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3.81 AVERAGE
3.81 AVERAGE
Dwarfish bread, a running gag in Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, is highly coveted for its ability to keep adventurers fed no matter the circumstances. The joke is that, when faced with the prospect of biting into rock-hard dwarfish bread, suddenly everything else appears edible...
I hate to say it, because this book was lent to me as a gift, not by Maddy but by Maddy's mom, who wasn't sure how mobile I was and if the library was within my range of accessibility because, if not, here's a book I might like, it's on of her favorites — but I did not like this book. I gave it the requisite hundred pages before cashing in my chips but it's time to forego even the dwarfish bread.
There are bits I like, mind you. Reflections on Baltasar's injury, comparing the loss of a hand to the loss of a leg and tallying up the relative benefits of each hit close to home. I agree with his conclusion: losing a hand is worse. As someone walking around on what's effectively a stump I feel at least half-entitled to offer my opinion.
Also, there's this one scene, where Blimunda is first introduced to Baltasar's family that has echoes in my complaints about corporate small talk, especially when it bleeds out of the corporate realm:
"It ought to be sufficient to state what someone is called and then wait for the rest of your life to find out who he or she is, if you can ever know, but the custom is otherwise, Who were your parents, where were you born, what is your trade, and once you know these facts, you think you have learnt everything about the person."
There are other observations on human relationships that are well-identified and well-expressed. The jumbled dialogue is a treat to read, too, not knowing who's speaking and who's responding to whom. It's an impressive technical feat that Saramago pulled off.
Still, it's just boring. The plot is milquetoast and none of the characters have personality. One event follows another and, after a hundred pages, that's not enough.
I hate to say it, because this book was lent to me as a gift, not by Maddy but by Maddy's mom, who wasn't sure how mobile I was and if the library was within my range of accessibility because, if not, here's a book I might like, it's on of her favorites — but I did not like this book. I gave it the requisite hundred pages before cashing in my chips but it's time to forego even the dwarfish bread.
There are bits I like, mind you. Reflections on Baltasar's injury, comparing the loss of a hand to the loss of a leg and tallying up the relative benefits of each hit close to home. I agree with his conclusion: losing a hand is worse. As someone walking around on what's effectively a stump I feel at least half-entitled to offer my opinion.
Also, there's this one scene, where Blimunda is first introduced to Baltasar's family that has echoes in my complaints about corporate small talk, especially when it bleeds out of the corporate realm:
"It ought to be sufficient to state what someone is called and then wait for the rest of your life to find out who he or she is, if you can ever know, but the custom is otherwise, Who were your parents, where were you born, what is your trade, and once you know these facts, you think you have learnt everything about the person."
There are other observations on human relationships that are well-identified and well-expressed. The jumbled dialogue is a treat to read, too, not knowing who's speaking and who's responding to whom. It's an impressive technical feat that Saramago pulled off.
Still, it's just boring. The plot is milquetoast and none of the characters have personality. One event follows another and, after a hundred pages, that's not enough.
I'm portuguese so this is a required book at school and it is fantastic, really. I love his writing style, i love his critiques to religion and the nobles and the whole ruling system. Most of all i adore his irony. This should be on everyone's reading list.
"O pecado não existe, só há morte e vida, A vida está antes da morte, Enganas-te, Baltasar, a morte vem antes da vida, morreu quem fomos, nasce quem somos, por isso é que não morremos de vez"
Mesmo que a história seja agradável, com as duas realidades entre realeza e plebe bem descritas e divididas, o modo de escrita de Saramago é simplesmente mortal e cansativo. Foi uma luta para encontrar vontade de ler o livro até ao fim e não desistir. Nunca demorei tanto tempo a terminar um livro.
Took me 6 months to finish, not sure if that says more about me or the book. Otherwise 5 stars.
reflective
Mesmo não tendo ainda toda a bagagem e as ferramentas para devidamente compreender Saramago, eu gostei muito da leitura. Não leio muitos livros tão profundamente heteronormativos quanto esse, o que para os olhos de quem se fechou em uma bolha muito diferente do contexto desse livro, chamou muito a atenção. Dito isso, a relação, a dinâmica e a parceria de Sete-sóis e Blimunda foi o que grudou meus olhos na narrativa, além da expectativa da passarola alçar voo. Admito que fiz uma leitura dinâmica em trechos do núcleo de personagens reais e do convento.
adventurous
challenging
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
adventurous
challenging
funny
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
What does one say about a novel by Jose Saramago that hasn't been said before? Probably not much. He is perhaps one of the greatest voices of the 20th and early 21st century, a writer unlike any other, with a voice unique to himself and a humour, wit, ideal, and sense of drama that is nearly incomparable.
But I offer perhaps one, and one only - to Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Like GGM, Saramago finds a way to tell the history of a nation in a single book, add in some romance, tied together with slips of the imagination and tricks of the impossible, and gathers it in language that both demands all of our attention and seems to fall through the pages like sand rustling in a gentle stream.
And he does the miraculous, telling something about the influence of the church, the overwhelming power of the monarchy, the destruction of the natural world, and the complete disregard of the human element of labour, of monuments, of history - particularly when those humans are poor and they are incapable of telling their own story.
And he does the miraculous once more, by telling this through a chorus of humans, by channeling his energies into details that highlight the pomp and circumstance of 18th century Portugal, by adding in humour and philosophy that pull a long paragraph written in the way that a person thinks rather than how a page is written, written like it was actually a treatise on human nature rather than human folly, but then who can tell the difference between the two when there are convents to be build and palaces to imagine.
And he does the miraculous again, by making this into a romance that begins and ends in a manner that seems altogether quite unlikely, something quite unexpected. A surprising story all the way through, linked to the history of the nation and of its church and of its people who live in small towns and move to the bigger cities in the pursuit of an opportunity to survive under the unpredictable whims of both church and state.
Read this when you can.
But I offer perhaps one, and one only - to Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Like GGM, Saramago finds a way to tell the history of a nation in a single book, add in some romance, tied together with slips of the imagination and tricks of the impossible, and gathers it in language that both demands all of our attention and seems to fall through the pages like sand rustling in a gentle stream.
And he does the miraculous, telling something about the influence of the church, the overwhelming power of the monarchy, the destruction of the natural world, and the complete disregard of the human element of labour, of monuments, of history - particularly when those humans are poor and they are incapable of telling their own story.
And he does the miraculous once more, by telling this through a chorus of humans, by channeling his energies into details that highlight the pomp and circumstance of 18th century Portugal, by adding in humour and philosophy that pull a long paragraph written in the way that a person thinks rather than how a page is written, written like it was actually a treatise on human nature rather than human folly, but then who can tell the difference between the two when there are convents to be build and palaces to imagine.
And he does the miraculous again, by making this into a romance that begins and ends in a manner that seems altogether quite unlikely, something quite unexpected. A surprising story all the way through, linked to the history of the nation and of its church and of its people who live in small towns and move to the bigger cities in the pursuit of an opportunity to survive under the unpredictable whims of both church and state.
Read this when you can.
adventurous
challenging
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death