The Carpathians - University of British Columbia
The Carpathians - University of British Columbia
The Carpathians - University of British Columbia
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himself travelled in Central and South<br />
America, and he <strong>of</strong>fers his experiences <strong>of</strong><br />
the exotic south in story form for the delectation<br />
<strong>of</strong> the armchair tourist back home.<br />
That the exotic is mostly found to be somewhat<br />
unglamorous and "scruffy" (a<br />
favourite word <strong>of</strong> Henighan's) makes it no<br />
less the mysterious Other for him.<br />
Perhaps the least successful <strong>of</strong> the eleven<br />
stories are the two which attempt to give a<br />
voice to the South American Other itself.<br />
"Small Exposures" is a kind <strong>of</strong> snapshot<br />
narration <strong>of</strong> the linked lives <strong>of</strong> two wealthy<br />
<strong>Columbia</strong>n girls, one <strong>of</strong> whom is considered<br />
too darkskinned for beauty. This<br />
"exposure" <strong>of</strong> the intimacies and prejudices<br />
<strong>of</strong> a foreign society has a phony flavour; it<br />
is the kind <strong>of</strong> narrative which depends on<br />
authenticity for its interest, yet it cannot<br />
shed its male, northern author whose existence<br />
it refuses to acknowledge. "<strong>The</strong> Sun<br />
<strong>of</strong> Coricancha" avoids this kind <strong>of</strong> phoniness<br />
by means <strong>of</strong> irony. Its fabulously aged<br />
narrator tells a secret hidden from strangers,<br />
the author and reader alike, which concerns<br />
the whereabouts <strong>of</strong> the greatest <strong>of</strong> Inca<br />
treasures. This secret possesses a deadly relevance<br />
to their voyeuristic—not to say narcissistic—interest<br />
in the subject-matter <strong>of</strong><br />
all these stories: but it is an irony into which<br />
the stories and their author are trapped,<br />
not one which they control or benefit from.<br />
<strong>The</strong> "golden disk <strong>of</strong> the sun" which used to<br />
adorn the walls <strong>of</strong> Coricancha disappeared<br />
because the conquistadors plundered the<br />
gold sheets whose mirror effect on the other<br />
walls created it as an illusion. <strong>The</strong> trope<br />
places Henighan and his book clearly in the<br />
role <strong>of</strong> conquistador: the eye which plunders<br />
to see, and sees to plunder, and is<br />
hence blind.<br />
All the other stories are tainted with this<br />
ironic consciousness <strong>of</strong> their own bad faith,<br />
especially "My Last South American Story,"<br />
in which Henighan actually kills <strong>of</strong>f his<br />
first-person narrator as punishment for<br />
"spending the last four years in countries<br />
where [he] was granted a special, favoured<br />
status . .. due to the colour <strong>of</strong> [his] skin<br />
and the power <strong>of</strong> [his] currency." In other<br />
stories, this colonial encounter is handled<br />
with varying degrees <strong>of</strong> guilt and sensitivity.<br />
Henighan's gringoes may strike up<br />
poses as casually familiar as Jos's in "North<br />
and South" or as committed as Edward's in<br />
"<strong>The</strong> Border," but what emerges time and<br />
again is their isolation from indigenous<br />
people and landscape. <strong>The</strong> south is portrayed<br />
according to the prevailing northern<br />
myth, as a primitive, violent, sexualized<br />
environment, in which the quest for the<br />
Other is really a quest for a lost version <strong>of</strong><br />
self. No matter how involved these North<br />
American figures may become in the politics<br />
<strong>of</strong> the south, they remain sight-seers,<br />
bargain-hunters, thrill-seekers. All <strong>of</strong> them<br />
have problems with commitment or social<br />
responsibility "back home" and flee southward<br />
for escape or diversion. <strong>The</strong> narrative<br />
focus is always on the consciousness <strong>of</strong> the<br />
subject. Even when a character elects to<br />
stay, as Laura does in "<strong>The</strong> Wind Off the<br />
Volcano," this is mainly because remaining<br />
can give her experiences and satisfactions<br />
which her superficial life in Canada with<br />
her swimming pool engineer cannot provide.<br />
Her spurious <strong>of</strong>fering <strong>of</strong> herself in<br />
"atonement" for the sins <strong>of</strong> her city<br />
(Philadelphia, where one <strong>of</strong> the Contra<br />
leaders apparently learned English) will<br />
convince nobody. She is disappointed by<br />
the virility (and fidelity) <strong>of</strong> the northern<br />
male and, by staying in Nicaragua, she opts<br />
for the greater manliness <strong>of</strong> the Latin<br />
Silvio—though, as is characteristic <strong>of</strong> sexual<br />
relationships in this collection, she is<br />
denied the opportunity <strong>of</strong> enjoying him.<br />
Nights in the Yungas is a youthful attempt,<br />
whose self-destructive irony prophesies<br />
Henighan's abandonment <strong>of</strong> the balcony<br />
attitude in later writing. In contrast, Hay's<br />
<strong>The</strong> Only Snow in Havana is a mature work,<br />
poised and contained by its ironies, which<br />
work not against but with the rich flow <strong>of</strong>