A review by booklywookly
The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector

4.0

 

This novella came in like a sudden gust of cold wind and knocked me off my boots leaving me part frustrated and part high and dry. Treat these 80-odd pages as a free backstage pass to observe a book in the making - right from deciding its title - by a (fictional) writer who is akin to a method actor. His goal is to blend in with the central character so much as to be deemed interchangeable. The book is “being written in the present”. What you witness now is the act of creation itself (is that you God?) and transfiguration of narrator into somebody else, synced with a dramatic background score.

At its core, the book follows Macabéa, a young woman of humble origins living in Rio de Janeiro, whose existence is a delicate balance between hardship and hope. She is used as a muse to explore poverty, identity, meaning of existence, self worth, and a critical look at society. There are elements of nihilism born out of disappointment as well as the girl being just “dumb”

The narrator wants to write about the most mundane life of the most insignificant girl in the most genuine way, devoid of any emotional bias. Everything is being stripped to its bare essentials. The poverty is not adorned. The struggles are not glorified. The misfortune is not pitied upon. The lack of beauty, charm and grace is not romanticized. But trying to seek his life in her, wasn’t she just objectified mercilessly throughout the book?

The experimental style of writing tested my patience. He has the habit of bringing himself into the story. I wasn’t prepared for all the “me me me” with this extreme overlap of narration and own inner monologues. Where does the narrator end and Macabéa begin? Where is Clarice in all of this?

There is this inexplicable almost pitiful need to reassure you the authenticity of the writing and to justify every decision made for the character. Building hype and anticipation but also curbing your expectations and enthusiasm - yo-yo-ing between a “sorry for the possible inconvenience, the thing is…” and a “fuck you”. Like agreeing to listen to a sales pitch only to find yourself listening to terms and conditions being recited as well.

A challenging but emotionally rich read, this meta fiction is an introspective dive into the human psyche and the shared experience of longing and loneliness