After three series focusing on a central author, Short Stop is taking a bit of a turn for the next run. Sometime last year, I found a copy of “The Vintage Book of Amnesia” which was compiled and edited by Jonathan Lethem. The theme is simple. He looks at authors throughout time and explores how they approach the subject of memory. Whereas previous series focused on exploring a writer finding their voice, I thought that it would be interesting to try and find something more thematic across the centuries. It’s a lengthy ordeal and one that will probably have more highs and lows than ever before. The hope though is finding a few diamonds in the rough that are worth committing to memory.
The tires felt deflated when I started this series with “Dream Scenario.” Not only was it painfully obtuse, but it was a mood-setter that made me worry that everything that followed could be underwhelming. With some relief, I am happy to report that the second entry rescued my enthusiasm for the journey ahead. Even without a knowledge of Julio Cortazar, I was able to dig into his story “The Night Face Up” and find different things to appreciate as the story progressed. I’ll admit that there were points even a few pages in which I worried it would be another abstract disappointment. However, I saw the pieces fitting into place and everything that didn’t make sense appeared somewhere in the groove. While I may not call it the best story, it’s a substantial leap and a perfect piece of fodder to discuss the idea of memory.
The gist of the story exists between dual “realities.” Throughout nine pages, an unnamed protagonist exists between the present time where he’s landed in the hospital, and sometime way in the past where he is being hunted by Aztecs. In theory, not a lot happens in the hospital. He’s sitting there with his arm in a cast and passing time. However, he can’t close his eyes for long because it creates this sense of dread that the fictional world is even more real. He’s being chased, on the verge of life and death. Without any great context in reality, we’re left to believe that the paranoia is informing us something about his ultimate fate. Cortazar is selective about what language is given to the point we don’t know the physical appearance of either man. It’s a tense nightmare where there’s no escape to a better world.
Before diving into themes, it feels important to quickly dive into the narrative. The protagonist is introduced pulling a motorcycle out of storage. He’s going for a joy ride that is rudely interrupted by a woman at a crosswalk. As he attempts to slow down, his motorcycle slides and lands on top of him. He’s injured and taken to the hospital where he’ll spend the rest of the narrative trying to find any sense of relief.
Cortazar chooses to introduce the alternate plot in a disorienting fashion. He never overtly confirms the switch but instead starts a new paragraph. Early on in the story, it is a confusing switch that doesn’t fully make sense. For instance, there is a moment when the ambulance is arriving to rescue the protagonist from the motorcycle accident. It cuts to a paragraph where he is under a tree. It’s a scene that feels vastly different from where we were. The actions feel very similar in that both figures are different forms of maimed, but there is a sense that the fictional storyline isn’t going to have as convenient of an answer.
If anything, the fictional storyline finds him needing to escape from his attackers. This tension counteracts the inaction of the hospital scenes. Many could consider it a fantasy where he sees himself as something heroic, but it’s much more cowardly. He’s more needing to not find trouble because he knows that the end is near. What exactly is coming for him? It’s somebody with a knife, preparing to stab him. Given that Cortazar fills these moments with sensory details, which he also claims are inaccessible in the dream sequences, it makes one wonder what is the greater truth. More importantly, what would make the hospital scene a fantasy to someone from The Aztec era who doesn’t even know what a motorcycle is?
The balance between both scenes makes it feel like a fever trip. The protagonist is losing his grip on reality. Then again, was he ever in the right headspace? For all that the reader knows, the protagonist is being pursued, and landing himself in the hospital means that the vultures are now circling him, waiting to drop on him and finish their job. The lack of knowledge of who or what that is feeds a great sense of paranoia that encourages the reader to find clues in the abstract. Maybe it’s nothing at all. He could just hate the hospital staff and believe that the surgical work is holding him back. Whatever it is, he’s stuck and lacks the freedom that a working motorcycle can offer him.
Whereas “Dream Science” suffered from trying to intellectualize memory loss, I think that Cortazar is ultimately better because it embodies the fun game of finding details in the peripheral. For instance, what does the “war of blossoms” quote mean for the larger text? Yes, it refers to The Aztecs, but it’s the idea of murdering prisoners in a game of cat and mouse. Does the protagonist feel trapped by modern society? Given that the whole story ends with The Aztec murder, I must assume it’s some sense of emasculation due to health issues. He may not die in a literal sense, but some part of his vitality is gone.
As I talk myself through this story, I think that I’ve come off a ledge of thinking this story is some harrowing tale. I wanted to believe that the motorcycle accident was indicative of some greater emergency in his life. I wanted to believe that the world was ending, or that there would be some political dissent. Maybe he was a radical. Without any details to argue this read, I do think it’s more comical. It’s the idea of what it feels like to be in a collision and shift control from your hands into someone else’s. He is a prisoner of the system, but only in the sense that he needs to deal with rehab.
I think that this reading may be informed by doing a quick research on who Cortazar was. He was a Belgian author who spent most of his life in Argentina. During this time, he observed the controversial rise of leader Juan Peron. He wasn’t exactly what people would call a fan and it resulted in him being critical in his writing about the government. Like most, he did this through allegories and even found ways to incorporate different forms of dualities. For example, Cortazar could represent the lower class while Peron symbolized the upper crust. It’s a theme that exists in all of his stories, and in “The Night Face Up” he uses it to reflect two radically different periods.
My surface reading of the story is to say it suggests that the political turmoil of the past is something that still exists today. If viewed as a study of systems, Cortazar’s text reflects how there’s cruelty and irrationality that still exists. However, I think symmetry has less to do with the ecosystem and more about instinctual responses. In both cases, the protagonist is fighting for his life. The irony is one has him strapped in a bed which causes him to not have many options. He is already caught. It’s funny because it suggests that even if he stands a better chance of survival, he sees himself as finished.
In the grand scheme of things, this is a great study of how people from two different backgrounds can experience similar feelings. Both have their own sense of peril and yet they’re treated with equal measurement. It’s an effort to create this profound sense of empathy that shows how humanity is connected. I think of authors like Virginia Woolf and James Joyce as voices who have used similar techniques to comment on how similar everybody actually is. Given that this is an anthology about memory, I think it can also be used as a commentary on flights of fantasy or how our mind wanders into delusion. Is the protagonist sane, merely on heavy doses of medication, or full-tilt crazy? Cortazar doesn’t want to answer that question. Instead, it’s a creative study on psychosis that’s harder to explain.
I think what makes me like the story is how much the author trusts the reader to pick up on details. This isn’t an easy text to navigate at first. I was convinced it was overtly complicated for the first few pages only to slowly click into place. I’m sure upon later readings it’ll become more concrete and provide deeper subtext. For now, it’s the perfect sense of wandering in and out of consciousness, but with a creative writing technique. Maybe The Aztecs will say something meaningful about the present, or possibly nothing at all. It’s the right level of ambiguity that allows you to go in any strand direction and find an answer that is satisfying save for the fact it’s tied to a shred of doubt.
Overall, “The Night Face Up” is a bit dry for my liking. However, as a study of memory, I think it does a lot to engage the reader’s experience with questioning reality and what actually happened. It does so without trivializing the main narrative and creates something that is approaching a sense of disorientation that I’m sure Jonathan Lethem thinks amnesia is like. If nothing else, even its inconclusive finale leads to something satisfying because it’s playful about how it got there. It’s not merely saying, “I don’t know what’s going on.” I feel like Cortazar actually has some clue. Maybe it’s the grand political allegory that I assumed it was. Maybe it’s just a comedy about a man getting his arm broken. Whatever it is, I’m now curious to read more of Cortazar’s work to see what other clever ways he messes with our heads.
Coming Up Next: Martin Amis’ “Other People”
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