Kiss of the Spider Woman (book)

I feel compelled to say: this book is amazing! I mean, to start, it's an interesting concept, to tell an entire story (many stories, actually, but one 'real' one) only through dialogue (and a few footnotes, but that's a different story; the tone is completely different from the rest of the book, which is impressive by itself). But it's more than a good concept - it's done so well. The movie descriptions flow so easily, just as if they were being spoken, the character voices are differentiated from one another, and action is strongly implied, without a word of explicit description! The scene where Valentin becomes sick with diarrhea, in particular, is expertly written. (120) Not only is the action clear (through only dialogue - what a feat!), but the scene becomes a touching moment between the characters. We have become close to them, introduced slowly to their idiosyncrasies while other stories have been told, until we find ourselves comfortable in their presence, and now we can easily imagine them interacting in their cell. By the time this scene appears, we know who they are and their relationship to one another, and we feel for them. It is a very sweet moment, Molina helping Valentin with such a gruesome task, and heightened by the fact that just before, he was committed to being angry with him, and now so selflessly offers his help.

So very well done.

Cinematic Qualities...

I am generally turned off by the use of the word 'cinematic' to describe literature. Literature has always strove to create an experience, and "appeal[ing] directly to the reader's visual perception" (Karetnikova 164) need not have anything to do with film. Lack of authorial digressions, abstract concepts, or narrative thoughts, and a descriptive preference for physicality do not necessarily make text cinematic - I have never heard Hemingway's stories described as such, but they have many of those qualities.
That being said, I think that Karetnikova makes a good argument for The Kiss of the Spider Woman's Cinematic Qualities. When an author uses phrases like, "and then you see them later" and "with a good close-up of the two faces," there is an undeniable filmic aspect to the writing, almost as if it were a screenplay treatment.

I do take issue with her assertion that "a film could be fully visualized without any shooting or editing." I agree that a story could be so clearly described visually that the reader could 'watch' it play out in his head, but would it be a film? No; obviously, unless you can truly SEE it, the story would remain a written narrative. (Which is not to say that makes it any less.) Karetnikova's statement is so ridiculous that I feel stupid arguing about it.

I also disagree on the point that interwoven narratives are "a purely cinematic device; in fact... the very nature of film." Take Dracula, published in 1897, which includes journal entries from multiple characters in different locales, "combining and shuffling" through different "footage" - without the relation to film that Puig's book has. Clearly "intercutting" is not a "purely cinematic device" - although the term itself references film editing, the effect that Karetnikova describes is present in cinematic and non-'cinematic' texts alike.

This tendency to cast shadows of cinema over literature, applying Hollywood concepts to the words of novels, is a common exercise in anachronistic thinking. Literature has surely influenced film, as the previously prevailing storytelling medium; one must also consider that the aim of both media - storytelling - also creates commonalities between these methods of communication. Though I must concede that many books are highly influenced by film (e.g. the American publication ofMemories of Underdevelopment, which was altered to more closely match its film adaptation), I believe that critiques of literature too often create this relationship from thin air, without considering their own movie-minded projections onto the written work.

EDIT --
I also think there is evidence of non-visual description/inner thoughts:
"He's happy, because he sees how to please him she got her complex under control, just the way he planned, to go there in the first place, to please her..." (Puig 7)
Though he is describing a scene from a movie, the speaker is actively interpreting the inner thoughts of the characters he describes, which cannot be explicitly shown.

Memories of Inconsolable Non-development

First, I must brag: Michael Chanan, who is obviously smart enough to have been published in a book, if nothing else, has agreed with me that "the change in the name [of the film]... changes the emphasis from the personal to the public, and shifts the sense from the subjective to the historical." (3) That was my best guess for the implications of the name change in class last Friday! (Hooray.)

Chanan also brings up an interesting question: what is are the implications of naming a character after the actor who portrays him/her? How does that choice effect the reality of the fiction, and what does it say about reality itself? This may be stretching a bit, but it seems to me that this convergence of fact and fiction challenges the 'truth' of reality itself - what is the difference between the character we play every day and the characters actors portray? I realize this may sound a bit silly or overly existential, but it's worth considering. Chanan says that this naming technique is a "familiar kind of play upon the identity of the author that is a typical trait of modernist narrative." (4) If this is a modernist tendency, it must reflect a certain fascination with or anxiety about the (lack of) stability of identity within modern culture. Borges plays on names "to set up metaphysical conundrums about the human condition," while Desnoes' purpose is "to capture, in the labyrinths of language, certain elusive aspects of the identity crisis of the artist within the revolutionary process... the ideological rupture with the past."

Here, we are brought back to the original question of what the title change implies: If part of Desnoes' aim was to weigh in on the effects of revolution on individual identities, "Memories of Underdevelopment" is an apt title, implicating both national and personal histories at once.