Ricardo Güiraldes (1886–1927)

I once read a statement about the work of Ricardo Güiraldes by an Argentine author who said that he admired the book Xaimaca even more than Don Segundo Sombra. While I can't remember the context or the source of this statement, I did make a note to myself that I should read Xaimaca some day, because I really like Don Segundo Sombra. I finally found a copy and read it. I would have enjoyed it, too, if not for a rather ominous dark cloud that hung over the sometimes-inspired travel writing of show more Mr. Güiraldes. Marcos, a young Argentine, sets out to travel up the Pacific coast, meets a brother and sister named Peñalba and Clara, falls in love with Clara, and decides to continue on with them on a boat to Jamaica instead of parting ways in Peru. He documents his travels in diary form, with their ship passing through the Panama Canal and continuing on to the island of Jamaica. Clara, and his increasingly passionate feelings for her, eclipse his observations of the seas that surround their traveling vessel, and the journal becomes more romantic than documentary in nature as their romance blossoms, hidden from their third companion, Peñalba.

Things pick up when they get to Jamaica: Marcos and Clara's feelings for each other are in full bloom, and the description of their lush island surroundings, told from the perspective of a young man in the throes of a budding romance, are spectacular. The entire island is alive, and the world of mountains, ocean, clouds, trees, rivers, streams and forests revolves around Marcos as if it were an animate being. I enjoyed this section of the book, where his sensations are hightened by his emotional state, and he channels his romantic feelings into his observations of the new world around him. His writing, and the human characteristics and actions that he assigns to the natural world around him, remind me of Oliverio Girondo. The two were contemporaries, and they were both avid travelers, so perhaps they influenced each other's writing. For Güiraldes, a bungalow in Jamaica "opens its empty arms to us as we leave the hotel's dining room, with the secret illusion of concentrating the silence of the equinox," "sugar refineries exhale a sticky odor of molasses," and "my window, full of wonder, opened its square mouth to the night." Statements like this, rolled off one after another, reminded me of Girondo's “Taverns that sing with the voice of an orangutan” or “Caravans of mountains camping out in the outskirts." I enjoy this method of personification, and was glad to encounter it again in the writing of Güiraldes. It works well with travel writing, complementing the wonder and novelty of the sights and sounds of foreign places.

Alas, the dark cloud hovering over this book is a racist dark cloud. Marcos makes many horrible, indefensible comments regarding the indigenous and black people that he sees during his trip. It's an angry, beligerant racism, and it appalled me. The indigenous women who come on their boat in Peru to sell their wares are representative of an earlier, less-developed humanity whose vestigal existence in the Marcos's "civilized" world is unfortunate and lamentable. Black people are dirty, untrustworthy, simian, fear-inspiring and, basically, a scourge upon his otherwise hygienically-sound journey through Panama and the Caribbean. I imagine his character greeting Nazi Germany's racial policy with great enthusiasm, and one gets the feeling that he would whole-heartedly support the extermination of races that he considers to be less-civilized than his own. I was greatly disappointed to read these comments. The book does appear to be a somewhat-autobiographical account of a journey that Güiraldes himself made with his young wife, and I have a hard time imagining that Marcos's views don't mirror Güiraldes's own. I had previously held the author in high regard, based on his Don Segundo Sombra and also on his influential role in Argentine literature. I certainly can't respect a man with these views, and I think that I will try to investigate a bit more into his life and see if I can find more information about him. I know that he dabbled in Hinduism and other spiritual stuff later in life, so it's possible that he at some point renounced any racist feelings he previously held. However, it's still shocking to see statements like the ones made by the narrator of this book, written by a writer who was so celebrated and respected by the Buenos Aires literary circles of his time. It makes me wonder: how many Argentine writers read this book and didn't bat an eye, or even worse, nodded their heads in agreement? show less

I’ve had this for ages but was finally prompted to read it by seeing it included in the Folha de São Paulo list. A coming of age story (written in 1926) in some ways, simply told. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing particularly creative or inventive--just a timeless story, very well done. (I must confess that I disliked the translation by Harriet de Onis, which seemed to prize literal accuracy over sensibility. That said, de Onis was largely, and single-handedly, responsible for show more introducing serious Latin American Spanish- and Portuguese-language literature to America in the 1950s and 1960s. She was a remarkable woman with a remarkable biography and was personally responsible for translating an astonishing number of major writers into English for the first time: Alejo Carpentier, Ernesto Sabato, Ricardo Güiraldes, Jorge Amado, Alfonso Reyes, Fernando Ortiz, João Guimarães Rosa, Gilberto Freyre. But all of her translations—and I have read many of them—have a literality about them that can be more or less off-putting.) Still, I had not realized the place of this particular book and having read it, confess that I’ll be looking for other works by Güiraldes. show less

Hace algún tiempo, he venido experimentado cierto interés en la denominada «literatura gauchesca». Rechazada por muchos, producto tal vez de la lectura a la fuerza del Martín Fierro durante el trayecto escolar de todo argentino, esta temática se basa en la vida e impresiones del hombre «de campo». Especie que, al menos en la pampa húmeda, prácticamente se encuentra extinta; parte del devenir de la modernidad.
Como contraposición al Martín Fierro, la figura dominante de este libro show more no es el gaucho matrero, el gaucho "malhabido". Al contrario, don Segundo Sombra es una suerte de ideal campirano: fuerte, recio, honorable, valiente más no pendenciero. El gaucho «güeno», según la acepción más utilitaria que sentimental que manejan los personajes. Tal es el mentor del narrador, ante quien la figura de don Segundo se erige como héroe, padre y compañero. Puede que la voluntad del autor haya sido incluso establecerlo como modelo positivo de identidad nacional; algo de lo que los argentinos carecemos (al menos en el ámbito de la literatura).
La narración es simple, no se intenta contar una historia épica sino una sucesión de hechos comunes a los reseros de provincia. Es probable que sea de interés limitado para el lector de crianza meramente citadina (más allá de su bella prosa, atractiva y sin tecnicismos), aunque seguramente resonará de manera especial entre los que hemos tenido algún roce con las últimas trazas de ese estilo de vida rural en particular, al que hemos visto desaparecer así sin más.
Hay que destacar la presentación de esta edición, con ilustraciones a cargo de más de una docena de artistas argentinos engalanando sus páginas.

Nota de color: Casi sin querer terminé de leer este libro el 10 de noviembre, día de la tradición. show less

El nombre de Ricardo Güiraldes está íntimamente relacionado a la literatura gauchesca. Su libro [b:Don Segundo Sombra|200299|Don Segundo Sombra|Ricardo Güiraldes|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348476288l/200299._SX50_.jpg|193781] está considerado como uno de los pináculos del género, a tal punto que varias asociaciones gauchas y museos especializados llevan su nombre. Es prácticamente desconocida su actividad espiritual; la cual, hay que show more mencionarlo, recién cultivó sobre los últimos años de su vida.
Sin importar lo tardío que pudo haber resultado su despertar a estos asuntos, es sin embargo notablemente profunda su búsqueda. De ahí que el título de esta obra sea más que apropiado: no se trata de una línea recta, sino de un zigzagueante (y tal vez arduo) trayecto.
Hay que aclarar que estas anotaciones del autor no fueron hechas para ser publicadas, sino que fueron compiladas póstumamente por su esposa, Adelina del Carril. Una serie de pensamientos registrados en tarjetas y papeles sueltos, presentados aquí en un orden no muy evidente.
En estas páginas se revela cómo Güiraldes pasa de un supuesto ateísmo, a ser partidario de la llamada "unidad trascendente de las religiones", idea ampliamente aceptada en el ámbito tradicionalista. Llega a ella a través de cierta fascinación por la teosofía (nombre incluso a la nefasta Annie Besant), de la cual luego parece desilusionarse un poco y comienza a dejarse llevar (bastante más afortunadamente) por la intuición. Continúa, no obstante, con su admiración por la espiritualidad oriental, considerando a [a:René Guénon|239177|René Guénon|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1566672328p2/239177.jpg] su intérprete más claro en todo Occidente.
Es evidentemente que Güiraldes no tenía intención de publicar estos apuntes; tampoco se trata de una obra iniciática en modo alguno. Sin embargo, es sumamente interesante seguir su evolución espiritual, y algunos fragmentos son en verdad sobresalientes. show less