The Charm Buyers
This novel immediately reminded me of Isabel Allende's novels, set also in a world where magic and reality blend seamlessly together. Howan writes of magic, "I think it's like love--I know, it sounds stupid, but think about it. You can't ever really know for sure if someone loves you." On one level , the novel is an exploration of whether love exists between two people and, if so, how it is possible to know. Marc becomes involved with his cousin, Marie-Laure, when both are quite young. Nonetheless, he never quite gets over being stood up by her as a teenager, left wearing the clothes that she asked him to wear. Years later, when someone suggests that she was simply behaving as any self-conscious teen girl might, afraid of being judged for being so much uglier than her attractive cousin, Marc cannot believe this narrative. Instead, he insists on the romance of his relationship with Aurore, the older woman and Marquise who insists on keeping their relationship secret.
Aurore functions as an indictment of liberal feminism. She seeks a romantic relationship with Marc in spite of his youth and relative vulnerability, the result of his mother's cruelty and abandonment. Although she is deeply concerned about the nuclear testing that the French government continues to perform on Mururoa until the very end of the novel, it was not clear to me that she actually helped to end it. Ultimately, she simply uses her privilege to leave, to go to France. Even though MuSan suggests that "this is her home," (292), it was not clear to me that the novel supports this perspective. Her willingness to exploit Marc was clear throughout, and though she insisted that she "truly loved him" and was devastated to see what the secrecy she'd demanded of him had wrought in him, this love seemed disguised for much of the novel. Rather, she seemed primarily to simply exotify him, judging by the fact she "fell in love" after having seen him merely once. The interplay between herself and Philippe, in which she deliberately defied his perfectly sensible advice to leave Marc alone, supported Marc's own analysis that their relationship was merely part of her survival strategy, her game.
The motif of Aurore continually trying to manipulate Marc into letting her draw him ["let me draw you"] was also, I think, a clear message to the reader to refuse sympathetic alliance with Aurore. I suspect Howan here displayed a keen awareness of her audience and the likelihood that many of us would be liberal but have never heard of much of the historical background and context of this novel. Howan therefore here was urging us not to try to "draw him," not to draw a circle around Marc and try to recreate him as a victim or tragic figure. Instead, she was urging us to recognize Marc for the transformation he brought into his own life, for creating a new life for himself when his participation in his father's business collapsed. Sure, working with horses might not appear nearly as glamorous as importing black pearls, but for Marc it reflected profound personal growth and self-assurance.
I felt saddened by the lack of reconciliation between Marc and his father, by the fact neither father nor mother ever seemed to fully appreciate how badly they had harmed their son. I also very much wished that readers had at some point learned one way or another about the magic, that we had found some certainty. I wanted to know that Marc's sacrifice was not in vain, and that there was some positive result from his willingness to sacrifice his entire life savings and all the respect garnered someone of his station for the life of his cousin. I was very moved by this sacrifice, regardless whether Marc fully believed in the magic or not. I began to think whether there is anyone I've ever known that I would make the same sacrifice for--and then, if Marc had known Marie-Laure would still need a transplant, would he have made the same choice? If he had known saving her meant losing her to another life and another continent, would that have changed his mind?
So much of this novel addressed stereotypes about Tahiti. Even Aurore's exhibit, Ugly Tahiti, showed a willingness to play with the stereotype of Tahiti as a lovely island paradise escape for Westerners. Yet the beauty and serenity of the island did come through at times, in ways which enhanced the characters and my ability to relate to them. When Marc talked about perceiving silence itself to be aquamarine, I could sympathize with the feeling that childhood is a wondrous place of naivete and innocence in which even ordinary things are beautiful in a way that is never quite repeated. The loss of that innocence and the reclamation of oneself from the dark night of the soul that necessarily follows is depicted here, in lovely fashion.
I don't know what exactly to say about the themes of lies/illusions, stories, love, magic, and how these are interrelated yet simultaneously defined against one another. I want to say however that I saw this happening at various points throughout the book in ways that both troubled me and gave me more insight into this culture and into Marc as a character. To me, Howan seemed to express that yes, perhaps love is an illusion, but it is a sort of magic illusion because by believing in it, we are transformed--so it is important to choose wisely who we invest our trust and belief into.
-Ariadne
Aurore functions as an indictment of liberal feminism. She seeks a romantic relationship with Marc in spite of his youth and relative vulnerability, the result of his mother's cruelty and abandonment. Although she is deeply concerned about the nuclear testing that the French government continues to perform on Mururoa until the very end of the novel, it was not clear to me that she actually helped to end it. Ultimately, she simply uses her privilege to leave, to go to France. Even though MuSan suggests that "this is her home," (292), it was not clear to me that the novel supports this perspective. Her willingness to exploit Marc was clear throughout, and though she insisted that she "truly loved him" and was devastated to see what the secrecy she'd demanded of him had wrought in him, this love seemed disguised for much of the novel. Rather, she seemed primarily to simply exotify him, judging by the fact she "fell in love" after having seen him merely once. The interplay between herself and Philippe, in which she deliberately defied his perfectly sensible advice to leave Marc alone, supported Marc's own analysis that their relationship was merely part of her survival strategy, her game.
The motif of Aurore continually trying to manipulate Marc into letting her draw him ["let me draw you"] was also, I think, a clear message to the reader to refuse sympathetic alliance with Aurore. I suspect Howan here displayed a keen awareness of her audience and the likelihood that many of us would be liberal but have never heard of much of the historical background and context of this novel. Howan therefore here was urging us not to try to "draw him," not to draw a circle around Marc and try to recreate him as a victim or tragic figure. Instead, she was urging us to recognize Marc for the transformation he brought into his own life, for creating a new life for himself when his participation in his father's business collapsed. Sure, working with horses might not appear nearly as glamorous as importing black pearls, but for Marc it reflected profound personal growth and self-assurance.
I felt saddened by the lack of reconciliation between Marc and his father, by the fact neither father nor mother ever seemed to fully appreciate how badly they had harmed their son. I also very much wished that readers had at some point learned one way or another about the magic, that we had found some certainty. I wanted to know that Marc's sacrifice was not in vain, and that there was some positive result from his willingness to sacrifice his entire life savings and all the respect garnered someone of his station for the life of his cousin. I was very moved by this sacrifice, regardless whether Marc fully believed in the magic or not. I began to think whether there is anyone I've ever known that I would make the same sacrifice for--and then, if Marc had known Marie-Laure would still need a transplant, would he have made the same choice? If he had known saving her meant losing her to another life and another continent, would that have changed his mind?
So much of this novel addressed stereotypes about Tahiti. Even Aurore's exhibit, Ugly Tahiti, showed a willingness to play with the stereotype of Tahiti as a lovely island paradise escape for Westerners. Yet the beauty and serenity of the island did come through at times, in ways which enhanced the characters and my ability to relate to them. When Marc talked about perceiving silence itself to be aquamarine, I could sympathize with the feeling that childhood is a wondrous place of naivete and innocence in which even ordinary things are beautiful in a way that is never quite repeated. The loss of that innocence and the reclamation of oneself from the dark night of the soul that necessarily follows is depicted here, in lovely fashion.
I don't know what exactly to say about the themes of lies/illusions, stories, love, magic, and how these are interrelated yet simultaneously defined against one another. I want to say however that I saw this happening at various points throughout the book in ways that both troubled me and gave me more insight into this culture and into Marc as a character. To me, Howan seemed to express that yes, perhaps love is an illusion, but it is a sort of magic illusion because by believing in it, we are transformed--so it is important to choose wisely who we invest our trust and belief into.
-Ariadne
Hey Ariadne,
ReplyDeleteI agree that Howen probably didn't want us, the readers, to sympathize with Aurore. I felt about her much like I felt about Daisy in The Great Gatsby. I haven't read that book since high school, but while reading this one, I found myself comparing Aurore and Daisy quite a bit. They're both supposedly desirable characters and, yet, you know they don't really deserve the affection they receive. They are characters that seemingly stand out amongst the women of their time and place, and they have a great deal of privilege. They use and manipulate the men that adore them, even though they do feel love for them. They are confident in some ways, but they crave the attention and affection of emotionally vulnerable men, like Marc and Gatsby, and don't want others to know about it. In the end, they can't handle the situation they're in so they try to run away from it. If you've read The Great Gatsby, do you see the resemblance?
-Erin
Howan*
DeleteHi! Yeah, I read Gatsby in high school when I was competing with a friend of mine to read famous novels :) I agree that the characters of Aurore and Daisy had some similarities. I do think though that Daisy was trapped by her feminine role in ways that Aurore was not. Aurore actually had a lot more power in the situation presented, because she was a white woman and because she could therefore leave; she was concerned about the nuclear testing, for example, but it wasn't her home that was specifically under threat. Daisy was also much more self-aware [remember the "I hope she's a pretty fool" speech?] whereas Aurore seemed to simply barge ahead, and all of her explanations for her own behavior were irrational and meaningless--saying she loved Marc and did everything for love of him, for example, when it was obvious this was not true. But I do think that the characters shared a glib sensibility and willful refusal to look directly at their actions' impact on others they claimed to love. I think Daisy was in significantly more pain than Aurore, but they both caused a lot of harm, mindlessly.
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