-room houses that the inhabitants live in, corners of rooms, and coffins. Open spaces which normally

imply a sense of freedom, such as the pastures, streets, and 181 the church with no roof (Canto), become threatening places of insecurity.

In Silendra. the pervasive themes of isolation and victimization are underscored by the inherent silence of the campesinos. and their passive responses to the tragedies that assail them. Many of the characters are paralyzed by a strong sense of anxiety produced by the fear of separation through death or disappearance. Most try to avoid the awful truth about the disappearances, except for the "vieja loca"

Adela who does act as the conscience for her people, and the literally "loco" Cochate who describes the big glass bird that swallowed him and his companions. The identity and the authority of the Captain and his soldiers remain unexplained, existing on a par with the other outside forces like earthquakes and other natural disasters that inflict grief upon the inhabitants of Tapihue. The journeys undertaken in the story are futile ones; obviously, the flight which takes the campesinos to their death in the mountains is a one-way journey from which only Cochate returns; and the boy Vitoco/Florln who sets out to find his

(any) family suffers rejection and loss.

The tale of the inhabitants of Tapihue is an episode that could be multiplied many times over, as campesinos suffer in silence at the hands of dictatorial power. The theme of resistance must be searched out and located as it quietly exists in the introduction to the story. The 182 unidentified narrator speaks out on behalf of the inhabitants, to tell their story which would otherwise be erased from history:

Nunca apareciô en la prensa .... Las gentes que habitaban en ciudades importantes, no se informaron de lo que sucediô allé, en el potrero del Ferai; no supieron que en el potrero aterrizaba un pâjaro de vidrio, que abria el vientre y luego se encumbraba, mis pesado que al principio, lleno de campesinos amontonados. Hasta perderse. (9)

The narrator describes Tapihue as the town that did not appear in the newspapers and is not marked in the maps of the country because the Captain ordered them to erase it

(10) . But the final words of the introduction show that the attitude is one of resistance rather than defeat:

Pero no muriô esa tierra colorada donde Enedina y las Melanias vivieron esos anos entre el desamparo, la resignacion y la muerte. (10)

The campesinos' struggle to survive becomes the struggle of individuals with names and faces. The writer who dares to make their anonymous story known fights to restore human dignity and compassion for them.

El canto de la raiz leiana is fundamentally the tale of the search a better world, as Salustio sets out on a journey to establish the utopie town of Tapihue. While Salustio 183 dreams of becoming the great patriarch of the town, Clarisa is more concerned with the pragmatic aspects of life, such as caring for their son, for friends, and maintaining traditional values such as the religious ties to which she is accustomed. The theme of isolation is still present, since the town never becomes the happy, thriving place that

Salustio imagines, and since the people who do come to live in Tapihue all bring past sadnesses or eccentricities with them. All the family units suffer some kind of separation that brings grief, although they struggle on inspite of it all. The political theme appears in veiled fashion once again, as Clarisa searches for her son and daughter-in-law who have disappeared. After Clarisa dies, she continues the search; as she tells Salustio, . . l a muerte es infinite. Tengo el tiempo de todos los siglos para encontrarlo[s]" (97). As she wanders, she meets Filuca, the priest's companion who was also abducted one night. Filuca alludes to the events which led to her death as she talks with Clarisa: "Los asesinados no podemos ir y volver como tû. Nos arrancan la vida a tirones y llegamos al potrero sintiendo el terror de la ûltima noche. Quisiera hacerlo, pero no puedo ir donde Francisco para contarle la ûltima noche de mi vida" (102). With no other explanations or commentaries, the suffering endured by each woman acquires a greater magnitude in its stark simplicity. 184

Clarisa is not the only figure involved in a journey

that takes her on a search for a better life. Salustio and

the priest Francisco also express the desire to find

happiness and completion, a desire that is not quenched by

adversity. Thus the ambiguous ending of the novel portrays

the quiet disappearance of all three characters, leaving

open the possibility of eventually finding a place of their

own. Resistance takes the form of the "canto de la raiz

lejana" as that elusive hope for a better life.

The struggle for existence becomes even more intense in

the novels of Diamela Eltit. The only recourse left to the

individual involved in resistance to authoritarian power is

to engage in a conscious inversion of traditional values in

order to negate their repressive power and to establish a

space in which to create an independent life. The space of the struggle becomes increasingly more restricted as the public plaza in Lumpérica is exchanged for the hampa bar and the prison cell in Por la patria. and ultimately the house

and even the womb in El cuarto mundo.

Although still not a resistance identified in direct

opposition to the ruling dictatorship in Chile, the context

of institutionalized repression is certainly clear in

Lumpérica. and Por la patria. Lumpérica implies a political theme by its very title: it is a neologism combining

"lumpen", a phrase from Marxist ideology referring to the working class people, and "America," referring by extension 185 to Latin America, and the struggle of the lower classes that continues in a number of countries. Interspersed with the scenes in the public plaza are scenes of an unidentified man being interrogated in an unspecified location. Presented without comment or explanation, the reader is as bewildered as the prisoner regarding the reasons for his detainment and questioning. The second novel, Por la patria. also infers a political theme by its particular title, not to mention the original jacket cover which depicts the x-ray of a human arm superimposed over a map of the Western Hemisphere.

Using exceptionally disruptive language and multiple images, the narrator denounces the current state of affairs in her country; Goya's descriptions of the military raids on her neighborhood and experiences of torture are presented in the same manner as in Lumpérica. with a similar cumulative effect of bewilderment and exasperation for the reader. El cuarto mundo is not overtly directed against authoritarian power as much as it is against any imposition of traditional social roles and gender identification. Yet the dangers of adultery and incest which threaten to destroy the family in this novel have apparent parallels to the dangers posed by national isolation and philosophical/political "in- breeding" . The four themes mentioned by Ulibarri receive unusual treatment by Eltit, as already noted by the references to the negations involved in resistance (actually three themes. 186 since Eltit also avoids dealing with the theme of the dictator). In Lumpérica. the house is a place of exclusion, a refuge for "normal" citizens who live in fear of the government curfew, and a place into which to retreat in order to not witness the violence that takes place on the streets at night. In the second and third novels, the house becomes a disrupted place, a place of turmoil and violation.

Coya's dream of a "normal" family and life is only a passing fantasy; the family in El cuarto mundo seems bent on mutual destruction. These places exist only at the margins of acceptable society.

The theme of the j ourney is more aptly designated a journey through time rather than one through space. L

Iluminada's journey lasts exactly one night, from sundown to sun-up, as she experiences the chaos of the plaza and of her own mind. Coya's journey does takes her from the hampa to the prison camp and back home again, but the more significant journey is the psychological one that propels her from being an individual who merely exists to one who successfully defies opposition and who sees her struggle as a universal one. And the j ourney portrayed in El cuarto mundo is also one that transpires essentially in one space but over a period of time, as the twins are conceived, born, raised and ’inited.

Themes relating to the body and sexuality are integral components of Diamela Eltit's three novels. As was 187 indicated in the first chapter of this study, one of the points of commonality between the ideas of Michel Foucault and many feminists is the proposition that the physical body is a site of power, "the locus of domination through which docility is accomplished and subjectivity constituted." For the authoritarian regime which seeks to control every aspect of an individual's life in order to maintain security and domination, power over the body is essential. Thus as

Eltit's characters engage in active resistance to authoritarian domination, defiance becomes localized in the body. Two axes of resistance which can be identified in these novels revolve around: 1)the mind-body relation and the imposition of gender identity, and 2)the limitations of acceptable social behavior (i.e., the incursions into adultery and incest). It should be noted that even though

Eltit's protagonists include two females and two bisexual individuals, it is not apparent that Eltit desires to specifically portray the struggles of women cfua women, but rather as members of a marginalized class.

In Lumpérica L lluminada struggles against invisible, intangible oppression— she never directly confronts the power figures over her, nor is she physically harmed by anyone else in any manner. Yet she is consumed by the battle she wages against unseen forces, and the site of that battle is her own body. Her physical presence in the plaza after curfew is an expression of resistance against 188 authoritarian power's attempt to control time and freedom of movement (Bartky in F/F. 62-63) . Furthermore, as Iris Young has observed, "Woman's space is not a field in which her bodily intentionality can be freely realized but an enclosure in which she feels herself positioned and by which she is confined" (F/F 66). Thus L Iluminada's erotic movements resist authoritarian prescriptions for proper feminine behavior, as even the most intimate moments are exposed and observed by others- In the hierarchy of gender which encourages males to display virility and females to hide any indications of sexuality, her body language defies the imposition of a subordinate status (F/F 74) . The references to willful mutiliation of the body (L Iluminada's burnt hand and shaved head, and the "Ensayo general" which describes the disfiguring of both arms) express a type of counterpower which robs torturers of the capacity to instill fear by inflicting physical pain.

In Por la patria Coya's ambiguous gender identity becomes a source of resistance for her, even while it is a cause for consternation for others. In a confusion of traditional gender roles, both Coya's father and mother use

Coya as a third sexual partner in an incestuous relationship which Coya seems to accept or at least tolerate ("mi mamâ, mi padre/mi trio que soy machi," 12). This relationship provokes jealousy in whichever parent is being excluded at the particular moment, as well as in Coya's heterosexual 189 lover Juan. After Juan causes the disappearance of Coya's mother and the death of her father, Coya resists Juan's advances even more and refuses to submit to the traditional passive female role. She declares herself to be "doble"

(273), and despises Juan's masculinity. Coya also uses her bisexual nature to confuse the soldiers who capture her along with others from the same barrio (the soldiers transfer her several times from the men's group to the women's group and back, 43), and refuses to "define" herself even under the pressures of interrogation (149). The unique strength and resistance that she possesses enable her to survive a number of arduous physical tortures, which she mentions only in passing as if they were insignificant events (186-188). In the end, Coya and her friends are released because of the "obstinada resistencia" they have shown (277). And just as their bodies felt the fear of the imminent military raid on their barrio (109), those same bodies now feel the freedom of being able to return home

(279).

In El cuarto mundo. the protagonist's struggle to establish a separate identity is thwarted by a futile obsession that ends in the obliteration of the self.

Because the male twin is so intensely aware of his interdependence with both his mother and his sister, he is unable to achieve that definitive separation of personality 190 needed in order to establish himself as an individual and as a male.

From his very conception inside his mother's womb, he is fully aware of his surroundings. The male twin experiences himself as object in a mind-body dichotomy, perceiving both his twin sister and his parents as objects also. His intensely rational, mature thought patterns indicate a lucid paranoia: he senses antagonism coming from his mother as she seems to establish some type of communion with the female twin, and his father loses all interest in his mother as she experiences the physical changes associated with the pregnancy. The male twin also perceives his sister as a competitor for supremacy and space inside the womb:

Sin saber a gué adjudicar su ataque, acosado, intenté alejaria, pero me paralizo su frote obsesivo que apuntaba en una sola direccion. Intui que era preferible que saciara su curiosidad y que, de esa manera, se estableciera entre nosotros un explicite campo de batalla. (18-19)

After the twins' birth, the rivalry intensifies as the male perceives every event as competition for the attention of the mother. At the age of five, the male twin undergoes a definitive crisis when he refuses to accept that he is separate from his mother, and decides to maintain an interdependency with his sister (37). Each time a type of 191 separation occurs (i.e., illness, the mother's second pregnancy, the first day of school), the male twin suffers a physical or mental upheaval (27, 32, 36, 41, 123), especially when both become adolescents and the sister finds her first boyfriend (58-61). The male twin also suffers rejection by his father (30,

44), as well as at least two incidents of physical abuse by strangers (45, 67-69). When his father discovers his mother in the act of adultery with another man, this transgression becomes the final crisis which destroys the family and plunges them into madness. They shut themselves up inside their house, because outside, the city represents "un espacio de muerte" (107). The male twin consumâtes the relationship with his sister that has obsessed their lives since conception. As a result of the incest, he goes insane and becomes a transvestite who calls himself by his sister's name, Maria Chipia. His sister describes the chaos that totally fragments the family:

Nosotros temblamos, temblamos horrorizados. Mi padre, anciano y cruel, culpô, clamô, renegô de mi madré. Mi madré, ya anciana y obscena, se doblegô ante él, reconociendo que su odio era sagrado, y su cuerpo supurante escrimiô un gesto de menosprecio hacia nuestras figuras evacuadas por la pasiôn y traspasadas por el adulterio materno antiguo. (85) 192

The destruction of rationality, the confusion of

identities, and the elimination of all moral codes and restrictions, all serve to erase the borders between sanity and madness, between reality and fantasy (125-126).

The novels of both Subercaseaux and Eltit are notable for their attempt to portray the socio-political realities currently dominating their homeland. Even though they approach the subject somewhat obliquely, their restraint provokes in the reader a desire to know the full story, to raise the questions that cannot be verbalized or printed in an authoritarian regime. The novels of Diamela Eltit are particularly forceful as they engage the full attention of the reader and challenge him to interpret the events described therein. As will be discussed in the next chapter, both authors use narrative and linguistic techniques which decenter the traditional narrator and provide a space in which to question authority. Most importantly, both authors desire to use their writing to call attention to problems, rather than to create artificial worlds in s-;ch problems do not even exist.

Ana Vasquez's first novel, Los Bûfalos. los Jerarcas y la Huesera. is definitely a personal chronicle written by an exiled Chilean searching for answers regarding the events of the years 1970-1974. The plot focuses on the thoughts, fears and desires of a number of refugees assembled in one of the foreign embassies in Santiago, as they await safe 193

conduct out of the country soon after the military takeover.

Of the two axes of opposition, the conflict between the

refugees and the newly imposed military regime definitely

becomes secondary in importance compared to the oppositions

among the various factions of refugees represented within

the embassy itself. The embassy building, a large converted

house, becomes a microcosm of the nation and the divisions which threaten to destroy it. The increasing signs of decay

and chaos as the embassy building exceeds its capacity for housing refugees also parallel the chaos in which the now

ousted parties find themselves. And the physical division

of the house into sectors for each of the factions represented (a floor for the upper-class i erarcas, one for the working class bufalos. and one for the irresponsible members of the "huesera") clearly indicates the existence of unresolved socio-economic prejudices and conflicts which polarize the opposition. Within the confines of the embassy

compound, all are subject to the authority of the Captain, the officer who now controls the embassy. And at the boundaries of the compound, the guards determine whether the refugees can receive visitors and gifts or nothing at all.

All of the above combine to severely reduce the available

"space" in which the characters can exist.

As each character recalls the events which led up to this "parenthesis" of life in the embassy, each one takes a metaphorical journey through time into his/her personal 194 past. More often than not, the characters are not able to reconcile past and present, or to find answers for the present chaos in past decisions and actions. The process is especially painful for Pancho, as he scrutinizes past conversations with his leader, el Puma, and tries to understand why it seems like el Puma has deserted him.

Pancho is unwilling or unable to admit that el Puma could possibly be an opportunist, someone more committed to personal advancement rather than a political cause. His wife Nelly seems to comprehend better than Pancho the reality of his betrayal by el Puma:

Era Francisco Contreras el que aparecia como dueno del diario, el que alquilo el teatro para el primer congreso [. . .] los militares no lo buscaban por el sindicate sino porque Pancho era el ûnico hilo visible de la madeja clandestina. Su pobre Pancho, tan leal e ingenuo. Lloraba en suenos, no sabia por gué. (222)

As Nelly seems to recognize, this particular journey will only result in a virtual "dead end" for Pancho, as it will for many others.

The other aspect of the theme of the journey comes across as various refugees gain the precious safe conduct passage which will enable them to begin a new life in another land. Instead of celebrating freedom and a new lease on life, almost all of the refugees go into exile with a sense of dread, separation from all they hold dear, and 195

genuine grief at the prospects of never being able to return

to their homeland: "Los que tenian salvoconducto tenian ojos

de despedida, los miraban desde lejos como si ya hubieran

iniciado ese viaje hacia la nada" (200).

The feeling of despair is as intense for the men as it

is for the women who have to make the same journey, and the question "^Volveremos?" is on everyone’s mind. Only the members of the "huesera" appear not to be bothered by the

change, since they are leaving in order to find the personal and economic advancement they consider unattainable in

Chile. The theme of resistance becomes an object of open criticism and re-evaluation in BJH. The official resistance comes across as more rhetoric than action, as opponents to the regime flounder about, looking for direction. As Nelly re-examines her past encounters with el Puma, she is unable to reconcile his boastful words with his seemingly cowardly actions (274). At the end of the novel, as Nelly is preparing to take her children and join Pancho in exile, she secretly receives a message from a companera in the Party.

As she reads it, she asks herself if the letter is spontaneous, or perhaps prompted by el Puma for some reason

(355). The message declares that the Resistance organization is intact and forming a united program.

Furthermore, "En todas partes se estan creando Comités de

Resistencia, nuestro simbolo es la R. Los milicos la 196 borran, la prohiben, pero volvemos a rayarla." The message ends with a triumphal tone, but Nelly refuses to believe it, asking herself how "haciendo rayado" can possibly change anything (356). Just as Nelly senses the enormity of the betrayal she and Pancho have suffered, the aristocratic Ghislaine also expresses her personal disillusionment with the cause:

"Estoy cansada de pelear para sobrevivir. Nos aferramos a la vida justificândonos con declaraciones heroicas,

'volveremos', 'la resistencia desde el exterior', solo frases" (233). Ghislaine*s lover, the MIRista Salazar, seems to be the only person determined to confront the difficulties facing the opposition forces; but without support from others, he is at a loss as to how to proceed.

Even though he is surrounded by people who share the condition of political exile, he declares, "Parece absurdo

[. . .] pero me siento tan solo" (235). The novel's open ending leaves little hope for the future of the refugees.

With her second novel in 1981, Ana Vâsquez returns to the theme of the conflicts produced by the political situation in contemporary Chile. More than just a documentary or chronicle of the events of the 1970s, Abel

Rodriquez y sus hermanos is the history of the conflict between two brothers and their families, once again a microcosm of the struggles which divided the national family in two. The story of each brother occurs in a Foucauldian 197 space of maximum objectivication: Abel's, as he is confined to a prison cell (at first with about a dozen others in an eight-foot square cell, and later in a "dog house" like

Alba's in CE), and Ramon's, as he is questioned in a doctor's office in a mental hospital, (and retreats even further inside himself). In their minds, both brothers relive past experiences, especially as they center around a third space, that of the service station owned by their father. This modest business that the father has operated for years expands into a modern facility as time passes, and requires all the time and energy that the three Rodriguezes can give it. It becomes the center of controversy as Abel sides with the workers' desire to form a union, and Ramon's vehement opposition to the move. Finally, it is responsible for the deaths of four family members: the father dies of a heart attack brought on by stress, Abel dies for his involvement in hiding weapons in the storeroom at the station, Ramon's son Moncho dies in the explosion that destroys the station, and Ramon dies because he knows that he is ultimately responsible for the demise of the other three.

The action of the story is played out against the historical backdrop of the setting of Santiago and the surrounding area during the years 1940-1976. In actuality, there is not one Santiago, but several: the acceptable, visible upper-class neighborhoods versus the marginalized. 198 unseen barrios of the poorer sections; but also the "normal" world of daily routine and family life versus the uprooted world of the present which exists in the prison (35). When

Abel tries to imagine how his comrades' lives would be "on the outside," or what his loved ones are doing at a particular time, he senses that those worlds are far away and unrecoverable, even though he himself is probably physically in some main section of the city. Ironically, the same is true for Ramon in that he is a prisoner of his own mind, tortured by guilt and memories of the past; the

"real" world of the present no longer exists for him either.

Whereas BJH is primarily structured around the themes of the house and the journey, these themes have minor importance in The homes represented by the elder

Rodriguez family and by Ramon's family are essentially spaces of conflict: the first represents a traditional patriarchal family unit where the father imposes his will on the rest of the family members, and the second represents a typical family pretending to be "gente bien"— Betty is more interested in having the latest furniture styles and appliances than in providing for her husband and son.

Abel's family is clearly non-traditional in that Monserrat is his daughter by a woman married to someone else, and

Carmen is the woman he lives with, without benefit of marriage- But at the same time, the relationship among these three is the most positively portrayed one in the 199 novel. The principal references to journeys in the novel

refer to Abel's travels during which he matures as a person

and as an artist (an example of Epple's pre-1973 journey), and Monserrat's escape at the end of the novel as she goes

into exile after gaining revenge for her father's death (an

example of the post-1973 journey).

Jofré's proposition that Chile itself becomes a principal character in post-exile novels would seem to hold true in both of Vâsquez's works, since both focus on

individuals who represent the past, present and future of the nation. The central questions of ^ — the issues of power, resistance and self-determination— are portrayed by

individuals who possess varying degrees of power. The armed

forces, the military police and the secret police form traditional power structures characterized by ruthlessness, conspiracy and corruption. As one of the prisoners explains to Abel the "ABC" of the military, Abel becomes aware of the delicate balance of power among the various sectors of the ruling regime, and the distrust with which each group views the other (126). Also on an individual level, Ramon's friend Guido is a pilot in the Chilean Air Force (FACH) who reveals to Ramon that there is a system of special privileges for certain personnel, namely those pilots who receive training in

Intelligence operations (139-141). Guido further informs

Ramon that the Intelligence Service has a secret file on his 200 brothers regarding their political activities. In many ways, the unseen but pervasive regimes of power (also seen in the military wives' code of conduct described in Chapter

III) gain intensity when viewed at the most personal levels.

The political prisoners unite in their resistance by forming networks of information and support in an effort to establish a counter power. They unite in a silence of solidarity in the presence of the guards (29) , but also resorting to humor and to song in order to bolster their spirits (73) • A prisoner called "El Nurdo" embodies the qualities of resistance: "La seguridad calmada con que enfrentaba al Capitân, los consejos atinados con que ayudaba a sus companeros de prisiôn, una actitud constante de escuchar sin erigirse en juez, todo le conferia una autoridad indiscutible" (117).

The battle ground of the two opposing sides is centered in the physical body, as the prisoners endure tremendous physical and mental torture. A common belief held by the prisoners regards the relationship between the severity of the torture and the possibilities of release: if the torturers get "over-enthusiastic" and inflict noticeable, lasting physical scars, then the prisoner will face certain death because his body would become a literal testimony of denunciation against the Junta (87). Another tactic of the secret police is to allow the prisoners a surprise visit to their families in order to take advantage of the strong 201 emotional impact and thus definitively break the prisoner's will to resist. The physical decline suffered by the prisoner is a terrrible shock for the family:

Al comprobar el desgaste que producla la prisiôn y la tortura en la persona amada, los familiares sufrlan un verdadero golpe, y el preso, que nunca se podia mirar en un espejo mientras estaba en la Venda, veia reflejarse en la consternaciôn con que lo miraban los suyos, la huella que los sufrimientos habian marcado en su rostro. (182)

The suffering that Abel endures— the physical decline brought on by torture, but also by his past excessive drinking as a means to escape the dreariness of the service station; the prospects of drug injections to force him to confess; the betrayal and rejection by his brother Ramon; and decline of his artistic skill— all convince him that it would be better to end his life trying to resist rather than gradually waste away even if freed. His companions on the outside insist that Abel's death is meaningless, even though he does manage to kill the Captain and several others, since individual actions lack the impact made by organized resistance (11). But Abel's companions in prison call him a hero who resisted to the end and thereby saved the life of his brother el Cachorro, an important figure in the opposition forces.

The question of self-determination or victimization is one that has no clear answers provided in the text. Abel 202 seems to be a clear victim of the secret police, yet it is his own decision to fight against them. Ramon seems to triumph since he is not punished for hiding the arms in his

service station, yet he becomes a victim of his own guilt when he realizes how many people have suffered because of his self-centeredness. But Ramon may be a victim of a materialistic system, just as Betty and Moncho are, carried away by the desire for a lifestyle beyond their means. And ultimately, all of them may be victims of a struggle taking place on a national scale, as opposing ideologies force people to take sides, with no room for compromise. The ending of the story indicates that in any case there will be more victims in the future. Abel's daughter Monserrat is disillusioned by the failure of the political parties to resolve differences and amend injustices:

No podia negar que la ruina de "los Moya", como los llamaba, no era ninguna contribuciôn importante al movimiento de Resistencia. Pero tcomo saber cual era la "buena" resistencia?, cla eficaz? i.0 habia otra manera? Monserrat temla que pasaran afios distribuyendo volantes, impulsando la reflexion y luchando por la supervivencia de la cultura para que la Junta terminera cayendo por un coyuntura internacional imprévisible, o tal vez Pinochet se eternizaria y terminaria muriéndose de viejo. (258)

The key questions and conflicts of post-1973 are thus presented but not answered. Through her portrayal of characters involved in trying to understand and resolve the 203 tensions of their lives. Ana Vâsquez allows the reader to experience the emotions and sympathize with the Chilean people in their struggles. Like Ana Vâsquez, Isabel Allende is a Chilean writing in exile about events which transpired in her homeland.

Yet, more than any of the previous three authors discussed,

Allende focuses most clearly on women's issues and the positive alternatives to authoritarian power. Her three novels also show the progression of Allende's own personal evolution as a woman writer trying to establish a genuine voice: all three novels feature female protagonists involved in writing testimony (personal and national) and coming to a self-awareness and a self-confidence that enable them to overcome adversity and political opposition. In the process, Allende's writing fits the description by Epple cited on page 168, that is, a narrative given to documentary and testimonial functions, rejecting traditional aesthetic codes in order to define its own style and develop a form of expression adequate for dealing with emerging realities.

Allende's breaking away from past traditions of women's literature and women's experience has meant embracing more political themes and creating strong female characters to deal with such themes. In doing so, she has not created fictional women who have no relationship to reality, but instead has uncovered those aspects of Latin American 204 women's lives which are normally underestimated or even repressed, treating them as positive strengths.

All three novels are built upon historical frameworks.

La casa de los espiritus describes the history of Chile from the turn of the centxiry until 1974. De amor y de sombra describes events in an unidentified Latin American country

in the 1970s and early 1980s (textual indications fuse together events such as the marches of the madres locas in the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires with the Lonquen massacre in Chile in 1978). Eva Luna links the events of Nazi

Germany with those of a tropical Latin American dictatorship

(which parallels Allende's adopted homeland of Venezuela) in a timeline which extends into the present.

In addition, all three novels portray conflicts between individuals and repressive regimes, and clearly emphasize the themes of power and the dictator. Political and military corruption also occupy a substantial position in each narrative, along with the institutions involved in resistance. In contrast to Vâsquez's BJH. Allende does not explore the question of what went wrong with the Popular

Unity government in CE; she tries to represent both sides of the political controversy in a non-judgmental fashion.

Indeed, Allende seems more interested in emphasizing the crucial role of socially- and politically-committed people from the middle class in gaining the victory over authoritarian regimes. 205

While Allende's greater emphasis is on the themes of power and the dictator, the themes of the house and the journey are still present, although in ways distinct from the other texts. Obviously, CE features the Trueba house in the Barrio Alto section of Santiago; the expansion of the house and its decay parallel the fortunes of the Trueba family and Chilean urban society at large. CE also features the Trueba country estate, "Las Tres Marias," which undergoes a similar process of growth, prosperity and decline as the campesinos» way of life is affected by national change. In traditional fashion, Clara del Valle is the heart and soul of each place: by her presence, she is the one who makes each house into a home, who mediates family conflicts and who keeps the family together (240).

From the very beginning of their marriage, Clara's ideas of what their house should be like come in to direct conflict with Esteban's wishes. The construction of the Trueba mansion is subtlely subverted by Clara: Esteban wants a solid, imposing, modern home which will reflect the dignity and wealth of the family name; Clara turns it into an

"enchanted labyrinth" by adding rooms to accomodate unexpected guests, and by knocking down walls in order to recover buried treasures, according to the spirits' indications (86). In time, the house becomes a refuge for all kinds of religious eccentrics, artists and poets— even including "el Poeta", a clear allusion to the Chilean Nobel 206 laureate Pablo Neruda— creating a space in which all such marginalized persons can exist, and whose door is always open (181, 226).

But whereas Nivea, Clara, and Blanca operate primarily within the traditional confines of the home. Alba Trueba freely explores the public spaces outside of the home. She is the first female family member to attend the university; as a consequence, she meets and falls in love with the political activist Miguel, and spends much time together with him and groups of other students in nightly café discussions. After the military takeover, she also operates in the "unseen margins" of power as she aids political refugees to reach asylum in numerous foreign embassies. She finds herself in many spheres normally occupied by males, including the prison camp and torture cell. After her release, when she returns home to wait for Miguel and for the birth of her child, she is not defeated by her experiences in the public sphere; on the contrary, she now seems confident in both realms, principally because of the inner confidence she possesses.

In ^ and EL neither female protagonist lives in a traditional home setting. Irene and her mother occupy the second floor of their home, forced by necessity to establish an old folks' home on the first floor in order to pay back the debts left to them when Irene's father abandoned his family. Neither Irene nor her mother Beatriz spend much 207 time at home: Irene's job as a journalist keeps her out on assignments in a variety of public places; Beatriz's personal and social life keep her in contact with a number of friends and lovers away from home.

Eva Luna's life is totally unconventional: her mother was an orphan raised by missionaries and later sent to work as a servant for an eccentric professor who specializes in embalming. Eva is conceived, born and raised in that home; then after her mother’s accidental death, Eva lives with a series of eccentric amos in picaresque fashion. She is adopted by a madame, a Turkish merchant and his wife, and finally goes to live with a bisexual actress before meeting the man with whom she may (or may not) establish a permanent relationship. In fact, she has an entire family of substitutes: the professor Jones becomes her grandfather, the cook Elvira her grandmother, Riad Halabi and Zulema her parents, and Humberto Naranjo her brother, in addition to the "instant ancestors" she fabricates when she and Mimi buy photographs of strangers and hang them on the wall as family members (206). Eva also becomes involved in a number of public spheres usually occupied primarily by males: she lives on the street temporarily with the runaway Humberto

Naranjo; she learns to manage Riad Halabi's general store; she works in a factory; she becomes gainfully self-employed by writing telenovela scripts; and she even participates in an escape plot to help rescue some of Humberto's companions 208 from a jungle prison. Granted, some of these roles are secondary in importance to those of her male comrades, but nevertheless Eva is actively involved in events in the public sphere. In an interesting and ironic inversion of characterizations in the latter two novels, the male protagonists ^ come from traditional patriarchal families.

In Francisco Leal lives with his parents until he flees the country with Irene; in EL Rolf Carié grows up in a

"normal" family structure in Germany, and then enjoys a positive family environment with his uncle Rupert's family in the German colony established in the Latin American country. Furthermore, in M.- Francisco is often the passive partner in the relationship between himself and Irene: he is afraid to express his feelings toward Irene, fearing that she will not correspond (120-121) ; Irene is the one who remains reasonable and controls Francisco when he is overcome by passion in a critical moment (228) ; and

Francisco is the helpless bystander who watches Irene fight for her life in the hospital after being shot (272-273).

Journeys in all three novels reflect both types described above, i.e., adventure and exile. In CE Clara's uncle Marcos and later her son Nicolâs travel to exotic lands and bring back strange notions and objects from other cultures. In both Rolf and Eva are involved in physical/metaphorical journeys of passage from childhood to 209 adulthood (Rolf, 81-82; Eva, 100-112, but also Chapters 5 and 8 when she goes to live with Riad and later returns to the city). Rolf's journey can also be seen as going into exile since he will perish if he does not escape the grief caused by his father's death. The story of exile is clearly seen in CE when Blanca and Pedro Tercero leave the country in order to start over in Canada (332), and even more so in

AS. Ironically, the child of the exiled parents flees to the country abandoned by his parents a generation before:

Francisco and Irene must leave the country, and decide to live at least temporarily in the house in Spain deserted by

Francisco's parents when General Franco came to power (301).

AS ends with the same question posed at the end of Vâsquez ' s

BJH: Volveremos?"— this time, answered in the affirmative by Francisco (314). One other series of journeys in Œ , while obstensibly of minor importance compared to the types described above, nevertheless represent a particularly important concern of women's experience. The yearly cycle of journeys between the winter home in the city and the summer home in the country have significant influence on all the characters affected by the move. The description of all the organization involved in preparing for such a move provides a humorous note to the action, but also points to the interruptible schedules of daily life with which women must contend. On a more serious note, it also indicates the 210 resentment felt by the campesinos whose lives are disrupted by the invasion of the city people and the imposition of their will upon the poor inhabitants of the area. Regarding the individual characters involved, country life is especially envigorating for Clara, who seeks to improve the life of the campesinos and works side by side with her husband in the daily chores (95-96). After the earthquake,

Clara's perspective on life changes radically when she views the suffering and must deal with the trials of life directly, as well as the demands and abuse Esteban gives her

(142-143). The Blanca who seems to "hibernate" in the city also comes alive in the country, inspired by her relationship with the foreman's son Pedro Tercero (125). In contrast, Esteban Trueba becomes less civilized, and more brutal in the country, abusing the campesinos. especially the women, and later on, even his own family (55, 153) . But interestingly enough, all three women— Clara, Blanca and

Alba— return to their city home in anticipation of the birth of their children. And sadly, Esteban's sister Ferula never adapts to living in either place— her world is the dark, disease-ridden bedroom of her dying mother, and later, of the apartment where she also dies alone.

The theme of resistance is notably different in the novels by Isabel Allende. Instead of passive resistance to unseen forces, negation, or counter-violence, many of

Allende's female characters are engaged in a positive 211 resistance by growing in the power that comes from knowledge and experience, and by drawing strength from inner resources and external networks of support and companionship. There does occur an inversion of traditional images in AS in that the notion of the shadow as an evil force or death is converted into a positive space from which to fight back against evil: the shadows of separation (33, 78), fear

(101) and death (129, 136, 139-140) become the shadows of safety and resistance used by the church and other organizations determined to fight against government oppression (242, 257). But the keys to resisting oppression come from more positive aspects: first, the knowledge and networks possessed by the empowered characters, as described in Chapter III; second, more involvement by female characters in public spheres of influence, as already alluded to above; and third, a different attitude regarding the physical body. Rather than seeing themselves as passive objects or victims existing exclusively for males' pleasure, many of the female characters consider their bodies to be their own, for their own fulfillment. They openly express their own sexuality, and are not inhibited by social or religious taboos. In CE, Clara's tendency to retreat within an inner world of silence during her pregnancies is not a sign of subjugation, but an invisible refuge in which to cope with the situation and to establish communion with her unborn child (90-93, 102). It is also her refuge against 212

the anger of her husband, an impenetrable world in which her

spirit is free, and to which Esteban has no access (153-

154). In turn. Alba displays unusual frankness rather than

timidity regarding discussions of human anatomy and

sexuality, due to the influence of her uncle Jaime the

doctor, and Nicolâs the mystic (243).

Both Irene Beltrân and Eva Luna maintain multiple

relationships with men (Irene with Gustavo Morante and

Francisco Leal, Eva with Humberto Naranjo and Rolf Carié),

and appear to be divided between fulfilling a traditional

passive social role with the one, or entering into a more

"liberated" partnership with the ether. In the end, both

women reject the traditional role for the less restricted

one, revealing a strength of will and a self-confidence that

are not intimidated by possible social criticism. While

Allende still seems to support traditional heterosexual

relationships in which both male and female partners play

complementary roles, androgyny is a theme common to both AS

and EL. The figures of Mario the hairdresser and

Melecio/Mimi the actress struggle to overcome traumatic

pasts and to find a place in society. Both figures also

give vital assistance to the protagonists, combining

compassion and action; Mario helps Irene and Francisco to

escape detection by the police, and Mimi becomes Eva's

patron, providing the means by which Eva can become the writer she desires to be. According to Ugalde, such 213

androgynous characters "simultaneously reject the

dichotomies of masculine discourse and embrace a synthetic

female alternative" (229) and represent a synthesis of

oppositions which has become a central component of

neofeminist literature (229).

Many of the female protagonists of Allende's novels

also gain strength through the experience of physical

suffering. Clara finds a new determination after the

devastating earthquake that destroys the ranch and severely

injures her husband (143), as well as after her husband

strikes her (173). After the incredible pain and

humilliation Alba suffers in the prison camp, she is

virtually "re-born" within the womb/tomb of the dog house

("sepulture," 347) and begins a new life unstained by

bitterness, hatred or the desire for revenge. The act of

reconciling all that has happened to her, including the

acceptance of her unborn child as her own— regardless of

whether she is the victim of rape or the fruit of love—

demonstrates a remarkable victory over the tragedy that has

literally marked her life. To a lesser degree, Irene in AÆ

and Eva Luna in EL also endure physical suffering at the hand of brutal military officers. For Irene, the physical pain from the bullet wounds is not as distressing as the thought of exile (312). Eva Luna also overcomes the pain

inflicted during her interrogation, and looks on her scars

as simply one reminder of past events (EL 25, 179). 214

Allende's novels are also self-conscious texts in which the role of the writer is a central consideration. The relationship between listening-reading-acquiring knowledge and speaking-writing-personal expression appears in all three texts as each protagonist experiences self-awakening.

As Barbara Harlow indicates, the role of resistance

literature, particularly narrative, is to analyze the past in order to open up the possibilities of the future (Harlow

82) . As Allende appropriates the context of historical events for her novels, she opens up new possibilities for female characters, narrators and writers in Latin American literature.

The ten novels involved in this study show both a continuation of the trends discussed in the beginning of this chapter, as well as important transitions. The works produced in Chile certainly show the effects of official and self-censorship in the exclusion of the theme of the dictator and specific political references. Closed spaces predominate in the novels by Subercaseaux and Eltit, with both male and female characters found in these spaces.

Their narrative worlds are bounded by an awareness of oppression, and the sense of repression and pessimism is great as the protagonists seem unable to overcome the forces against them. The focus on the struggles of marginalized persons rather than on the problems of the middle-class 215

shows a new social concern not as prevalent in earlier works

by other authors. In contrast, the works produced outside of Chile show

more openness to come to terms with recent political events, and indeed, the need to do so as a means to adjust to the

changes brought by exile. There is an urgency to chronicle

events and to testify against wrongs which have been buried

by official propaganda. Vâsquez and Allende are able to

write from the vantage point of geographical and temporal

perspective, as well as from a woman's perspective. Their

female characters are not confined to closed spaces; indeed,

many operate alongside of their male counterparts in public

spheres. Allende's works show the most evolution regarding

the role of women in society, and the belief in positive

means of challenging authoritarianism.

While these four authors may not deliberately set forth

a conscious political agenda through their writings, all are

involved in the process of resisting authoritarian and

patriarchal domination within their particular culture. All

four attempt to expand the boundaries of "acceptable" women's writing and the relationship between literature and

politics. By exploring the pertinent questions of the

social and political realities in which they exist, they

also actively engage the reader in the search for answers to

the questions they set forth. 216

Notes

1. Specific information regarding the actions of the Pinochet government to enforce censorship of the media and publishing companies is available in the study by Lidia Baltra Montaner, Atentados a Ig, libertad de informacion y a los medios de comunicaciôn en Chile. 1973-1987 (Ceneca 1988). Baltra Montaner divides the existence of censorship into three periods: "Aniquilauniento del sistema comunicacional" (September-December 1973), "Censura por decreto" (1974-1981) and "Institucionalizacion de la censura" (1981-1987) (6). The study is composed of dates and citations from public and official documents that indicate the process of "institutionalization" of censorship in Chile, as well as charts which show the number of journalists who have been threatened, detained, exiled or killed since 1973. Elizabeth Subercaseaux was one of those journalists who was threatened by unknown civilians, 15 September 1985 (45). 2. The similarities of language and content between Subercaseaux's works and those of Juan Rulfo also extend to the type of writing described by Julio Ortega as "mythical writing". Essentially, "mythical writing" is characterized by the notion that there is no "external world" in the novel; that is, the novel's realities are constructed entirely by language and names, so that the text is supported solely by itself. As Ortega explains, while the "power of representation is remarkable, it has a somewhat phantasmic quality because the reference is purely verbal". Such a text assumes that "reality" and "fiction" cannot be distinguished (Ortega 4). Both Silendra and El canto de la ralz leiana portray this type of world, one which is only remotely tied to any external reality, and one in which unusual or supernatural events may occur without warning or explanation. CHAPTER V

The Discourse of Resistance

As mentioned in the introduction to Chapter III, Sharon Keefe Ugalde points to a cyclical process in women's writing

of subversiveness-destruction-deconstruction followed by reconstruction-creation. She sees the evolution of Latin

American women's writing as currently entering into a more

constructive phase, based on her evaluation of creative works and critical approaches produced in the 1980s (224) .

While some literary texts by Latin American women still

focus on countering oppressive stereotypes and patriarchal discourse, many are actively pursuing an "authentic image"

of individual and collective female identity (225) . Ugalde

lists a number of characteristics of contemporary women's writing which indicate how this transformation is taking place: new strategies targeting marginality, humor and violence; renovation of language and genre classifications;

and new importance given to aspects of female

essence/experience such as multiplicity, the irrational,

female eroticism, active female figures, and synthesis of

oppositions (224-229). Although some of the ideas mentioned above have already been discussed previously in this study,

217 218

it may be necessary to return to them again in the analysis

of narrative strategies and language in this chapter.

Both cycles described in Ugalde's evaluation of women's

writing are represented by the novels involved in this

study. As will be seen later in this chapter, Subercaseaux,

Eltit, and, to some extent Vâsquez, all strive to establish

an alternate discourse and open a space from which to

question authority through their particular uses of

narrative strategies and language. While Allende may also

be involved in this process, she is the only author of the

four who uses narrative strategies and language to establish

an alternative authentic female identity.

It must be noted that although these four authors

express social and political concerns through their works,

they are also intensely committed to literature as aesthetic

expression. Each one expresses a desire and a need to write, and each is conscious of the particular audience she

addresses. While their works share a number of

commonalities in literary content and form, they all display

significant differences as each author continues to develop

her own unique voice. The principal commonalities— use of national and personal history as "intertexts," and multiplicity in narrative voice— as well as the divergences

in language and accessibility show what directions each

author has taken. The conclusion of this study will examine the ways in which each author presents the relationship of 219 the writer and the text, and the role of the writer in society. The first characteristic shared by all ten novels is a structure based upon a contemporary historical framework.

As Barbara Harlow indicates, one of the key components of resistance literature is the burden of historical reference it lays upon the reader, requiring him/her to consciously relate the experiences of the text to historical events

(Harlow 95-96). For these four Chilean authors, this entails (c)overt inclusion of references to people and current events, particularly as these events impinge upon the lives of marginalized individuals and groups. In this aspect, all four authors highlight class/gender oppression, in order to give it visibility and ultimately destroy it, whether it be female-racial oppression (Subercaseaux's

Indian campesinos). female-social oppression (Eltit's hampa dwellers), or female-political oppression (Vasques's refugees and Allende's political prisoners) (Ugalde 224).

In part, these authors employ their works as a means to respond to the urgent need for political commitment, action and solidarity against authoritarianism.

All four authors also show the mark of personal background in their works. While not all of the novels are strictly autobiographical, each author certainly does write out of her own experience, as well as seeking to represent that of those groups with which she is familiar, and which 220 have had no voice of their own. For example, Elizabeth

Subercaseaux draws from the impact made by her childhood environment; as she herself has stated, "Creel en el campo, con un fuerte sentimiento del abandono, lo que me hizo comprender y captar mucho mejor el desamparo e infelicidad de los campesinos . . . que creo era el mismo que vivia por entonces esta nina que se llamaba Elizabeth" (Rojas Barrera

16) . Diamela Eltit grew up on the south side of Santiago in the midst of the hampa. theenvironment from which she draws heavily for her first two novels, even though any personal references to her own childhood are purposefully omitted.

Her interest in marginalized groups represents a personal commitment which at one point in time even included washing the street in front of some houses of prostitution and visiting hospitalized indigents as a means to identify with those who exist at the limits of institutionalized power

(Foxley "'Me interesa'" 4).

Ana Vâsquez's account of the refugees' lives in the embassy is very similar to the situation she experienced as she and her family escaped from Chile in 1973, after seeking asylum in the Swedish embassy with 130 others (Donoso "Los enjambres" 49). (Incidentally, Eulogio, the one character in BJH who is a university professor, as was Vâsquez, is portrayed as a neutral character, neither a help nor a hindrance to the cause [108-109]). After arriving in France 221 with her husband and seven children, she continued practicing her career as a psychologist, eventually earned a doctorate from the Sorbonne, and found time to pursue her desire to write fiction (Gligo 177). Since then, her work as a psychologist has centered on rehabilitation of former political prisoners sent into exile. Remarkably, she has been able to turn the story of their personal sufferings into the archetypal story of Abel Rodriguez found in her second novel (Blanco "Novela" 48)•

As Isabel Allende has often admitted, many of her characters are composites of herself, family and acquaintances. In her well-known essay, "The Spirits Were

Willing" (in D. Meyer Lives 235-242), she describes the impact of growing up in her grandparents* house, watching her mother's struggles to take care of her family, and the sobering experience of September 11, 1973, all of which are reflected in Alba's story in CE. In an interview with

Michael Moody (52), she explains her affinities with Irene

Beltran and the impact that the discovery of the Longuén massacre had on her life. And in yet another interview she points to the similarities between the courageous character

Eva Luna and her own experience (Foster 44). Thus, each of the four authors is able to draw from the past circumstances of their own lives as well as a number of other influences to develop their works. 222

Curiously, one of the strongest similarities among the novels is found in the use of multiple perspectives. As

Ugalde notes, "plurality and ambiguity have become characteristics of female discourse" as authors strive to decentralize and dismantle hierarchies (227). And indeed, all ten novels feature multiple perspectives, which may or may not come together at any point in the text. All of the authors seem to want to include as many points of view as possible, creating a "web" of impressions rather than one totalizing viewpoint.

The text by Seymour Chatman, Storv and Discourse

(1978), provides insightful information regarding the distinction between point of view (perspective) and narrative voice (expression) which is useful for the analysis of the texts in this study. It should be made clear that while these ten novels all feature multiple perspectives, only Lumnérica. El cuarto mundo and CE actually employ multiple narrators. The rest either employ what can be identified as first- or third-person narrators.

According to Chatman, however, the true significance of the narrative voice lies in its degree of "audibility" in the text. Chatman delineates several degrees of audibility ranging from narrators of zero or minimal intrusion into the story, to covert narrators who intrude "discreetly", and overt narrators whose presence is immediately recognizable.

He discusses the various strategies employed by each type of 223 narrator in order to accomplish the determined purposes of the author, and distinguishes them from the possibilities comprised by the variations of perspectives or points of view possible (i.e., a literal point of view, from a particular character's perceptions; a figurative point of view which reflects a character's world view; and a transferred point of view which actually reflects what another character would believe in a particular circumstance) (151-153). The use of multiple perspectives by these four authors fulfills a number of purposes, primarily to "take apart" hegemonic views in order to highlight alternative views, and also to "put together" a voice for those groups which previously had not had a forum in which to speak for themselves. In consonance with the feminist reader response approach which regards criticism as an active dialogue between author and reader, the notion of

"audibility" of the narrator's voice is an appropriate model through which to exaimine these texts. After briefly indicating how each author uses multiple perspectives in her work, the analysis will then focus on the types of narrators, their degree of audibility, and the impact each has on the particular narration.

Among those texts which feature multiple perspectives in order to "put together" a wholistic view of the circumstances, Silendra. BJH. and M present themselves for this purpose. The stories of the campesinos taken together 224 as a whole represent the pervasive suffering and the powerlessness of the lower class; the stories of the political refugees taken together serve to magnify the frustration and chaos felt by the opposition groups throughout the country and in exile; the story of the upper- class Beltrân family, the middle-class Leal family and the lower-class Ranquileo and Flores families taken together show the impact of repression on all of them.

The other novels tend to "take apart" the narration and separate it into multiple perspectives for the purpose of highlighting differences, provoking feelings of alienation, and examining underlying "totalizing theories" which can no longer control society. For example, in Canto. Lumoérica. and El cuarto mundo. the effect of multiple perspectives conveys the sense of alienation and separation experienced by the characters in each narration. In Canoo. Salustio's goals frustrate Clarisa; Clarisa's values are in conflict with don Francisco's lifestyle; don Francisco's fatalistic perspective provides no resolutions for the conflicts faced by any of the characters. There is no solidarity, and consequently no power to challenge the outside forces that assail them. In the end, each one seems to "fly away" to some unknown destination, hoping to find resolution, but with no assurance of being able to do so.

In Lumoérica the constant shifting of perspectives from

L Iluminada to the fictional "director's chair" (terminology 225

in line with the cinematographic directions given in the text) to the interrogator's chamber to the anonymous "yo" in

intimate relationship with L Iluminada effectively eliminates any possibility of determining an authoritative

interpretation of the events. As a result, the reader is alienated from the text, and placed in the self-conscious position of having to independently determine "reality" based on whatever clues seem to fit back together the best.

A similar effect takes place in the narration of El cuarto mundo as the male protagonist struggles inwardly with the threat of separation and alienation. The sister's perspective portrayed in the second half of the book is radically different than that of her brother: while his existence had been characterized by an intense rationality plagued by the anxiety of usurpation, she is obsessed by a physical desire which compels her to fulfill that anxiety to absorb his identity and to force him to stay with her in the house after the rest of the family has abandoned them. The conflict of reason and desire threaten to destroy both of them: ". . . se que me resta apenas la insistencia del cuerpo de Maria Chipia [the twin brother], que huye de ml, como yo de ml misma persiguiéndolo por terror a perseguirme y deshacerme en la hostilidad oscura de ml" (107).

In a sense, Por la natria also achieves a degree of alienation through use of multiple perspectives, since the reader is again challenged to decipher the images and scenes 226 presented before him/her. But the multiperspectivism also serves a positive purpose of establishing an alternative space in which Goya becomes the voice of all the women prisoners as she tells her own story, and those of her friends (thus the references to "Testimonios, parlamentos, documentos, manifestos," 111, 199).

The remaining four novels, Vâsquez's Abel Rodriguez, and the three novels by Allende, all make use of multiperspectivism for the purpose of examining situations from new perspectives, in order to make sense of circumstances (both within the narrative worlds of the characters and in the "real" world of the authors themselves). ^ examines the two main conflicting ideologies of the left and the right as they collided in the early 1970s, embodied in the families of Abel and Ramon.

Not only are the men's perspectives examined, but also the women's: Monserrat's story provides the literary frame which encompasses the history of the two brothers, as well as the chronological bridge between the two sets of events.

CE also distinguishes between the perspectives of the right and the left, masculine and feminine, as both Esteban and

Alba recount the history of their family. Allende's second novel. De amor y de sombra alternates primarily between masculine and feminine perspectives also, as events are viewed through the eyes of Francisco and Irene. As regarding ideological viewpoints, the novel has at times 227 been criticized for its "Manichean" perspectives on good and evil, i.e., that common people are inherently innocent and government officials inherently evil (Valente "Gran" E 3)•

Obstensibly, this may seem to be the case (even judging from the title of the novel), but Allende does seem to endeavor to balance these perspectives by describing the negative aspects of Digna Ranquileo's domestic life, as well as the heroism of Irene's fiancé Gustavo, the military officer who genuinely is concerned for the good of his country.

The multiperspectivism in Eva Luna has also been criticized as a weakness in the novel, as the stories of many characters are woven into the main plot of the narration. Essentially, however, the perspective of the story is always through Eva's eyes, even when "filling in" the narration with the simultaneous history of Rolf Carle.

The problem comes when Eva the narrator and Eva the character overtake each other in the last chapter of the book. As Chatman would point out, "... narrating can never be a character's central function without his thereby becoming a narrator, hence leaving the story and entering a secondary discourse" (165). In contrast, "Characters use language to argue . . . and so on, always within the boundaries of the world of the story" (166). For philosophical reasons, Allende chooses to ignore that boundary, thus confusing the identities of the two Evas, and blurring (or fusing) the perspectives of the narration. 228

Perhaps one of the (ion) conscious reasons for which all

of these authors have chosen to employ multiperspectivism

can be tied to an explanation offered by Nancy Hartsock in

her article "Foucault on Power: A Theory for Women?" (in

Nicholson 157-175). Hartsock argues that marginalized

persons can not afford to engage in eradication of the

notion of the subject precisely because they are still

involved in establishing themselves as subjects rather than

as the objects of history. In order to accomplish this,

they must sort through all of the prefabricated identities which have been imposed upon them hegemonically. As she

states, "Put differently, we need to dissolve the false 'we'

I have been using into its multiplicity and variety and out

of this concrete multiplicity build an account of the world

as seen from the margins, an account which can expose the

falseness of the view from the top and can transform the margins as well as the center" (171). Such alternate perspectives are therefore necessary and valid: "The point

is to develop an account of the world which treats our perspectives not as subjugated or disruptive knowledges, but

as primary and constitutive of a different world" (171).

The end goal is to fashion "... the tools to begin to

construct an account of the world sensitive to the realities

of race and gender as well as class" (172).

In the analysis of the narrative voices utilized by the

four authors, another striking similarity emerges: 229 according to Chatman’s definitions, all four use either covert or overt narrators; that is to say, narrators that have a measurable or even substantial degree of audibility.

None of the texts manifests itself as a non- or minimally narrated story in which the narrator does not make himself audible.’ This phenomenon would coincide with the use of multiperspectivism as explained above by Hartsock's observations. Indeed, at the risk of over-emphasizing the point, a similar observation has been made by Tania Hodleski in her article "Feminism and the Power of Interpretation"

(in de Lauretis 121-138). While the context of her remarks describes the status of female/feminist critics, her argument is also applicable to narrators. She asks: "Since when have women been granted the power of interpretation or our readings accorded the status of interpretive truth by the male critical establishment?" (127). Going back to the question of the authority of the minority voice as discussed in Chapter III, one could also assert that the power of interpretation by a female author's narrator has rarely been accorded the same status. As Modleski argues, "For a woman to proclaim an end to critical mastery, then, is quite different from a male critic's repudiation of the textual dominance that he in fact possesses. As Nancy Miller puts it in criticizing feminists who repeat Foucault's pronouncements on the death of the author, 'only those who have it can play with not having it'" (127). Or, in this 230 context, only those who have made themselves audible in the past can afford to "play with not having it" and abrogate the opportunity to speak out directly through their narrators.

The novels which can be identified as employing covert narrators include PP, BJH. Silendra. AR and In these novels, the narrator speaks only occasionally, and generally resorts to a number of techniques to communicate unobtrusively. The novels in which the narrators appear more overtly, then, are Canto. Lumoérica. CE. EL. and El cuarto mundo. It should not be assumed that these designations can be applied consistently throughout the texts, since at times some of the narrators cross boundaries into greater or lesser audibility; the terms are used as approximations. It is also important to observe that, according to Chatman's schema, the degree of narrator audibility is conversely proportional to the degree of reader inference required by the text; obviously, the less information provided by the narrator, the more to be supplied by the reader. The only variation to this paradigm indicated by Chatman is in the case of the unreliable narrator who, inspite of his presence (or because of it) puts an additional burden on the reader to rightly interpret the information presented (233). In such instances, the implied author is said to establish a secret communication with the (implied) reader in order to bypass the 231 discrepancies of the narrator's account (233). This situation will be analyzed as it occurs particularly in the works by Eltit. Of all ten novels, Por la patria appears to be the

"most covert" since the voice of the third person narrator outside of the story is often obscured by the voice of Coya and her friends. The distinction between an outside narrator and Coya the narrator of her own experiences is blurred by the frequent use of first person pronouns, direct address and the record of other characters' reflections on Goya's actions, as well as the omission of identifying markers for dialogue (for one example, see pages

50-51, where the "yo" can be identified as either Juan or

Coya). The references to writing a testimony of events are not immediately distinguishable from the actions themselves, since many of these occur prior to any identification of the process (e.g., 48-49), so that the reader is not conscious of reading a "text" until the second half of the narration.

The only reliable indications come from the differences in language formality, such as the summary description of the raid which also records both individual and group reactions

(119). For example, the description which reads "El metal fue el objetivo de la primera râfaga que sono como todo el mar, como la totalidad de los cataclismos, como un terremoto nacional" is more likely the phrasing of the narrator than that of one of the hampa dwellers. And in some sections. 232

Coya does not appear as either narrator or character (39-

42) , leaving the connection to the plot open to

interpretation.

The narrator of Por la patria appears to be unreliable or at least unwilling to take responsibility for the narration; stated from another perspective, the narrator is willing to include all types of discourse with equal validity— dreams, hallucinations, impressions, memories, testimonies, and so forth. As Coya gains her own voice and begins to speak out more in the second half of the book, the unidentified narrator recedes more into the background. The function of the narrator seems to parallel that of Coya, the writer: both serve as a "centro de memoria que apunta a los nudos familiares, mediante sucesivas visiones. . . en una aguda polifonla" (back jacket cover). The reader must be able to assimilate all of the impressions, "memories," that are provided in the text, and then order and interpret the events accordingly.

Another novel which succeeds in masking the narrator's voice is BJH. At first glance, the text would seem to belong to the category of non-narrated texts, since much of the content consists of unmediated "transcripts" of characters' conversations and thoughts (Chatman 166) . There are a number of presentations of interior monologues or instances of stream of consciousness passages, such as in the very opening of the novel where Pancho recalls past 233 events while he waits to get into the embassy. Events are presented without explanation and jump from scenes in

Pancho's house, to meetings with el Puma, factory scenes, and back to the truck where he is hiding.

But there are a number of techniques that Vâsquez uses in order to mediate the action unobtrusively. Such techniques include reports of indirect speech, and ambiguity between indirect speech produced by a character or by a narrator. In the passage that follows, Pancho’s thoughts blend naturally with the narrator's description: "Pancho siguio andando sin mirarlos, recorriô el contorno de la casa y se sentô en la escalinata de la cocina. ôQué estaba haciendo en la calle? ; Si lo reconocian lo mataban!" (62-

63) . The narrator also limits himself to particular spaces and/or consciousnesses, rather than appearing as omnipresent or omniscient (e.g., exclusion from the "Huesera," 324).

And as Chatman indicates, a limited narrator who shifts from consciousness to consciousness is still covert because the shifting serves no purpose related to the teleology of the plot— the process of the characters thinking becomes the plot, which is precisely the case throughout this novel

(Chatman 216). One other technique involves the use of presuppositions rather than overt assertions by the narrator (210). For example, at one point Salazar demands complete secrecy from the "Jerareas" regarding a particular situation. Some of 234 the members of the group respond with mocking laughs or brief comments. Then the following observation is made;

"Pagados de su autoridad y su prestigio, los Jerareas ni siquiera imaginaban que entre ellos pudiera ocultarse un soplon" (294). Such remarks establish the existence of an attitude and a judgment, without overtly revealing the narrator's presence. In this way, and those described above, the,.narrator subtly controls the reader's attitudes toward the events and characters presented in the text.

While the characters often do speak for themselves (the proportion of "showing" far outweighs the proportion of

"telling"), the narrator is still audible enough to communicate the themes of the novel.

Silendra is structured in a similar fashion, in that the narrator appears overtly only in the beginning and the end of the text, along with an occasional first-person

"creo" whispered at certain points in the narration. The narrator tends to adopt the simple language of the campes inos and identifies with them so completely that her presence remains unobtrusive. The narrator also limits herself in space (does not witness Enedina's hanging, 14) and in knowledge (does not know if Adela is dead or not,

23), and primarily allows the characters to speak for themselves. In the last section ("Cochate"), the narrator places herself on the same level with the characters by 235 referring to "xino de mis hermanos" involved in the action

(78). The second novel by Ana Vâsquez, Abel Rodriguez y sus hermanos. also appears to be a non-narrated story at first inspection. The opening section, "Prefacio, Monserrat" records the dialogue between Monserrat and Lucy in the service station, interspersed with flashbacks to a previous conversation between Monserrat and some of el Cachorro's companions. The subtlety of the change from one scene to the next is aided by the fact that some of the conversation fragments and responses seem appropriate for both situations. For example, when Monserrat tells Lucy about

Abel's death, the following exchange takes place:

— i.Sabe algo de su papâ? Entonces Monserrat hablo como si estuviera desdoblada y la voz saliera de su cuerpo mientras ella estaba ausente, sumida en la vision de otras escenas: — Lo mataron . . . , ê,no sabla? — î No puede serI, ;gué cosa mâs horrible! "— iLo mataroni, ;lo mataronI— gritaba— , ^no me entienden? (8)

A casual reading misses the distinction subtlely indicated by the shift from "tû" to "ustedes" and also the use of quotation marks to indicate the reiteration of previous conversation. The narrator provides a number of such textual clues, rather than overtly indicating temporal and spatial shifts, or allowing the narration to flow completely 236

unmediated.

The narration regarding the events in Abel's life is

more overtly given, since the narrator provides commentary,

summary, and information not accessible to the characters (for example, information about the Captain and Pantruca,

25) . But a balance is achieved by incorporating a

substantial amount of dialogue into these segments, to

offset the "telling" aspect.

The narration regarding the events in Ramon's life is

introduced by an omniscient third-person narrator who

reveals the doctor's perspective as well as Ramon's, but which quickly shifts into a first-person account narrated by

Ramon himself. Ramon the mental patient recounts the events

of his youth and adulthood, but his narration is necessarily unreliable, given the context of his condition. Thus,

although Ramon's voice is clearly audible, the reader must

still make inferences regarding the accuracy and objectivity

of his statements.

The "least covert" of the texts listed above is De amor y ^ sombra by Isabel Allende. The most "conventional" in

structure, the third-person narrator tends to dominate the

story by occasionally "preaching" or overtly pointing to

elements of the text which already stand out on their own.

Examples include the reference to "libertad" (59), Irene's

growing self-awareness (127), Javier's obsession with tying

knots which precedes his suicide by hanging (136-137), and 237

Irene's gesture of planting flowers ("nomeolvides") on the grave of a dead baby (163) . The scarcity of dialogue also unbalances the text in favor of deductive "telling" rather than inductive "showing," which limits the amount of inference needed by the reader.

The remaining texts, while designated as having "overt" narrators, do not uniformly manifest the same purpose or effect. Of these texts, El canto de la ralz leiana is perhaps the most "conventional" in this group since the narrator fulfills the functions of supplying set descriptions, temporal and spatial summaries, revealing the thoughts of all of the characters, and providing commentary

("ethos") for the reader. The narrator does use the simple language of the campesinos. but not exclusively. But there is a measure of balance achieved by alternating between dialogue and narrating, thus allowing the characters' voices to be heard along with the narrator's.

Remarkably, the remaining two novels each by Eltit and

Allende have the most overt narrators, but with entirely opposite effects. Lumoérica and El cuarto mundo manifest self-conscious narrators who control every detail of the story, but who are completely unreliable because of their insistently judgmental stance. Their comments are so overt and so pervasive— and seemingly so incongruent with the circumstances— that the reader resists automatically accepting them. For example, the primary narrator of 238

Lumpérica repeatedly praises the self-destructive acts of the protagonist as "dazzling" (10). One other narrator of

Lumpérica in particular plays an adversarial role in relation to L Iluminada, always observing the scene from outside, judging, correcting, and criticizing as would a film director reviewing the day's takes. This narrative voice is distinct from the primary narration of the story, and appears in the sections denoted in boldface type as

"Comentarios a la primera escena" and the like. This voice infers that the inhabitants consciously performing for

"public consumption" and that their actions are deliberate and rehearsed rather than personal and spontaneous (14).

The reader is forced to evaluate the appropriateness of

"conventional" opinions regarding the activities and worth of marginalized persons in light of the new evaluations offered by the narrators, as well as question the reliability of his own previous observations and expectations.

The film motif is carried over into the second story line, that of the interrogation scene. The narrative voice begins as first-person from the perspective of the detainee, but quickly shifts to third person while still maintaining the same point of view, continuing to reveal the thought processes of the detainee. About two-thirds of the way through the scene, the interrogator announces that he has seen the "takes" filmed in the plaza— the first hint that 239 the two story lines might be related— and implies that the detainee will not be able to deceive his captors. By implication also, the angle of camera's eye widens to become that of the ubiquitous observer of not only the plaza dwellers, but also of innocent passersby. The interrogation is then suddenly interrupted by a third narrator, an observer of both scenes, who proposes alternative ways to present the elements of the two stories, "splicing" and rearranging actions without regard as to what actually had transpired. The text thus becomes its own referent, not concerned with establishing a unified textual "world."

There is an additional narrator, an unidentified "yo misma" (15, 19), who describes an intimate relationship with

L Iluminada (78-81). At one point she alludes to the name

"diamela eltit," inferring that the narrator and the protagonist are one and the same, in a conspiratory exclusion of the author.

To the reader who has struggled to evaluate the variety of commanding yet contradictory narrative voices throughout the text, the "conventional" narration in the last section

(Section 10) somehow seems anticlimactic; paradoxically, it also seems unreliable because the authoritarian judging voice has suddenly retreated. The narrative voice is still overt, but more limited, never entering L Iluminada's consciousness. The reader is acutely aware that the description of L Iluminada's actions, as seen now by the 240

casual observer, is completely inadequate to reveal the full

range of life contained in the plaza at night.

The reader is faced with a similar struggle in the

novel El cuarto mundo. From the very beginning the first- person narrator seizes control of the story and infuses

every observation with evaluative language in accordance with his interpretation of the events. For example, shortly after the male protagonist's conception, he is aware of his mother's thoughts and feelings, and expresses his disdain toward her: "A decir verdad, mi madre tenia escasas ideas, y, lo mas irritante, una carencia absolute de originalidad"

(13). This attitude of paranoid arrogance becomes the

filter through which each character is portrayed. There is no dialogue in the first half, and therefore no opportunity

for the other characters to "show" their own perspectives.

One apparent inconsistency emerges as the narrator describes an event which occurs when he is twelve years old. As he is walking down the street he suddenly realizes that he is aroused by his unpremeditated pursuit of a mysterious

figure, an "alguien" who is never identified as either male

or female (45). The inability to identify this elusive

"presence" seems inconsistent with the omniscience displayed by the protagonist in every other circumstance presented.

In the second half of the book, the female narrator is also overt, but conveys a different attitude than her brother's. She does not over-interpret the actions of 241 others, and presents herself more as a passive observer who relays information without forming judgments. Her apparent ingenuousness causes her to be perceived as unreliable also, since she also seems unable to render objective assessments.

There is no identifiable narrator for the last section of the book (127-128), a section in which neither previous narrator is mentioned. The scene shifts from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the house to that of the

"devastated city" outside where everyone is preoccupied with buying and selling and waiting for "money from the sky".

Far away, in the margins of the city, in an abandoned house,

"diamela eltit" assisted by her twin brother, gives birth to a baby girl who will be sold. Thus, the novel becomes an allegory of the creative process, with the narrators representing the androgynous aspects of the writer's existence, and the intersecting of the rational and the instinctual; the "baby girl" represents the dilemma of art as commodity.

In all of Eltit's novels, the presence of the unreliable narrator forces the reader to search "bewteen the lines" for an appropriate understanding of the texts. As noted previously, Chatman proposes that the implied author seeks to circumvent the narrator in order to establish a secret communication with the (implied) reader. With

Eltit's concern for exploring and exposing the margins of power in a repressive society, the unreliable narrator 242

becomes the means by which a message can be communicated

surreptitiously, again much in the same way that a

photographic negative depicts a scene from reverse images.

While the narrator appears to be condemning the socially

unacceptable actions of his characters, he is actually

calling attention to alternative interpretations through his

discourse. Thus, Lumpériça, For la natria and El cuarto mundo show the struggles of anonymous individuals to gain

autonomy in a hierarchical society. Through the position of

the implied author, they also portray the struggles of the marginalized artist in a repressive society, as will be

discussed later. The two remaining novels by Isabel Allende, La casa de

los esniritus and Eva Luna. utilize overt first-person

narrators who actively re-create the stories in which they

also appear as characters. Even though at times this produces some structural inconsistencies in the texts,

Allende's main concern is to develop strong female

characters and narrators who, in Alba's case, need to write,

and, in Eva's case, want to write. In the process, both

become distinctly audible narrators who leave very little

room for reader inference.

The presence of a first-person narrator in CE becomes known in the second sentence of the novel, immediately after

introducing Clara and her notebooks: "Ya entonces [Clara]

tenia el hâbito de escribir las cosas mas importantes . . . 243 sin sospechar que cincuenta anos despues, sus cuadernos me servirian para rescatar la memoria del pasado y para sobrevivir a mi propio espanto" (11). At this point, no further identification of the narrator is provided, and the narration continues from a third-person point of view. A little later, a first-person narrating "yo" reappears (27), identified from the context and point of view as Esteban

Trueba. At times, then, throughout the rest of the novel, the presence of the "yo" interjects either brief comments or longer passages into the main narration, supposedly the edited version of Clara's notes. When the reader comes to remarks such as "Es una delicia, para mi, leer los cuadernos de esa época. . ." (77), there is no reason not to assume that such comments are made by the narrator Esteban Trueba.

It is not until the latter chapters that it becomes evident that two narrators have been working with the texts of

Clara's notes, i.e., Esteban Trueba and his granddaughter

Alba. The reader then realizes that the longer passages were indeed contributed by Esteban, but that the first voice

(as in the quote from page 11) belongs to Alba. Alba's voice becomes more dominant throughout the text, then, since

Esteban's portions show events from his limited perspective, while Alba's remarks are more comprehensive and comprehending of Clara's notes (and of necessity. Alba's voice must take over after Clara's death, completing the last one-third of the novel, 252). 244

Although the majority of the text is told from a third-

person perspective, the narrator's voice is still audible in

other ways. For example, the narrator contributes

information not known by the characters, such as Blanca's

clay menagerie replicating her aunt Rosa's tablecloth menagerie (151) . The scarcity of dialogue once again shifts

the balance of the narration to the side of "telling" rather

than "showing." The inclusion of general or global

summaries also calls attention to the voice of the narrator,

such as in the abrupt transition from the description of

Blanca's wedding to the national political scene:

Comieron y bebieron oplparamente y vieron el amanecer bailando al son de la orquesta, mientras en el centre de la ciudad los grupos de cesantes se calentaban en pequenas fogatas hechas con periodicos, pandillas de jovenes con camisas pardas desfilaban saludando con el brazo en alto, como habian visto en las peliculas sobre Alemania, y en las casas de los partidos politicos se daban los ûltimos toques a la campana electoral. (186)

The fact that Alba's arrest and torture are told from a third-person perspective gives a sense of objective distance

from the events, ameliorating the horrors somewhat. In the

last chapter, then. Alba recounts from her own (first- person) perspective those events which followed, such as the recovery in the hospital and the prison camp, and the manner

in which she was returned to her home. In this way, the reader's emotional reactions are guided to identifying more 245 with the recovery rather than with the hatred and anger of the suffering. As Alba reflects on the past, she gains power over it, and sees events in a more global perspective than any of the other characters were ever able to do, including Clara and Esteban. She also provides a sense of continuity among the three perspectives, as she identifies with Clara and also distances herself, much in the way proposed by Patrocinio Schweickhart as appropriate for a feminist reading of texts by women.

Eva Luna's task as a narrator is not only to record the past, but to fashion it according to her own wishes. As she writes about the unlikely events and characters which she encounters, she repeatedly makes the point that "truth" is stranger than "fiction," as seen in her comments about the

"unrealistic" radio and television soap opera plots which have such an impact on her early life. (For example, after describing some of the improbable soap opera plots with which she was familiar, Eva goes on to describe the time she witnessed the fantastic fifteenth birthday party given for the General's niece, in which the best hotel in town was converted into an ice palace complete with evergreens and vats of snow [69-71; see also 235]). After Eva learns to read and write for herself, the boundaries between reality and fiction literally become blurred; the characters invented by Eva the protagonist come alive in the sense that their spirits inhabit Eva's house (273-274). She 246 manipulates words in the same manner that the Yugoslavian widow manipulates the "Universal Material" to fashion creatures of her own imagination (101-102). Once this world has been created, Eva uses words to bring order to it all:

— Hago lo que puedo [. . .] La realidad es un revoltijo, no alcanzamos a medirla o descrifrarla, porque todo ocurre al mismo tiempo. . . . Yo trato de abrirme camino en este laberinto, de poner un poco de orden en tanto caos, de hacer la existencia mâs tolerable. Cuando escribo cuento la vida como a mi me gustaria que fuera. (276)

Eva Luna the narrator inserts comments throughout the text in a self-conscious, reflective manner (31, 42, 46, 56,

118, 214) becoming, in Eliana Rivero's words, "the One Who

Narrates" (Rivero in Guerra Splintering 152). The significance of Eva Luna as narrator of her own life is vital: again referring to Rivero, "Eva Luna reverses the consequences of subordination by engendering her own

Subject— through the power of self-language" (153). In this

"tale-within-a-tale," Eva Luna demonstrates supreme confidence in her ability to constitute herself as Subject when she invents a story for Rolf Carle which establishes several levels of reality (258): Eva the narrator recounts the story told by Eva the character about a woman whose office was to tell stories and who offered the story of her life to a stranger in need of a past. 247

Ultimately, the acts of amar. crear and narrar all merge together in the life of Eva Luna (270, 282). She reiterates and reformulates the idea quoted above from on page 276; not only does she write about things the way she wishes they were, but as she points out, "También trato de vivir la vida como me gustaria que fuera [. . .] como una novela" (278). The impact of Eva's determination to shape her own life and reality is a significant indication of new directions for female characters created by Latin American women writers. As Rivero indicates, "To the invention of reality that Eva sees central to her own destiny, the intelligent (female?) reader can add a rejoicing in storytelling that is liberated from the master's sword"

(153) .

Another critical consideration that reveals the directions taken by these authors as they seek to establish their own authorial identities is the particular use of language. In many ways, the types of language which predominate in the works of each author reflect the degrees of power/lessness embodied in the characters, themes and spaces in each novel. As will be seen, Subercaseaux's language is marked by expressions of tentativeness and uncertainty, re-enforcing the powerlessness felt by the characters in her two novels. Eltit's language demonstrates resistance to traditional discourse through the disruption 248 and negation of conventional language and the inclusion of experimental techniques associated with the nouveau roman.

As a consequence of self-censorship, both authors have had to resort to alternative means of expression to subvert the authoritarian discourse to which they are subject, thereby establishing new parameters of discourse for themselves. In contrast, the language employed by Vâsquez and Allende can be described as much more "conventional," or traditional: their words constitute a means to the end of communicating the message, rather than becoming a primary focus of the text. It can also be noted that both Vâsquez and Allende consciously appropriate "masculine" language in that both include profanity and sexually-explicit terminology in their texts, thereby drawing from the domain of traditional patriarchal discourse. And, once again, Allende's language stands out because she clearly demonstrates an awareness of

Showalter's "double-voiced discourse," that is, the ability of women to speak both the language of the "masculine public world," as well as that of the "feminine private world"

(seen most overtly in the dual narration of ÇE and the opposition of Clara and Esteban).

The pervading sense of powerlessness and uncertainty in

Subercaseaux's novels is supported by the type of language she employs. Remarkable is the "falta de asombro" (Toha

121) which characterizes the tone of the novels: Enedina's death in Silendra is reported in emotionless terms, as are 249

many of the other misfortunes which occur. Speculative

language, uncertainty, hypothetical situations all appear

with regularity in Silendra; "quizâs," "creo," "creyo

escuchar," "no lo dijo, pero como si lo dijera" (13, 18).

Paradoxes also create tension within the narrative: "el

tiempo, pero sin horas," "con una dulzura de bandera sin

pals" (14), un ano "que naciô tan cansado y tan viejo, que

muriô antes de tiempo: murio en octubre" (23). The

telegraphic, imcomplete phrases have a notable impact for

their terseness, a type of "silence between words" that

compels the reader to supply the missing information. One

of Silendra's most poignant stories is that of Melania (59-

61) who has a tooth pulled by the town dentist. The result

is told in three barren sentences: "Esa tarde comenzo a

Hover. Esa noche aparecio la fiebre. Y la fiebre se la

llevo." Her husband Gilbert© is left behind to mourn her death: "Gilbert© se echo a llorar." By implication, then,

it is obvious that words are not adequate to express the

grief and sadness of such a loss.

Many of the same techniques are incorporated into

Canto. In addition, there are also several occasions of

self-contradictions, either by the narrator or the

characters themselves (9, 17, 22, 30, 79, 91). These

contradictions are accepted as such, rather than being resolved in some manner, creating an attitude of

indifference or resignation regarding the facts (also seen 250 in the use of the phrase "da lo mismo," 26, and hypothetical "como si" situations, 9, 107). The characters' uncertainty and powerlessness in the face of outside forces is portrayed verbally by the use of such techniques. The evocation of magical or supernatural events creates an atmosphere of irreality, such as in the case of the animals in Canto (69-

70), and Clarisa's journeys to the potrero in search of her son (95-98). Since such events are incorporated into the text on the same level with all of the other events, without explanation, the reader must infer that the description is of a world other than his own, and thus shares the sense of uncertainty experienced by the characters themselves.

In contrast to the stark, simple language employed by

Subercaseaux, Diamela Eltit's language is a polyphonic amalgamation of all types of speech patterns, from contemporary Santiago slang to Golden Age Spanish. The language she uses may include objective, academic, evaluative, and judgmental terms, but also word play, neologisms, foreign words, Indian dialect, rhyme and iitaniâforas.

Nevertheless, not all three novels are alike; the language employed in each successive novel varies significantly from the previous one. Indeed, Eltit's three novels clearly show the progression of "destruction- reconstruction-creation" delineated by Ugalde. For example,

Lumperica's language embodies resistance to dominant 251

discourse; as Eltit herself explains, "Creo que 'tomarse la

voz' desde la mujer implica un irse por los bordes, no por

el centro. Hay que socavar, mostrar otra cosa" (Foxley

"Acoplamiento" 41). Consequently, she employs a myriad of

linguistic techniques to break up the monolithic structure

of the traditional novel, and through fragmentation alter

the reader's perception of reality (41).^

One of the basic tenets observed by Eltit in Lumpérica

is the desire to write at an experiential level ("siendo mâs

participative en el lenguaje," ["Una noche eterna" 14]).

She does this first by withholding contextual interpretive

clues which would identify the narrator and the appropriate

attitude toward the protagonist. She also disrupts

conventional syntax through the use of incomplete sentences,

unusual word order, repetition, and broken parallel

structures, all of which cause the reader to think that s/he

is confronting some type of secret code. Examples include

sentences such as: "Gimen por luz, orgiâsticos en sus

convulsiones se masifican" (8); and "Se puede deducir sin

errar que su estado general es precario, su respiracion

agitada, ese brillo de sus ojos" (15).

The elevated language used to describe the street

people who inhabit the plaza brings another perspective to

their condition; they are often referred to as "los palidos"

or the lumperio. and also as "frâgiles de vestimentas" (11).

A certain transcendence is also conveyed through the use of 252 religious language (21), and an air of authoritative pronouncement through the use of the cinematographic

language and the future tense, particularly in the early

chapters.

Since there are no clues to indicate that the narrator's intended use of language is ironic, the reader must search for another reason to explain its presence and the apparent incongruity between content and form, namely the possibility that traditional means of interpretation and evaluation of literature and culture are inadequate. Thus, at one point, L Iluminada's determined purpose is to effect a total inversion through the identification of her body with the text of fiction in such a way that transpires known genres and languages: "... todo para el lector que la leyera, en letra hasta extranjero idioma alcanzaria" (100).

This particular chapter ends with two enigmatic statements alluding to the existence of alterative forms of expression:

si el foco la apuntara, la camara, el sonido, el lector, los argumentos, toda esa marcada ficcion/

Si el foco, si el foco se apagara, la trama empezaria realmente. (101)

Thus the key inference seems to indicate that the paralyzing light of self-censorship inhibits genuine self-expression.

The two sections that describe the interrogation scene use more conventional language and syntax, but their use is 253 subverted in that the interrogator twists everything the detainee says and makes it into something sinister (45,

130) .

As the text gains momentum, many of the sections employ colloquial language, unusual punctuation, alliteration and rhyme ("L'incesta su casta reconoce en su faz, la faz del padre, que la faz de su padre le remite cuando I'anca la misma forma de su insaciable padre" [82]). The climax comes in Escena 15 (181-182) with a stream of consciousness passage built around the key words of himen. lumen, nomen. and lumpen (Valente "Novela" E 3) and which culminates with the word lumbre. After such a hermetic passage, the narration abruptly turns to a conventional syntax and vocabulary that leaves the reader disoriented but clearly aware of the perspective of the marginalized that Eltit has desired to evoke.

Por la patria also displays many disruptive techniques which could be interpreted as linguistic resistance, but there is a fundamental difference in that, while in

Lumpérica the narrators were essentially "talking to themselves, " in Por la patria now there is a dialogue of the narrators talking to each other (the unidentified third- person narrator and Coya), which the reader is allowed to overhear.

The function of language has fundamental importance in this second novel, as Eltit explores the "otredad" of the 254 hampa dwellers and seeks to acknowledge the aesthetic quality of their language. In her desire to create "una

épica de la marginalidad" (Rios "Chile" 30), the theme of incest in the novel becomes a paradigm for her dual objectives: "El incesto en el lenguaje pasa por el mestizaje del coa con normas cultas, y mâs que el incesto carnal, que aparece en la novela como tema, me interesa el incesto linguistico como una manera de pervertir la norma culta y transformer el coa en lenguaje literario" (Donoso

"'Tenemos'" 48).

Most notable in Por la patria is the use of homonyms and homophones in seemingly innocent word play in the midst of sinister circumstances. One example would be the scene in which Juan takes Coya by force: "... que se le mete entre las piernas abriendo el hueco, dejando espacio, yendo despacio hacia el fondo" (64); another comes in the midst of the police raid of the neighborhood: "se oyen balazos, bombazos afuera . . . que sea yo ahora la que te favorezca contra la muerts al gusto, el susto que tenemos es tanto, mamâ . . . cuando [el general] célébra con los banqueros el trato, el contrato sobre los restos de animales . . . ."

(SO). There are also instances of backwards spelling to heighten the impact of the message once deciphered (108), double entendre ("'CKILE-NO' grité" 106), and inverted syntax ("Sere de vencida en vencedora especie" 275). The ending of the novel is a victory for the coa slang of the 255 hampa: each of Coya’s friends speaks freely using the language of their community (277).

While Lumpérica shows the destruction of dominant discourse, and Por la patria shows the beginning of the reconstruction of language, El cuarto mundo uniquely embodies the creation of a language that strives to merge art, eroticism and violence. This notion reflects the goal expressed by Eltit to generate "un cuerpo textual sexuado"

(Foxley "Literatura" 2). Within the text, therefore, she deals with the conflicts between male and female intensified by the confines of the womb and the home, again utilizing the theme of incest in order to disarticulate the traditional order of the family. At a metatextual level, the struggle becomes one between the artist and the text.

As Eltit explains the conclusion of the novel.

Es el producto del incesto entre la autora y la escritura. Es todo el proceso de produccion de un libro en que eres habitada, copulada con la escritura. Ese es el sentido de esta novela: el proceso de ser tomada, invadida por voces que te habitan sin saber como .... (Foxley " 'Me interesa'" 5).

In this sense, the first half of the novel, as narrated by the brother, conveys a feeling of dominance and control

(also seen in the absence of dialogue) that interprets every outward event as menacing. The second half, as narrated by the sister, manifests less overt control since there is 256 dialogue included, as well as parenthetical comments and frequent chapter divisions (in contrast to the first half which is continuous narration except for the minimal visual breaks between events). Eroticism is always associated with violence, as seen in the male twin's street encounters, the mother's secret affair, the father's physical dominance over the mother, and the twins' incestuous relationship in the second half of the novel. As the brother explains to his twin sister, "Tienes que aprender que el goce es siempre purulento, y el pensamiento guerrero, bacanal" (102). The climax of this dynamic is the "birth" of the text parented by "diamela eltit y su hermano mellizo" (128), the fruit of the process of destruction-reconstruction-creation.

As in the case of the themes and spaces discussed in

Chapter IV, once again the contrast between works by resident authors and exiled authors can be detected, this time in the types and functions of language employed. While resident authors Subercaseaux and Eltit express in an elusive manner the concerns of the marginalized sectors of

Chilean society, exiled authors Vâsquez and Allende appropriate the conventional, dominant discourse in order to more directly convey their ideas. They speak with more openness, more realism, and venture into areas normally reserved for "masculine" discourse, such as the use of profanity and sexual themes. In addition, Allende's works 257

are significant for their use of humor as a tool to

dismantle old stereotypes and power structures.

In BJH Vâsquez uses language to recreate the experience

of asylum by juxtaposing the all-too-human thoughts and words of the leaders of the opposition with the now empty-

sounding official party rhetoric. For example, whenever there is a meeting of all the refugees, the various factions try to control the situation by pulling out the old clichés that aided them in the past; but arguments such as "no podemos aceptar una limitacion de nuestra libertad personal" are meaningless excuses within the guarded confines of the

embassy (26). The official government rhetoric is also

criticized for its deceptive nature (57, 64, 103), but a more stinging disillusionment arises from the hollow-

sounding discourse of the Resistance. At one point Pancho

is particularly discouraged and worried about the safety of his family, so he recites to himself some of the Party's notions such as "somos hombres de un temple especial," and

"un revolucionario pospone sus problemas personales," in

order to deal with his anxiety (155). Later, Nelly does the

same thing ("La 'militante ejemplar' no derrama lagrimas por

ningûn motive. . ." 307); but such a stance only heightens

the tension she feels between fulfilling her role as a

caring wife and mother and following the unnatural

emotionally-detached role prescribed for her by the Party.

Vâsquez presents the conflict directly and allows the 258 reader to experience the dichotomy for himself, rather than providing any overt evaluative interpretations. She also recreates the doubting, questioning mode by frequent use of incomplete sentences, unanswered questions, elliptical phrases and pauses, and quotation marks around words and phrases which may have a certain official meaning, but clearly with other connotations (for example, referring to the political refugees as "huéspedes" 157).

Vâsquez is also sensitive to the ways in which the actual speech of the refugees reveals their socio-economic class and education, and recreates their authentic speech accordingly. Within the embassy itself, there develops a common code among the refugees as they try to control their experience through naming various aspects of their existence; for example, the three designations of the sub­ groups as represented in the title of the book, but also the walkway known as the "paseo del preso" (36) and nicknames for various refugees ("El Gordo," 27; "El Agitador

Profesional, " 175). Indeed, one of the few activities left to the refugees is to talk, to argue and speculate about the past and the future.

In Abel Rodriquez Vâsquez also employs a range of linguistic registers to highlight and contrast the gaps between certain truth claims and reality. Obviously,

Ramon's speech is unreliable because of his condition; thus, the excuses and rationalizations he gives for his conduct 259 also come across as empty and vain. The cold, detached medical reports that begin each chapter narrated by Ramon also heighten the contrast between reason and Ramon’s growing irrationality. Ramon's wife and son show themselves to be particularly adept at manipulating patriotic discourse in order to persuade Ramon to betray his brothers. But unfortunately, el Cachorro's friends also attempt to use the authority of Resistance discourse to deceive Monserrat regarding the whereabouts of her uncle. When she insists that they help her avenge her father's death or at least tell her how to contact el Cachorro, they respond by telling her, ". . . e n ningûn caso vamos a dedicar una estructura politica a la venganza personal" (12). Monserrat sees through their deception and tries to persuade them by forceful words and insults, but to no avail: when in desperation she exclaims "justedes no tienen nada entre las piernas!", the leader silently terminates the discussion and dismisses Monserrat, who glares at him "agresiva e impotente" (15).

In contrast, the informal language used by the political detainees in the FACH torture house points to a common bond of unity and suffering shared by all of the prisoners, a bond which gives them strength to endure the interrogations. It is a very colloquial language, filled with slang and profanity, but it also comprises the only means of resistance and force left to the prisoners. The 260 anger, hatred and violence expressed by many of the characters on both sides of the conflict represented in Abel

Rodricfuez are attempts wield the power of dominant discourse for the purpose of communicating a clear message.

Not only do Allende's novels stand apart from those of the other three authors due to the presence of empowered female characters and narrators, but also for the type of language employed- While the language of Subercaseaux and

Eltit reflects the marginalized position of the characters those authors portray, and Vâsquez's language reflects the force and violence of a repressive society in which women must resort to operating within the spheres of established hierarchies of power, Allende's language takes the crucial step of synthesizing both masculine and feminine discourse in order to produce an "aesthetic expression of a human narrative imagination" (Rivero in Guerra Splintering 153).

Allende's writing is simultaneously exclusionary and inclusionary: she appropriates and subjects dominant masculine discourse to her own purposes, while also privileging a variety of modes of feminine discourse. After examining the methods by which she accomplishes these two goals, the analysis will then turn to other strategies featured in Allende ' s use of language such as humor and magical realism.

For the purposes of this study, masculine discourse is defined as that type of language reflective of some of the 261 social behavioral patterns associated with Western culture males, i.e., physical strength, force, assertiveness, dominance, rationality, hierarchy and independence or separation. In contrast, a feminine discourse would reflect notions of fragility, passivity, submission, emotivity and community. This does not intend to imply that language is a biologically-controlled phenomenon or that there is such a thing a "male" language or "female" language; according to most research, language is socially rather than genetically conditioned (see Elshtain; Kramarae, Schulz and O'Barr).

But as society has traditionally dictated acceptable behaviors for both sexes, so it has dictated acceptable language behaviors for both sexes as well. As Noelle

Bisseret Moreau explains, "Language is the medium through which the dominant and the dominated consciously and unconsciously perceive and interpret the appropriation by a small social group of the means of subsistence . . . of other human beings" (in Kramarae, et. al., 59). For a specific example, as has been discussed previously, in the history of Latin American literature the range of acceptable topics and modes of expression open to women writers in the past has been severely limited by society to themes dealing with the family, religion, romantic love and fulfillment in marriage.

While it has already been noted that Vâsquez employs a masculine discourse in the sense that she freely employs 262 profanity and references to sexual themes, Allende does so in order to subvert it and establish a space from which to speak for herself as a woman (Mora in Coddou Los libros 71).

The use of profanity serves at least two purposes in these women's writings: it demonstrates the desire to participate in a traditionally masculine mode of expression, but also a desire to identify with the powerless for whom coarse language often represents the only means of asserting oneself or excluding the dominant group (Moreau in Kramarae

60). As Ugalde indicates, the association of violence and sex has become a notable theme in some contemporary Latin

American women's writings. In addition, references to female physiological experiences are more prevalent; as

Rivero remarks, "to the extent that a woman's voice speaks out about the Unknown in the narrative, those

' transformations of the female body that lack their own discourse' . . . [mark] an intimate relationship between body and language that women writers are finally reclaiming to the fullest extent" (Rivero in Guerra Splintering 153).

René Campos and Marcelo Coddou both point to Allende's use of historical realism as a significant challenge to traditional male-centered historical discourse (Coddou Los libros 21, 30). As Campos explains, "La vision femenina détermina el universe narrative como el discurso que lo genera porque las mujeres, aparentemente situadas dentro del 263 paradigms de irrelevancia y pasividad que el contrato/sisterna social les impone, hallan la forma de transgredir la historia del Padre" (22). The means by which they challenge patriarchy is by . . utilizando los mismos valores, actitudes e imagenes que el adjetivo 'femenino' les atribuye ..." (22).

In ÇE this particular course of action is concretely seen in the female characters' responses to Esteban Trueba.

As Campos points out, Clara is the one who proposes to

Esteban; and later, both Clara and Blanca reject Esteban's directives regarding her marriage. Alba is seen as a composite of all the women in the text, both because of her independent character as well as because of her task of continuing Clara's notebooks. (In fact, in Campos' opinion,

Alba becomes an anti-Lucia Hiriart de Pinochet figure [23].)

Both Clara and Alba become the portavoces of all people who would be silenced by Esteban Trueba's dominant discourse

(24). In particular, Campos contends that Clara's notebooks provide a means by which to disrupt that dominant discourse:

Como discursos del inconsciente, los cuadernos de Clara de-velan la realidad: como texto producido dentro del discurso del Padre (de la Historia; de lo Simbolico), el cuaderno es Memoria, registre de la historia familiar y pûblica, al mismo tiempo que, como producto del Imaginerio, puede accéder a la verdad de esa Historia oficial, develada asl por la Madré. (26) 264

In contrast, the reader perceives Esteban Trueba's self-

justifying testimony as the substitution of a false order by

an other, an act of repression which confirms the

truthfulness of the women's accounts (28).

Marcelo Coddou also remarks on the significant

innovations of Allende's works, especially the insistence of

some of her female characters to act as the subjects of discourse rather than being portrayed by others. This goal

is seen not only in the characters' actions, but also in their discursive formulation and in the modalities assumed by their language (Coddou Los libros 31). Specifically,

Coddou indicates that Allende does not restrict herself to the traditional parameters of feminine discourse, but neither does she abandon it altogether: "... mâs bien lo enlaza, enriqueciéndolo con proyectos colectivos de enfrentamiento de intereses de clase . . .proyecto que, por definicion, busca subvertir la normativdad social y la

supuesta— impuesta legalidad del discurso represivo" (32).

According to Coddou, Allende uses strong female characters and a "discurso narrative realista" (53) to call attention to the struggles of marginalized groups in society and the capacities of women to overcome adversity. For Coddou, the

link between history and fiction is one that Allende

skilfully manipulates on behalf of Latin American women.

The focus on realism, on dealing with historical events in order to structure the path of each novel, places Allende in 265 the mainstream of dominant discourse while also allowing her to re-direct it for her own purposes.

Not only does Allende attempt to subvert masculine discourse in her works, but she also capitalizes on feminine discourse to establish her own voice. Specifically, the protagonists of CE and EL both employ a number of feminocentric strategies. On the one hand, Clara del Valle demonstrates that she will not be confined to the parameters of acceptable language for females. For example, the first time the child Clara speaks, she shocks the entire church congregation with her seemingly sincere but blunt question about the veracity of the doctrine of hell (15). Then, after nine years of silence following her sister Rosa's death, Clara shocks the family once again by declaring her intentions to marry Esteban Trueba (83).

But on the other hand, Clara purposefully uses feminine modes of discourse as means of control over her husband.

Her periods of silence and her private communication with her children are sources of great consternation and feelings of powerlessness for Esteban. While Clara is capable of managing a "double-voiced discourse" which enables her to function both in the public "masculine" sphere (both as the patron's wife and the senator's wife) as well as in the private "feminine" sphere, Esteban is never able to penetrate that private world of secret communication: 266

Sentîa una sed de Clara [;] . . . hasta en sus suenos estaba consciente de que la mujer que reposaba a su lado no estaba alll, sino en una dimension desconocida a la que él jamâs podria llegar. (115)

Ultimately, the power of Clara's words transcend time

and space as her spirit speaks to the imprisoned Alba and

encourages her to overcome her agony. In contrast,

Esteban's effusive but pathetic pleading for Trânsito Soto's

intervention on Alba's behalf reveals how powerless he

really is to help his granddaughter.

Eva Luna's contribution is that of the protagonist- become- subject and narrator. As she completes the

transformation from oral story teller to writer, she gains more and more power to control her life. Of special

significance is Eva's capacity to name; just as the

Yugoslavian widow created unusual creatures with her

Universal Material, so Eva creates her own characters and

shapes their lives. The importance of the capacity to name

is explained by Toril Moi as a traditional masculine activity, an act of power which " . . . reveals a desire to

regulate and organize reality according to well-defined

categories" (Moi 160). The protagonist-narrator of EL is

involved in this process as she writes her own self and

becomes both the subject and object of her own discourse

(Rivero in Guerra 148). She creates her own reality through

acquiring words and stories and then shaping them according 267 to her own designs. As a consequence, masculinist centrality is displaced by a feminist marginality that appropriates narrative discourse for itself; thus, "Eva Luna reverses the consequences of subordination by engendering her own Subject— through the power of self-language" (153).

Humor and magical realism are two "trademarks" that immediately set Allende's writing apart from the works of previous generations of Latin American women writers, as well as from many of her contemporaries (Mora in Coddou Los libres 71) . These two qualities are most prevalent in CE;

Allende's particular "brand" of magical realism gradually disappears in the subsequent two novels, replaced by occasional instances of unusual or inexplicable (but not

"magical") events. Humor is less noticeable in the second half of ÇE and in AS because of the seriousness of the story lines, but does reappear in EL.

Humor appears in a variety of forms in Allende's novels. There are instances of linguistic humor, as Allende employs blunt or coarse phraseology, or makes use of understatement or exaggeration (for example, the description of Barrabâs' amorous escapades, CE 73-74). There is also circumstantial humor, as the various eccentric characters attempt unusual feats (uncle Marcos, CE 20; Nana's attempts to frighten Clara out of her silence, CE 70-71). There are also numerous episodes of spectacles, or events on a grand scale, such as Marcos' plane flight (CE 20), Nicolas' hot 268 sir balloon stunt (CE 196) or the "Whore War" ("La Revuelta de las Putas") (EL 124-126). Allende also includes instances of metatextual humor in which she laughs at herself or others, such as when Esteban Trueba criticizes journalism as "una profesion truhân" (CE 188), or the numerous remarks about telenovelas in EL. She manages to incorporate several veiled references to Gabriel Garcia

Marquez, such as with Clara's refusal to repeat family names because they create confusion in her notebooks (in contrast to all the Aurelianos, José Arcadios, Amarantas etc., in

Cien anos de sqledad) (103), or the reference in EL to a minor flat character described as "un bigotudo escritor colombiano" (207). Allende's sense of humor is a vital means of destroying stereotypes and disarming or diverting criticism. More importantly, it becomes a means by which

Allende breaks the stereotype of women as passive victims, and of women writers as frustrated and powerless searchers for meaning.

Isabel Allende is often referred to as a writer of magical realism, especially because of perceived affinities between CE and Cien anos de soledad by Garcia Marquez. But in his thorough study of the concept, Marcelo Coddou comes to the conclusion that what Allende actually does is to merely incorporate those marvellous realities of life in

Latin America into her works in such a way that makes them seem to be extravagant or exaggerated (Coddou Para leer 269

188) . Following the thesis proposed by Alejo Carpentier,

Coddou points out that the history of Latin America is a

chronicle of marvellous events which can be documented and

verified (189). Furthermore, the events which can be

interpreted as magical realism in CE are almost always presented as a version or belief of someone else rather than

of the narrator, in contrast to the presentation of similar

events in Cien anos de soledad (193). In fact, Allende is

actually questioning the implicit disjunction of realities

implied by "magical" events because such a separation denigrates the unique character of Latin American culture

(193). Apparently, after Allende challenges Garcia Marquez and makes her point in CE, the need to include incidents of

"magical realism" is obviated, since similar events in AS and EL can better be described as unusual or remarkable, but certainly not magical (for example, the ability of

Evangelina Ranquileo to effect physical healings when she

falls into a trance, or the two-headed baby born to Eva’s madrina).

Lastly, the linguistic transformation which Allende's

language undergoes should be noted as a reflection of the author's personal accomodation to life in exile. While the

language in CE clearly reflects the Chilean culture, the second and third novels reveal changes in vocabulary and syntax indicative of Allende's adopted homeland. Many of the particularly Chilean expressions have been exchanged for 270 more generic equivalents (fresas for frutillas. for example), which perhaps also implies an awareness of a wider readership.

Thus, it can be seen that the struggle of power and resistance takes place not only at the levels of characterization and narration, but also at the fundamental level of language. As Moreau has argued, the dominant group in a society is the one which articulates the coherence of the universe, that is to say its universe (in Kramarae 60) .

Significantly, the dominated group has the task of articulating the "split” in that universe. Slang, profanity, and "women's talk" are ways of resisting domination, although at the same time such forms of expression can lock users into the definition imposed by the dominant (60). While that initial struggle to establish an individual voice necessitates the negation of and resistance to dominant discourse, it also demands the development of an alternate discourse that recognizes the validity of one's particular capacities, knowledge and modes of expression.

As Ugalde proposes, "By confronting past exclusions and marginality, the ground is prepared for the seeds of authentic images" (226) . Each of the four authors in this study represents a different stage in this process, according to the cultural contexts and possibilities available to them. 271

Notes

1. It may seem contradictory to use the masculine pronoun in reference to the narrator, especially when making a case for "equal time" for feminine voice. But the use of a feminine pronoun (or the identification in Spanish of "la narradora") does not seem to be warranted from the perspective of the authors' views on the existence of a masculine or feminine essence in writing. Consequently, in order to avoid the use of a presumptuous "she," the use of the generic "he" will be observed, except when a feminine narrator is specifically identified in the individual texts.

2. One particular influence for Eltit is that of the nouveau roman of Alain Robbe-Grillet and Michel Butor. In particular, the notion that "fiction obeys its own laws and has no necessary connection to the 'actual world'" (Magill Critical 4: 1237) and the nature of the novel to look inward rather than outward, re-creating an inner reality, has had a definite impact on Eltit's novels. Lumoerica reveals many of the techniques suggested by Butor such as utilizing book design, layout and typography to encourage the reader's participation in the aesthetic experience (Magill 2; 252); as well, the interaction of first, second and third person pronouns in order to create a displacement of character, narrator, and reader (252). These characteristics are present to a lesser degree in For la patria. and even less in El cuarto mundo. CONCLUSION

In her article "Coming out of the Labyrinth," Susan

Bassnett explores the dilemma of marginality that Latin

American women writers always have had to confront. She cites a number of "strategies of exclusion" practiced by male critics and writers which have relegated women writers to a virtually invisible status, and which have limited the power of female characters to the closed spaces of the home, the convent and the brothel (in King 249-250). Borrowing

Roberto Fernandez Retamar's description of the relationship among contemporary Latin American novelists as "a family in

America," Bassnett points out that, until recently, it has been ", . . a family made up entirely of fathers. brothers and sons" (250, emphasis added). Only since the decade of the 1980s has the contribution of Latin American women writers received much serious attention. Continuing the analogy from above, Bassnett notes that "The family of male writers has started to realize that it has sisters, daughters and mothers who are emerging from their attic rooms and speaking in voices loud enough to be heard by all"

(251).

272 273

Finding an authentic voice is a difficult and self- conscious struggle to break away from traditional stereotypes and literary models; as such, it may take on any number of forms of expression in the process of forging alternative ways of seeing, feeling and speaking. As

Bassnett points out, there exist immense differences of style, subject and ideology among contemporary Latin

American women writers. But they are united on two issues: the rejection of the role of passive listener and recipient of men's ideas, and the refusal to accept objectivication of women by male writers. Consequently, women writers are discovering the power of writing, as well as the possibility of becoming the subject rather than the object of writing

(259, 265). By this means Latin American women writers are creating more authentic models of human experience in which both male and female characters develop beyond the bonds of stereotypes and traditional limitations. A number of Latin

American women writers, certainly including Isabel Allende, are beginning to provide models of empowered female characters who present new possibilities of living for all women, based on a new self-knowledge and knowledge about the world, and a perception of feminine qualities and networks as strengths.

The notion of woman as subject becomes a central means of resistance to those "totalizing theories" that would exclude women's voices. As Francine Masiello affirms, in 274 contrast to the Anglo-American post-modernist pronouncements regarding tlie death of the subject, the texts of of Latin

American women writers are decidedly concerned with its survival. Given the socio-political realities of dictatorships over the last two decades in Latin America, women have faced countless challenges to their right to think and speak freely on issues. In Masiello's words, this has had a definite impact on the way women write;

Es asl que les resultaba difîcil dedicarse a los juegos gratuites de la escritura; su propôsito literario, su representaciôn de si misma, servia, mâs bien, para desafiar a las instituciones del estado, ademâs de utilizer al sujeto femenino como puente entre la vida privada y la acciôn pûblica. (57)

Through the examination of the concept of power and its exercise in Latin American society, the goal of this study has been to uncover the existence of an alternate (moral) theory of power and resistance in the novels of four Chilean women authors. Given the impact of the particular socio­ political realities of Chilean society in the last twenty years (i.e., the influence of cultural and institutional patriarchy), and the significant changes in the roles of women during that period, as well as the larger context of the impact of feminism in Latin America, it is not surprising that these authors have realized the need to turn to non-traditional characters, settings and themes. As they 275 have been engaged in the process of establishing their own literary style, neither is it surprising that they have developed strong narrators and language through which to articulate the new cultural realities they have had to face.

Yet in many ways, Subercaseaux, Eltit and Vâsquez are still struggling to come to terms with the repressive realities of their existence; only Allende has been able to actually formulate a vision of what alternate authentic images of women might be like. This situation can be seen not only in the characters, themes, spaces, narrators and language of their novels, but also in the way each one envisions her role as a writer.

All four of the authors represented in this study are concerned with the "survival of the subject" (specifically the woman as subject), as seen in the underlying presence of two concepts in their novels: the preoccupation for the relationship of the writer and the text expressed through the notion of writing as memory, and the preoccupation for the relationship of the writer and society, expressed through the notion of writing as testimony. From

Subercaseaux to Allende, the need to remember and the need to testify on behalf of marginalized others are overriding concerns. As will be seen, each one expresses her understanding of these roles in a manner consonant with her past experiences and present circumstances. 276

The notions of writing as memory and testimony stand out in the texts of Subercaseaux as the need to remember those who have suffered and/or disappeared anonymously and to tell their story. The narrator seeks to restore the identity of each character by giving each a name and a life, tragic though they may be. The central purpose of the characters Adela and Cochate is to remember the night when the soldiers carried away most of the men of the village and to tell the truth to others. Unfortunately, the testimony of those who remember has no power to bring about justice, since they speak from the margins of death and insanity.

Subercaseaux’s second novel, El canto de la ralz lejana, portrays a society marked by the absence of writing, the pain of remembrance and the fear of testimony. It is strictly an oral society in which the priest don Francisco sings the "song of the faraway source," and invents liturgies of his own imagination, rather than relying on the written word. Many of the characters experience dreams which influence their lives, but none is involved in reading or writing as a means to comprehend his or her existence.

In the only reference to the written word in the text, in answer to Esmeraldo's question, "Y antes, cuando usted era joven, padre, ^sintio tristeza alguna vez?" don Francisco shows him a yellowed piece of paper, with a testimony written when he was a young man: 277

"Desde mucho mâs atrâs de lo que pienso, porque cuando estoy borracho yo no pienso en nada; escondido en una gota de palabra, sin mâs luz que una lâmpara recuerdo, sin mâs sueno que algûn sueno de mananas, suspendido en una fe que ya no tengo, agarrado a las polleras de un Dios en quien no creo ..." (48)

This fragment of memory is a painful reminder of the loss of faith experienced by the priest, a memory to be ignored or denied. The other characters also seem to be trying to escape their past by coming to Tapihue and starting over; unfortunately, tragedy follows them and eventually forces them all to abandon the village. Even Clarisa, who speaks and acts on behalf of others, is frustrated in her attempts to help because of the silent fear of others- Only the narrator stands as a witness to the suffering endured by the

inhabitants of Tapihue, to give voice to the experiences that they undergo. In both of Subercaseaux's novels, the desire of both male and female characters to constitute themselves as speaking subjects is portrayed as an overwhelming struggle.

Ana Vâsquez is another author who focuses primarily on the function of memory in her novels. In BJH all of the

characters are involved in searching their memories in an

effort to come to grips with the realities of the military

overthrow of the government. Through the presentation of multiple perspectives and evaluations of events, Vâsquez

recreates the sense of confusion felt by the characters 278 representing the Popular Unity Party as their plans desintegrated before their eyes. Male and female characters alike are at a loss as to how to explain the turn of events they have just experienced. The narrator of the story presents the characters' ponderings, without providing any clear answers for the situation in which they find themselves.

In ^ the main characters are also involved in the process of remembering the past. The memory of the character Monserrat constitutes the frame within which the events surrounding Abel's imprisonment and death and Ramon's institutionalization and decline are presented. The development of the central plot is the gradual piecing together of Ramon and Abel's childhood and adult memories and the explanation for the conflict and eventual betrayal of one brother by the other. In a sense, Ramon's memories also become a testimony and an indictment against him, as the roots of his intense hatred and malicious conduct are revealed. In contrast, Abel's memories are a source of strength and stability for him, as he struggles to maintain his identity in the midst of torture. Indeed, the torturers are aware of the fact that if they can succeed in destroying the prisoners' memories of family and friends, they will have succeeded in destroying their victims' will to survive

(131-136). But even if Abel does not suffer the pain associated with remembrance, he does suffer the pain 279

associated with the loss that those memories represent. It

is this pain that eventually convinces him that his life can never be as it was before, and so results in his final sacrifice.

As a psychologist and as an exiliada herself. Ana

Vâsquez understands the need to work through the painful memories of the overthrow and exile. Through her works she explores the questions and emotions felt by many fellow

Chileans, and also gives concrete expression to the memories that emerged from that experience. Just as importantly, she speaks on behalf of the exiliados whose story was censored in Chile for many years, preserving the memory of the experience with a testimony that counters the "official" version of what happened. While she does attempt to constitute women as subjects of discourse by presenting non- stereotypical female characters who attempt to bring about change in society, most of those characters resort to playing by the rules of existing power structures.

For Diamela Eltit and Isabel Allende, the relationship of the writer and the text and the relationship of the writer and society are conscious issues to be dealt with in their novels. Eltit's exploration of these topics is unique among the four authors for the ways in which she seeks to develop an experiential identification with the texts, and for her perception of the artist as a significant but marginalized producer of culture within a society. The 280 notion of text as memory predominates in For la patria. with

Coya's desire to speak on behalf of all marginalized women and to remember the struggles they have faced individually; both Coya's text and the novel itself represent "centres de memoria" that resist exclusion by the dominant cultural voice. As Marta Contreras explains, the integral role of memory is vita in PP:

Se le exige a la memoria [de Coya] el recuerdo del propio nacimiento, momento culminante como objeto del relato que hace al personaje responsable de saberse hasta las ultimas consecuencias sin las parcelaciones de la censura que fragmenta el recuerdo y el cuerpo. (Contreras vii)

In Lumpérica and El cuarto mundo the relationship of the writer and society emerges as a struggle against censorship as well as against the vulgarization and commercialization of the artistic gift. In Lumpérica. the opposition that L Iluminada endures from the lumperio as they erase her chalk marks with their feet symbolizes the derision expressed by common people who have no comprehension of genuine artistic creativity (103-104). In

El cuarto mundo the "nina sudaca" born to "diamela eltit asistido por su hermano mellizo" (128) symbolizes the commercialization of art as writers subject their creative works to the whims of the marketplace. The artist's work is unappreciated for its aesthetic value and will be sold along 281 with everything else to a greedy, materialistic public. For

Eltit, the writer's task is to resist censorship and vulgarization, as well as the externally-imposed limitations of "femaleness” ("Chile: Intezmational Conference" 62).

Through the destruction of old stereotypes, genres and

codes, a place in which to generate an authentic,identity is

established.

The clearest voice of the four authors on the notions

of memory and testimony belongs to Isabel Allende. In CE.

Clara's notebooks of life, organized by event rather than by

chronological time, constitute a collective memory for the women in the Trueba family line. They also become the means by which Alba survives the terror of imprisonment and torture as well as the temptation to be consumed by bitterness and vengeance. Now that Alba understands the significance of writing as memory, she affirms:

Escribo, ella escribid, que la memoria es fragil y el transcurso de una vida es muy breve y sucede todo tan de prisa, que no alcanzamos a ver la relacion entre los acontecimientos, no podemos medir la consecuencia de los actos, creemos en la ficcion del tiempo, . . . pero puede ser también que todo ocurre s imultâneamente .... Por eso mi abuela Clara escribla en sus cuadernos, para ver las cosas en su dimension real y para burlar a la mala memoria. (363)

The protagonists of ^ and EL also recognize the importance of writing as memory, especially as Eva Luna 282 recounts the story of her life and gives life to the characters who inhabit the pages of her telenovela. But the role of the writer as witness is even more important as both

Irene and Eva are involved in testifying about injustices committed against marginalized people. Both protagonists undergo a process of self-awakening and the development of a determination to speak out for themselves as well as on the behalf of others. For Irene, this involves risking her own life to call attention to the military's cover-up of a massacre of innocent civilians; for Eva, using the medium of television in order to expose the truth about the government's cover-up of a prison escape by some opposition guerrilla fighters. Both protagonists become the subjects of their own discourse and establish themselves as voices to be reckoned with in society.

Perhaps like none of the previous protagonists,

Allende's female characters demonstrate an awareness of the power that comes through knowledge, caring and relationship, a power that channels its energies into ways of helping others without diminishing oneself. Instead of displaying a powerlessness generated by fear, Allende's protagonists provide models of empowered women who use their inherent strengths to overcome the conventional power embodied in force and coercion. For Marcelo Coddou, the significance of

Allende's writings comes from the presence of female figutec who demand for themselves "... el derecho a ser sujetos 283

del discurso que, hasta entonces, se ha ido enunciando en su

contra" (Los libres 31). It must also be emphasized that

not only do Allende's characters demand this right, but the

author herself as well through them.

Thus, as Doris Meyer has observed in her study on CE.

"... Allende embodies this emergence of a polyvocal

feminist text which expresses the hope of a ethically

transformed community" (Meyer "'Parenting'" 363). Meyer

bases this observation on the roles of Esteban and Alba as

narrators, and concludes that:

Although Alba is the dominant narrative voice, she interprets the experiences of many women divided by class, race and economic situation, who, like herself, have been oppressed by patriarchal culture in Latin America. If they have something in common. it is not an ideology but a spirit or moral affiliation that values nurturing relationships over the exercise of power■ (364, emphasis added)

In order to appropriately assess the significance of these new directions in Latin American women's writings,

Sharon Keefe Ugalde recommends that readers must learn to read from a woman-centered point of view, directing their attention toward the presence of the process of destruction and (re)construction (230). In this manner, the particular experiences of women acquire new significance, and the modes of expression employed by women writers are accorded a validity equal to that of male writers. Authors such as 284

Elizabeth Siibercaseaux, Diamela Eltit, Ana Vâsquez and

Isabel Allende comprise that new generation of women writers who are involved in a dynamic of resisting traditional mandates in order to establish authentic voices for themselves and for those marginalized groups they represent. BIBLIOGRAPHY

I. Works by or about the Authors

Isabel Allende Allende, Isabel. La casa de los esplritus. Santiago, Chile: Editorial Sudamericana, 1987. . De amor y de sombra. Santiago, Chile: Editorial Sudamericana, 1987. Eva Luna. Santiago, Chile: Editorial Sudamericana, 1988.

Agosin, Marjorie. "Isabel Allende: La casa de los esplritus." Revista Interamericana de Bibliocrrafla 35 (1985): 448-458.

Aguirre, Mariano. '"Cuéntanos una historia.'" La Eooca 26 December 1987: 25.

Aviles Fabila, René. "Isabel Allende: La magia como literatura." vision 21 March 1988: 42.

Coddou, Marcelo. "Las ficciones de Isabel Allende." Literatura chilena 11.39 (January-March 1987): 11-12.

, ed. Los libros tianen sus propios esplritus. Xalapa, Veracruz: Universidad Veracruzana, 1986.

, ed. Para leer a Isabel Allende. Concepcion, Chile: LAR [Literatura Americana Reunida], 1988.

Foster, Douglas. "Isabel Allende Unveiled." Mother Jones December 1988: 42-46.

Larraln, Marla Teresa. "La escritora del realisms mâgico." La Epoca. Cuerpo Dominical 24 May 1987 : xi-xii.

Meyer, Doris. "'Parenting the Text': Female Creativity and Dialogic Relationships in Isabel Allende's la casa de los esplritus." Hispania 73 (May 1990): 360-365.

285 286

Moody, Michael. "Una conversacion con Isabel Allende." Chasoui 16.2-3 (November 1987); 51-59.

Munoz, Willy O. "Las (re)escrituras en La casa de los esoiritus." Discurso literario 5.2 (Spring 1988): 433- 454.

Navarro, Arturo. "La fuerza moral estâ derrotando . . . ." La Epoca 25 December 1988: 1-3.

Rivero, Eliana S. Scheherazade Liberated: Eva Luna and Women Storytellers." Splintering Darkness. Ed. Lucia Guerra. Pittsburgh: Latin American Literary Review Press, 1999. 143-156.

Rojas, Mario. "La casa de los esplritus de Isabel Allende: Un caleidoscopio de espejos desordenados." Revista Iberoamericana 51 (July-December 1985): 917-925.

Valente, Ignacio. "Eva Luna: Entre la calidad y el éxito." El Mercurio 25 October 1987: E 3.

"iUna gran novela frustrada?" El Mercurio 1 November 1987: E 3.

Diamela Eltit

Eltit, Diamela. Lumpérica. Santiago, Chile: Las Ediciones de Ornitorrinco, 1983.

Por la patria. Santiago, Chile: Las Ediciones de Ornitorrinco, 1986.

. El cuarto mundo. Santiago, Chile: Editorial Planeta, 1988.

Agosin, Marjorie. "Diamela Eltit: Lumpérica." Literatura chilena 8.4 (October-December 1984): 33.

Blanco, Guillermo. "Las mujeres se interrogan." Hoy 10-16 August 1987: 49-50.

"Chile: International Conference on Women's Literature in Latin America, August 17-21, 1987." Resources for Feminist Research 16.4 (December 1987): 62-63.

Contreras, Marta. "Una novela femenina de vanguardia." El Sur (Concepcion) 7 June 1987: 7. 287

Donoso, Claudia. "'Tenemos puesto el espejo para el otro lado." Apsi 26 February 1987: 47-48.

Eltit, Diamela. [Untitled Essay]. LAR Revista de literatura 11 (August 1987), 47-48.

. Personal Interview. 14 December 1988.

Foxley, Ana Maria. "Acoplamiento incestuoso." Hov 12-18 August 1985: 41.

. "Literatura de mujeres: ôüna palabra sospechosa?" La Epoca 5 (15 May 1988), 1-2.

"'Me interesa todo aquello que esté a contrapelo del poder.'" La Epoca 20 November 1988: 4-5.

Maack, Anamaria. "La literatura como un diâlogo iiberador." El Sur (Concepcion) 19 June 1988; 6. Olea, Raquel. "Una épica de la marginalidad." LAR Revista de literatura 11 (August 1987): 2-6.

Rios, Patricio. "Chile: ni desprecio ni puro amor." Cauce (23 March 1987): 30-31.

Ulibarri, Luisa. "Cien mujeres y cinco dias de preguntas." La Epoca 15 August 1987: 24.

"Una noche eterna en novela 'novisima'." La Ultima Noticia 17 June 1984; 14-15.

Valente, Ignacio. "Una novela experimental." El Mercurio 25 March 1984: E 3.

Elizabeth Subercaseaux

Subercaseaux, Elizabeth. Silendra. Santiago, Chile; Las Ediciones de Ornitorrinco, 1986.

. El canto de la raiz leiana. Santiago, Chile: Editorial Planeta, 1988.

Rojas Barrera, Patricio. "Elizabeth Subercaseaux." La Secmnda 17 October 1986: 16.

Toha, Beatriz. "Silendra." Mensaie 357 (March-April 1987), 121-122. Ana vâsquez Vâsquez, Ana. Los Bûfalos. los Jerarcas y la Huesera. Santiago, Chile; Editorial Galinost, 1987.

. Abel Rodriquez y sus hermanos. Santiago, Chile: Ediciones Melquîades, 1988.

and Cacho Vâsquez. Sebasto's Angels. Paris: Editions Le Découverte, 1985.

Blanco, Guillermo. "Novela 'rock' a cuatro manos." Hoy 16-22 March 1987: 47-49.

Calderon, Alfonso. "Los Bûfalos. los Jerarcas y la Huesera." Ansi 16-22 May 1988: 52-53.

Diaz, Carolina. "Ana Vâsquez." Anâlisis 166 (17-23 March 1987): 41. Donoso, Claudia. "Los enjambres de una chilena en el exilio." Ajpsi 8-14 June 1987: 49-50.

Gligo, Agata. "Los Bûfalos, los Jerarcas y la Huesera." Mensaie May 1988; 177-178.

[Guerra], L[ucia] Cunningham. "Vigilancia y confesiôn en Abel Rodriquez y sus hermanos." Literatura chilena 8.3 (July-September 1984): 7-8.

Rios, Patricio. "ôHistorias de la novela o novelas de la historia?" Cauce 4-10 May 1987; 30.

II. General Theory of Power

Alcoff,Linda. "Cultural Feminism versus Post-Structuralism: The Identity Crisis in Feminist Theory." Signs 13.3 (Spring 1988): 405-436.

Belenky, Mary Field, Blythe McVicker Clinchy, Nancy Rule Goldberger and Jill Mattuck Tarule. Women ' s Wavs of Knowinq: The Development of Self. Voice and Mind. New York: Basic Books, 1986.

Carroll, Berenice. Liberating Women's History. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1976.

. "Peace Research: The Cult of Power." Journal of Conflict Resolution 16 (December 1972): 585-616. 289

Chodorow, Nancy. The Reproduction of Mothering. Berkeley, CA; University of California Press, 1978.

Code, Lorraine, Sheila Mullet, and Cristine Overall, eds. Feminist Perspectives; Philosophic Essavs on Methods and Morals. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1988. Corsini, Raymond J., ed. Encvclopedia of Psychology, vol. 3. New York: Wiley & Sons, 1984.

DeMolen, Richard L. The Meaning of the Renaissance and Reformation. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1974.

Diamond, Irene, and Lee Quinby, eds. Feminism and Foucault: Reflections on Resistance. Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1988.

Dreyfus, Hubert L., and Paul Rabinow. Michel Foucault: Bevond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. 2nd. ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983.

Edwards, Paul, ed. The Encvclopedia of Philosophv. Vols. 5, 6. New York: MacMillan, 1967. 8 vols.

Elshtain, Jean B. "Feminist Discourse and its Discontents: Language, Power and Meaning." Signs. 7 (Spring 1982): 603-621. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books, 1979. The Historv of Sexuality, vol. 1. Trans. Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, 1980.

. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings. 1972-77 Ed. Colin Gordon. Brighton: The Harvester Press, 1980.

Gilligan, Carol. In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women's Development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982.

Grimshaw, Jean. Philosophv and Feminist Thinking. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1986.

Hartsock, Nancy. Money. Sex and Power. New York: Longman, 1983. 290

Hawkesworth, Mary E. "Knowers, Knowing, Known; Feminist Theory and Claims of Truth." Signs 14 (Spring 1989): 533-557.

Kazemek, Francis. "Feminine Voice and Power in Moral Education." Educational Horizons 67.3 (Spring 1989): 76-81.

Kittay, Eva, and Diana Meyers, eds. Women and Moral Theory. Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1987.

Kramarae, Cheris, Muriel Schulz and William O'Barr, eds. Language and Power. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage Publications, 1984.

Kuper, Adam, and Jessica Kuper, eds. The Social Science Encvclopedia. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985.

Machiavelli, Niccolo. The Prince. Transi, and ed. Robert M. Adams. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1977.

Magill, Frank, ed. World Philosophv. vol. 3. EngJewood Cliffs, NJ: Salem Press, 1982.

McClelland, David C. Power: The Inner Experience. New York: Irvington Publishers, 1975.

Miller, Jean Baker. "Anger, Power, and Women's Sense of Self." Ms. July 1985: 42-44.

Mitchell, Juliet, and Ann Oakley, eds. What is Feminism? New York: Pantheon Books, 1986.

Morriss, Peter. Power: A Philosophical Analysis. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1987.

Sills, David L., ed. International Encvclopedia of the Social Sciences. vols. 12, 14. New York: MacMillan, 1968. 16 vols.

Solomon, Robert C. Nietzsche: A Collection of Critical Essavs. New York: Anchor Books, 1973.

Stern, J. P. A Studv of Nietzsche. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979.

III. Textual Theory

Chatman, Seymour. Storv and Discourse; Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978. 291

Culler, Jonathan. On Deconstruction: Theory and Criticism After Structura1ism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1982. DeLauretis, Teresa, ed. Feminist Studies/Critical Studies. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1986.

Donovan, Josephine. "Toward a Women's Poetics." Tulsa Studies in Women's Literature 3.1-2 (Spring-Fall 1984): 99-110. Fetterley, Judith. The Resisting Reader: A Feminist Approach to American Fiction. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1978.

Flynn. Elizabeth, and Patrocinio Schweickart, eds. Gender and Reading; Essays on Readers. Texts and Contexts. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986.

Kolodny, Annette. "A Map for Rereading; Or, Gender and the Interpretation of Literary Texts." New Literary History 11.3 (Spring 1980); 455-464. Magill, Frank, ed. Critical Survey of Literary Theory. Pasadena, CA: Salem Press, 1987. 4 vols.

Millett, Kate. Sexual Politics. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1970.

Moi,Toril. Sexual/Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory. London and New York: Methuen, 1985.

Newton, Judith Lowder. Women. Power and Subversion: Social Strategies in British Fiction. 1778-1860. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1981. Nicholson, Linda J., ed. Feminism/Postmodernism. New York and London: Routledge, 1990.

Norris, Christopher. Derrida. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987.

Showalter, Elaine, ed. The New Feminist Criticism. New York: Pantheon Books, 1985.

, ed. Speaking of Gender. New York and London: Routledge, 1989.

Suleiman, Susan, and Inge Crosman, eds. The Reader in the Text; Essays on Audience and Interoretation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980. 292

Todd, Janet. Feminist Literary History. New York; Routledge, 1988.

Tompkins, Jane, ed. Reader-Response Criticism. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980.

Watson, Barbara Bellow. "On Power and the Literary Text." Signs 1 (Autumn 1975): 111-118.

IV. Studies on Women in Chile and Latin America

Chaney, Elsa M. Supermadre: Women in Politics in Latin America. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1979.

Duley, Margot, and Mary Edwards, eds. The Cross-Cultural Study of Women ; A Comorehensive Guide. New York: The Feminist Press, 1986.

ECLAC (Economic Commission on Latin America and the Caribbean). The Decade for Women in Latin America and the Caribbean. Santiago, Chile: United Nations Publications, 1988. Five Studies on the Situation of Women in Latin America. Santiago, Chile: CEPAL, 1983.

Guerra, Lucia. Muier y sociedad en America Latina. Chile: UCI/Pacifico, 1980.

Jaquette, Jane S., ed. The Women's Movement in Latin America. Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1989.

Kirkwood, Julieta. Feminarios. Comp. Sonia Montecino. Santiago, Chile: Ediciones Documentas, 1987.

. Ser politica en Chile: Las feministas y los partidos. Santiago, Chile: FLACSO, 1986.

. Teiiendo rebelCias. Comp. Patricia Crispi, Santiago, Chile: CEM, La Horada, 1987.

Lavrin, Asuncion, ed. Latin American Women: Historical Perspectives. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1978.

McGee, Sandra, ed. Women and Politics in Twentieth Century Latin America. Williamsburg, VA: Studies in Third World Societies, 1981.

Meza, M. Angelica. La otra mitad de Chile. Santiago, Chile: CESOC, 1986. 293

Munoz Dâlbora, Adriana. Fuerza feminista y deaocracia; Utopia a realizar. Santiago, Chile: Ediciones Documentas, 1987.

Nash, June, and Helen I. Safa, eds. Sex and Class in Latin America. New York: Praeger Press, 1976.

. Women and Change in Latin America. South Hadley, MA: Bergin & Garvey, 1986. Pescatello, Ann, ed. Female and Male in Latin America. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1973.

. Power and Pawn: The Female in Iberian Families, Societies and Cultures. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1976.

Puz, Amanda. La muier chilena. Santiago, Chile: Editora Nacional Quimantû, 1972.

Santa Cruz, Adriana. "The Women's Movement: A Latin American Perspective.” Resources for Feminist Research 14.3 (November 1985): 15-17.

Scott, Alison MacEwen. "Women in Latin America: Stereotypes and Social Science." Bulletin of Latin American Research 5.2 (1986): 21-27.

Seager, Joni, and Ann Olson. Women in the World. London: Pan Books, 198 6.

Stoner, K. Lynn. "Directions in Latin American Women's History, 1977-1985." Latin American Research Review 22.2 (1987): 101-134.

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Todaro, Rosalba, dir. Mundo de muier: continuidad y cambio. Santiago, Chile: Centro de estudios de la mujer, 1988. Valdes, Teresa. Venid. benditas de mi Padre; las pobladoras. sus rutinas y sus suenos. Santiago, Chile: FLACSO, 1988. Valenzuela, Maria Elena. La muier en el Chile militar: Todas ibamos a ser reinas. Santiago, Chile: CESOC, 1987. 294

V. Criticism on Chilean and Latin American Literature

Agosin, Marjorie. "Aproximaciones a la novelistica chilena; 1970 hasta la êpoca actual." Revista Interamericana de Bibliocrrafla 33 (1983): 198-206.

Aguirre, Mariano. Personal Interview. 18 December 1988.

Ahern, Maureen, ed. A Rosario Castellanos Reader. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1988.

Correas de Zapata, Celia, and Lygia Johnson, eds. Detrâs de la reia: Antoloala critica de narradoras latinoamericanas del sialo XX. Caracas: Monte Avila Editores, 1980.

Delano, Poli. "La irrupcion de las novelistas." Fortin Mapocho 3 November 1987: 9.

Epple, Juan Armando. "La narrativa chilena: Historia y reformulacion estética." ideologies & Literature 4. 17, second cycle (Sept.-Oct. 1983): 294-305.

Foppa, Alaide. "Lo que escriben las mujeres." fern 3.10 (January-October 1979); 5-7.

Franco, Jean. "Apuntes sobre la critica feminista y la literature hispanoamericana." Hispamérica 45 (Dec. 1986): 31-43.

. Plotting Women: Gender and Representation in Mexico. New York: Columbia University Press, 1989.

Garfield, Evelyn Picon. Women's Voices from Latin America: Interviews with Six Contemporary Authors. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1985.

Gonzâlez, Patricia Elena and Eliana Ortega, eds. La sartén por el mango. Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico: Ediciones Euracân, 1984.

Guerra, Lucia. "Algunas reflexiones teoricas sobre la novela femenina." Hispamérica 10.28 (1981): 29-39.

. "Desentranando la polifonla de la marginalidad: Hacia un anâlisis de la narrativa femenina hispanoamericana." Inti nos. 24-25 (otono 1986-primavera 1987): 39-59.

. Splintering Darkness. Pittsburgh: Latin American Literary Review Press, 1990. 295

Harlow, Barbara. Resistance Literature. New York and London: Methuen, 1987.

Horno-Delgado, Asuncion, Eliana Ortega, Nina Scott and Nancy Saporta Sternbach, eds. Breaking Boundaries: Latina writing and Critical Readings. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1989.

King, John, ed. On Modern Latin American Fiction. New York: The Noonday Press, 1989.

Lindstrom, Naomi. "Feminist Criticism of Latin American Literature: Bibliographic Notes." Latin American Research Review 15.1 (1980): 151-159.

Masiello, Francine. "Discurso de mujeres: lenguaje de poder." Hispamérica 45 (December 1986): 53-60.

McMurray, George. Spanish American Writing Since 1941. New York: Ungar, 1987.

Meyer, Doris, ed. Lives on the Line. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1988.

Miguel, Ester de. "La circunstancia femenina en el hecho literario." fern 6.21 (February-March 1982): 53-55.

Miller, Beth, ed. Women in Hispanic Literature: Icons and Fallen Idols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983.

Miller, Yvette, and Charles M. Tatum, eds. Latin American Women Writers : Yesterday and Today. Pittsburgh: Latin American Literary Review Press Special Issue, 1977.

Mora, Gabriela, and Karen S. Van Hooft, eds. Theory and Practice of Feminist Literary Criticism. Ypsilanti, MI: Bilingual Press (EMU), 1982.

Moreno, Fernando. "Notas sobre la novela chilena actual." Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos 386 (1981): 381-395.

Ortega, Julio. Poetics of Change. Trans. Galen Greaser. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1984.

Peri Rossi, Cristina. "Literature y mujer." ECO (Bogota) 42 (marzo 1983): 498-506.

Poniatowska, Elena. "Mujer y literature en America Latina." ECO (Bogota) 42 (marzo 1983): 462-472. 296

Revista Iberoamericana 51 (July-December 1985).

Russotto, Margara. "Nc basta un cuarto propio." fern 6,21 (February-March 1982); 13-15.

Sefchovich, Sara, ed. Mujeres en espeio. I. Mexico: Folios Ediciones, 1983. Skârmeta, Antonio. ''Narrative chilena despues del golpe." Primer coloouio sobre literature chilena de la resistencia y el exilic. México, D.F.: UNAM, 1980.

Ugalde, Sharon Keefe. "Process, Identity, and Learning to Read: Female Writing and Feminist Criticism in Latin America Today." Latin American Research Review 24, 1 (1989): 222-232.

Ulibarri, Luisa. "Motives de la novela chilena 1973-1988: Largo viaje hacia la noche." La Epoca (Santiago) 29 mayo 1988: 1-2. Welles, Marcia. "The Changing Face of Woman in Latin American Fiction." Women in Hispanic Literature: Icons and Fallen Idols. Ed. Beth Miller. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. 280-288.

VI. Chilean and Latin American History

Baltra Montaner, Lidia. Atentados a la libertad de informacion en Chile. 1973-1987. Santiago, Chile: Ceneca, 1988. Jofré, Manuel Alcides. Literature chilena en el exilio. Santiago, Chile: Ceneca, 1986.

Rojo, Grinor and John J. Hassett, eds. Chile; Dictatorship and the Struggle for Democracy. Gaithersburg, HD: Ediciones Hispamérica, 1988.