Lies that tell the truth
 Some
people look at the world in different point of view. It is not because
they have emerged from a dream; they look on it with new eyes. Then we
are offered a new style that is thoroughly of this world that celebrates
the mundane. This new world of objects is alien to somewhat we called
realism.
Magic realistic narrators tend to react to anything extraordinary
with an unfazed casualness that instantly normalised the miracle.
Instead of rejecting the apparently non-realistic as an infraction of
natural law, as the literary fantastic would, magic realist fiction
simply takes it in narrative stride.
In this magical realism arguably shares a characteristic feature of
marvellous literature, which likewise evinces no surprise at the
existence of all sorts of fabulous creatures, magical powers or
supernatural occurrences.
When we think magic realism we think of the expansive, the mystical.
We think of fantastical events made natural, never acknowledged or
explained by the cunning narrators, whom we come to form a relationship
with. We think names Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Jorge Luis Borges, and
Isabel Allende.
When we think magic realism we often think social subversiveness or
blasphemy, depending on your politics. We think of José Saramago whose
novel The Gospel According To Jesus Christ received the full fury of the
Catholic Church, but also a Nobel Prize and we think of Salman Rushdie’s
The Satanic Verses winning similar acmes of condemnation and praise.
Interestingly, many of us think of Kafka himself, though it’s hard to
say if Kafka or the imagined community of magic realism would be keen on
this attribution. Works like the claustrophobic Metamorphosis, where a
man in his room is transformed into a beetle, are usually understood as
more allegorical than magical, and they do not completely naturalize the
bizarre, as required by the genre. Or, perhaps, they are a different
type of magic realism; more straightforward, less epic, and tangled
conceptually but not in narrative. When we think magic realism, most of
us think folklore and fable as we have seen them in Isabel Allende’s
writing: ancestors’ spirits, cyclical time, and natural settings that
are living things.
These motifs make many postcolonial readers resist the term ‘magic
realism’ itself, arguing it defines as magic the things that were
understood as real in the Latin American traditions from which they
stemmed, such as talking animals and conversations with the dead.
As Sri Lankans we are heirs to a rich legacy of traditional cultural
materials. A part of this legacy is comprised of stories, legends and
myths. Jataka stories can be taken as a rich source of magical realism
presented in Sinhala literature as well as folklore. Although they are
intended primarily for religious purpose, they carry exceptionally rich
fictional attributes. Magical or supernatural phenomena are not rare in
there, and they add the most needed excitement to the text or narration,
which highly supports the religious propaganda.
Legends preserve some element of historical value presented in a
literary grab of strange happenings. The entire story may lack
historical authenticity. But nobody can refuse those legends as
completely fictional. Legends have grown around national heroes, kings
and giants of ancient times. Prince Vijaya and Kuveni, King Pandukabhaya,
King Dutugamunu and ten giants of King Dutugamunu were born with some
extraordinary powers.
Most interesting among all are myths. Myths of Giridevi and Naga Maru
Ala explain the harmful consequences of desire. The both mentioned above
intended to prevent acts of incest in a society.
Sinhalese folks have wisely used the concept of magic realism to
serve their society.
In stories, legends or myths, ancient story teller has been able to
hide a lesson for life with full of excitement. It is the truth of life
hidden in a set of lies. |
