Shrinking and Breathing

My takes from Time of the Doves by Rodoreda

About halfway through Time of the Doves by Rodoreda, I started to realize that Natàlia’s suffering isn’t just about Quimet. It’s about the people he surrounds himself with — and the people she does. The novel quietly shows how the people around Natàlia either shrink her or help her breathe.

Take Quimet and his friend Cintet. Their world revolves around themselves — the doves, the patrols, politics, their own grievances. Even when Natàlia tries to protect Quimet from stress, she becomes the problem. When she tells Cintet to “stop bothering Quimet and not get him all worked up about the patrols because they had enough headaches already” (pg. 107), Cintet doesn’t reflect — he punishes her, refusing to look her in the eye for a week. His loyalty lies entirely with Quimet. In that circle, masculinity is backed by silence and solidarity, not accountability.

Mateu is more complicated. He is gentler, more emotionally available, and clearly different from Quimet. But he does nothing. He doesn’t actively back Quimet’s mistreatment of Natàlia, yet he never challenges it either. He is trapped within the social codes of the time — codes that discouraged men from interfering in another man’s marriage. His silence isn’t violent, but it is complicit. Rodoreda seems to suggest that patriarchy survives not only through domineering men like Quimet, but also through the quiet compliance of “good” men who don’t step in.

Then there is Senyora Enriqueta — one of the few characters who actually listens to Natàlia. When Natàlia confides in her about the doves, Enriqueta “put in her two cents’ worth and told her she had no character, that she would have put an end to it by now and she’d never let anybody do something like that to her” (pg. 101). It’s a harsh comment, but it comes from frustration on Natàlia’s behalf. Unlike Quimet and his friends, Enriqueta sees her suffering. She challenges her to resist.

Still, I can’t help but feel that even Enriqueta underestimates how trapped Natàlia is — economically, socially, emotionally. By the time Natàlia contemplates killing her children and herself, we’re not witnessing cruelty; we’re witnessing complete psychological exhaustion. If there is nothing left to give and no relief in sight, her logic becomes distorted by desperation. It’s devastating — but understandable.

What moved me most is that Natàlia survives. The “timely intervention” that stops her marks the beginning of something new — not loud empowerment, not dramatic rebellion, but a slow rebuilding.

So maybe the real question is this: Does Natàlia ever truly develop “character,” as Enriqueta defines it — or does she develop something else entirely by the end?