kings such as Atahuallpa and Cuauhtemoc? The historian asks:
Why then not admit to Montezuma’s murder? Why did Cortes and other survivors from the company deny it, and why did subsequent tellers of the traditional narrative elaborate upon that denial? Indeed, why go as far as Diaz did claiming that “Cortes and all the captains and soldiers wept as though they had lost a father”? That imaginatively implausible detail was repeated by Clavijero in the next century, and by Prescott in the next (believe it you can by McNutt’s sardonic aside). Those authors were not alone in indignantly defending the conquistadors and the denouncing the “monstrous imputation” that Cortes was guilty; why?
Because Montezuma’s murder by the Spaniards undermined the Surrender (story) . . . destroying the Spanish justification for their invasion. And while writers in later centuries were not as invested in the maintenance of Spanish conquest justification, they were still bound by the logic of the traditional narrative. Why would “Spaniards take the life of a king to whom they owed so many benefits” (as one put it)? (Restall, 2018: 227)
Many more inquiries concerning the binding of traditional or rather standing narratives embedded in colonial and modern studies need to be unraveled as they remain tied up by the force of the terms of emplotment and the ideology that undergirds them. We could ask, like Fernando Rosenberg does in his essay, if, for instance, the changes in subject formation we witness in Latin America today are indeed similar to what has been called the phenomenon of the posthuman in the United States, or are these assessments driven by the force of empirical theory?
No history of Latin American culture could have anticipated the deep and irreversible transformation brought about in the last half a century by the arrival of digital modes of production and communication. The introduction of digital formats and possibilities of communication into people’s everyday lives is only comparable to the invention of writing and the domestication of the book when inexpensive printing made the circulation of ideas and modes of feeling widespread and speedy. However, in light of what the pandemic of 2020 has revealed, this comparison is not exactly apt, for the rapidity and expansive reach of digital forms of production, communication, and participation in unprecedented massive sets of interlocutors put the digital age into a category of its own. The salon culture of the nineteenth century that allowed women to play an influential role in the male-dominated world of letters, the democratizing culture of the newspaper and even the scenography of the family in front of the television set pale by comparison with the disruption in consumption patterns, dynamics of subject formation, dislocation of previous communication communities, multiplicity of opening onto realms previously unreachable brought on by the smartphone and all other devices that offer access to the internet. The dynamics of digital culture has affected established fields of knowledge, perception, circulation, sensitivity, and production of the very same culture that it is transforming.
While scholars had previously turned their attention to visual studies with an emphasis on photography, film, and television, new work has begun to appear on the impact that digital forms and formats are having on Latin American culture in general and literature in very specific ways. Several of the new essays in this second edition of the Companion capture both the growth in visual forms of communication as well as the transformative and pervasive presence of digitization of the world. To the surprise of many a reader, it seems that the very vaunted effect of the production of a posthuman culture due to digitization of everyday life cannot be so easily detected in Latin America, as the evidence shows that what appears to be emerging is rather a mediatized sensibility. In the Introduction to their Technology, Literature, and Digital Culture in Latin America: Mediatized Sensibilities in a Globalized Era (2016), Matthew Bush and Tania Gentic write that: “It becomes clear that popular access to ever-growing, ever more intricate, networks in the Southern Hemisphere has not produced a new posthuman subjectivity. Rather we seek to demonstrate that the convergence of literary and technological media formats brings the body and the emotion of the spectator to the fore in new ways, even when using the same convergence of affect and ideology that occurs whenever an imaginary about technology circulates to produce subjects and communities” (1–2). It would seem that the power of digitization has been met with some irreverence and that the results of this encounter remain to be seen although it is ongoing, the impact is palpable in multiple ways, and scholars are paying close attention.
Concomitant with the production of new objects, new circuits of transmission, and consumption, there is of course the appearance of a new public. This public, among other things, is no longer wedded to or dependent on print culture as it once was. Take for example the graphic novel Zé Ninguém by the Brazilian artist Alberto Serrano. The book is made up of photographs of about 150 pieces of street art intervention that Serrano performed on walls, doorways, and underpasses in the city of Rio de Janeiro. The series of photographs are arranged into panels which together stand for a narrative that tells the story of the homeless Zé Ninguém in search of his lost love Ana. Edward King in his “Between Street and Book: Textual Assemblages and Urban Topologies in Graphic Fiction from Brazil” (2018) points out that “Zé Ninguém performs a parallel between the assemblages that connect books to other media and an urban context that is composed of assemblages connecting local actions and events with global flows of images as well as human and non-human forms of agency” (223). King points out that street comics are “read” in nonlinear, partial, and fragmentary ways (224). In contrast with the book, since there is no prescribed order, every reading of the “novel” is not only different but also evanescent. Due to the precarity of graffiti, some works disappear altogether as soon as they are created (224). King observes that “Increasingly, graffiti and street artists produce work to be photographed and posted on line. The demands of online platforms . . . actively shape the work rather than merely providing a neutral vehicle for it. Artists increasingly produce images that are easily ‘shareable’ and ‘tagable’” (227). The Zé Ninguém quest reaches its apogee when his image goes viral and raises his hope that maybe Ana will “see” him. Zé Ninguém announces to his internet followers that “Nossa selfie bombou!” (Our selfie has gone wild!) (227), affirming the global, public connectivity now available.
This new public is capable of decoding and consuming texts in multiple media, in an infinite variety of forms, formats, and materialities. Although this new public itself is variegated, divided by generations, degrees of approximations marked by access to the computer or cell phone, and endowed with different degrees of education and sophistication, there is no question that the smartphone has leveled down all previous differences of class and education in access to information, arts, forms of communication, and the capacity to perform and communicate on line. This fact creates new publics and transforms the existing publics in a constant flow of new appearances. The interpretive capacity of this new public no longer depends on academic training or instruction. The appreciation of new and old aesthetic forms has entered a free fall atmosphere in which multiple interpretations and preferences can hold on the same day in the internet. The history of taste and canon building has entered an unparallel transformative stage in which Indigenous video competes with novels that dwell on the deepest exploration of the abject while mimicking the formats of email communication.
This huge demotic new dimension of mass culture has proven a challenge and stimulus to the well-established forms and institutions of print culture, of which literature was and remains the crown jewel. Literature retains its special capacity to invent credibly the existence of new subjectivities, while at the same time remaining aware of its own discursive status. Literature has been aware of the possibility of its own dissolution throughout the twentieth century as each avant garde wave challenged the terms of representation forged by the previous generation, only to emerge with the power of unthinkable forms and discourses. Digitization is not a challenge only to literature. All the art forms, from music to painting, are subject to the same forces of unlimited reproduction, fragmentation, decomposition, and recomposition brought about by the power of a world without originals. Will the digital age transform literature beyond recognition or will it open new spaces for the unique and indispensable critical capacity of literature?
Perhaps at this juncture we need to say, with Borges in 1930, that we
