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4.33 AVERAGE
4.33 AVERAGE
challenging
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
A tough book to read makes a tough book to review. Pessoa’s “The Book Of Disquiet” is repetitive and self indulgent, but should we expect much different from what is basically a collection of diary-like entries that explore the psyche of the writer from every possible angle? Even if we don’t hold The B. Of D. to the standard of novels (because it isn’t one) it’s still a bit disappointing because there are moments of genius that ignite with a glorious blaze, only to be snuffed out seconds later by the tiresome ramblings that rehash territory that was already covered. No doubt, Pessoa’s dedication to working on The B. of D. over the course of decades is impressive, but it’s also unfortunate because any work that goes on that long is bound to have continuity issues, plus a need for a God-like editor. Unsurprisingly, The Book reads essentially like an authentically unedited journal, one by a writer that showed little-to-no restraint because he was still in the drafting stage. That just means that The B. of D. falls very short of reaching its full potential, and it’s too bad Pessoa wasn’t able to complete this work, because I suspect he would be just as unhappy with its current state as I am.
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
hopeful
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
over 200 highlights in the epub. a lifetime read.
emotional
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I will treat this book with the proper reverence due. Seeing as The author is far more laconic, and sagacious than I… than I... My radio station is giving away Tix for Lisbon, an all expenses paid luxury vacation! I called and called, and got no answer. Going to Lisbon would fix all of my problems. It's attainable to reach into far distances w/ planning and coordination, but infeasible to rely on the luck of a radio sweepstake. the big unattainable dream of nothing. I mimic purplescence badly.
Here’s my dream; in poetry courses don’t learn poetry, learn the different styles and how to write them. How to write a limerick, a sonnet, or haiku. Even the simple art of haiku is lost. In painting classes, learn art history, and how to use mixing techniques like tempera. Not, simply, painting pictures. In band, learn how to play an instrument, not simply how to march to a beat like a f*cking cadet in boot camp. Learn how to write in cursive!
Admitting it is a conversational piece of lit, not unlike the raving lunacy of Henry Miller, but beautiful and depressing. Numerous literature from authors compels the excitable admiration of followers. painstakingly febrile semantics; this isn’t even one of those novels that I find worthwhile reading. I read to gather information, not to feel. I seem to have lost feeling.
Fernando enumerates that the only meaning to life is in the writing of it. It is as necessary to keep track of projects as breathing. It is not necessary to take opium to be happy. It is necessary to find talents and abilities to pass the unbearable hours of awakening. These things that are positive, liberating, and astonishing.
I envy after knowledge, I want chemistry, I want language, and algebra, and everything this life of mine could not fit into the daylight. I don't want to sleep, ip; I can't afford to dream. Only to make the best of it. After all these years, I still have the time of my life doing this.
I am not astonished, I am complacent. The Book of Disquiet was no more significant to me than the next book I’m reading_ and this is the only meaning that my life has.
Here’s my dream; in poetry courses don’t learn poetry, learn the different styles and how to write them. How to write a limerick, a sonnet, or haiku. Even the simple art of haiku is lost. In painting classes, learn art history, and how to use mixing techniques like tempera. Not, simply, painting pictures. In band, learn how to play an instrument, not simply how to march to a beat like a f*cking cadet in boot camp. Learn how to write in cursive!
Admitting it is a conversational piece of lit, not unlike the raving lunacy of Henry Miller, but beautiful and depressing. Numerous literature from authors compels the excitable admiration of followers. painstakingly febrile semantics; this isn’t even one of those novels that I find worthwhile reading. I read to gather information, not to feel. I seem to have lost feeling.
Fernando enumerates that the only meaning to life is in the writing of it. It is as necessary to keep track of projects as breathing. It is not necessary to take opium to be happy. It is necessary to find talents and abilities to pass the unbearable hours of awakening. These things that are positive, liberating, and astonishing.
I envy after knowledge, I want chemistry, I want language, and algebra, and everything this life of mine could not fit into the daylight. I don't want to sleep, ip; I can't afford to dream. Only to make the best of it. After all these years, I still have the time of my life doing this.
I am not astonished, I am complacent. The Book of Disquiet was no more significant to me than the next book I’m reading_ and this is the only meaning that my life has.
If you enjoy reading 2 pages of a book, staring into space for 10 minutes contemplating the nature of your existence, over and over again, this is the perfect book. For reference, I read the shorter Serpent’s Tail version, translated by Margaret Jull Costa. I probably will pick up the Zenith translation soon, but 262 pages was more than enough soul-searching for now.
This book is the collection of scraps of a ‘diary’ found in Pessoa’s house after he passed, and has since been collated into a book. Hence, it is not chronological, and follows the flow of themes, the ebb and flow of a tedious life. However, Pessoa didn’t (sort of) write this diary. The Book of Disquiet follows the life of a Lisbon bookseller, Bernardo Soares. This is one of Pessoa’s heteronyms - more than a different name he is writing under, but an entirely unique personality with his own life. This alone blows me away. Soares was real - he just lives in a mind, rather than on Earth. At one point, Soares quotes a writer named Alberto Caerio (another heteronym!!). The quote - “I am equal in size to whatever I see, Not hemmed in by the size I am” is a stark contrast to Soares’ philosophy - evidence of the depth of genius held by Pessoa. No idea, concept or fundamental way of living was outside of his understanding. M m
There are many themes in this book - sleep, nature, work and love. But they are all tied together with a profound existential nature. Soares lives his life in a state of tedium - not torpor - and the passages that speak about this are incredibly powerful. He describes tedium as “the physical sensation of chaos, and if the fact chaos is everything”. To explain, he goes on to say “someone afflicted by tedium feels himself the prisoner of a futile freedom in a cell of infinite size … But the walls of an infinite cell cannot crumble and bury us, since they do not exist, nor can we claim as proof of our existence the pain caused by handcuffs no one has placed around our wrists”. Such an abstract, yet entirely clear example. For another, “my muscles are weary from movements I never considered making”. Soares spends lots of time reflecting on what it is to think, compared to feeling, and how thinking is the best way to imprison a man in the world and restrict his true freedom. I can’t think about these descriptions; they only make sense when you feel them.
Soares also reflects copiously on dreams, and sleep. Soares rarely can sleep, and feels his physical fatigue is just a representation of the “half-souled state” in which he spends his days.
What it means to dream. Dreams mean everything to Soares, they are the only way we can achieve freedom - because they mean nothing. The paradox of nothing meaning everything is a key component of his philosophy. To extend this further, how indifference is the path to meaning. “The greatest self-discipline one can achieve is indifference towards oneself, believing oneself, body and soul, to be merely the house and garden in which Destiny has ordained one should spend one’s life”. The world has no meaning, the universe is there in all its glory and beauty, but that is simply a neutral fact. To achieve serenity is not boundless ecstasy, but plain recognition. Soares way of life is not depressing per se (despite his abject depression), it just happens. Meaning is derived from the freedom from not only the meaningless world unaware of one’s existence, but the freedom from oneself - “to consciously unknow oneself, that is the right path to follow”. For me, this opened my philosophically-untrained mind to the power existentialism can hold; I had naively lumped it in with nihilism.
In addition, Soares differentiates from nihilism with his view on the lack of knowledge of the future. Today may not matter, but that is no reason for tomorrow not mattering by default. Anything new is in that moment to be appreciated, recognised, and will never be seen again by nature of time. Once again, for neither better nor worse. Just as it is. Tomorrow will be different. It is a falsehood to suggest it will contain any particular emotion.
Aside from the philosophical nature of this book, there is significant reflection on the power of prose. As spoke about above, how one loses the ability to describe their feelings accurately as they age. By accuracy, I mean with the removal of any social construct, merely describing what is truly going on. For an example, how an adult may say when sad “I feel I am about to cry”, whereas a child may say “I feel there are tears coming”. The power of words, grammar and individual expression in writing is a (rare) point of passion for Soares. As someone who has never studied literature, this was really interesting. It gives more of an understanding of the writing of any book I will read from now on, and the insight it can give into the authors psyche.
I won’t give any more thoughts on this book, as an essay can be written on near every sentence he writes (by someone far smarter than me). To truly experience the power of this book, it must be read. Purely for the fact that Soares’ ideas have such depth of meaning, by nature it will be different for everyone. In 262 pages, I think I marked about 50 passages that I just don’t think I can allow myself to forget. All I would say is wait until you’re pretty confident in your own understanding of meaning - we don’t want unnecessary existential crises.
This book is the collection of scraps of a ‘diary’ found in Pessoa’s house after he passed, and has since been collated into a book. Hence, it is not chronological, and follows the flow of themes, the ebb and flow of a tedious life. However, Pessoa didn’t (sort of) write this diary. The Book of Disquiet follows the life of a Lisbon bookseller, Bernardo Soares. This is one of Pessoa’s heteronyms - more than a different name he is writing under, but an entirely unique personality with his own life. This alone blows me away. Soares was real - he just lives in a mind, rather than on Earth. At one point, Soares quotes a writer named Alberto Caerio (another heteronym!!). The quote - “I am equal in size to whatever I see, Not hemmed in by the size I am” is a stark contrast to Soares’ philosophy - evidence of the depth of genius held by Pessoa. No idea, concept or fundamental way of living was outside of his understanding. M m
There are many themes in this book - sleep, nature, work and love. But they are all tied together with a profound existential nature. Soares lives his life in a state of tedium - not torpor - and the passages that speak about this are incredibly powerful. He describes tedium as “the physical sensation of chaos, and if the fact chaos is everything”. To explain, he goes on to say “someone afflicted by tedium feels himself the prisoner of a futile freedom in a cell of infinite size … But the walls of an infinite cell cannot crumble and bury us, since they do not exist, nor can we claim as proof of our existence the pain caused by handcuffs no one has placed around our wrists”. Such an abstract, yet entirely clear example. For another, “my muscles are weary from movements I never considered making”. Soares spends lots of time reflecting on what it is to think, compared to feeling, and how thinking is the best way to imprison a man in the world and restrict his true freedom. I can’t think about these descriptions; they only make sense when you feel them.
Soares also reflects copiously on dreams, and sleep. Soares rarely can sleep, and feels his physical fatigue is just a representation of the “half-souled state” in which he spends his days.
What it means to dream. Dreams mean everything to Soares, they are the only way we can achieve freedom - because they mean nothing. The paradox of nothing meaning everything is a key component of his philosophy. To extend this further, how indifference is the path to meaning. “The greatest self-discipline one can achieve is indifference towards oneself, believing oneself, body and soul, to be merely the house and garden in which Destiny has ordained one should spend one’s life”. The world has no meaning, the universe is there in all its glory and beauty, but that is simply a neutral fact. To achieve serenity is not boundless ecstasy, but plain recognition. Soares way of life is not depressing per se (despite his abject depression), it just happens. Meaning is derived from the freedom from not only the meaningless world unaware of one’s existence, but the freedom from oneself - “to consciously unknow oneself, that is the right path to follow”. For me, this opened my philosophically-untrained mind to the power existentialism can hold; I had naively lumped it in with nihilism.
In addition, Soares differentiates from nihilism with his view on the lack of knowledge of the future. Today may not matter, but that is no reason for tomorrow not mattering by default. Anything new is in that moment to be appreciated, recognised, and will never be seen again by nature of time. Once again, for neither better nor worse. Just as it is. Tomorrow will be different. It is a falsehood to suggest it will contain any particular emotion.
Aside from the philosophical nature of this book, there is significant reflection on the power of prose. As spoke about above, how one loses the ability to describe their feelings accurately as they age. By accuracy, I mean with the removal of any social construct, merely describing what is truly going on. For an example, how an adult may say when sad “I feel I am about to cry”, whereas a child may say “I feel there are tears coming”. The power of words, grammar and individual expression in writing is a (rare) point of passion for Soares. As someone who has never studied literature, this was really interesting. It gives more of an understanding of the writing of any book I will read from now on, and the insight it can give into the authors psyche.
I won’t give any more thoughts on this book, as an essay can be written on near every sentence he writes (by someone far smarter than me). To truly experience the power of this book, it must be read. Purely for the fact that Soares’ ideas have such depth of meaning, by nature it will be different for everyone. In 262 pages, I think I marked about 50 passages that I just don’t think I can allow myself to forget. All I would say is wait until you’re pretty confident in your own understanding of meaning - we don’t want unnecessary existential crises.
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
28. Criminy I’ve finally finished another book.
The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa. I started this snowglobe of disconnected aphoristic thoughts back in February and ended up treating it like a bathroom book, reading a few pages at a time like little 5-minute cat naps, escaping reality a moment at a time.
That’s what our narrator wants to do, escape reality via sleep and dream, but on a much larger scale. Not a cat nap but a lion coma.
I loved certain passages. Pessoa, or Richard Zenith or some combo of both, can construct a castle out of sticks. I copied quotes every few pages. But, and I may be throwing fighting words to some, it gets old. Hence the little nibbles when I typically eat a book in a few meals if not in one sitting.
Worth 5 stars for the quotes but not an easy one to get into bed with, literally or figuratively. #2025books
The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa. I started this snowglobe of disconnected aphoristic thoughts back in February and ended up treating it like a bathroom book, reading a few pages at a time like little 5-minute cat naps, escaping reality a moment at a time.
That’s what our narrator wants to do, escape reality via sleep and dream, but on a much larger scale. Not a cat nap but a lion coma.
I loved certain passages. Pessoa, or Richard Zenith or some combo of both, can construct a castle out of sticks. I copied quotes every few pages. But, and I may be throwing fighting words to some, it gets old. Hence the little nibbles when I typically eat a book in a few meals if not in one sitting.
Worth 5 stars for the quotes but not an easy one to get into bed with, literally or figuratively. #2025books
Me gusta Pessoa y suelo regalar sus libros con frecuencia. Me gusta su ironía que queda plasmada en el Banquero Anarquista que es genial. Con pena, confieso que no me gustó este libro. Coincido con algunos lectores que dicen que quizás nunca pensó realmente publicar este libro. Algunas ideas sueltas valen la pena, pero en general su excelente prosa no logra justificar un contenido que resulta.....la palabra más exacta que encuentro es "dull".