SOURCE: Palmer, Julia. “Some Aspects of Narrative Structure in José Asunción Silva's De Sobremesa.” Revista Interamericana de Bibliografia 41, no. 3 (1991): 470-77.

[In the following essay, Palmer identifies and describes the organizing patterns of Silva's novel.]

It has only been within the last few years that critics have begun to re-examine the previously somewhat maligned modernista novel De sobremesa. Initially, José Asunción Silva's story of a young poet and his anguished search for something to bring meaning to his life was not particularly well received. A close friend of Silva, Baldomiro Sanín Cano, stated, “es inferior a su obra poética y está por debajo de sus trabajos en prosa” (341).

More recently Juan Loveluck has described the work as “esta imperfecta novela reveladora” (30). In the 1970s Héctor H. Orjuela commented on several aspects of the novel's structure. He argued that, while there was a consistent thematic pattern evident in Fernández's search for Helena, overall the narrative was chaotic in form (37). Similarly, in her analysis of the work, Betty T. Osiek states that “the interpolation of essays makes the novel seem rather unorganized and hard to follow” (117), and Sonja Ingwersen has emphasized the “structural defects” of the work, noting “the relative absence of artistic control” (29).

Nonetheless, opinions regarding the value and artistry of the work are changing. Evelyn Picón Garfield states that “su considerada importancia en el ámbito de la prosa modernista es inegable” (262). Alfredo Villanuevo-Collado writes that the novel “está muy lejos de ser una obra fallida” (1987, 20). In his latest treatment of the novel Villanuevo-Collado proposes that “De sobremesa está a la altura de novelas como Rayuela o Cien años de soledad” and argues that it is no longer possible to speak of the novel's lack of structure or to call Silva an inexperienced novelist (1989, 279).

Up to this point the main trend in criticism of De sobremesa has been thematic. Ferdinand V. Contino's analysis emphasized recurring aesthetic traits of modernismo such as chromatism and eroticism evident in the novel. Lydia D. Hazera's exploration of the artistic personality also focuses on recurring themes, duality and fear of death (1978). Ingwersen has analyzed the occultist themes of the work, such as precious stone imagery, androgyny, and the protagonist's obsession with light (1986). Villanuevo-Collado has postulated an internal structure to the work perceiving it in terms of Silva's unifying use of alchemic and esoteric symbols (1987).

Such general discussions of the work's structure in terms of unifying themes is clearly valid, but the mere recurrence of similar ideas does not produce a satisfying analysis. A closer study of the narrative structure, however, does suggest the existence of other elements of conscious form and style. Although not complex, their very presence may serve to reinforce Villanuevo-Collado's enthusiastic defense of a work that has often been undervalued as a literary artifact because of its apparently unorganized narrative.

In this article it will be suggested that at least three separate aspects of the novel's structural organization merit attention: first, the function of the novel's frame, particularly at the two points in the text where there is an interruption of the diary; secondly, the pattern of prolepsis evident in the relating of the protagonist's love experiences; finally, the existence of a pivotal episode appearing in the center of the text which suggests a parabolic evolution of the plot.

The novel begins with the protagonist, José Fernández, agreeing to read aloud from an old diary to a circle of intimate friends. He promises that this reading will not only explain the name of his luxurious villa “Helena”, and the mysterious painting of a beautiful woman, but will also enable his friends to understand why he simultaneously pursues ten different interests in his life.

Within this frame, which functions to portray his present life, Fernández reads his diary. This narration of past events provides a sharp contrast with the “here and now” of the frame which encloses the reading. Not only does the novel begin and end in José's living room, but there are also two points within the text where Fernández either stops reading or is interrupted by his friends. Why would Silva incorporate these two reappearances of the frame into the text? The answer seems to be that the returns to the present, characterized by an emphasis on his friends' emotional reactions, are designed to underline Fernández's failure to find any type of lasting fulfillment in activities that initially seemed promising.

According to his account in the diary, after brutally ending a sensually erotic affair, Fernández flees to the countryside. Refreshed by simple, clean living, one of his first ideas is to engineer a daring plan of social, political and economic rejuvenation for his homeland. As the victorious new leader, he will bring his nation out of its present darkness by creating powerful industries, reshaping the antiquated educational system, and forming a new political party that will draw support from citizens at all levels of society. Energized, Fernández carefully details his plans to reform his country, devoting many pages of his diary to the different steps he must take to prepare himself to be accepted as his countrymen's social architect.

Fernández feels that this plan will bring purpose to his life, and the triumphantly optimistic tone of these pages conveys his enthusiasm. But at this point the on-going narrative suddenly halts as he stops reading to comment, “Yo estaba loco cuando escribí esto …” (74).¹ His friends' reactions which now intervene are mixed. Indignant with José for his presumed superiority in aspiring to lead his country forward, Rovira states that he does not understand the connection between the diary and Fernández's present state of affairs. Mumbling, “Decididamente no entiendo nada de eso,” (76) he walks out. Cordovez wonders aloud what prevented José from carrying out his carefully engineered plan. Saenz coldly criticizes Fernández for having such a detailed plan but being always unable or unwilling to invest the time necessary to make it a reality. It is clear that the reappearance of the frame-situation at this point in the text is intended to emphasize, both through the remarks of the narrator and those of his listeners, the failure of Fernández's political aspirations to provide any lasting fulfillment.

This return to the frame also underscores the situational irony created by the discrepancy between Fernández's grandiose aspirations and his sudden abandonment of them. The plan did not fail because it was impossibly large, but simply because Fernández gave up.

The constant battle for control between two distinct parts of his personality is a matter of grave concern for Fernández. The passionate, fiery side of his nature often suffocates the scholarly, knowledge-oriented side of himself. Often, the result of this duality, accompanied by the failure of either side to bring lasting satisfaction, is abulia. Hazera notes that abulia “the inability of the will to act or create” often afflicts the “intellectual and artistic protagonists of the modernist novel” (74). She argues that Fernández is a failed artist, and his lack of will to either define objectives in life or to realize his creative urge, directs him inwards “devoting creative energy to narcissistic self-analysis which is often displaced in forms of self-gratification—sexual orgies, opium intoxication, contemplation and collection of art objects” (75).

While this description of abulia is correct as far as it goes, it neglects to take into account that failure of the will is inseparable from lack of life-directing ideas or ideals. From this point in the novel on, Fernández's evolution is governed by his conscious or unconscious search for such sources of support.

Reading again from the diary, Fernández now turns to his emotional and sexual life and relates his affairs with Niní Rousset. A question which immediately presents itself is why Fernández's affairs with Lelia and Niní not only collapse, but end in physical violence. A possible answer might be that it is Fernández's recognition that the two women do not offer him the love ideal he is unconsciously seeking which provokes his attacks on them. His next attempted solution is that of the “paradis artificiel” of opium. But this, far from helping to dynamize his existence, only increases his lethargy.

The proof that what he is questing for is a life-orientating love ideal is supplied by his crucial encounter with the ethereally beautiful Helena. Convinced that she holds the key to permanent happiness in life, Fernández believes his salvation is imminent. She disappears, however, leaving him anxious and depressed. Unable to find solace in religion or philosophy, he looks to a “priest of science,” Dr. Rivington, for an alternative intellectual ideal.

Recognizing, however, that it is an emotional ideal that Fernández needs, the doctor orders him to find Helena and marry her, suggesting that this will make his life normal once again. Rivington also severely warns his patient against his excessive swings from abstinence to over-indulgence in physical exercise, drugs, and sex. The second re-evocation of the frame occurs at this point. Saenz interrupts the reading, noting critically that Fernández has avoided that advice for eight years, always laughing at his friend's attempts to encourage moderation.

Assuming a superior attitude, Fernández calmly informs the group that the situation is different now,

… he distribuido mis fuerzas entre el placer, el estudio y la acción, los planes políticos de entonces los he convertido en un sport que me divierte, y no tengo violentas impresiones sentimentales porque desprecio a fondo a las mujeres y nunca tengo al tiempo menos de dos aventuras amorosas para que las impresiones de una y otra se contrarresten. …

We can see that Fernández's reaction at this point in the text is designed to underscore the failure of two more support mechanisms that had initially seemed to promise to bring meaning to his life. Scientific rationalism, represented by Rivington himself and his logical advice to practice moderation and marry Helena, has failed to provide any way out in practice for Fernández. At the same time his inability to track down Helena leads to further debauchery which merely exacerbates the situation. The reappearance of the frame-situation at this point serves as a reminder of this and of the fact that the fleeting pleasures of the flesh have not brought lasting satisfaction.

A novel about a man's growing self-awareness, De sobremesa charts the evolution of the central character, Fernández. His changing perception of life is especially evident in his relationships with members of the opposite sex. Looking over the novel as a whole, apart from Helena with whom he never has direct contact, there are five incidents of Fernández and femininity. These five experiences represent three stages in the protagonist's growing disillusionment with life and except for the fourth affair, the narration follows an unswerving proleptic pattern.

The first two encounters are characterized by Fernández's frustration at his inability to find a life-directing goal, and his proleptic narration of these two affairs heightens the sense of drama. In his diary entry of June 23, Fernández refers, with no prior information to a blood-soaked shirt, police, and hiding.

De la tarde de ayer sólo me quedan dos sensaciones, el puño de la camisa empapado en sangre y la orla negra de la carta. … A estas horas debe haber muerto y la policía estará buscándome. Me hice inscribir en el registro del hotel con el nombre de Juan Simónides, griego, agente viajero, para despistarla … Marinoni debe telegrafiarme hoy mismo y del hotel mandarán el telegrama a Whyl … donde voy a esconderme en una hostería a dos kilómetros del pueblecito.

(48)

It is not until two journal entries later that Fernández provides a full explanation. He writes how he first meets Lelia Orloff at the opera and feels an immediate attraction to her. Theirs is a purely physical relationship that appeals to all of Fernández's senses. He abandons his intellectual pursuits, caught up in Lelia's attitude towards life. “La vida no es para saber, es para gozar” (55). Living only for pleasure, Fernández is able to forget his darker side. One day, however, he arrives unannounced at her apartment and finds her with another woman. Blind with rage, he beats her mercilessly and then stabs her twice with a small dagger. After this he runs away.

Unable to explain the blinding rage that motivated him to attack his lover, Fernández is shocked by his brutal reaction, but does not feel particularly remorseful, and his next affair ends with violence as well. In his entry of August 5, he relates his sado-masochistic affair with Niní Rousset, “la divetta de un teatro bufo” (81). In the next journal entry he mentions “una escena horrible” which drove him to a forty-eight hour period of opium intoxication. A few paragraphs later he explains that the night before, on a mad impulse, he attempted to choke Niní to death, but she managed to escape.

The drama created by the reordered narration of these two affairs helps to underline the passion which guides Fernández. This passion which expresses itself in violent attacks on women illustrates the uncontrollable anger that best describes the protagonist's frame of mind at this point in his life.

The next affair occurs between two events in Fernández's life that involve Helena, upon which this third encounter is hinged. When Fernández arranges a one-night stand with a prostitute, he has already met and lost Helena. Physically very attracted to Constanza, he is ready to forget his anxiety when he looks up to see Helena's profile floating above the room. Overwhelmed by fear, he runs out of the room. The guilt at his unfaithful behavior is accompanied by deepening anguish as he realizes that precisely because Helena represents ideal love and potential salvation, being without her is driving him mad. This third affair which began so passionately ends unfinished in an aborted anti-climax. Until Dr. Rivington shows him the portrait, startlingly like Helena, Fernández is unable to allow other women into his life.

The anxiety and guilt evident in the third experience with Constanza harden into an attitude of callous indifference and represent the third and final stage in Fernández's growing self-awareness. In his journal entry of April 19, he chronologically relates his affair with Nelly, a young, married, American girl. When she leaves to go home, he promises to visit her, but forgets her almost immediately. He describes her as “una gota de licor para el que agoniza de sed, sed non satiata” (203) and realizes that he is now driven by pure carnal desire, devoid of affection or warmth.

The diary entry of September 1 follows the previously established pattern of prolepsis as he writes that, “(yo) ya había besado las tres bocas codiciadas y obtenido de ellas la promesa de las tres citas” (204). Not until a few pages later does he explain how he met, kissed, and pursued simultaneous affairs with Consuela, Olga, and Julia, all married women. He even makes a point of meeting each husband and remarks deprecatorily that they are unaware of the affairs taking place in front of them. Adultery is a sport for Fernández, now that he has given up hoping for ideal love.

Y qué me importan esas ideas sobre el amor, ni qué me importa nada, si lo que siento dentro de mí es el cansancio y el desprecio por todo, el mortal dejo, el spleen horrible, como un monstruo interior cuya hambre no alcanzará a saciarse con el universo, comienza a devorarme el alma? …

(206)

The fourth and fifth experiences chart the downward spiral in Fernández's quest to find meaning in life. He must now pursue simultaneous affairs in an attempt to quiet the inner turmoil and anguish which continue deep inside him. The first two affairs which were highlighted by Fernández's violent individual attacks on women as he sought for a life-directing goal, have turned into cold, quiet, society-oriented attacks on the institution of marriage.

His search for a meaningful ideal is characterized by violent anger. Once he meets Helena, he realizes that it is ideal love which will bring him lasting fulfillment. However, he is never able to grasp this thread of hope always just beyond his reach, which leaves him with a deepening sense of anguish. The third stage in the evolution of his character ends in the loss of his ideal, and Fernández hides his inner despair behind a mask of stony unfeeling. This evolution of self-awareness which culminates in his deliberate attacks on marriage, something he has been denied with the death of Helena, suggests a metaphor of man's fight against a life destined for despair and implies that the way to survive the existential dilemma is by losing oneself in pleasures that temporarily allow one to forget reality.

Four of the five affairs stand out because of the narrator's reordering of events in his relation of the encounters. This structural technique is significant in part because of the sense of drama of the first two affairs. The third and fifth affairs are proleptic in narration which offers a sharp contrast to their anti-climactic conclusions. Why is this technique used? It reinforces the sense of failure by letting the reader know in anticipation what the consequences of each affair will be. What evolves here is Fernández's disenchantment with life and his inability to find anything to make his life meaningful.

The reordered narrations of his exploits are also small scale duplications of the basic form of the novel, which is an explication of the consequences we see at the beginning: i.e. the villa “Helena”, the mysterious painting, and Fernández's strange separation from and disenchantment with life.

The beginning of the novel acts as a prolepsis of the rest of the novel and the narrative reorderings of Fernández's exploits are all mini-reproductions of the basic underlying structure of the text.

Fernández's diary keeps a record of his growing self-awareness and the constant battle between the two disparate parts of his nature. However, the central thread of the plot concerns the protagonist's search for something to bring meaning to his life. Halfway through the text when Fernández sees Helena, he realizes he has finally come into contact with his only hope for lasting fulfillment. His encounter with Helena marks a pivotal point in the text, representing the peak of its line of evolution. The various routes he had tried in an attempt to find fulfillment in life, philosophy, poetry, politics and mere physical sexuality, have all been dead ends. His meeting with Helena marks a turning point in the text. His life changes after seeing her.

The episode's central location in the text may be related both forwards and backwards. The encounter with Helena itself is foreshadowed by the letter from Emilia relating his grandmother's death. On her deathbed, the old woman's last words are: “Benditos sean la señal de la cruz hecha por la mano de la virgen, y el ramo de rosas que caen en su noche como signo de salvación” (50). This reference to Fernández's salvation is significant because it heightens the sense of expectancy that something does exist that will save him from a meaningless life.

The night he meets Helena, Fernández watches as she genuflects and then throws him a bouquet of roses. He truly believes that she will save him, and as Hazera has noted, Helena then becomes his obsession (71). In contrast to the short-lived effects of his previous pursuits, the influence that she wields is to remain with Fernández for the rest of his life. As he begins his search for Helena, her potential as the one thing that may bring meaning to his life is reiterated by Dr. Rivington: “Ese amor puede ser su salvación” (121).

As the central episode of the text, Fernández's encounter with Helena creates a sense of anticipation that is offset by his discovery of her tomb at the end of the diary. The cold, disheartening knowledge of her death parallels the death of hope in his own life. Silva's creation of an optimistic pivotal episode that leads to anticlimax serves as further evidence of a conscious, internal design. Even more significantly it also suggests the existence of a basic, underlying metaphor of life. The construction of an episode that marked a positive turning point in the text illustrates Silva's recognition that man experiences a sense of optimistic possibilities at some time in his life. These promising turning points, however, are only an illusion, and the hope born of them is later destroyed as man discovers the death of his “salvation” and must resign himself not only to the cruel disillusion but to an existence devoid of any lasting happiness or meaning.

The appearance of the frame-situation within the text, the proleptic pattern peculiar to the narration of the protagonist's exploits, and the existence of a pivotal episode followed by an anticlimax reveal a conscious will to order in Silva's work. These three aspects of narrative structure support Picón-Garfield and Villanuevo-Collado's assertions that De sobremesa should no longer be considered a rambling collection of unsophisticated and chaotic prose.

It is hoped that the identification of more elements of textual organization in De sobremesa than have hitherto been fully recognized will contribute to the current re-evaluation of the novel. However, it may be affirmed that the techniques which Silva employs are less significant in themselves than they are as metaphors which reinforce the underlying themes of the text: the futility of believing in a traditional “loving” God, man's search for a non-religious salvation from a meaningless life, the existence of a type of salvation, followed by the almost inevitable destruction of that salvation, committing mankind to an existence devoid of any real meaning. Silva's utilization of structuring devices to underpin the basic themes of his novel is only one aspect of a work that deserves further study since it appears to be far more complex than originally supposed.

Notes

1. All quotations from the text are from the 1920 edition of De sobremesa printed in Bogotá by Editorial de Cromos.

Works Cited

Contino, Ferdinand V. “Preciosismo y decadentismo en De sobremesa de José Asunción Silva.” Estudios críticos sobre la prosa modernista hispanoamericana. Ed. José Olivio Jiménez. New York: Eliseo Torres, 1975, 135-55.

Garfield, Evelyn Picón. “De sobremesa: José Asunción Silva, El diario íntimo y la mujer prerrafaelita,” in Nuevos asedios al modernismo, edited by Ivan A. Schulman. Madrid: Taurus, 1987.

Hazera, Lydia D. “The Spanish American Modernist Novel and the Psychology of the Artistic Personality.” Hispanic Journal, 8 (1986), 69-83.

Ingwersen, Sonja. Light and Longing: Silva and Dario. Modernism and Religious Heterodoxy. New York: Peter Lang, 1986.

Loveluck, Juan. “De sobremesa, novela desconocida del Modernismo.” Revista Iberoamericana, 31 (1965), 17-32.

O'Hara, Edgar. “De sobremesa, una divagación narrativa.” Revista Chilena de Literatura, 27 (1986), 221-227.

Orjuela, Héctor H. De sobremesa y otros estudios sobre José Asunción Silva. Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo, 1976.

Osiek, Betty T. José Asunción Silva. Boston: Twayne, 1978.

Sanín Cano, Baldomero. El oficio de lector. Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1978 or 1979.

Silva, José Asunción. De sobremesa. Bogotá: Editorial de Cromos, 1920.

Villanuevo-Collado, Alfredo. “De sobremesa de José Asunción Silva y las doctrinas esotéricas en la Francia de fin de siglo.” Revista de Estudios Hispánicos, 21 (1987), 9-21.

———. “José Asunción Silva y Karl-Joris Huysmans: Estudio de una lectura.” Revista Iberoamericana, 55 (1989), 273-86.