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4.23 AVERAGE
4.23 AVERAGE
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
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
I think I’m not intelligent enough to appreciate this book. First half I was really starting to appreciate her prose but I found the second half an absolute slog, likely due to the lack of plot, it just became monotonous, nonsensical and boring unfortunately. Might be better on a re-read in a few years
reflective
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
"I am after whatever is lurking behind thought."
Água Viva was my first introduction to Clarice Lispector & her work, but it certainly won't be my last. Reading her writing feels like coming into a shabby little diner at the edge of town and, by pure serendipity, ending up trying the best damn strawberry rhubarb pie of your life: you didn't know you craved it—might not have even known rhubarb belonged in pie—but now that you've had a bite, you're insatiable.
Lispector's writing, especially in Água Viva, is the very subversion of thought and time. After months of analyzing denser works of philosophy, which has its own joys but is nonetheless rife with rigid argumentation, picking up a book which has a total disregard for grammatical structure was an unexpected treat. At its root, her writing remains deeply philosophical and engaged with the ways we think.
Intimacy is being privy to the hum of someone's life; to bear witness to their everyday routines and the rich inner workings of their mind... all the while being folded into the rhythm of their life. It means sharing space without a need for façade or performance. Suddenly, ordinary moments become our most cherished memories, renewing our devotion. Mundanity turns saintly, and we nourish it with gratitude. Our lives expand, grow fuller when we pay attention to our space. Daily ministrations become sovereign to the architecture of our love – after all, to be loved is to be understood, and to be understood, is to be visible; as Mary Oliver once said, devotion begins with attention.
Água Viva feels like recognition. This is not a book you interpret; it's a book you inhabit. You don’t read it so much as you feel it happening to you, touching you where language may not reach. It's a feeling I've so rarely encountered in a book, setting her apart from the rest. Of course, there are various perspectives the book has to offer, but her meditations on connection particularly stand out. She describes an intellectual intimacy... one that comes with knowing something in all its idiosyncrasies – not out of particular love or attachment, but because it is true, it exists, and you've named it.
To be visible is to drop pretenses, surrender control of your image (& words), and remain candid with your expression. Lispector begins to respond to this fearfully: what if, by surrendering our attention to the world, we begin to lose ourselves to the unknown? On the other hand, being vulnerable enough to write in a fragmented paroxysm is its own form of freedom: "I want to have the freedom of saying unconnected things as a deep way of touching you." She records thoughts as she thinks them, capturing "instant-nows" with a startling acuity as if seeks to weave them into a delicate, gleaming web.
There is no meaning to extrapolate; you're merely meant to bear witness to it all. Her thoughts, naturally muddled, resist finalization. And Lispector holds these thoughts in suspension like a miraculous breath; in a way that feels almost alive. They reflect a sharp precision that is becoming of an intellectual equal, or perhaps, a lover. Basally resonant, this is a truly book you touch and are touched by... dreamlike, sensual, and so re-readable.
Água Viva was my first introduction to Clarice Lispector & her work, but it certainly won't be my last. Reading her writing feels like coming into a shabby little diner at the edge of town and, by pure serendipity, ending up trying the best damn strawberry rhubarb pie of your life: you didn't know you craved it—might not have even known rhubarb belonged in pie—but now that you've had a bite, you're insatiable.
Lispector's writing, especially in Água Viva, is the very subversion of thought and time. After months of analyzing denser works of philosophy, which has its own joys but is nonetheless rife with rigid argumentation, picking up a book which has a total disregard for grammatical structure was an unexpected treat. At its root, her writing remains deeply philosophical and engaged with the ways we think.
Intimacy is being privy to the hum of someone's life; to bear witness to their everyday routines and the rich inner workings of their mind... all the while being folded into the rhythm of their life. It means sharing space without a need for façade or performance. Suddenly, ordinary moments become our most cherished memories, renewing our devotion. Mundanity turns saintly, and we nourish it with gratitude. Our lives expand, grow fuller when we pay attention to our space. Daily ministrations become sovereign to the architecture of our love – after all, to be loved is to be understood, and to be understood, is to be visible; as Mary Oliver once said, devotion begins with attention.
Água Viva feels like recognition. This is not a book you interpret; it's a book you inhabit. You don’t read it so much as you feel it happening to you, touching you where language may not reach. It's a feeling I've so rarely encountered in a book, setting her apart from the rest. Of course, there are various perspectives the book has to offer, but her meditations on connection particularly stand out. She describes an intellectual intimacy... one that comes with knowing something in all its idiosyncrasies – not out of particular love or attachment, but because it is true, it exists, and you've named it.
To be visible is to drop pretenses, surrender control of your image (& words), and remain candid with your expression. Lispector begins to respond to this fearfully: what if, by surrendering our attention to the world, we begin to lose ourselves to the unknown? On the other hand, being vulnerable enough to write in a fragmented paroxysm is its own form of freedom: "I want to have the freedom of saying unconnected things as a deep way of touching you." She records thoughts as she thinks them, capturing "instant-nows" with a startling acuity as if seeks to weave them into a delicate, gleaming web.
There is no meaning to extrapolate; you're merely meant to bear witness to it all. Her thoughts, naturally muddled, resist finalization. And Lispector holds these thoughts in suspension like a miraculous breath; in a way that feels almost alive. They reflect a sharp precision that is becoming of an intellectual equal, or perhaps, a lover. Basally resonant, this is a truly book you touch and are touched by... dreamlike, sensual, and so re-readable.
challenging
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
Detestei. Não sei se voltarei a ler outro livro dela
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
mysterious
medium-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
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
challenging
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
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
challenging
emotional
funny
informative
reflective
medium-paced