Reflections on The Shipyard: final thoughts

 

Final entry:

I firmly believe what is alluring about literature is its capacity to make us live different lives, to help momentarily evade our own by telling us stories of love and victory, of justice and honor, hope through suffering. That is what fiction is all about. Therefore, it doest not come as a surprise to me that many people choose not to read realist (for lack of a better term) literature, as if our own lives were not hard enough, the least thing we'd want is to be reminded of our hardships through fiction. But that, I think, causes us to miss not only on great books, but also to neglect a fundamental part of ourselves—that is, the capacity to understand one another. And that is precisely the value I find in The Shipyard. 

Onetti is not a writer for everyone, that I must confess. His style may come across as pessimistic and often too dense for the casual reader. But after a thorough read, after letting his words sink in, we will discover a masterful use of language (though, perhaps it is easier to perceive in its original language), an insightful interpretation of reality and, why not, a sense of understanding that only comes from having gone through the same experiences. For, who has not, even once in their lifetime, questioned their place in the world? Who has not felt powerless in the face of failure? Or, even most importantly, who has not inquired about the meaning of their life and has been faced with irrational silence? The novel's characters are not superhumans, they do not exhibit a high sense of morals, extraordinary treats or overcome impossible challenges to get what they want. None are deserving of a happy ending, either. But they are human, just like us; they are not perfect, they are just trying to make the most with the cards they have been dealt with. Onetti knew firsthand the boredom of leading a monotonous life and how hard it is to resonate with perfect characters in perfect stories, so he did exactly the opposite: with painful lucidity, he wrote his stories as vividly realistic as possible.

But again, that is what makes The Shipyard so believeable. Unlike a Ulysses, Larsen, the novel's protagonist, is closer to how people behave in real life. We all grapple with, rather than transcend, selfishness, ambition, and pride. And, as opposed to fantasy novels where heroes overcome great dangers, The Shipyard is a story of a life's failure. Yet, these rather disheartening elements resonate more with us because we have all felt this way at some point.We know the sting of believing our efforts amount to nothing, and Onetti, with a quiet understanding, acknowledges this by constructing a world and filling it with characters that depict accurately this stage of our lives. Despite it not providing any comfort word, at least it makes us realize we are not alone in this—sometimes knowing ourselves heard and understood is more comfortable than wishing for a magic solution to our problems. And this novel's purpose is exactly that, to serve as means for catharsis, let out our bottled up frustration to finally allow ourselves to move on. 

Combined with this, Onetti's genius to leave things unexplained make for a story full of subtleties, plots and subplots that enrich the novel despite it expanding for less than 230 pages. Rarely do we see such measured control of events, where the narrative flows seamlessly without revealing everything at once. Unlike a police procedural novel, The Shipyard does not present the reader with all the reasons behind the events. Instead, it provides a situation and invites us to draw our own conclusions. As the saying goes, sometimes less is more.

In conclusion, The Shipyard is a captivating read despite its short length, it thrives on the unexplained, allowing readers to actively participate in piecing together the narrative. Onetti's masterful storytelling unfolds a world haunted by unspoken truths, brimming with hidden depths, leaving you to ponder the characters' motivations and the town's strange inertia. It is a novel that rewards close reading and invites interpretation, making it a perfect choice for readers who enjoy a thought-provoking and atmospheric story. Constructed over the influence of Faulkner and Sartre, the novel delves into themes of futility, alienation, and the struggle for meaning in a seemingly meaningless world. It is a must-read for people who are looking either for a book that helps them to phrase their own existencial doubts, or for those in search of a novel that will stay with them for long. 

Understanding failure: to move on is to grow

 

(Image generated by me using AI)

Fifth entry: 

"The Shipyard" is far from a hopeful novel. All its characters, the world around them, their lives and motives conjugate in a final that could well ressemble a Greek tragedy. Without delving into spoilers, all I will say is that it seems fate had always conspired against Larsen. What stands out remarkably is Onetti's bold narrative choice to withhold further explanations for the concluding events. This deliberate omission not only intensifies the sense of randomness but also suggests a deeper existential void, insinuating that the occurrences in our lives might be devoid of any true purpose. By leaving these final moments shrouded in ambiguity, Onetti reinforces a haunting perspective: that life, in its essence, may be inherently meaningless.

I believe this is why many people can deeply resonate with this book, if given the opportunity to explore its pages. It captures a profoundly human emotion: the struggle to reconcile with our own vulnerabilities after encountering failure. Let it be known that my intent is not to advocate for any specific philosophical viewpoint. Rather, I seek to examine this feeling from a different lens. The reason for this is no other than, after some personal experiences, I have come to appreciate this book with a new perspective.

First, the obvious. Larsen embodies failure in its starkest form; he is the living testament to unfulfilled attempts and perpetual setbacks. Yet, against all odds, he continues to strive forward, fully aware that each new effort is unlikely to produce a different outcome. At first glance, this relentless pursuit might seem like madness—repeating the same actions and hoping for a change. Something which is true to some extent. However, a different take on this led me to discover a remarkable trait of human spirit: the resilience to persist, to endure, and to find meaning even in the face of inevitable failure. At thte risk of sounding a bit naive, I can assure Larsen's unwavering will to keep pushing through can teach us a thing or two about frustration. 

In reflecting on failure, I firmly believe that feeling upset after falling short of our goals is completely natural. It is human to experience frustration, disappointment, or even disillusionment when the dreams we cherished seem to vanish before our eyes. Now, a first reaction to this would be to blame it on the world, to accuse life of being unfair or cursing our misfortune. And while it is understandable to feel this way, dwelling in this stage is not conducive to our well-being or growth. This is not about adhering to religious or mystical ideologies. This is just the realization I have come to through personal experience:  anger can fuel a much more productive path of action when channeled correctly. Larsen's ventures all inevitably fail, yes, and he curses this world for conspiring against his success. Yet, it is precisely this defiance that drives him to persist. Despite his almost pathological bad luck, Larsen strives to prove to himself that he can overcome these relentless setbacks. If he cannot change the world's course, at the very least, he resolves to change his own narrative.

Therefore, in re-visiting this novel, I found yet a new life lesson and a whole new interpretation of its story. In essence, while it is natural to be disheartened by failure, it is crucial to transform that energy into a force for perseverance and growth. Understanding what we have grown to be ultimately will lead to construct a stronger sense of self.