Name: A hora da estrela
ISBN: 9788532530660

Clarice Lispector

A hora da estrela

rida

“Meanwhile the clouds are white and the sky is all blue. Why so much God. Why not a little for men.”

And if one thinks about it carefully, aren't we all mere accidents of nature? […] In fact, I sometimes think that I am not me. I seem to belong to a remote planet, I am such a stranger unto myself. Can this be me? 

Should I divulge that she adored soldiers? She was mad about them. Whenever she caught sight of a soldier, she would think, trembling with excitement: is he going to murder me?

The girl didn't dare ask why she was always being punished. One doesn't have to know everything and not knowing became an important factor in her life.

Not knowing sounds awful, but it was not so awful for the girl knew lots of things just as a dog knows how to wag its tail or a beggar how to feel hungry: things happen and you suddenly know. No one would teach her how to die one day: yet one day she would surely die as if she had already learned by heart how to play the starring role.

In any case, the future looked brighter. The future, at least, had the advantage of not being the present, and the worse can always take a turn for the better.

But I am no longer sure of myself: I must ask, without knowing whom I should ask, if it is really necessary to love the man who slays me; to ask who among you is slaying me.

But the emptiness has the value and appearance of plenty. 

I know splendid adjectives, meaty nouns, and verbs so slender that they travel sharp through the air about to go into action, since words are actions, don’t you agree?

Who hasn’t ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

I write because I have nothing else to do in the world: I was left over and there is no place for me in the world of men. 

Actually even the worst childhood is always enchanted, how awful. 

Is this me? I am frightened to encounter myself. 

Isabela Miranda Araujo

De uma coisa tenho certeza: essa narrativa mexerá com uma coisa delicada: a criação de uma pessoa que na certa está tão viva quanto eu. Cuidai dela porque meu poder é só mostrá-la para que vós a reconheçais na rua, andando de leve por causa da esvoaçada magreza. E se for triste a minha narrativa? Depois na certa escreverei algo alegre, embora alegre por quê? Porque também sou um homem de hosanas e um dia, quem sabe, cantarei loas que não as dificuldades da nordestina.

E quero aceitar minha liberdade sem pensar o que muitos acham: que existir é coisa de doido, caso de loucura. Porque parece. Existir não é lógico.

Escrevo por não ter nada a fazer no mundo: sobrei e não há lugar para mim na terra dos homens. Escrevo porque sou um desesperado e estou cansado, não suporto mais a rotina de me ser e se não fosse a sempre novidade que é escrever, eu me morreria simbolicamente todos os dias.

[...]conheceria ela algum dia do amor o seu adeus? Conheceria algum dia do amor os seus desmaios? Teria a seu modo o doce voo? De nada sei. Que se há de fazer com a verdade de que todo mundo é um pouco triste e um pouco só.

raia – inactive

How do you start at the beginning, if things happen before they happen?

Clarice Lispector died of cancer at the age of fifty-six on 9th December 1977. 'The hour of the star' was published that same year and acclaimed by the critics as 'a regional allegory' of extraordinary awareness and insight. Lispector herself defined 'The hour of the star' as a book 'made without words...a mute photograph...a silence...a question'. The tale of Macabea can be read at different levels and lends itself to various interpretations. The book's subtle interplay of fiction and philosophy sums up Lispector's unique talent as a writer and her lasting influence on contemporary Brazilian writing.

The Hour of the Star

₊˚⊹♡

Not plot-driven friendly, but intriguing nonetheless. A poetic take on misery, and a world that keeps stomping on the vulnerable.

“Aku sendirian di dunia dan aku tidak percaya pada siapa pun, semua orang berbohong, bahkan kadang pada waktu bercinta, aku tidak berpikir seseorang bisa berbicara dengan yang lain, kebenaran hanya datang kepadaku ketika aku sendirian.”

Ia bernama Macabéa, seorang gadis naif dari wilayah timur laut Brasil yang miskin. Tinggal di kota Rio de Janeiro yang hiruk pikuk, keberadaan Macabéa ditandai dengan ketidaksadaran akan penderitaannya sendiri. Pertemuannya dengan seorang peramal memberinya pengharapan tentang pergantian nasib, namun takdir mempunyai rencana berbeda. Novel yang menghantui ini merupakan salah satu karya utama Clarice Lispector, merangkai narasi kepolosan yang dihancurkan oleh kenyataan pahit, menantang pembaca untuk menghadapi kesenjangan hidup yang mencolok mata.

Waktu Bintang

when i finished reading this i was mystified by how many 5 star reviews this book got. i could not resist reading through the reviews & i think 

this book suffered the same problem i had with 

 as always in lispector's) prose & writing style, AWFULLLLLLLLLL narrator that affected my rating of the book. oh my god the way most of my annotations towards the latter end of the book were just eyerolling him!!! sekitar 40 halaman pertama aku masih suka keseluruhan diskusi-meta tentang menulis-atau-tidaklah yang narator ini rasakan tentang (ceritanya) Macabéa, tetapi saat ia menulis pada hal. 43: 

"Mimpi-mimpi ini, begitu banyak interioritas, kosong karena tidak memiliki inti esensial dari pengalaman sebelumnya

 SIAPA LO ANJ?????????? maaf kemarahannya meluap-luap soalnya hal ini juga aku rasakan tentang narasi 

 oleh Pessoa. anggapan bahwa orang lain yang "biasa"; para "normies" "NPC" semuanya dangkal dan tidak memiliki interioritas yang patut dikulik itu merupakan jalanan licin ke gampangnya mendehumanisasi satu sama lain. lah kan ada konteks kenapa mereka bisa 

 se"dangkal" itu? why is your curiosity only stopping there? why are you presenting their lack of depth as inherent?!?!?! framing Macabéa's actions, her lack of self-preserverance, as something mysterious when you know damn well why that is. i can't seem to separate Macabéa the character vs. her as a representation of impoverished women all across the Global South being gazed upon this haughty man who feels the authority for her story to be written by him, that 

 alone understands her implicit — woe is her, to not know just how unhappy she is. WHO ARE YOU???? just because she doesn't know how to word it out explicitly doesn't mean she doesn't 

it in her marrows; in the way she doesn't correct anyone's misunderstanding of her words, the way she doesn't stand up for herself.

madina

when i finished reading this i was mystified by how many 5 star reviews this book got. i could not resist reading through the reviews & i think @clubsoda's review summed it up for me.

this book suffered the same problem i had with My Year of Rest and Relaxation — good (in moshfegh's case, amazing as always in lispector's) prose & writing style, AWFULLLLLLLLLL narrator that affected my rating of the book. oh my god the way most of my annotations towards the latter end of the book were just eyerolling him!!! sekitar 40 halaman pertama aku masih suka keseluruhan diskusi-meta tentang menulis-atau-tidaklah yang narator ini rasakan tentang (ceritanya) Macabéa, tetapi saat ia menulis pada hal. 43: "Mimpi-mimpi ini, begitu banyak interioritas, kosong karena tidak memiliki inti esensial dari pengalaman sebelumnya—ekstase, katakanlah begitu." SIAPA LO ANJ?????????? maaf kemarahannya meluap-luap soalnya hal ini juga aku rasakan tentang narasi The Book of Disquiet oleh Pessoa. anggapan bahwa orang lain yang "biasa"; para "normies" "NPC" semuanya dangkal dan tidak memiliki interioritas yang patut dikulik itu merupakan jalanan licin ke gampangnya mendehumanisasi satu sama lain. lah kan ada konteks kenapa mereka bisa terlihat se"dangkal" itu? why is your curiosity only stopping there? why are you presenting their lack of depth as inherent?!?!?! framing Macabéa's actions, her lack of self-preserverance, as something mysterious when you know damn well why that is. i can't seem to separate Macabéa the character vs. her as a representation of impoverished women all across the Global South being gazed upon this haughty man who feels the authority for her story to be written by him, that he alone understands her implicit — woe is her, to not know just how unhappy she is. WHO ARE YOU???? just because she doesn't know how to word it out explicitly doesn't mean she doesn't feel it in her marrows; in the way she doesn't correct anyone's misunderstanding of her words, the way she doesn't stand up for herself.

Living in the slums of Rio and eking out a living as a typist, Macabéa loves movies, Coca-Cola and her philandering rat of a boyfriend; she would like to be like Marilyn Monroe, but she is ugly and unloved. Yet telling her story is the narrator Rodrigo S.M., who tries to direct Macabéa's fate but comes to realize that, for all her outward misery, she is inwardly free. Slyly subverting ideas of poverty, identity, love and the art of writing itself, Clarice Lispector's audacious last novel is a haunting portrayal of innocence in a bad world.

Hour of the Star

My God, I just remembered that we die. But me too?

Eva Cace

The Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispector's consummate final novel, may well be her masterpiece. Narrated by the cosmopolitan Rodrigo S.M., this brief, strange, and haunting tale is the story of Macabéa, one of life's unfortunates. Living in the slums of Rio and eking out a poor living as a typist, Macabéa loves movies, Coca-Cola, and her rat of a boyfriend; she would like to be like Marilyn Monroe, but she is ugly, underfed, sickly, and unloved. Rodrigo recoils from her wretchedness, and yet he cannot avoid the realization that for all her outward misery, Macabéa is inwardly free. She doesn't seem to know how unhappy she should be. As Macabéa heads toward her absurd death, Lispector employs her pathetic heroine against her urbane, empty narrator--edge of despair to edge of despair--and, working them like a pair of scissors, she cuts away the reader's preconceived notions about poverty, identity, love, and the art of fiction. In her last book she takes readers close to the true mystery of life and leaves us deep in Lispector territory indeed.

100th Anniversary Edition

“who hasn’t ever wondered: am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?”

i’m a bit confused why the hour of the star is considered her last novel. i thought a breath of life was her final novel..? is it that the hour of the star was finished and published while she was still alive, and a breath of life was unfinished?

while we’re on the topic, i think there are many interesting comparisons one can make between the hour of the star and a breath of life. they both include complex relationships between the narrator and protagonist. despite their differences, i do wonder how much of these four characters bled into one another near the end of clarice’s life

i think this quote from the introduction sums up what to expect: 

“[the narrative] moves from a deep awareness about the tragedy of being alive to a sly allowance for the fact that existence is a comedy.”

i circled back to this quote from the introduction after reaching the halfway mark in the book and.... yeah, it’s just a perfect description. this book is uniquely funny and satirical but still just as profound as i always expect from ms. clarice

i love love love macabéa and find her to be one of clarice’s most beautiful and uniquely human protagonists. her character and her relationship with the world and other people was easily my favorite part of this book

“it’s so good to be alive, don’t you think?”

it’s interesting to me that this is clarice’s most popular book when it feels the closest to the real world. many of her other books feel like you’re either sinking into the ground or soaring into the sky, but in the hour of the star, and in the company of macabéa.... instead of being pulled into clarice’s mind, clarice is renting space in yours 

smile??

“who hasn’t ever wondered: am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?” (p.7)

i’m a bit confused why the hour of the star is considered her last novel. i thought a breath of life was her final novel..? is it that the hour of the star was finished and published while she was still alive, and a breath of life was unfinished?

while we’re on the topic, i think there are many interesting comparisons one can make between the hour of the star and a breath of life. they both include complex relationships between the narrator and protagonist. despite their differences, i do wonder how much of these four characters bled into one another near the end of clarice’s life

i think this quote from the introduction sums up what to expect: “[the narrative] moves from a deep awareness about the tragedy of being alive to a sly allowance for the fact that existence is a comedy.” (p.xi)

i circled back to this quote from the introduction after reaching the halfway mark in the book and.... yeah, it’s just a perfect description. this book is uniquely funny and satirical but still just as profound as i always expect from ms. clarice

i love love love macabéa and find her to be one of clarice’s most beautiful and uniquely human protagonists. her character and her relationship with the world and other people was easily my favorite part of this book

“it’s so good to be alive, don’t you think?” (p.43)

it’s interesting to me that this is clarice’s most popular book when it feels the closest to the real world. many of her other books feel like you’re either sinking into the ground or soaring into the sky, but in the hour of the star, and in the company of macabéa.... instead of being pulled into clarice’s mind, clarice is renting space in yours 

(explosion)

I love the way that Lispector writes like wowowowwww

Reese Claro

Pouco antes de morrer, em 1977, Clarice Lispector decide se afastar da inflexão intimista que caracteriza sua escrita para desafiar a realidade. O resultado desse salto na extroversão é A hora da estrela, o livro mais surpreendente que escreveu. Se desde Perto do coração selvagem, seu romance de estreia, Clarice estava de corpo inteiro, todo o tempo, no centro de seus relatos, agora a cena é ocupada por personagens que em nada se parecem com ela. A nordestina Macabéa, a protagonista de A hora da estrela, é uma mulher miserável, que mal tem consciência de existir. Depois de perder seu único elo com o mundo, uma velha tia, ela viaja para o Rio, onde aluga um quarto, se emprega como datilógrafa e gasta suas horas ouvindo a Rádio Relógio. Apaixona-se, então, por Olímpico de Jesus, um metalúrgico nordestino, que logo a trai com uma colega de trabalho. Desesperada, Macabéa consulta uma cartomante, que lhe prevê um futuro luminoso, bem diferente do que a espera. Clarice cria até um falso autor para seu livro, o narrador Rodrigo S.M., mas nem assim consegue se esconder. O desejo de desaparecimento, que a morte real logo depois consolidaria, se frustra. Entre a realidade e o delírio, buscando social enquanto sua alma a engolfava, Clarice escreveu um livro singular. A hora da estrela é um romance sobre o desamparo a que, apesar do consolo da linguagem, todos estamos entregues. — JOSÉ CASTELLO, Jornalista, escritor e Mestre em Comunicação pela UFRJ

Como a cabeça dessa tal Clarice funcionava?

Heron 

In a haunting psychological tale of despair and freedom, Macabea is ugly, underfed, sickly, and unloved yet she fascinates Rodrigo because she is unaware of how unhappy she should be

gosh, such beautiful prose, both tragic and comic I don’t know how to explain (like Macabéa). But what a skinny legend this is!!! absolutely floored by her writing—artistic, enigmatic, introspective, quiet but profound. It’s difficult to encapsulate the essence of this book with words, what lies beyond the lines and the true depth it delivers despite it being such a thin novella. it’s literary art, in every page that could only be experienced by the reader. 

maderinn⟢

this book is made of nothing, a meditation on writing that comprises three interconnected layers: the narrator, macabéa, and clarice herself as they challenge each other on how to face the story and the layers that continue to flow throughout the pulses created in the book. it feels like they are all annoyed with each other and i love it. the story intentionally fails here and is being told very poorly as a way to show how language fails people like macabéa.

personality really comes out through the writing i think this book is magnificent. so much questions so much meditations on life that has no answers and no meaning. book feels so unfinished but it feels so intentional as a way to express that a life so small and unseen feels like a moral failure and yet as a writer it must be told no matter how devastating the writer deems it to be — symbolic of what a brutal world does to the story written by a form of humanity who doesn’t believe in it. this is perfect.

this book is made of nothing, a meditation on writing that comprises three interconnected layers: the narrator, macabéa, and clarice herself as they challenge each other on how to face the story and the layers that continue to flow throughout the pulses created in the book. it feels like they are all annoyed with each other and i love it. the story intentionally fails here and is being told very poorly as a way to show how language fails people like macabéa.

personality really comes out through the writing i think this book is magnificent. so much questions so much meditations on life that has no answers and no meaning. book feels so unfinished but it feels so intentional as a way to express that a life so small and unseen feels like a moral failure and yet as a writer it must be told no matter how devastating the writer deems it to be — symbolic of what a brutal world does to the story written by a form of humanity who doesn’t believe in it. this is perfect.

laru

o fato de que eu li tres livros esse ano é chocante #bookaholic

mudou minha vida

toda vez q eu achar q minha vida ta ruim eu vou lembrar dela mds macabea vc sempre viverá nos nossos pensamentos

Doesn't feels like a book, more like a mirror held up to the parts of life we try not to look at. Not feel-good read, yes, since the book will wreck you quietly. If you crave literary that hurts beautifully and philosophical mind spirals this is 1000% for you.

on invisibility, on girlhood, on poverty, on denied desires. clarice tells it in this broken, hesitant voice that feels like watching someone breathe for the last time. i’ll keep returning to it.

something this short holds so much.
on invisibility, on girlhood, on poverty, on denied desires. clarice tells it in this broken, hesitant voice that feels like watching someone breathe for the last time. i’ll keep returning to it.

Had to get to page 20 before it was less hard work but very unusual and impressive. She’s a super cool writer and I thought it had a lot of impact. Confusing though 

Saskia Hughes 

This book is a silence. This book is a question.”

sometimes you read a book and can’t help but think, “this is a gift.” the hour of the star is my first book by Lispector, and i feel like i’ve opened a door to my favorite place on earth.

Anyway, it’s true that I too have no pity for my main character, the northeastern girl: it’s a story I want to be cold. But I have the right to be sadly cold, and you don’t. So that’s why I won’t let you. This isn’t just a narrative, it’s above all primary life that breathes, breathes, breathes”

what else can i say but that i loved everything this story had to offer? i can’t decide yet if the star was our main character Macabéa or her narrator, Rodrigo S.M. “

The one who knows too little, or the one who knows too much

i think this piece of metafiction is a powerful example of the idea that 

we don’t see things as they are, but as we are.

 in just 94 pages, it manages to strip the main character of everything that would make her complex, and yet, in that “nothingness,” we still find a deep resonance of the human spirit. it also offers a social critique of poverty, particularly the distant gaze with which the privileged class views said poverty. because only those who have never lacked knowledge could think ignorance is real freedom. furthermore, it’s a story that challenges the narrator’s authority and invites us into the process of a writer’s creation of their characters, showing how they will forever be interlinked.

“If the girl knew that my own joy also comes from my deepest sadness and that sadness was a failed joy.”

oof, i just want to read every literary analysis out there on this book because the language, the structure, and the intention held all my attention; and now have all my praise.

i really can’t wait to continue reading more of Lispector’s work.

“This book is a silence. This book is a question.”

sometimes you read a book and can’t help but think, “this is a gift.” the hour of the star is my first book by Lispector, and i feel like i’ve opened a door to my favorite place on earth.

“Anyway, it’s true that I too have no pity for my main character, the northeastern girl: it’s a story I want to be cold. But I have the right to be sadly cold, and you don’t. So that’s why I won’t let you. This isn’t just a narrative, it’s above all primary life that breathes, breathes, breathes”

what else can i say but that i loved everything this story had to offer? i can’t decide yet if the star was our main character Macabéa or her narrator, Rodrigo S.M. “The one who knows too little, or the one who knows too much.”

i think this piece of metafiction is a powerful example of the idea that we don’t see things as they are, but as we are. in just 94 pages, it manages to strip the main character of everything that would make her complex, and yet, in that “nothingness,” we still find a deep resonance of the human spirit. it also offers a social critique of poverty, particularly the distant gaze with which the privileged class views said poverty. because only those who have never lacked knowledge could think ignorance is real freedom. furthermore, it’s a story that challenges the narrator’s authority and invites us into the process of a writer’s creation of their characters, showing how they will forever be interlinked.

“If the girl knew that my own joy also comes from my deepest sadness and that sadness was a failed joy.”

oof, i just want to read every literary analysis out there on this book because the language, the structure, and the intention held all my attention; and now have all my praise.

i really can’t wait to continue reading more of Lispector’s work.

unsettling but astute account of poverty via the male gaze directed at a girl. the voyeurism strips naked macabea's existence, making it extremely uncomfortable to experience, and although he does not veer into outrightly sexualising her, the mania through which the unnamed narrator describes macabea might as well be. on the other hand, he handles her as he would a feather. this points to a deeper truth of a strand of obsession, of an unrelenting lust that crumbles into discomfort for the recipient. think: squeezing too tightly and bruising a petal that one wanted to simply gently touch. 

the events of the final portion makes clear how individuals can be unaware of their material conditions, and how easily it is to lapse into indignity that appears soteriological 

Ghee

unsettling but astute account of poverty via the male gaze directed at a girl. the voyeurism strips naked macabea's existence, making it extremely uncomfortable to experience, and although he does not veer into outrightly sexualising her, the mania through which the unnamed narrator describes macabea might as well be. on the other hand, he handles her as he would a feather. this points to a deeper truth of a strand of obsession, of an unrelenting lust that crumbles into discomfort for the recipient. think: squeezing too tightly and bruising a petal that one wanted to simply gently touch. 

the events of the final portion makes clear how individuals can be unaware of their material conditions, and how easily it is to lapse into indignity that appears soteriological 

snappy read too! 80-odd pages

First ever Clarice Lispector read and one I thoroughly enjoyed. Is it worth it to want? To desire? I envied Macabéa at some points; she possessed true freedom   

tomika

this book gave me a raging headache (complimentary)

abi a

Maybe self-referential to a fault towards the end, but I have never read a book that takes such gentle, painstaking care of the image of its hero, such assured control over how she will be remembered. 

Alex Noble

Último livro escrito por Clarice Lispector, A hora da estrela é também uma despedida. Lançada pouco antes de sua morte em 1977, a obra conta os momentos de criação do escritor Rodrigo S. M. (a própria Clarice) narrando a história de Macabéa, uma alagoana órfã, virgem e solitária, criada por uma tia tirana, que a leva para o Rio de Janeiro, onde trabalha como datilógrafa. Em A hora da estrela Clarice escreve sabendo que a morte está próxima e põe um pouco de si nas personagens Rodrigo e Macabéa. Ele, um escritor à espera da morte; ela, uma solitária que gosta de ouvir a Rádio Relógio e que passou a infância no Nordeste, como Clarice. A despedida de Clarice é uma obra instigante e inovadora. Como diz o personagem Rodrigo, "estou escrevendo na hora mesma em que sou lido". É Clarice contando uma história e, ao mesmo tempo, revelando ao leitor seu processo de criação e sua angústia diante da vida e da morte. Macabéa, a nordestina, cumpre seu destino sem reclamar. Feia, magra, sem entender muito bem o que se passa à sua volta, é maltratada pelo namorado Olímpico e pela colega Glória. Os dois são o seu oposto: o metalúrgico Olímpico sonha alto e quer ser deputado, e Glória, carioca da gema e gorda, tem família e hora certa para comer. Os dois acabam juntos, enquanto Macabéa, sozinha, continua a viver sem saber por que está vivendo, sem pensar no futuro nem sonhar com uma vida melhor. Até que um dia, seguindo uma recomendação de Glória, procura a cartomante Carlota, uma ex-prostituta do Mangue, que revela a Macabéa toda a inutilidade de sua vida. Mas também enche-a de esperança, prevendo a paixão por um estrangeiro rico, com quem ela iria se casar.

Me peguei lendo A Hora da Estrela meio desprevinida, talvez sem a atenção ou sem o entendimento preciso.

Mesmo assim, Clarice Lispector consegue ser surpreendente e inexperada, com um humor mórbido escondido na vida miserável de Macabéa.

soir

Me peguei lendo A Hora da Estrela meio desprevinida, talvez sem a atenção ou sem o entendimento preciso.

Mesmo assim, Clarice Lispector consegue ser surpreendente e inexperada, com um humor mórbido escondido na vida miserável de Macabéa.

Read it a little too fast because I needed to drop it back off at the library today! I was SO enamored with Lispector’s forward to the book, much more than the book itself. Definitely excited to sink my teeth into some different titles of hers. The experimental prose worked really well at times but at other points it didn’t land for me. I’ll probably revisit this one after reading some more of her work.

Been reading a lot of novellas for the first time this summer and this is the 3rd one in a row I’ve read that ends in death! Is this a thing?? Is novella just 70-100 pages and then boom main character or narrator dies? 

“And now —now all I can do is light a cigarette and go home.

My God, I just remembered that we die. But —but me too?!

Don't forget that for now it's strawberry season.

Annie Millman

Read it a little too fast because I needed to drop it back off at the library today! I was SO enamored with Lispector’s forward to the book, much more than the book itself. Definitely excited to sink my teeth into some different titles of hers. The experimental prose worked really well at times but at other points it didn’t land for me. I’ll probably revisit this one after reading some more of her work.

SPOILERS AHEAD

Been reading a lot of novellas for the first time this summer and this is the 3rd one in a row I’ve read that ends in death! Is this a thing?? Is novella just 70-100 pages and then boom main character or narrator dies? 

Loved the last line so much…

“And now —now all I can do is light a cigarette and go home.

My God, I just remembered that we die. But —but me too?!

Don't forget that for now it's strawberry season.

Yes.”

júlia dornelas

unconventional prose. i fear i may not have completely understood what she was trying to say (the fault is on my end). this is one of those stories where you just know the main character would not live "happily ever after"; her story starts in tragedy and in tragedy it will end.  

Ren 

my first Clarice Lispector's book and definitely won't be the last.

described many emotions i didn’t even know i had. i totally understand the appeal of her prose, and i think i’d like it even more in a setting where characters and stories could be more fleshed out. i am definitely planning on reading one of her longer novels soon. 

bella <3

01010111 01000010

Oh yes, to have a Mercedes Benz, a yellow one, preferably a Pagoda, 1977 model, would be a dream.

Second Lispector I've read. I've always thought Lispector is a master in creating madness from the mundane, and this one I think cements that reputation. Rodrigo S.M. is such an invention, a narrator so unserious yet at some point one might be misled that he's the main character.

Told in the perspective of another narrator, telling the accounts of someone else's life, it's as if we're to keep a skeptical outlook on things, to only look at the accounts on a testimonium de auditu basis and second guess every bit of it, or is it the gist of it? The perspective transition went so smoothly it's barely noticeable, and then suddenly like a wrecking ball it went full gonzo and broke the fourth wall.

Pretty experimental for my uncultured arse, short, yet dense with obscure references, one of my best reads this year, or is it? Oh well, all I could do now is light a cigarette and go perhaps, ah yes, is it Persimmon season yet?