Table of Contents I. Literature and Revolution II. Portrait and Self portrait: The Hispano-american Novel Confronted with Society III. "Der Zauberberg" in the Literature of Latin America IV. Miguel Angel Asturias, Novelist of the Old and the New Worlds V. Alejo Carpentier: Magic Realism VI. Rayuela: or, Order out of Chaos VII. Cesar Vallejo: The Mestizo Masks VIII. Parra anti Parra IX. Anti-literature X. Antipoetry Chapter 4 - Miguel Angel Asturias, Novelist of the Old and the New Worlds It is a strange city in which Miguel Angel Asturias forges the material of his stories and poetry: a city which glows like a network about his head, a band of mountains and, above, a halo of celestial air, pure and vibrant. Nailed to a wall of stone is an incandescent plaque, engraved with his name; and at his feet, a valley submerged in tremors, in labor, and in blue and crimson plumage. Asturias wrote in "Leyendas de Guatemala": It is a city consisting of superimposed buried cities, like the floors of a building. Story upon story. City upon city.... Within this towering city the ancient cities are preserved intact. Through the stairwells dream images rise without leaving tracks, soundlessly. Behind one door or another the centuries differ. Memory gains the stairway that leads to the Spanish cities. Every so often above the stairs there is an opening, in the narrowest part of the spiral; windows hidden in the shade, or passageways formed from the substance of the walls, like those that connect to the chapels in the Catholic churches. The passageways allow one to see other cities. Memory is a blind woman groping to find the road. We go up the stairs to a city of the heights: Xibalba, Tulan, mythological cities, distant, dressed in snow. Iximache, on whose emblem the captive eagle crowns the sign of the Cakchiquelean gentry. Utatlan, city of fiefs. And Atitlan, balcony enclosed in a rock over a blue lake.(1) Ascending and descending, from floor to floor, from city to city, from era to era, in the wide dark suit of the Guatemalan man, hands extended, dispensing herbs and partitioning the vital mummies of gods turned to trees, his face plain and decisive like a machete blade, sculpted nose, Asturias for years has sought the umbilical cord which explains that phantastic edifice. Lost, at times, in the subterranean penumbra, he advances along the stone corridor that leads to the funereal lake of the Mayas and finds himself in the midst of loquacious princes and priests, warriors and maidens, dancers and poets, foxes and sculptors, jaguars and engineers, musicians and rams, boars and painters, all crowded into his realm, and he observes and comments upon the evolution of the static world toward its supernatural activity. With his foot he uncovers the ears, the noses, the fingers and hearts of distinguished Spanish noblemen, quartered in afternoons, notices the signs on the walls, distinguishes between the code of Amatle and its spurious colonial translation. He recovers the statistics of the Office of Commerce from the fiscal coffers to arrive, finally, at the equation between bananas, the railroad, the jeep and the hundred-year lease. He began his task around 1930, in other words, at the age of 31. He started with the last level of the buried cities, without imagining, perhaps, that over the years his literary work would come to constitute an ascent from the subterranean Mayas and the primitive subconscious, to the conscious validation of his nation's destiny in the modern epoch. His first book, Leyendas de Guatemala, is a lovely and balanced poetic exercise evoking a characteristic region of Central America. In the prologue to a French translation, Paul Valery said of the legends: To me this work had the effect of a filter, for it is something that one drinks more than reads. It was also for me like a tropical nightmare, experienced with a singular delight.(2) The cities, "sonorous like open seas," are: Guatemala City, Palenque, Copan, Quiricua, Tikal, Antigua; and the legends: that of the Volcano, that of the Cadejan, that of Tatuana, that of the Sombreron and that of a Treasure Among the Flowers. In this book there is a controlled purity of tropical fantasy. Asturias works like a goldsmith educated in Spanish and French academies, for whom the indigenous content, without being entirely exotic is still, not intimate. From his fingers flows a fine filigree, always on the point of breaking into a tangle, but subject to time, arranged in a brilliant design, with cursory touches of provincialism, which however do not destroy the magic of the rustic filter to which Valery alluded. Improvisationally, the purposive voice is interrupted and from the lowered eyes of the poet the surroundings fall like ripe fruit: Clouds, sky, plum trees.... Not a soul in the languor of the road. From time to time, the quick passage of flights of Sunday parakeets moderating the silence. The day was exhaled from the nostrils of the steers, pale, hot, perfumed.(3) In this tranquil and luminous book is foreshadowed, nevertheless, a clash of cultures that, later, will cause a conflagration. The region itself is, sometimes, the nostalgic vocation of the student of Central America suspended in the courts of Europe: a thing of magnolias in bloom, of mangoes and gourds, of mother-cacao and of yucca. A smooth tropical provincialism, yet urbane as well as lyrical. A sort of Azorin with a Quetzal icon upon his shoulder. On another page, a Chateaubriand-like romanticism is expressed with torpid sensuality: The tropical air removes the leaves of the undefinable felicity of love's kisses. Balsams which liquefy. Steamy mouths, wide against temperance. Warm waters where slumber the lizards over their virgin females.(4) And elsewhere Asturias is a modernist, weighed down by weight of gold and silver coins of exotic Ruben's decadence: In the city of Copan the king changes his livestock from leather to silver in the palace gardens. The royal shoulder exhibits the displayed feather of a peacock. Against his chest bags hold magic shells, knit in with gold threads. His wrists show bracelets of polished cane competitive with first class marble. His bandanna crown has for insignia the loose feather of a hawk. In romantic awareness the king smokes his tobacco in a bamboo hut.(5) The reader of these legends has a presentiment of an incomplete elaboration. Asturias is satisfied neither with the folkloric mystification pertaining to his land, nor with the symbolist manipulations in fashion in France. He fluctuates between the two currents without yet discovering the orientation that is to guide him later in his re-conquest of the Mayan world. He has read Popol-Vuh, naturally, and he knows best of all the work by Georges Raynaud, "The Gods, the Heroes and the Men of Guatemala" which he himself translated into Spanish in collaboration with J. M. Gonzalez of Mendoza. He has studied the indigenous religions and myths of the Americas at the Sorbonne, between the years 1923 and 1926; and there, surely, he consolidated his knowledge of the historical literature of the Conquest and the Colonization. His explication of narcissism in the glossary of "Leyendas de Guatemala" is taken from the Tratado de las Supersticiones de los Naturales de Nueva Espana by Ruiz de Alarcon, a work dating from 1629; and in this glossary he also cites the "Recordacion Florida" or the captain Francisco Antonio de Fuentes y Guzman (Discurso Historico, Natural, Material, Militar y Politico del Reyno de Goathemala, 1690). Of all these sources, the Popol-Vuh is certainly the most important. From the sacred book of the Quiches' Asturias is inspired, for example, to write the speech inserted in his chapter, "Ahora que Me Acuerdo" (now that I remember), in which the first men, upon seeing the sunrise, plead to the gods for a fecund line of descent. Asturias' paraphrase is, in reality, a synthesis of two Traditions from Popol-Vuh: the seventh and the eleventh. The legend of the tree that grows indefinitely with humans in its branches--parent of Jack and the beanstalk--is found in the fourth Tradition of the Popol-Vuh, and Asturias alludes to it in his story of the tree that walks (p.167). It is the same with the trees that bleed (p.55), the dance of delights (p.56), the four roads that "cross before Xibalba" (p.58), the rebellion of the rocks, the waters and the air (p.82), which all are allusions to the mythology of the Popol-Vuh. The poetic imagination of Asturias operates with a happy appreciation of its powers, with a consciousness of itself which, at its height, makes us think of a snake about to bite its own tail. It should not be forgotten that in his elaboration of this mythological material Asturias still accepts a schedule of conventional values. Only a poet like Valery could sense the presence of a frenetically primitive world at the bottom of the legends. The reader accustomed to exotic modernism--the heir of romantic pseudo-indianism--could well see in Asturias' legends a picturesque and inoffensive evocation of inert material. The perception of Valery as much as the optical illusion of the reader are both the result of real phenomena, and, partially explain the contradiction in which Asturias is moved to write his Leyendas de Guatemala. Between the publication of this firstborn work and his novel "El Senor Presidente" there is a lapse of 16 years. But the dates, it is clear, are deceptive, because judging from Asturias' own testimony, the novel appeared 15 years after having been written. In any case, if not on a temporal plane, at least in a literary sense, a profound upheaval has taken place in Asturias, an upheaval that ends finally his lyrical celebration of Mayan motifs and his refined stylization of Central American regions. A heavy hand all at once overthrows the altar to the gods and fouls the Guatemalan morning with the steam of blood and waste. Asturias returned from Europe to Guatemala in 1937. He who had lived his infancy under the tyranny of Estrada Cabrera returns to the dictatorship of Ubico. "El Senor Presidente" is already written. Nothing remains but to re-enact the fable. Ubico will fall; once again the writer will return to his country, will be honored by the democratic government of Arevalo and Arbenz and his People will acclaim him with the old accent of the legends and the new voice of liberty; and he will depart again into exile because the fable insists on repeating itself. "El Senor Presidente" could have been written in any of these three conditions. It developed in the characteristic ambiance of the Hispano-american tyrannies, and was nurtured with anecdotes, rebellions, uprootings, bitter injustices, impotence and hope, but, above all, with an emotion that, as the leitmotif of the novel, is new to Latin American literature: that of fear. Despotic cruelty and ignorance was given us by Sarmiento in his Facundo; political ferocity bordering on the bestial, Echeverria in El Matadero; thrusts of cape and sword, Marmol in Amalia; Asturias creates in "El Senor Presidente" the epic of fear and impotence, the X-ray of the Spanish nation caught on the cross of treason, of hypocrisy and of opportunism. Let us hear him explain the origin of his novel: More than a written novel, "El Senor Presidente" was a spoken novel. In Paris we would gather a group of Central American friends to relate anecdotes about our respective homes, which in that era lived beneath similar dictatorships. Each would contribute from his own experience or that of an acquaintance. For my part I recited my own time of infancy under the dictatorship of Estrada Cabrera. The fear that it communicates to a child passed to the book. This not as a literary formula, but as something psychological. The novel is not in fact, as many have thought, a biography of Estrada Cabrera, but the symbol of any dictator, common to all the nations. The illness was the same, but the ill varied. Thereby, "El Senor Presidente" has application to all of the Latin American countries. It is a sort of compendium ... of a dictator.(6) In an interview published by the "Repertorio Americano" he adds other, equally significant details: The novel was written without a pre-determined literary plan. The chapters emerged one following after the other, as if they were tied in obedience to an internal world of which I was the mere expositor. When I finished it I saw that I had brought to the book--not by means of known literary methods, of those that can be didactically expressed, but rather by that obedience to the impositions of an internal world, as I said before--the realism of an Hispano-american nation, in this case my own, as if submission to it was like that to the will of a man.... During the age of the dictatorship to which the book refers I was a kid, an adolescent and during it I reached the first youth. That is why I think that, without having taken part in any of the events, there filtered through my skin the sense of fear, of insecurity, of earthly panic that breathes through the work.(7) In these declarations Asturias suggests certain elements of a literary creed that explains, not only "El Senor Presidente," but also the novelistic trilogy about exploitation in bananas that was to begin publication in 1949 with Viento Fuerte. We shall let Asturias define his own points of view: In a work to be realized in Latin America, say, the writer should look for, out of preference, the Latin American theme and bring it to his literary work with local language. This language is not simply the use of dialect. It is the interpretation that the people of the street make of the living reality, from their traditions to their popular aspirations. Confronted with a Europeanized literature, the hemispheric writer, of poetry or prose, must take an attitude in favor of the growth of an indigenous literature. Such a literature has been systematically negated, but that negation has no value now that the Latin American influence has long tended toward those works from the native tradition as much as the Hispanic of the colonial epoch. The Hispano-american themes should be extrapolated to the universal. But only that can be universalized which has a deep root in the land itself.... I divide, to distinguish values, writers into those we would call precious, who form one group, and those who have a marked tendency toward the social. The latter originated a literature of the Americas that slapped back the lyrical to place ahead of it the problems of the Continent. Representatives are well known: Martin Luis Guzman, Mariano Azuela, Romulo Gallegos, Jose Eustasio Rivera, Jorge Icaza. This social literature, it should be clearly understood, is very essentially Latin American. Its appearance in this century is no more than the re-appearance of a current that stems from long ago. The indians, to whom the friars taught the Latin characters, wrote their first works with a markedly social cast, denouncing in them the fact that they were victimized by the Conquistadores. Among these works can be cited the books named the Chilan-Balam which appeared in different sites of the Mayan geographical area, and in which there sounds the complaint of the primitive, trampled and oppressed by the imperialism that forces him to a slave's condition. Many works of this literature disappeared, but its remaining vestiges demonstrate that, as a reaction of the indigenous wise man to the barbarism of the conquest, there was born a sub-American literature of a social tendency. The centuries pass; the literature of the Colonies runs in Spanish American channels, but from then on examples of that native literature appear that are concerned with problems of social order. And when new imperialist forms dominate the sources of South America's riches, democratically enslaving the farm laborer and the worker, there emerge the books so scandalous for their crudity.... Nevertheless, it must be noted that this new literature that denounces deeds and reveals injuries does not lead to hopelessness, nor participates at all in pessimism. On the contrary; throughout these heroic works one can see the hope for the Americas to be more autonomous, and, to that extent, better.(8) These declarations, made in 1950, are re-affirmed in 1954: The writer today has returned to a consciousness of his Latin America, like in the years between 1800 and 1830, when the pen and the sword became weapons of liberty. Now the combat is about economic liberty. And the Latin American writer is there, singing and telling as with the great poetry of other times. From the rhapsodies of the Popol-Vuh to the lyrics of the patriotic hymns, the authentic poets of Latin America tell more than sing (Neruda in his Cuento General, which he calls Canto) and the novelists find themes in the gum exploitation,the pit of the mine, the exploitation of the indian, the plantations of rubber, bananas, sugar, the usurers, the quacks, the oil fields. And once again, as in the days of the political emancipation, the indian, the mestizo, the black, the mulatto, the cripple, facing this way and that, appear in the pages of this struggle in the midst of Latin America's night, because in much of the Americas it is still night-time.(9) Asturias has preferred not to attempt a strict definition of the aesthetic phenomenon to which his concept of South-Americanism alludes. His social realism, considering his declarations, is not optimist. This is perhaps due to the fact that in his novels, in El Senor Presidente in particular, he does not transcend the limits of an objective representation of a bad politics; nor does he offer a definition of this ill itself and, for that matter, proposes no solution whatsoever that could energize his work from a revolutionary dynamism. Furthermore, this analytical position saves him from the defects that are common in purely propagandistic literature. "El Senor Presidente" is not a libel; it could have been one and its literary merit, a distinct naturalness, would not have been less. Its significance rests in the artistic elaboration that the author should have carried to its conclusion to incarnate a symbol supported by a reality in itself no more than local phenomenon. That the model for the anti-hero should have been Estrada Cabrera carries an importance from a literary point of view. The book is a deed that the historian and the sociologist record, but in the terrain of art it is only tangential. The critic is detained, sometimes, in the biographic game and I suppose that he will not lack keys to identify characters such as the General, Channels, Angel Face, the Auditor of War and some others. I think one can agree that those characters live on three planes: they can represent true figures of the politics of a time, they can be considered prototypes, and finally they can assume the complex and mysterious sense of archetypes which do not lose, at root, their dramatic humanity. They only interest me in this last aspect. The creatures of Asturias move laboriously toward obtaining a destiny that they cannot carry out except by means of the mythological transfiguration. In life, they are tormented by the diabolical fatality of the lost souls of Dostoevsky. The good, that is to say, the victims, are touched with the divine grace, also Dostoevskian, that walks with the poor in spirit. The victims have the auras of saints, be it in the form of a bloody crown or in the form of a noose, the rope of the Mayan hanging which leads from the tree to paradise. People like the idiot named Pelele, like Mazacuata, Angel Face, Vazquez and the numerous prostitutes and chain gang laborers, are beings primitive to a degree that Asturias seems to see essential and basic, the indispensable condition of salvation in a metaphysical sense. On this plane his terrors, his angers, his shortcomings and his animal cruelty are explained and resolved. How can one ever forget sir Benito Perez Galdos before that bunch of foul beggars at the portals of the Guatemalan cathedral? The same spiritual lack consumes the souls of the abandoned ones in Asturias and of the sad hobos in a story like Misericordia, for example. But if neither Perez Galdos nor Dostoevsky were those major saints, hidden between shadows and vulgar altars, even if Asturias, alone and surprised in the court of miracles of his homeland, should seem to discover a Christian wound in Guatemala's indian body, his literary world and the feeling that it generates are, at this stage of his work, a Latin American flowering of the dense revolutionary awakening of a Europe torn by economic contradictions and the immense political errors which de-railed the second half of the 19th century. In this fact lies much of the universal significance of a novel like "El Senor Presidente." Our Americas represent in such a case a kind of caricature of European social organization and disorganization. The details become enormous; despotism turns into sadism, the wear on public conveniences to vandalism, the misery of the lower classes to virulent physical and moral degeneration. The gilded table of values of the bourgeois society suffers a grotesque distortion. The fine things are confused with the discards, a false aristocracy pretends to erect rich walls at the sides of the privileged city, but in each wall a huge hole opens where the rat lurks with disease on his teeth. Society loses the notion of its rights and duties. Controlled by terror, men cease to recognize their family ties and flee from social responsibility. "El Senor Presidente" becomes a rat dressed in black, with banded hat, gloves and baton, a messianic rat, decorated, entertained, deified, perpetuated in names of cities, in effigies on coins, in monuments and buildings; a rat who nibbles with impunity at the morale of homes as much as the honor of international conventions. The man, buried alive in an underground cave, perishes slowly to the odor of his body's disintegration while delivering his soul to the minor demons. Overflowing with words, melodramatic, at times ingenuous, with the ingenuousness of Dickens in certain strange coincidences, Asturias produces a human document that is also one of the novels of the greatest artistic integrity that has been written in Central America. Rafael Arevalo Martinez prepared the road for him alone, that track of unchecked fantasy and nightmarish realism that the author feels like a wound in his own flesh, with the perspective of a European culture and the intuition of a Mayan eye. Asturias found one further element, which the modernists seem to disdain: the consciousness of nationality and a revolutionary political conscience. In his next work, this consciousness of nationality will become identification with the mythological world of the Mayas and political duty, his denunciation of imperialism. Firmly rooted in this historical duality--the pre-Columbian and the present-day Guatemalan--Asturias enters the fascinating world of the "Hombres de Maiz" (1949). This novel is, to my judgment, his most ambitious work, although not the best realized; a story or, better said, symphonic prose poem, of complex structure, difficult style, laden with symbols, subject to varied and contradictory interpretations. No one that I know of had submitted this book to a critical and systematic analysis before 1957.(10) My interpretation, then, was based upon a logical and chronological re-organization of the principal elements of the plot and on an explication of the most important legends. Asturias himself has defined the fundamental theme of Hombres de Maiz: Its inspiration, it was said, is the sustained struggle between the indian of the country who understands that corn should be planted only for food, and the half-breed who plants it for business, burning precious stands of woods and impoverishing the earth to enrich himself.(11) That statement, so simple and so clear, was picked up with enthusiasm by the editors who reproduced it on the book jacket and from there the critics took it and repeated it to exhaustion. Unfortunately, the statement does not disentangle the mystery of "Hombres de Maiz" and it points to only one aspect among many that Asturias handles in his novel. In the chronological scheme of the novel the reader finds five central occurrences and a sort of epilogue. Around these occurrences Asturias builds the argument of his story without apparent logic, nearing their orbit and distancing himself from it, this being in harmonious circles or in daring evocations and visions. Such occurrences and the circumstantial world that surrounds them are like dolls within other dolls. They must be peeled like a banana before the other can approach their ironical smile. Here is a summary of those episodes: 1) The tale of Gaspar Ilom and the battle between the indians and the professional growers. Gaspar, the leader, is victim of an attempt on his life, and is miraculously saved, cured by the river waters. His success is ephemeral: surrounded by traitors, like Cow Manuela Machojon and her husband, and by the police riding at the request of colonel Chalo Godoy, he sees his forces liquidated and plunges into the river to drown. The details of this occurrence are sporadically given throughout the novel.(12) Certain details indicate to us that this part of the work occurs at the beginnings of this century. 2) The legend of Machojon, the Macho or sir Macho, son of sir Tomes Machojon, the traitor, and stepson of Cow Manuela. Machojon goes in search of his darling and disappears on the road wrapped in a blanket of lights, a metaphor that in the esoteric language of Asturias seems to indicate corncob lanterns on a llama. The rumor circulates that Machojon has been converted to a spirit that, resplendent from head to toe, emerges when the corncobs are ignited. Sir Tomes tries to verify the legend and goes out one night to burn the dry cobs. He ends hanging among the llamas, like a re-incarnation of the ghost of his son. The conflagration is uncontrollable. In the midst of a bestial fight the growers fall. 3) Legend of the Tecunes and their vengeance against the Zacaton family. This revenge is narrated from a mythological point of view and involves several metamorphoses. The Tecunes do away too with colonel Godoy, whose fate at the firing squad was pre-destined. There are two elaborations of the same event in the novel; the second, two years after the occurrences took place.(13) 4) The legend of the Blind Goyo Yic and his woman, Maria Tecun, who abandons him. Similarly, this story is turned into myth.(14) To search for his wife, Goyo submits to a drastic operation by means of which he regains his sight. The cure serves him poorly, because, how is he to recognize Maria Tecun if he has never seen her? Looking for the voice or the touch of the woman he moves along the roads like a walking merchant. He associates with Mingo Revolt to smuggle alcohol. On the trip they sell each other all the merchandise and, drunk, come to a stop at the jail. 5) The legend of Correo-Coyote: a sort of variant of the legend of Maria Tecun and the clearest example in the novel of animistic metamorphosis. Now it is Nicho Aquino, the courier, who loses his lady. During the search in the mountain and the approaches, they run across Hilario Sacayon, who the people of the town are looking for, but they believe that he can be found in the form of a coyote, his projection. This same Hilario brings another legend to mind: that of the cares of Miguelita de Acatan with the gringo O'Neill, a time in which Asturias draws the North-American dramatist Eugene O'Neill in the see of his travels about Latin America as a sales agent of the sewing machine company, Singer.(15) Pursuing the adventures of Nicho Aquino we arrive at Xibalba, the subterranean world of the Popol-Vuh, where all the moments of history are explained as in a sort of final synthesis. The epilogue could be the occurrence of the Castle of the Port, a prison in which there is occurring a reunion of the principal characters who stayed to add up the account and tie down the loose ends that still could intrigue the reader. It is therein where Goyo Yic finally finds Maria Tecun. This structure does not affect anything, we suppose, except the anecdotal meanings of Asturias' book. On a deeper plane, "Hombres de Maiz" represents a classic attempt to give artistic form to that magic world of the Popol-Vuh which yet lives in the subconscious of the field population of Guatemala. In this novel Asturias has discarded the system of intellectual defense that is the principal organizer of "Leyendas de Guatemala" and he enters the mythological world of his forebears looking for his own identity. He writes from a collective subconscious and consciousness to relate myth literally, and to testify against social injustice with the shout of protest of the abandoned, without making use of theorizing. Thus do the great themes of his work emerge: animistic narcissism, the sacred corn rituals, vengeance, affection and mortality. I have already said: his creatures are nothing except in the mythological metamorphosis; and in the final transformation of their extinction they realize their destiny. That explains the fatality that the story in "Hombres de Maiz" is never resolved until Xibalba. Every being, incarnated in his imagery, understands, in the end, the superior design of his actions. Sprung from corn--seventh Tradition of Popol-Vuh--he defends with his blood the sacred concept of its culture. Obsessed by the religious impulse to avenge the fall of the chief, they assassinate, unloosing a chain of men and transmogrifications. When the witch doctor in the first episode falls, his double the ram also does; and when the coyote perishes so does Nicho Aquino. The man loses the corn simultaneous with his abandonment by the woman; and the woman, in turn, changes to stone, like the gods were turned to stone when the sun was born (seventh Tradition of the Popol-Vuh). Asturias seems to be saying, with D. H. Lawrence, that no man is complete until he finds harmony with nature and woman. No legend better illustrates the truth hidden in the mythological world to which Asturias refers than that of Maria Tecun: the one who loses her is blind, who upon regaining sight lives searching for something that he could only see without eyes. Asturias does not hide the keys that will aid comprehension of his book. To illustrate the mythological process he says: The gods disappeared, but the legends remained, and they, like them, require sacrifices; gone are the obsidian knives to tear the heart from the chest of the sacrificed, but there remain the knives of absence that wound and madden.(16) And elsewhere he adds: One of ten thinks he has invented what others have forgotten. When one tells such a story, he says, I invented it, it is mine, this is mine. But what one is really doing is remembering - you remembered in your drunkenness what the memories of your ancestors left in your blood, because take into account that you form a part not only of Hilario Sacayon, but rather of all the Sacayons that have existed, and on the side of your maternal lady, the Arriazas, people who were in all of these places.... In your background was the history of Miguelita de Acatan, just like in a book, and there your eyes read of it, and you went repeating it with the clapper of your drunken tongue, and if it had not been you, it would have been another, but someone would have told of it so it would not be forgotten, be completely lost, because its existence, fictitious or real, forms part of life and nature of these parts, and life cannot be lost, an eternal risk, but eternally it is not lost.(17) A careful reader of the Popol-Vuh will uncover new keys that assist in the interpretation of major and minor symbols, from animism to the use of names such as, for example, that of the Tacunes which, according to the eleventh Tradition of Popol-Vuh, occurs in the ancestry of the ninth generation of the Caguek-Quiches. This peculiarity of the language of Asturias, its multiple and mono-tonal repetitions, his metaphoric obsession, his apparently rhetorical figures in which the animal, the plant, the tree and the man are mixed, all have their root in the sacred Quiches literature.(18) Must one accept, then, this book by Asturias as a folkloric document, a modern flowering of the old Maya civilization? I do not think so. Asturias' novel is the resultant of a curious pattern of vertical cultures. The specialists in architecture and baroque sculpture of the Americas can easily distinguish between two apparently equal themes, but one stemming from the indian hand and the other by the European hand. Something similar happens with the baroque of "Hombres de Maiz"; it is a hybrid opulence, of its balance, pretty but monstrous. Because in all the extension of this poem in prose, something is left over, poetry is left over, metaphors are, exclamations, allegories. This dis-economy of ornamentation and content is, nevertheless, something new in the authentically indianist Latin American literature and in that is the root of its situation. The concept of political duty and national consciousness, basic pillars in the literary creed of Asturias, have conferred upon his later novels a marked propagandistic tone. There is no ambiguity whatsoever regarding the social function that they propose to realize: his trilogy about exploitation in bananas in Central America has as its object the denunciation of the abuses end contradictions of a semi-colonial economic organization, and the inspiration of the Central american republics with a revolutionary dynamism, with political responsibility and a thorough understanding of a democracy that would produce, as capstone, their complete liberation from foreign imperialism and from the opportunism and venality of their local politics. The trilogy consists of: Viento Fuerte (Guatemala City, 1949), El Papa Verde (Buenos Aires, 1954), and Los Ojos de los Enterrados (Buenos Aires, 1960).(19) Asturias states: The action in the first of these novels, Viento Fuerte, concerns the penetration by the fruit companies of our Pacific coasts and relates the conflict between the small banana planters and the huge company that will not buy his products. In El Papa Verde, the characters are set on the Atlantic coast, amidst the first incursion of United Fruit in Guatemala, The conclusion alludes to the company's attempt to provoke a dispute between Honduras and Guatemala over a question of boundaries that had been resolved by arbitration. Los Ojos de los Enterrados pursues the same theme, always upon a foundation of true events, but with fictional characters.(20) Asturias concentrates his anti-imperialist attack on a North American company that soon becomes a symbol for all foreign economic penetration in Latin America. He follows its steps from its appearance in the Caribbean zone up to its political and economic consolidation in today's banana producing republics. During the era to which Asturias refers in El Papa Verde the company begins the growth process of its political and economic empire. The hero of the novel, Geo. Maker Thompson, could depict the captain Lawrence D. Baker, who in 1870 initiated banana traffic between the Caribbean zone and the United States with a squalid 85-ton freighter. 15 years later he and nine others formed a consortium with two thousand dollars from each as their capital. After five years of activity, that is, in 1890, the consortium incorporated and its capital of 20,000 dollars had increased to 531,000 dollars. In 1871, and in another, part of Central America, the brothers Keith, Henry and Minor Cooper constructed a railroad that cost eight million dollars and four thousand lives. That railroad was the first line in a complex net of transport and banana companies that covered the Caribbean like a dense and tightened spider's web. In 1900 two of the most powerful banana producing groups joined to form the famous United Fruit Co. At the zenith they controlled 80 percent of the commerce in fruit. United paid more than five million dollars to the Boston Fruit Co. for its holdings and around four million dollars to Keith brothers for theirs. Soon it came to own 112 miles of railways and more than two hundred thousand acres of land. In 1906 the company entered Guatemala and in 1912, Honduras. In 1900 its capital was more than 11 million dollars, in 1930 it arrived at about 200 million dollars and by mid-century it rose to 560 million. In the banana trilogy, Asturias describes the problem of the peasant owners who refuse to sell their lands to the company; the latter refuses to meet with them and places their demands in government's hands. The drama from there is matter for tale, of legends; the prose, of statistics. These, the statistics, show that, in compliance with certain franchises, the government exchanged between 250 and 500 acres for each five-eighths mile of railroad constructed by the foreign enterprise. In 1927 Guatemala leased to United Fruit all the vacant land that it might want along 60 miles of the valley of the river, Moncagua for a yearly rent of 14,000 dollars. Some of the contracts signed by the Central American nations with the fruit processing company are now pieces for the anthology of the history of international right; as for example the Soto-Keith contract signed 21 April, 1884 in Costa Rica, and the contracts of 1904, 1930 and 1936 signed by Estrada Cabrera and Ubico in Guatemala.(21) Let us look more closely at the novels of bananas. None of them precludes a strict literary analysis. The theme is ambitious and could have originated a major anti-imperialist novel. Asturias presents the problem from the Latin American point of view and, with use of three or four characters, he also reveals the ideas of an important sector of the financier's world in the United States. Let us leave the realization that Tropical Platanera, Inc., is a conventional symbol of all imperialist companies. Let the men who take part in the drama be considered. Lester, the protagonist in Viento Fuerte, is a North American vagabond, eccentric, visionary, who gathers a group of Guatemalan natives to form a company that is to compete with the great international consortium. Wherever Lester and his companions sell the fruit, the Company gives it away. If they want to transport it there is no railway which will accept it. Lester hurriedly leaves paying fabulous bonuses with coins of unknown origin. He is a similar spendthrift in his personal quirks; on a given occasion he pays five thousand dollars to a ballerina from Iberia whom he disdains. Soon Lester makes a trip to the U.S. and the author reveals the actual identity of his character: he is dealing with a millionaire member of the Tropical, who has wished on his own account to make an investigation of the stealth of the company. So incredible is the literary effect that the novel, from that viewpoint, loses all consistency. Lester is the North American caricature. The problem, real and dramatic as it is, becomes trivialized. In the book, El Papa Verde, Asturias attempts a related theme, but from a new point of view. He brings back the role of the mysterious investigator, now embodied in the character of the youth Ray Salcedo, whom he makes do as an archaeologist who is the seducer of the daughter of the American adventurer Geo. Maker Thompson. He is not more than a variant of Lester. The company is the same, but now the invasion of Guatemala is beginning there. Its methods are already familiar ones: rights are violated, the native population is dispersed, favor is gained with the half-blood opportunists and their terror can triumph. Geo. Maker symbolizes the power of the imperialist trainer. Asturias shows him over various epochs, jumping from the anonymity to the fame, from poverty to good fortune, ruler of prairies and cities, invincible with a machete or with a contract dollar. To add a new plane to his personality, Asturias delves into his personal life giving special attention to the character of daughter Aurelia. The success of the novel depended on the extent to which Asturias could transform Geo. Maker into a symbolic representation of the sinister imperialist company without leeching him of his consistency as human. If he does not achieve this, it is due in fact to a phenomenon of the language: in none of his anti-imperialist novels does Asturias write in the style that corresponds to his theme. These novels resemble brilliant easels of a work he is about to write. Asturias still must use in them the lyrical prose of Hombres de Maiz. Without the Mayan myths that prose shrinks and ends in verbal luxuriance. Certain customs are repeated, such that the reader recognizes them and loses interest in them; for example, to mention an especially dramatic instance, Asturias feels it necessary to first establish a nebula of metaphor approximating the matter with indirections and suggestions that, at length and because of the romantic vocabulary in which he wraps them, lose their effect. Asturias does not seem to realize that lyric language and the technique of a magical realism that in "Hombres de Maiz" intensify the profoundest aspects of history, in his trilogy concerning bananas are dysfunctional. The metaphors stand by themselves, shorn from the violence from which the metaphors stem. Ask why Asturias did not interpret the social movement of his people in the modern world for the efficacy of his artistic re-creation of the Quiche world? It was necessary that there be a decisive change in his language, a change as radical as that which separates "Leyendas de Guatemala" from "El Senor Presidente." His ideology appeared to be formed, his position was clear; no one knew the details of the social and economic drama of Central America better than he did. I think that Asturias, the animus of a Mayan-quiche rite, worked his miracle where he could stray in the lyrical ambit of a history nurtured by memories, visions and intuitions, that which Valery called "filters," and while he moved in regions of the tropics disoriented and bewitched by his props whose flats came in the weights of a reality incomprehensible but active, a re-actualized cosmogony. His poetic expression--a Surrealism adapted to a regional vision--was fragmented upon joining contact with the social crisis that had occurred at mid-century: he bid farewell to several fountains of generosity, those which awarded him the Nobel Prize in 1967, but had gone on to lose sympathy with him, remaining stripped amidst his baroque opulence, becoming exotic, when his destiny was revolutionary being. Possibly, Asturias was closing an oval: he left in years when the post-modernist retinue was releasing itself from Ruben and venturing into flight alone, skimming over the land. Something never dropped from his wings, a tendency to crash, to gild, to shine or, which is the same, to burn beneath a sun that cares not whether the leather is living, or not. Notes 1 "Leyendas de Guatemala," Madrid, 1930, pp. 17-18, 31-32. 2 Cf. "Leyendas de Guatemala," Buenos Aires: Pleamar, 1948. 3 "Leyendas de Guatemala," op.cit., p.135. 4 Ibid., p.25. 5 Ibid., p. 23. 6 Interview conducted for the magazine, "Ercilla," Santiago, Chile, on 5 October, 1954. 7 RA, vol.XXX, no.6, 1 March, 1950. 8 "Reps Ame." pp. 82-83. 9 "Ercilla," op. cit. 10 The statement refers to the date on which I presented views on this work: Eighth Congress of the Instituto Internacional de Literatura Iberoamericana, August, 1957, San Juan, Puerto Rico. 11 "Reps Ame." op. cit., p.83. 12 Cf. "Hombres de Maiz," Ed. Losada (Lima?) 1949 and in particular the pages 54, 61, 72, 80 and 258. 13 Ibid., pp.210-. 14 Ibid., pp. 148, 191, 153. 15 Ibid., pp.168-170. 16 Ibid., p.184. 17 Ibid., p.188. 18 The bibliography on the Popol-Vuh is extensive; for the student of literature the book by Raphael Girard will suffice, Le Popol-Vuh, histoire culturelle des Maya-Quiches, Payot, Paris, 1954. 19 Asturias has announced a fourth volume of the banana cycle: El Bastardo or Dos Veces Bastardo. 20 "Ercilla," op. cit. 21 Details about these contracts and, incidents to which Asturias refers in Viento Fuerte and El Papa Verde appear in the work by Ch. Kepner Jr. and J. H. Soothill, El Imperio del Banano (Mexico City, 1949). One chapter of this book, especially, that entitled "Los Apuros de los Agricultores Particulares" (the worries...), constitutes an indispensable reference for the comprehension owed to these novels. Asturias' point of view with regard to United Fruit Co. had been taken too by Luis Cardoza y Aragon in La Revolucion Guatemalteca (Mexico City, 1955).