A - Z Challenge: DALÍ

SPAIN

"I don't do drugs.  I am drugs." - Salvador Dalí

I love Dalí, but I'm not sure if I love his paintings, or if I just love him.  He's one of those figures who is so ridiculous, you just can't help but like him.  Also, his gravity-defying mustache makes him a winner.

After Pablo Picasso, Dalí is probably Spain's most famous artist, best known for his work The Persistence of Memory, often referred to as "that painting with the melting clocks."  There was a giant mural of it in my high school, so after seeing it every day, it's one of my favorite paintings.  Do I have any idea what it means?  Nope.  But the melting clocks are fascinating.

The Persistence of Memory, completed 1931

Dalí was a surrealist, so he was into abstract ideas and images that weren't grounded in the real world.  A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to visit the Dalí museum in Barcelona, Spain, where I got to see (and even touch, when it came to sculptures) some of his lesser known works.

To the left, you'll see Automobile Giving Birth to a Blind Horse Biting a Telephone.  (Sorry for the poor quality photo, but photography isn't my strong point).  Not sure what it means, if it means anything at all, but I think the title is hilarious.  Also, very straightforward.

Look familiar?  Dalí had quite a few obsessions, or so I gathered from my visit to the museum:  horses, rhinoceroses, and melting clocks.  The melting clocks are definitely what interest me most.  Time melting away…Very cool.  Also, interesting tidbit:  the 20s (during which Dalí worked) marked the beginning of the world's obsession with time and prolonged youth (think works like Twilight Sleep or Tender is the Night).  It's when time phrases became an essential part of our vocabulary:  kill time, keep time, out of time, etc.  So I have to wonder if Dalí, who finished The Persistence of Memory in 1931, was commenting on this phenomenon.

He was also fascinated by horses, apparently.  An entire room of the museum was dedicated to his paintings and sculptures about horses, many of them from famous stories.  This painting features Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

There was also a little hall dedicated rhinoceroses.  When I saw Midnight in Paris, I didn't realize that he was, actually, a little obsessed with rhinoceroses.  But alas, I was mistaken.  Enjoy this awesome scene from an awesome movie, featuring Adrien Brody as Salvador Dalí:

WRITING

Picture prompts?

One of Dalí's paintings would be awesome inspiration for a picture prompt.  I would love to read a story, or even a full length novel, based on The Persistence of Memory.  Even just a world based on it.  Who knows?  Maybe one day I'll try my hand at writing it.

The Inquisition: Surreal Sci-Fi or Gothic Horror Story?

I've been in Spain about a month and already I've been to two Inquisition museums.  (Not by choice).

Now here's a little history lesson.  (If you don't care, scroll down for the writing part.  But keep in mind that history is one big epic story, so as writers, we can learn from it, and we should definitely appreciate it):

Spain is a very Catholic country, but it wasn't always.  In fact, it was controlled by Arabs from North Africa for almost 800 years, which meant that a large percentage of the population practiced Islam.  It influenced architecture, language, food, and more, and those influences are still around to this day.

At this point, Spain didn't exist.  It was a bunch of small kingdoms up until the 1400s, when one of historys' most famous couples got married:  Ferdinand II and Isabella I.  With their marriage, they united Castile and Aragon, two of the biggest kingdoms, and from there, set out to "reconquer" the kingdoms still controlled by the Arabs.  In 1492, the last Arab city (Granada) fell, and for the first time, Spain was united under one monarchy.

Yet Ferdinand and Isabella, nicknamed the Catholic Monarchs, sought to secure their new country with more than political unity.  They wanted religious unity, as well.  So they set up the Holy Office of the Inquisition to seek out falsos conversos, generally Muslims or Jews who claimed to have converted to Christianity, but still secretly practiced their original religion.

But the Inquisition was used for far more than that.  It was frequently an excuse for something else, like personal vengeance or commercial gain.

So how did the Inquisition work?

Enter Diego, a wealthy merchant.  His competitor, jealous of his success, informs the Holy Office of the Inquisition that he has reason to believe that Pablo is secretly practicing Judaism.  Why?  Because he never buys pork.  In reality, Diego just doesn't like pork.  (This is the case with Natalie Portman's character in the movie Goya's Ghosts).

He doesn't know why he has been summoned by the Holy Office, and when he shows up, the inquisitors don't tell him.  Not for awhile, anyway.  When they do, he tries to explain that it's a simple misunderstanding.  He's a very pious Catholic.  But the inquisitors have already confiscated his property, and they don't want to release him.

And here's where it gets gory.  In order to get Diego to confess that he is secretly Jewish, the inquisitors subject him to torture:  the rack, the wheel, etc.  They believed that a confession gained through torture was hard evidence of someone's guilt, because if they were innocent, God would give them the strength to withstand the pain.

Now let's say Diego caves.  Even though he isn't Jewish, he tells them he is.  OK, so enough with the torture, but now he's stuck in a tiny dungeon cell until it's time for his public auto de fe, a trial that most often resulted in public humiliation, but could also end in punishment as severe as burning at the stake.

Now onto writing.

Since being in Spain, I've visited two Inquisition museums.  To my surprise, they were completely different, though they both told the exact same story.

Gothic Horror

The first one we visited while in Córdoba, a city about an hour from Sevilla.  It was a small museum, situated on a tiny street, with only about five rooms; but by the end of it, we all felt a little nauseous.

Why?  You can probably guess.

This museum focused heavily on torture, and it had on display dozens of different devices.  (Yup, we asked.  Not recreations.  That was an authentic guillotine I tripped on.)  Lining the walls were drawings from the time period that showed the devices at work.  Honestly, these were the most disturbing part.

Notice the "Do Not Touch" sign.  "Do not put your hand in the spiky wardrobe!"

Then there was the atmosphere.  To enter and exit the exhibit, you had to pass through black veils that hung over the doors.  Once inside, the lights were dim, giving the rooms an eerie reddish glow.  They were small rooms, too, perfectly square, with very low ceilings.  There was no background music, no television screens.  Not even a guard to keep you grounded in the present.  Just you, your friends, and the Iron Maiden.

Overall tone of this museum?  The Inquisition was dark.  Scary.  Bloody.  Nothing short of a gothic horror story.

Notice the red light and the chandelier in the background.  Both set the mood:  dark and scary.
(Sidenote:  I tripped on this thing.  Thank goodness it wasn't on something with spikes, though.   Nothing was behind glass, or even roped off, so if you tripped and fell onto the Judas Chair, sucks for you.)

Surreal Sci-Fi

The second museum was in Sevilla.  It's located in what's left of the Castillo de San Jorge, which used to house the Holy Office of the Inquisition in Sevilla.  So this is the real deal.  Where it happened.

Kind of dreamlike, right?

But what happened?

Unlike the museum in Córdoba, this one housed very few artifacts.  Almost none.  Instead, this museum utilized video to emphasize the mental and emotional components of the Inquisition.  And not the kind of video you'd expect, either.  These were surrealist clips, no more than a few minutes long.  What do I mean by surrealist?  Well, one showed a naked man in a fetal position, floating in a black void.  A bunch of different angles, close-ups, etc., until finally he grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller…

Nope, there was no plaque with an explanation.  No words at all.

The other part of the museum focused on spaces.  Here's where the stables were, and here was the kitchen, and here were the cells.  No complete walls remain, so they're just spaces marked by walls that are two feet high.  There is nothing in these spaces, either.  They're a hundred percent empty, and dare I say it?  Yes, walking through them was somewhat surreal.

Notice the lighted boardwalks.  Almost futuristic.

Now for the atmosphere.  Lots of television screens with strange videos.  Lots of glass, including a glass ceiling.  A lighted boardwalk that went over the ruins.  Huge spacious rooms that allowed for an echo.

As I toured the museum, I felt like I was floating through a dream; or better yet, a surrealist painting like Dali's The Persistence of Memory.  Very strange.

Overall tone?  The Inquisition was bizarre.  Kind of like a surreal sci-fi story.

So which is correct?  Which is better?

Is the fake skeleton really necessary?
No, but it's all part of the genre.
Like a horror writer, the museum is
trying to create a certain atmosphere.

Well, they're both correct, that's for sure.  They tell the same story.  Same setting, same characters, same plot.  The big difference is the genre, which sets the tone:  the content, combined with the dim lighting, of the museum in Córdoba pinned the Inquisition as a gothic horror.  But based only on the museum at the Castillo de San Jorge, I'd file it as sci-fi, or maybe magical realism.  Very different genres.  Very different messages.

Is one better than the other?  Well, let's see.

As writers, we have to be aware of our genre and the expectations that go along with it.  What mood are we trying to convey?  When is it a good idea to combine genres?  And if we want to do that, how can we do it well?

The best way to figure that out is to read books within your genre.  Lots of books.  And as you read, pay attention to the tone.  Is this the tone you want for your story?  Does it work well?  Or will something else work better?  Make your story stand out?

All in all, it depends on your focus.  The museum in Córdoba focused on torture, and the physical horrors of the Inquisition; but the museum in Sevilla wanted to explore the mental and emotional side, so it sought to create a hazy dreamlike atmosphere that left its visitors a little confused, a little shocked, but with a better understanding the quiet chaos and perpetual fear that went along with the Spanish Inquisition.

Same story, different messages.  Is one better than the other?  That's for the visitor to decide.

Combining Genres

So what if these two museums were combined?

Surreal Sci-Fi + Gothic Horror = ?

Well, I'm not sure there's a name for the result, but when I first thought about this question, my mind immediately went to the movie Pan's Labyrinth.  If you've never seen Pan's Labyrinth, you should.  It's a fantastic movie set during the Spanish Civil War, and it combines the above elements.  (OK, so fantasy instead of sci-fi, if we're going to be nitpicky.)  The blend of genres works perfectly for this movie.  The dark fantasy elements express the characters' fear, and their attempts at coping with the horror and violence of the period.

In Summary

Know your genre.  Know your tone.  Know your message.

And perhaps most importantly, don't be afraid to experiment.  Maybe write a few pages intending it to be in one genre, then try in another.  Heck, I wrote half a book as a YA paranormal retelling, only to then try writing a few chapters of the same story as a MG fantasy adventure.  Very different tones, very different messages.  (Ultimately, I went with the MG fantasy adventure.)

Whew, this is a long post! 

Your thoughts?  Are you familiar with two versions of the same story with very different tones?  What are they?  Which do you like better, and why?

"They're such beautiful shirts!"

Let's get one thing straight:  I am not a fashionista.  Sure, I have my own personal style, but it usually involves a pair of jeans.  Nothing fancy.

But ever since coming to Spain, my style has changed.  Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable.  Our Study Abroad program suggested it:  "Dress nicer," they said.  "You'll blend in better.  No sneakers, no sweatpants, no t-shirts."

(Side note:  I don't blend in.  My backpack is a dead giveaway, but I like it too much to sacrifice it for some European swag.  Besides, everyone knows I'm not a local as soon as I open my mouth, so why bother?)

Gown of First Lady Helen Taft.  So early 1900s.

For the most part, I've adhered to the advice.  More skirts, better shoes.  The other day I even wore a pair of patterned harem pants.  (Bold, I know.  But they're so comfortable!)  Anyway, as I've been toying with my own sense of style, I got to thinking about fashion in writing.  Our characters have to be dressed, don't they?  (Well, not always…)

Writing about clothes is fun, at least for me.  However, there is a line.  I firmly believe that descriptions of clothes should be used for a greater purpose, not only to tell the reader what a character is wearing.  Luckily, most writers do this unconsciously:  the stereotypical popular crowd in a YA contemporary is almost always in miniskirts, while the academically inclined protagonist opts for Target jeans.  What does that say about them?

(Side note:  I strongly dislike books that heavily rely on the stereotypical popular crowd as a plot device because I don't find it believable.  Mean Girls works because it's satire.)

Moroccan gowns.  Present day.

A girl who only wears baggy clothes might be self-conscious about her weight.  A boy in Nantucket red pants could easily be a frat brother.

The Hunger Games is a great example of fashion for a purpose.  There isn't much description of Katniss's everyday clothes, or even the clothes she wears while in the arena, but we all remember her clothes that make a statement and give a sense of her character:  the coal costumes that catch fire, the dress with the flames, the Mockingjay wedding gown.

Ok, so not too difficult.  What's a little trickier is avoiding over-description.

I know people who go online shopping for their characters.  Great!  It helps them get a better mental picture of their characters, and it sounds like a lot of fun.  But they run the danger of wanting to describe every single detail, down to the very thread-count.  That's a big no-no, because frankly, the reader doesn't care that much.  If you must talk about fashion, mention it briefly, and move on.

However, there is a time to linger, and that's when your PoV character is doing commentary.  (Remember:  even if you write in third person, you still have a PoV character).  If a character is surprised by an outfit, perhaps.  Or if she's jealous.  Or if the clothes are new, or offensive.  If a proper nineteenth-century Englishwoman travels to a country where harem pants are big, she might be a little taken aback, and therefore she'll linger on them.

But don't linger too much.  Otherwise the reader will think, "We get the point!  Move on."

Colonial style, circa 1780.

Sometimes it is difficult to move on.  I'm guilty.  I love to write about my characters' outfits, especially since most of my work isn't contemporary, which means cool historical clothes like the ones in the photos.  I also tend to set my work all over the world, so I have to be conscious of international and historical fashion.  When I go to museums, I take pictures of the clothing, especially, so I can look at them for later reference.  Also, the Internet is a wonderful wonderful thing.  Movies can also be very helpful.

Your thoughts on fashion in writing?