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l1nty's review against another edition
5.0
CLARICE. CLA-RICE.
my queen could never disappoint me; this book was outrageously beautiful and life changing. i’m not even going to write a review because i’d much rather write a letter to someone about this book, so i’ll be off now!
my queen could never disappoint me; this book was outrageously beautiful and life changing. i’m not even going to write a review because i’d much rather write a letter to someone about this book, so i’ll be off now!
nana_a's review against another edition
stream of consciousness type of writing is not for me
angelsbefore's review
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.0
I think this is the first time putting N/A for every storygraph catagory because i really just cant decide what this book i actually about. Its prose is beautiful and i think this was a really enjoyable introduct into clarice lispectors work and i will definately be reading more!
sms15002023's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
mysterious
relaxing
tense
fast-paced
5.0
mmnasc's review against another edition
4.0
incrivelmente íntimo, como ver um sonho de outrem desenrolar-se
rodrovich's review against another edition
4.0
I’m lost... WHAT IS THIS?!?!?!
This book is only 88 pages but it’s one of the densest and oddest books I have read this year. It’s one monologue by a woman who seems to be obsessed with “is” - the instant, the present - to an insane degree, and has a poetic quality in its prose that kind of reminded me of Hesse’s way of writing in Siddhartha. Lispector’s writing style has this one-of-a-kind hypnotic and meditative charm. So even though I found two-fifths of the text pretty much indecipherable, I was kind of entranced glazing over her describing mutating into a different form of existence at light speed and then changing once again. Reading most of this felt like being stuck in a serene sleep paralysis (if such a thing existed), where I just wait for it to be over but I don’t want it to because my brain is still not sure whether I’ll wake up and exist when it’s over. That said, on p.41, Lispector says “I notice that I’m writing as I were between sleep and wakefulness”... and yeah, that’s exactly how I felt reading this monologue. Lispector’s view on mortality really moved me near the end, on how our mortality means it will all end and there’s no continuation but she explores this sobering view in a celebration of the “instant”. It’s a really sincere book despite its structure coming off as pretentious and unnecessarily experimental on the surface level, which didn't turn out to be the case at all after the first 10 pages or so. Although I have to say, for a short book like this, there were some big passages that just escaped me completely, even on re-reading… maybe I should come back to this later, or maybe I'll never "get" them. There’s so much more to talk about, like how Lispector compares her writing in the monologue to painting and music but I’ll stop here.
8/10
This book is only 88 pages but it’s one of the densest and oddest books I have read this year. It’s one monologue by a woman who seems to be obsessed with “is” - the instant, the present - to an insane degree, and has a poetic quality in its prose that kind of reminded me of Hesse’s way of writing in Siddhartha. Lispector’s writing style has this one-of-a-kind hypnotic and meditative charm. So even though I found two-fifths of the text pretty much indecipherable, I was kind of entranced glazing over her describing mutating into a different form of existence at light speed and then changing once again. Reading most of this felt like being stuck in a serene sleep paralysis (if such a thing existed), where I just wait for it to be over but I don’t want it to because my brain is still not sure whether I’ll wake up and exist when it’s over. That said, on p.41, Lispector says “I notice that I’m writing as I were between sleep and wakefulness”... and yeah, that’s exactly how I felt reading this monologue. Lispector’s view on mortality really moved me near the end, on how our mortality means it will all end and there’s no continuation but she explores this sobering view in a celebration of the “instant”. It’s a really sincere book despite its structure coming off as pretentious and unnecessarily experimental on the surface level, which didn't turn out to be the case at all after the first 10 pages or so. Although I have to say, for a short book like this, there were some big passages that just escaped me completely, even on re-reading… maybe I should come back to this later, or maybe I'll never "get" them. There’s so much more to talk about, like how Lispector compares her writing in the monologue to painting and music but I’ll stop here.
8/10
joannaautumn's review against another edition
4.0
“It suddenly occurred to me that you don't need order to live. There is no pattern to follow and the pattern itself doesn't even exist: I am born.”
***
“I don’t want to have the terrible limitation of those who live merely from what can make sense. Not I: I want an invented truth.”
• The word novel loosely defines this piece of art. It has no traditional plot, the narration doesn’t follow any logical path, and there are no characters. It is living, flowing pieces of life captured on paper. It is read in a breath, in one afternoon, in under an hour, and thought about fifty times that interval afterward. It’s a monologue intended for the reader, intimate and poetical; there are certain repetitions that create a musical effect, probably sounding even better in the original Portuguese language.
The work demands to be felt rather than analyzed however, that doesn’t mean that it lacks direction or a purpose. Questions of identity, motherhood, religion, self-expression, and artistic freedom lay in the center. One of the qualities that stands out is the joyous tone underlining every written word, the consumer of this work much like the author herself is thrilled to live and just be: for a moment we cease being Seekers and we just exist, nameless, undefined, scattered in time.