{"id":146193,"date":"2020-07-16T13:24:06","date_gmt":"2020-07-16T17:24:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=146193"},"modified":"2020-07-16T13:39:45","modified_gmt":"2020-07-16T17:39:45","slug":"the-city-has-no-name","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/07\/16\/the-city-has-no-name\/","title":{"rendered":"The City Has No Name"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Juan C\u00e1rdenas.<\/p><\/div>\n

In Juan C\u00e1rdenas\u2019s novel Ornamental<\/em>, the city has no name. It could be here, or anywhere. Its location in time isn\u2019t specified either. There\u2019s a faintly futuristic overlay, but the narrator\u2019s diction swings between antiquated formality and present-day slang, and, among other anachronistic details, there are both spider monkeys and henchmen on the security team. Characters, too, are referenced only by generic designation. \u201cMy wife,\u201d \u201cthe directors,\u201d \u201cthe taxi driver,\u201d \u201cthe architect.\u201d Even descriptive nouns of that kind are withheld from the study participants, who have volunteered for the trial of a new recreational drug that exclusively affects women. They\u2019re granted only numbers.<\/p>\n

The choice to leave those coordinates unfixed suggests universality, as if this same story might have played out (might be playing out) in any number of labs, in any number of cities. But it also enacts the social and political repression of a certain kind of anonymity. \u201cA city can\u2019t be talked about without names, it\u2019s impossible,\u201d number 4 says. \u201cIt\u2019s all been worked out so the story stays neatly inside the mute numbers.\u201d How, Ornamental\u00a0<\/em>asks, do the nameless\u2014disembodied voices, unattributed speech, figures \u201cemancipated from any arithmetic\u201d\u2014participate in meaningful discourse, find a place among others, work toward common interest, tell their stories? And when do we encounter those stories, as readers who live in named cities and bear names ourselves? <\/p>\n

Once, Juan pointed out that architecture can function as \u201ca sculptural representation of failed futures.\u201d In this city scarred by absurdities, crises, injustices, our surroundings offer clues, to where we\u2019ve been, to where we\u2019re going. There are \u201cforsaken relics of late-fifties Creole functionalism\u201d in the old financial center. The exploitative hacienda has been repurposed as an equally exploitative pharmaceutical lab. The \u201cprodigious, lost-era\u201d skyscrapers were abandoned \u201con the brink of rationalism.\u201d Buildings\u2014their designs and locations, the condition they\u2019re in, what they replace and what they conceal\u2014record histories and gesture toward onetime paths forward. Even the most \u201cgleaming and beautiful\u201d ones, the ones once symbolic of \u201cprosperity\u201d and \u201cprogress,\u201d recede into the unchanging chaos of the landscape, just as \u201cyesterday\u2019s political discourses [become] today\u2019s collective unconscious.\u201d Ornamental\u00a0<\/em>can be read as a building can be read: as an object that records, with its highly stylized language and form, an interplay between ideologies. Its material details (language, texture, composition) tell us as much if not more than what would traditionally constitute plot.<\/p>\n

A doctor\u2019s self-consciously formal discourse is interrupted at intervals by number 4\u2019s elaborate poetic outpourings. It\u2019s interrupted, but never wholly consumed. The doctor\u2019s wife, an artist whose works are overpriced \u201cornaments,\u201d is moved by number 4 to interrogate her practice, but only before fleeing back to the comfortable \u201cfortress\u201d of her taste. The excess, ephemerality, and exuberance of number 4\u2019s monologues are set alongside a sanitized and selective reality. They\u2019re the glints of the baroque against Loos\u2019s white walls. On the level of plot, the conflict is won by those walls\u2014by rational, ordered discourse, smooth and functional surfaces, the conditions called for, in this case, by those who hold power. The novel ends not with any comforting resolution but with a return to the vortex of late capitalism. The scales tip back in the direction of privilege, or they never tip away. Evil can be observed but not upended; our irredeemable characters can\u2019t right a world gone wrong.<\/p>\n

But that\u2019s not to say there\u2019s no relief. Because on the level of the sentence, there\u2019s still some room for astonishment: in the reactions sparked off when two lexicons are pushed up against each other, in the interplay of linguistic subtleties. There, the winner of this conflict doesn\u2019t seem to be determined from the outset. Because if education and upbringing are a prison, as\u00a0Ornamental\u00a0<\/em>suggests, then so is language, which turns moments of rupture or linguistic difference into alternate paths of significance. When the study participants speak for themselves, contrasting styles puncture the doctor\u2019s grandiose and often classist rhetoric. Their survey responses are discrete poems that show what shape expression can take outside of narrow conventions. They\u2019re open to interpretation, vivid beyond the homogenizing constraints of grammar, unselfconscious and instantaneous. In these brief moments of potential, language that doesn\u2019t conform to certain imposed expectations proves as powerful and expressive as language that does. Both the doctor and his wife return to their lives of ease after number 4\u2019s departure. Both reassume the narratives they\u2019ve carefully crafted for themselves. If number 4 has any visible or lasting effect on their lives, it may be only in the way the collar of the doctor\u2019s prose loosens, the naturalness and idiomatic expression it occasionally admits.<\/p>\n

With whom do we empathize in such a book\u2014a book described as an exploration of art\u2019s potential \u201cfor the examination of evil\u201d? For our characters, there is no redemption, no lesson learned, no call to action. Each one is, as we are, \u201cprisoner of [an] upbringing.\u201d And their world, like ours, is deeply flawed, deeply violent, deeply unjust. But with them, we see things we might not otherwise see, go places we might not otherwise go, witness our own circumstances drawn out to their logical conclusions. How do we look and listen from now on? Do the stories remain \u201cneatly inside the mute numbers\u201d? Perhaps, as readers, that\u2019s for us to say.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lizzie Davis is a translator from Spanish to English and editor at Coffee House Press. Her recent projects include works by Pilar Fraile Amador, Daniela Tarazona, and Elena Medel, and her cotranslation of Medel\u2019s <\/em>Las maravillas with Thomas Bunstead is forthcoming from Pushkin Press. She has received fellowships from the Omi International Arts Center and the Breadloaf Translators\u2019 Conference in support of her translations.<\/em><\/p>\n

Used by permission from <\/em>Ornamental<\/a> (Coffee House Press, 2020). Copyright \u00a9 2020 by Lizzie Davis.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In Juan C\u00e1rdenas\u2019s novel \u2018Ornamental,\u2019 the city has no name. It could be here, or anywhere. Its location in time isn\u2019t specified either.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2018,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-146193","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe City Has No Name by Lizzie Davis<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"In Juan C\u00e1rdenas\u2019s novel \u2018Ornamental,\u2019 the city has no name. It could be here, or anywhere. 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