Scan barcode
webparaense's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
maduzera's review against another edition
hopeful
inspiring
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.5
Foi o primeiro livro da Clarice Lispector e já tinha ouvido falar que os livros dela não se entendem, e sim são sentidos. Pois eu já não entendia nem o que as pessoas queriam dizer com isso. Peguei esse livro e nas primeiras páginas tentei ao máximo entender tudo que ela escrevia.
Ao longo das páginas fui deixando a história seguir fluida, entendendo o que entendia, sentindo o que sentia e as vezes sentindo o que entendia também. A partir do momento que segui o livro sem tentar decifrar tudo, apreciando o fluxo de pensamentos em uma enxurrada da protagonista gostei bastante.
Gostei bastante do livro, algumas partes me deixaram pensando bastante. E acho que algumas partes não foram feitas para ser entendidas mesmo, entrando na cabeça de alguém não acho que entenderíamos tudo.
Já dizia Tyler Joseph "a kitchen sink to you is not a kitchen sink to me". Ou eu que não entendi mesmo, nesse caso faz parte KKKK diferente e envolvente a escrita dela, não vejo a hora de ler mais
radikaliseradgroda's review against another edition
4.0
Reading this book gave me a panic attack and then soothed me back down from it. Unsure of whether to give it 1 star or five, I compromise with 3.5☆.
thepaige_turner's review against another edition
1.0
UGH. Required reading is going to be the death of me.
bearsjer's review against another edition
reflective
4.0
found it moving, tapos sometimes id encounter a sentence na omg genius jud diay sha bai. pero most of the time it reads to me like a ramble na pwede pa ma edit btaw?? pero gets man na she didnt want this edited much kay for sincerity purposes!! BUT STILL
this reminds me of emerson's self reliance ONLY because 1) every now and then theres a banger quote, 2) irdk wtf shes talking about most of the time. I liked the part where she was talking about flowers tho.
I know in my heart i didnt read this the way God intended, pero since 88 pages ra sha i expect to revisit this at some point next time :D
this reminds me of emerson's self reliance ONLY because 1) every now and then theres a banger quote, 2) irdk wtf shes talking about most of the time. I liked the part where she was talking about flowers tho.
I know in my heart i didnt read this the way God intended, pero since 88 pages ra sha i expect to revisit this at some point next time :D
eima94's review against another edition
emotional
hopeful
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
5.0
casparb's review
5.0
I think Clarice is the only artist to me that matches Sydney Graham. This is the-and-yes-I-really-mean-it-Sublime.
//the word is my fourth dimension//
I am in the fullest awe - I do wish 6 stars were available. I think this may be my favourite of her novels. What on earth. I want to memorise this book. I didn't mention WSG without reason- he is to be found all over this.
//I found my counterpoint in the landscape without picturesqueness and without beauty. Ugliness is my banner of war. I love the ugly with the love of equals. And I defy death. I-I am my own death//
She is exquisite: radiant. There is a sense, in the last third of this novel, of the artist riding the dark comet we see at times shining, in the eyes of Artaud or Bruegel's Mad Meg. Clarice dares to tinge becoming-madness into art in such a way that I am almost certain is entirely her own: let us not forget that Foucalt describes madness as the opposite of art. She is at the peak of what it means to express here.
//Listen to me, listen to the silence. What I say to you is never what I say to you but something else instead. It captures a thing that escapes me and yet I live from it and am above a shining darkness//
A text that kept returning to my thoughts here was Bataille's Theory of Religion, surprisingly as I didn't really love that book. I think she does it better. Perhaps I'm obsessed. We have Heidegger, we have effervescent temporality, we have more it is unending.
//Mirror? That crystallised void that has in itself enough space to go ever ceaselessly forward: for mirror is the deepest space that exists. And it is a magic thing: whoever has a broken piece can go with it to meditate in the desert. Seeing oneself is extraordinary. Like a cat whose fur bristles, I bristle when faced with myself. From the desert I would also return empty, illuminated and translucent, and with the same vibrating silence of a mirror//
I think this is also the most sexual of her novels. Hour of the Star has its adolescent frictions between characters, but here I think she approaches more of what sexuality can mean in itself. Related to that, she encounters childbirth, as self-destruction and more. Clarice declares her own becoming-animal in this text in such a way that did cause my head to explode please wish my remains well.
//the word is my fourth dimension//
I am in the fullest awe - I do wish 6 stars were available. I think this may be my favourite of her novels. What on earth. I want to memorise this book. I didn't mention WSG without reason- he is to be found all over this.
//I found my counterpoint in the landscape without picturesqueness and without beauty. Ugliness is my banner of war. I love the ugly with the love of equals. And I defy death. I-I am my own death//
She is exquisite: radiant. There is a sense, in the last third of this novel, of the artist riding the dark comet we see at times shining, in the eyes of Artaud or Bruegel's Mad Meg. Clarice dares to tinge becoming-madness into art in such a way that I am almost certain is entirely her own: let us not forget that Foucalt describes madness as the opposite of art. She is at the peak of what it means to express here.
//Listen to me, listen to the silence. What I say to you is never what I say to you but something else instead. It captures a thing that escapes me and yet I live from it and am above a shining darkness//
A text that kept returning to my thoughts here was Bataille's Theory of Religion, surprisingly as I didn't really love that book. I think she does it better. Perhaps I'm obsessed. We have Heidegger, we have effervescent temporality, we have more it is unending.
//Mirror? That crystallised void that has in itself enough space to go ever ceaselessly forward: for mirror is the deepest space that exists. And it is a magic thing: whoever has a broken piece can go with it to meditate in the desert. Seeing oneself is extraordinary. Like a cat whose fur bristles, I bristle when faced with myself. From the desert I would also return empty, illuminated and translucent, and with the same vibrating silence of a mirror//
I think this is also the most sexual of her novels. Hour of the Star has its adolescent frictions between characters, but here I think she approaches more of what sexuality can mean in itself. Related to that, she encounters childbirth, as self-destruction and more. Clarice declares her own becoming-animal in this text in such a way that did cause my head to explode please wish my remains well.
mmanuelap's review against another edition
4.0
This is my first time diving into Clarice Lispector's books in a language that isn't the original Portuguese, and I've gotta say, it's a pleasant surprise. Right from the get-go, you can't help but enjoy her works—they're always loaded with meaning, and you end up feeling inspired or moved in some way. What's cool about this book is that it's a stream of consciousness, giving you a peek into how Lispector's mind ticked and how she found meaning in even the most ordinary things in life.
I have to give a shoutout to the translator too. Usually, I see Lispector's quotes in Portuguese on Instagram, short and full of meaning. Happy to report that even in English, this book's got that same vibe. They've really nailed the essence and intention behind the words. I don't usually pay much attention to a book's translation, but this one had me hooked from start to finish.
All in all, it's a great book—short, deep, poetic, and packed with moments that make you ponder.
I have to give a shoutout to the translator too. Usually, I see Lispector's quotes in Portuguese on Instagram, short and full of meaning. Happy to report that even in English, this book's got that same vibe. They've really nailed the essence and intention behind the words. I don't usually pay much attention to a book's translation, but this one had me hooked from start to finish.
All in all, it's a great book—short, deep, poetic, and packed with moments that make you ponder.
jkstonge's review against another edition
5.0
Água Viva is truly a masterpiece. Clarice Lispector writes in this lyrical way that honestly feels so fresh and different, and the prose is so gorgeous it reads as poetry. There's no discernible plot, but it is the writing pace that drives you through her words. It's a bit of chaos, meant to soothe rather than cause you to stumble. It makes me truly appreciate how impressive it is to translate writing—clearly there's a link between translation and my five star reads. Stefan Tobler translates Clarice Lispector with incredible care, it makes me want to learn Portuguese to be able to read Lispector in the original language. The English translation is so good I could only imagine how rich the prose is in Portuguese is. I found myself reading the book aloud to myself, as reading it required that sort of care. I would read everything Clarice Lispector has to say and more.
way too many quotes, I'm so sorry (I'm not sorry in the slightest):
"And like a bird I sing hallelujah into the air. And my song belongs to no one. But no passion suffered in pain and love is not followed by a hallelujah."
"I am entering a very new and genuine chapter, curious about itself, so appealing and personal that I can't paint it or write it."
"A new era, this is my own, and it announced me right away. Am I brave enough?"
"...and all this is the prayer of a black mass, and a creeping plea for amen: because the bad is unprotected and needs the approval of God: that is creation."
"I speak today—not yesterday or tomorrow—but today and at this actual perishable instant."
"Read the energy that is in my silence. Ah I fear God and his silence."
"I swallow a mouthful of blood that fills me entirely. I hear cymbals and trumpets and tambourines that fill the air with noise and uproar drowning out the silence of the disc of the sun and its marvel. I want a cloak woven from threads of solar gold. The sun is the magical tension of the silence."
"If I had to force myself to write to you I would be so sad. Sometimes I can't stand the strength of inspiration. Then I paint with a heavy heart. It's so good that things don't depend on me."
"I want to feel in my probing hands the living and quivering nerve of the today."
"Do I not have a plot to my life? for I am unexpectedly fragmentary. I am piecemeal. My story is living. And I have no fear of failure. Let failure annihilate me, I want the glory of falling."
"I am an urgent object."
way too many quotes, I'm so sorry (I'm not sorry in the slightest):
"And like a bird I sing hallelujah into the air. And my song belongs to no one. But no passion suffered in pain and love is not followed by a hallelujah."
"I am entering a very new and genuine chapter, curious about itself, so appealing and personal that I can't paint it or write it."
"A new era, this is my own, and it announced me right away. Am I brave enough?"
"...and all this is the prayer of a black mass, and a creeping plea for amen: because the bad is unprotected and needs the approval of God: that is creation."
"I speak today—not yesterday or tomorrow—but today and at this actual perishable instant."
"Read the energy that is in my silence. Ah I fear God and his silence."
"I swallow a mouthful of blood that fills me entirely. I hear cymbals and trumpets and tambourines that fill the air with noise and uproar drowning out the silence of the disc of the sun and its marvel. I want a cloak woven from threads of solar gold. The sun is the magical tension of the silence."
"If I had to force myself to write to you I would be so sad. Sometimes I can't stand the strength of inspiration. Then I paint with a heavy heart. It's so good that things don't depend on me."
"I want to feel in my probing hands the living and quivering nerve of the today."
"Do I not have a plot to my life? for I am unexpectedly fragmentary. I am piecemeal. My story is living. And I have no fear of failure. Let failure annihilate me, I want the glory of falling."
"I am an urgent object."