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Storia dell'assedio di Lisbona
A história da tomada de Lisboa aos mouros no ano de 1147 e a crônica de um inesperado encontro amoroso na Lisboa de hoje - duas narrativas, tecidas e entretecidas de maneira brilhante, que fazem deste livro uma densa e fascinante meditação sobre a natureza e as relações entre a ficção e a história, o vivido e o narrado. Um dos mestres da literatura portuguesa contemporânea - Prêmio Nobel de Literatura - Saramago explora neste livro as possibilidades do romance enquanto meio de recriar o passado e o presente.
291 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1989
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About the author
José Saramago
308 books16.6k followersJosé de Sousa Saramago (16 November 1922 – 18 June 2010) was a Portuguese novelist and recipient of the 1998 Nobel Prize in Literature, for his "parables sustained by imagination, compassion and irony [with which he] continually enables us once again to apprehend an elusory reality." His works, some of which have been seen as allegories, commonly present subversive perspectives on historic events, emphasizing the theopoetic. In 2003 Harold Bloom described Saramago as "the most gifted novelist alive in the world today."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jos%C3%...
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jos%C3%...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 689 reviews
September 22, 2024
Historical science and the real past of the mankind…
The History of the Siege of Lisbon is a spread and ironic contemplation on the theme of credibility of history as science. Indeed, it is enough to change, delete or add a single word in some historical manuscript and the entire described event will be seen in a different light or will turn into its own opposite…
And how often, copying original texts in their scriptoriums, did monastic scribes change them to their own liking or adjust them according to the current beliefs and religious fashions?
José Saramago wrote this novel also to illustrate such complex and nonlinear causality.
But there is more to it, The History of the Siege of Lisbon is as well the history of the siege of the female heart…
Both cities and female hearts must be conquered by siege.
It has always struck me that history is not real life, literature, yes, and nothing else…”
The History of the Siege of Lisbon is a spread and ironic contemplation on the theme of credibility of history as science. Indeed, it is enough to change, delete or add a single word in some historical manuscript and the entire described event will be seen in a different light or will turn into its own opposite…
And how often, copying original texts in their scriptoriums, did monastic scribes change them to their own liking or adjust them according to the current beliefs and religious fashions?
Certain authors, perhaps out of conviction or an attitude of mind not much given to patient investigation, hate having to acknowledge that the relationship between what we call cause and what we subsequently describe as the effect is not always linear and explicit. They allege, and with some justification, that ever since the world began, although we may have no way of knowing when it began, there has never been an effect without a cause, and every cause, whether because pre-ordained or by some simple mechanism, has brought about and will go on bringing about some effect or other, which, let it be said, is produced instantly, although the transition from cause to effect may have escaped the observer or only come to be more or less reconstituted much later.
José Saramago wrote this novel also to illustrate such complex and nonlinear causality.
But there is more to it, The History of the Siege of Lisbon is as well the history of the siege of the female heart…
It would not take much learning to observe, as much today as in those medieval times, despite the Church’s disapproval of classical similes, how Eros and Thanatos were paired off…
Both cities and female hearts must be conquered by siege.
January 15, 2026
This work is a 342-page pocket, but it is filled with dense text. Saramago is stingy with paragraphs; if there are many dialogues, they are never presented with hyphens and are always in a single section. The interventions of successive speakers are best separated by periods and capitals.
A challenge for the reader? Less than it initially appears. The difficulty lies in adapting to a different presentation rather than in practicing cognitive flexibility.
The novel's starting point is an experienced proofreader who has consistently demonstrated outstanding professionalism. However, he decides to change a word in the historical story he is editing, and one word can change history.
We will have plenty of reflection on the work of the proofreader and the writer, as well as historical documentation, with additional touches of humor that will make you smile, and even the poetry of a love story. And, of course, there is Lisbon, when it falls into the hands of those Lusitanians who will become the Portuguese.
An exciting and informative read!
A challenge for the reader? Less than it initially appears. The difficulty lies in adapting to a different presentation rather than in practicing cognitive flexibility.
The novel's starting point is an experienced proofreader who has consistently demonstrated outstanding professionalism. However, he decides to change a word in the historical story he is editing, and one word can change history.
We will have plenty of reflection on the work of the proofreader and the writer, as well as historical documentation, with additional touches of humor that will make you smile, and even the poetry of a love story. And, of course, there is Lisbon, when it falls into the hands of those Lusitanians who will become the Portuguese.
An exciting and informative read!
June 18, 2021
Ca întotdeauna la José Saramago, personajul principal al cărții este Naratorul, mereu inventiv, pus pe șotii și digresiuni, plin de umor și de bună dispoziție. Se exprimă numai în vorbe de duh, uneori devine agasant, dar îi putem îngădui orice, are farmec.
Naratorul îl urmărește exclusiv, obsedat, doar pe Raimundo Silva, corectorul care pune un NU într-o cronică medievală și apoi e nevoit să redacteze o istorie diferită a asediului Lisabonei. Uneori, naratorul se depărtează de Raimondo Silva, alteori pare a locui chiar în mintea corectorului. Totul se termină cu bine. Portughezii cuceresc cetatea. Raimundo Silva o cucerește pe Maria Sara, cea care-i sugerase ideea istoriei paralele. Nu-mi dau seama cine e mai cîștigat.
Saramago a afirmat că unul dintre modelele sfiosului, reticentului Raimundo a fost el însuși. E bine să-l credem pe cuvînt. Romanul a apărut în 1989. A fost primit cu elogii unanime. Criticii anglo-saxoni (cei mai influenți dintre toți) au vorbit tot mai insistent de un premiu Nobel. Saramago l-a luat în 1998. Nu a fost, desigur, un premiu nemeritat.
Transcriu doar un fragment:
Corectorul consultă „Dicţionarul de Rarităţi, Ciudăţenii şi Curiozităţi, unde, admirabilă coincidenţă care pică la țanc în această aventuroasă relatare, se dă ca exemplu de eroare afirmaţia înţeleptului Aristotel că musca domestică obişnuită are patru picioare, reducţie aritmetică pe care autorii următori au tot repetat-o veac după veac, deşi copiii aflaseră de mult, datorită cruzimii şi experimentului, că picioarele muştei sînt şase la număr, din vremea lui Aristotel le smulgeau cu voluptate, numărînd, unu, doi, trei, patru, cinci, şase, dar aceiaşi copii, cînd creşteau şi ajungeau să-l citească pe învăţatul grec, îşi spuneau unul altuia, Musca are patru picioare. Iată de ce este capabilă autoritatea magistrală”.
Naratorul îl urmărește exclusiv, obsedat, doar pe Raimundo Silva, corectorul care pune un NU într-o cronică medievală și apoi e nevoit să redacteze o istorie diferită a asediului Lisabonei. Uneori, naratorul se depărtează de Raimondo Silva, alteori pare a locui chiar în mintea corectorului. Totul se termină cu bine. Portughezii cuceresc cetatea. Raimundo Silva o cucerește pe Maria Sara, cea care-i sugerase ideea istoriei paralele. Nu-mi dau seama cine e mai cîștigat.
Saramago a afirmat că unul dintre modelele sfiosului, reticentului Raimundo a fost el însuși. E bine să-l credem pe cuvînt. Romanul a apărut în 1989. A fost primit cu elogii unanime. Criticii anglo-saxoni (cei mai influenți dintre toți) au vorbit tot mai insistent de un premiu Nobel. Saramago l-a luat în 1998. Nu a fost, desigur, un premiu nemeritat.
Transcriu doar un fragment:
Corectorul consultă „Dicţionarul de Rarităţi, Ciudăţenii şi Curiozităţi, unde, admirabilă coincidenţă care pică la țanc în această aventuroasă relatare, se dă ca exemplu de eroare afirmaţia înţeleptului Aristotel că musca domestică obişnuită are patru picioare, reducţie aritmetică pe care autorii următori au tot repetat-o veac după veac, deşi copiii aflaseră de mult, datorită cruzimii şi experimentului, că picioarele muştei sînt şase la număr, din vremea lui Aristotel le smulgeau cu voluptate, numărînd, unu, doi, trei, patru, cinci, şase, dar aceiaşi copii, cînd creşteau şi ajungeau să-l citească pe învăţatul grec, îşi spuneau unul altuia, Musca are patru picioare. Iată de ce este capabilă autoritatea magistrală”.
January 27, 2022
Un corector, Raimundo Silva, o ia razna și pune un NU într-un text despre asediul Lisabonei (1147). Cruciații NU i-au ajutat pe portughezi să cucerească cetatea. I-au ajutat bunul Dumnezeu și Fecioara. Frauda lui e descoperită și textul îndreptat numaidecît printr-o errată. Raimundo Silva este chemat să dea seama pentru blasfemia lui. Are noroc. Conducerea editurii nu vrea să-i taie capul.
Mai mult, la ședința de judecată o cunoaște pe Maria Sara, noua șefă a corectorilor. Femeia nu arată rău, are de toate, pînă și idei. În consecință, îi sugerează să scrie o istorie alternativă, ca și cum cruciații nu i-ar fi ajutat pe portughezi la asaltul orașului stăpînit de mauri. Bineînțeles, între cei doi are loc un coup de foudre (adică iau foc pe dinăuntru). Se îndrăgostesc mortal, deși nu-și pierd cu totul mințile. Nu mai sînt la prima tinerețe. Nici măcar la a doua. În timp ce Raimundo redactează versiunea eretică a asediului, cei doi petrec niște nopți de neuitat, descrise de narator cu subînțeleasă sfială. E de presupus că totul se va sfîrși cu o nuntă.
Principalul personaj din carte rămîne - ca peste tot la José Saramago - naratorul. Este mereu inventiv, pus pe șotii și digresiuni, plin de umor și de bună dispoziție. Se exprimă numai în vorbe de duh. Naratorul îl urmărește exclusiv, obsedat, doar pe Raimundo Silva. Uneori, se îndepărtează de el, alteori pare a locui chiar în mintea corectorului. Saramago n-a negat că unul dintre modelele sfiosului, reticentului Raimundo a fost el însuși. Romanul a apărut în 1989. A fost primit cu elogii unanime. Criticii au vorbit tot mai insistent de un premiu Nobel.
***
Ceea ce am scris mai jos se referă la „tehicile narative” ale prozatorului portughez. Puteți ignora...
Tot nu m-am prins de ce Saramago a ales să renunțe la paragrafe, la cratimă, la semnele exclamării și întrebării, la punct, virgulă etc. și a lasat pagina copleșită de semne. O astfel de pagină îl aduce la disperare pînă și pe cititorul cel mai binevoitor. Saramago și-a îndepărtat printr-un gest greu de dumirit o mare parte a publicului. Mulți spun: „Saramago nu poate fi citit, Saramago se citește greu, Îmi dă dureri de cap” și au dreptate, probabil.
A elimina paragrafele, majusculele, liniuța de dialog, tot ceea ce înlesnește lectura unui text nu mi s-a părut niciodată gestul cel mai prudent. O carte tipărită în acest chip se citește (cînd și dacă se citește) cu greutate, lent, anevoios.
Cînd s-au hotărît (prin secolul IX) să nu mai citească cu voce tare, fiindcă în biblioteca mănăstirii nu se mai înțelegea om cu om, călugării din Irlanda au inventat mijoace pentru a înlesni lectura și ritmul ei. Au folosit punctul pentru a marca sfîrșitul unei fraze. Au considerat că litera primului cuvînt din frază trebuie să se deosebească de celelalte și astfel au impus MAJUSCULA. Au creat paragrafe. Iar inițiala dintr-un paragraf au desenat-o mai mare decît toate celelalte litere și au colorat-o cu roșu (de unde vine termenul rubrica). După secolul IX, viteza de lectură a crescut, chiar dacă unii monahi au continuat să citească cu voce tare.
Saramago anulează toate aceste achiziții verificate și propune un roman de peste 300 de pagini cu doar 90 de paragrafe. Procedînd așa, prozatorul impune din capul locului o lectură lentă, înceată. Nu toți cititorii sînt dispuși să-i facă pe plac. Sînt foarte sigur de asta. Viața e scurtă, numărul cărților sporește nemilos. Nu putem citi tot. „O carte bună este o carte care se străbate repede”, spun înțelepții. Iar dacă Saramago se considera un „povestitior oral”, cum a declarat într-un interviu, s-ar fi cuvenit să pună în comerț audio-book-uri. N-a făcut-o. Nu și-a dus nobila-i revoltă împotriva punctuației pînă la capăt. A fost un radical moderat.
Ca să fie limpede: eu chiar cred că renunțarea la punctuație și la paragrafe reprezintă un moft și o gratuitate. Cu ce a revoluționat poezia Edward Estlin Cummings, cînd a decis să-și semneze creațiile cu numele smerit e.e. cummings? Literatura nu poate fi renovată prin mijloace grafice, scoțînd punctele și anulînd paragrafele.
Mai mult, la ședința de judecată o cunoaște pe Maria Sara, noua șefă a corectorilor. Femeia nu arată rău, are de toate, pînă și idei. În consecință, îi sugerează să scrie o istorie alternativă, ca și cum cruciații nu i-ar fi ajutat pe portughezi la asaltul orașului stăpînit de mauri. Bineînțeles, între cei doi are loc un coup de foudre (adică iau foc pe dinăuntru). Se îndrăgostesc mortal, deși nu-și pierd cu totul mințile. Nu mai sînt la prima tinerețe. Nici măcar la a doua. În timp ce Raimundo redactează versiunea eretică a asediului, cei doi petrec niște nopți de neuitat, descrise de narator cu subînțeleasă sfială. E de presupus că totul se va sfîrși cu o nuntă.
Principalul personaj din carte rămîne - ca peste tot la José Saramago - naratorul. Este mereu inventiv, pus pe șotii și digresiuni, plin de umor și de bună dispoziție. Se exprimă numai în vorbe de duh. Naratorul îl urmărește exclusiv, obsedat, doar pe Raimundo Silva. Uneori, se îndepărtează de el, alteori pare a locui chiar în mintea corectorului. Saramago n-a negat că unul dintre modelele sfiosului, reticentului Raimundo a fost el însuși. Romanul a apărut în 1989. A fost primit cu elogii unanime. Criticii au vorbit tot mai insistent de un premiu Nobel.
***
Ceea ce am scris mai jos se referă la „tehicile narative” ale prozatorului portughez. Puteți ignora...
Tot nu m-am prins de ce Saramago a ales să renunțe la paragrafe, la cratimă, la semnele exclamării și întrebării, la punct, virgulă etc. și a lasat pagina copleșită de semne. O astfel de pagină îl aduce la disperare pînă și pe cititorul cel mai binevoitor. Saramago și-a îndepărtat printr-un gest greu de dumirit o mare parte a publicului. Mulți spun: „Saramago nu poate fi citit, Saramago se citește greu, Îmi dă dureri de cap” și au dreptate, probabil.
A elimina paragrafele, majusculele, liniuța de dialog, tot ceea ce înlesnește lectura unui text nu mi s-a părut niciodată gestul cel mai prudent. O carte tipărită în acest chip se citește (cînd și dacă se citește) cu greutate, lent, anevoios.
Cînd s-au hotărît (prin secolul IX) să nu mai citească cu voce tare, fiindcă în biblioteca mănăstirii nu se mai înțelegea om cu om, călugării din Irlanda au inventat mijoace pentru a înlesni lectura și ritmul ei. Au folosit punctul pentru a marca sfîrșitul unei fraze. Au considerat că litera primului cuvînt din frază trebuie să se deosebească de celelalte și astfel au impus MAJUSCULA. Au creat paragrafe. Iar inițiala dintr-un paragraf au desenat-o mai mare decît toate celelalte litere și au colorat-o cu roșu (de unde vine termenul rubrica). După secolul IX, viteza de lectură a crescut, chiar dacă unii monahi au continuat să citească cu voce tare.
Saramago anulează toate aceste achiziții verificate și propune un roman de peste 300 de pagini cu doar 90 de paragrafe. Procedînd așa, prozatorul impune din capul locului o lectură lentă, înceată. Nu toți cititorii sînt dispuși să-i facă pe plac. Sînt foarte sigur de asta. Viața e scurtă, numărul cărților sporește nemilos. Nu putem citi tot. „O carte bună este o carte care se străbate repede”, spun înțelepții. Iar dacă Saramago se considera un „povestitior oral”, cum a declarat într-un interviu, s-ar fi cuvenit să pună în comerț audio-book-uri. N-a făcut-o. Nu și-a dus nobila-i revoltă împotriva punctuației pînă la capăt. A fost un radical moderat.
Ca să fie limpede: eu chiar cred că renunțarea la punctuație și la paragrafe reprezintă un moft și o gratuitate. Cu ce a revoluționat poezia Edward Estlin Cummings, cînd a decis să-și semneze creațiile cu numele smerit e.e. cummings? Literatura nu poate fi renovată prin mijloace grafice, scoțînd punctele și anulînd paragrafele.
November 8, 2019
In the glowing light of the day and in the rosy spirit of the present calendar week (romance in the air...) I am overwhelmed with positive emotions and declare my ever-growing admiration and respect towards the great Portuguese writer José Saramago (1922-2010) and his golden legacy in terms of his well-known controversial, challenging, and thought-provoking novels.
I am completely and irrevocably absorbed into his works. I am jumping like a mosquito from one book to another, in a very ambitious attempt to read as much as possible, but of course I am not able to because I feel I am not grasping as much as I need in this frenzy and hectic pace, so I take one step or even two back and start anew.
I think I even firmly established my aim when reading Jose Saramago which is: to rediscover the importance and beauty of questioning; to refresh my personal writing style to the level of being able to communicate (verbally and in written) using a vocabulary that is full of savor and rhythm, as if it were not something outside the language, but intrinsic. This is a language like an uninterrupted flow, like a river, a large mass of water that slips heavy, shining, with fast forward rhythm, even if, occasionally, its course is interrupted by cataracts. I have no fear whatsoever (although pragmatically I fear water because of lack of swimming skills) to get immersed fully in this best prose (in my mind’s eyes) and to disappear there for a few days, weeks, months...maybe couple of years😊
The History of the Siege of Lisbon treats, within parallel plots [one set in the twelfth century, describing some key episodes of the ‘alternative’ history of the siege of Lisbon, which our hero Raimundo Silva is asked to write; and, the other, in the twentieth century, showing the day to day routine of our proof-reader’s existence and, of course, the very important destiny encounter with a new editor who becomes his trigger for a new life…] an important aspect of speculating between historiography, historical novels and “stories inserted into history”, which seem the type of book that Saramago himself prefers to write, in the end history and fiction constantly overlap, or in Saramago’s own words: “The truth is that history could have been written in many different ways and this idea of infinitude and variation are the essence of my writing. The possibility of the impossible, dreams and illusions, are the subject of my novels”. And with this, fortunately, everything was almost covered as for review 😊😊😊
[a bit more or less extrapolating, I dare say that even myself have confronted something similar with these days. The real History is that my performance management 2018 got the final score of Exceptional which is better than Target (that I was supposed to achieve) but if/when the Grandparent (a boss of my boss, who also has a boss above his head and so on until a certain level) says that due to political-reasons, this Exceptional cannot be accepted for final/formal History, then someone enters a change in the Assessment and then the final (but no imaginary) History is that (maybe) I am just Normal,ie Target limits. ]
But, skipping over this (there is no need to leverage our satisfaction based on pecuniary ground), I am glad to acknowledge that I have thoroughly liked and loved the main male character Raimundo Benvindo Silva. In the serie of books I've read so far (luckily it seems I followed intuitively a perfect sequence, starting with Baltasar and Blimunda and then The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis), this is number 3 novel actor, and it has had an extensively positive impact over me. Could be due to number 3 magic properties. I relish 3 and any multiples of it, including number 7.
And from here on-wards I give the word to the great voice of Saramago, this being a block of text that I have had lots of fun reading it 😊😊😊 reminding me of myself.
≪ …Raimundo Silva must have whispered a similar plea [may God protect all of us, for we are fighting in His name], transposed into the first person singular, as he set about dialing the number of his destiny, but in a whisper so low that it scarcely passed his lips, a plea as tremulous as that of any adolescent, he himself now has more food for thought, if he thinks, whether his body is not simply one huge kettledrum where the bell of the telephone rings and rings, not the bell, the electronic signal, awaiting the sudden interruption of the call, and a voice that says, Speaking, or, What can I do for you, perhaps Hello, perhaps Who’s calling, there is no lack of possibilities amongst the conventional phrase and their modern variants, however, dazed as he was, Raimundo Silva was unable to hear what was being said, only that it was a woman speaking, so he asked disregarding any niceties, Is that Dr Maria Sara, no, it was not, Who’s speaking, it was as if Raimundo Silva wanted to know his editor’s voice, this was not a truth beyond question, but served as a simple form of identification, we are certainly not going to suggest that he introduced himself as Raimundo Benvindo Silva, proof-reader, working for the same publishing house, and even if he had, the reply would have been the same, Wait a moment, please, I’ll see if Dr Maria Sara can take your call, never had a moment been so brief, Don’t ring off, I’m carrying the telephone through, then silence.
…How are you, her voice taking him by surprise, Raimundo Silva, has expected to hear the maid say something more, such as, I’m passing the telephone to Dr Sara, that would have meant a further postponement of three or four seconds, but instead this direct question, How are you, reversing the situation, for surely it was up to him to express interest in her state of health, I’m fine, thank you, and quickly added, I wanted to know if you’re feeling better, How did you know I’ve been ill, At the office, When, Yesterday forenoon, So you decided to ring to see how I am, Yes, Many thanks for being so thoughtful, you’re the only proof-reader to have shown any interest, Well, I felt I had to, I hope I haven’t disturbed you, On the contrary, I’m deeply grateful, I’m feeling better, I think probably tomorrow or the day after, I’ll be back at the office, Well, I mustn’t tire you, I wish you a speedy recovery, Just before you ring off, how did you find my telephone number, Young Sara gave it to me, Ah, the other Sara, Yes, the telephonist, When, As I told you, yesterday forenoon, And you waited until today to call me, I was afraid of disturbing you, But you overcome your fear, I suppose so, otherwise I wouldn’t be speaking to you right now, Meantime, you should have been told that I wanted to speak to you. For two seconds, Raimundo Silva thought of pretending that he had not received the message, but before the third second passed, he found himself answering, Yes, Therefore I can assume that you couldn’t help calling me once I had taken the initiative, You may assume what you please, that’s up to you, but you must also assume that if I asked the telephonist for your number it wasn’t just to carry it around in my pocket, waiting for who knows what, there was another reason, What, Simply a lack of courage, Your courage appears to have been limited to that little proof-reading episode you don’t like me mentioning, In fact, I’m only telephoning to inquire about your state of health and to say I’ll hope you’ll soon be better, And don’t you think it’s time you asked me why I called you, Why did you call me, I’m not sure that I like your tone of voice, Words are more important than the way they’re spoken, I would have assumed that your experience as a proof-reader must have taught you that words mean nothing unless spoken in a certain tone of voice, The written word is mute, Reading gives it a voice, Except when read in silence, Even then, unless Senhor Raimundo Silva believes the brain is a silent organ, I’m only a proof-reader, like the shoemaker, I make do with carpet-slippers, my brain knows me, I know nothing about my brain, An interesting observation, You still haven’t answered my question, What question, Why did you telephone me, I’m no longer certain that I feel like telling you, So, I’m not the only coward, I don’t recall having said anything about cowardice, You spoke about a lack of courage, That’s not the same thing, The two sides of a coin are different, but the coin is one and the same, Valour is only to be found on one side, This conversation is getting beyond me and I suggest we drop the subject, besides it’s most unwise to argue like this, given your state of health, This cynicism doesn’t become you, I’m not being cynical, I know, so stop pretending, Seriously, I don’t think we know what we’re talking about, Speak for yourself, Then explain it to me, There’s no need for any explanations, You’re evading the question, It’s you who are evading the question, your’re hiding from yourself and want me to tell you what you already know, Please, Please what, I think we ought to ring off, this conversation has got out of hand, You’re to blame, Me, Yes, you, You’re much mistaken, I like things to be clear, Then try being clear and tell me why you are so aggressive whenever you speak to me, I’m never aggressive with anyone, I don’t have this modern vice, Then why are you aggressive with me, It isn’t true, Since the first day we met, should you need reminding, Circumstances, But those circumstances have changed yet you’re gone on being aggressive, Forgive me, that was never my intention, Now it’s my turn to ask you not to use such meaningless words, Agreed, I’ll say no more, Then listen, I telephoned you because I was feeling lonely,, because I was curious to know if you were working, because I wanted you to take an interest in my health, because, Maria Sara, Don’t say my name like that, Maria Sara, I like you, a long pause, Is that so, It’s the truth, You took your sweet time before telling me, And perhaps I might never have got round to telling you, Why not, We’re different, we belong to different worlds, What do you know about all these differences between us and our worlds, I can guess, observe, draw my own conclusions, These three operations can just as easily lead us to draw the right or the wrong conclusions, Agreed, and my biggest mistake right now is to have confessed that I like you, Why, Because I know nothing about your private life, whether you are, Married, Yes, or, In any way spoken for, to use an old-fashioned expression, Yes, Well, let’s imagine that I am already married or engaged, would that prevent you from being fond of me, No, And if I really were married or engaged to someone else, should that prevent me from being fond of you, if that was how I felt, I don’t know, Then you should know that I am fond of you, a long pause, Is that true, Yes, it’s true, Listen Maria Sara, Tell me, Raimundo, but first you should know that I got divorced three years ago, that I ended an affair three months ago and haven’t had any more affairs since, that I have no children but would dearly love to have them, I live with a married brother, and the person who answered the telephone was my sister-in-law, and you don’t have to tell me who took down my message, she’s your cleaner, and now, Mr Proof-reader, you may speak, pay no attention to this wild outburst, it’s that I’m brimming over with joy, Tell me, why do you like me, What can I say, I just like you, And aren’t you afraid that once you get to know me, you won’t like me anymore, It sometimes happens, in fact, it happens quite a lot, So, So, nothing, it takes time to get to know each other, I like you, I believe you, When can we see each other, As soon as I can get up from this bed of pain, Where’s the pain, All over, What is actually wrong with you, Nothing serious, or rather, the worst flu I’ve ever experienced, From where you are, you can’t see me, but I’m smiling, Now that’s really something, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a smile cross your lips, Can I confide that I love you, No, simply say that you are fond of me, I’ve already said so, Then keep the rest for the day you truly love me, should that day ever come, It will come, Let’s not bank on the future, better to wait and see what it has in store for us, and now this weak, feverish woman asks to be left in peace to rest, to recover her strength in case it occurs to someone to call back again today, To speak to you, Or you, for the phrase could just as easily refer to either of us, Ambiguity isn’t always a defect, So long, Let me leave you with a kiss, The time will come for kisses, For me it has been slow in coming, One last question, Tell me, Have you started to write your ‘History of the Siege of Lisbon’, Yes, I have, Good, for I’m not sure that I could have gone on liking you if you’d said no, Goodbye. …≫
NB: Saramago acknowledged in an article that there is a lot of him in the protagonist of the novel, Raimundo Silva, a middle-aged, isolated proofreader who falls in love with his boss, an attractive, younger editor who 'saves' him from emotional mediocrity. The novel is dedicated to his wife (as are all his subsequent books), the Spanish journalist Pilar del Rio, whom he married in 1988. In other words, this is a '...and they lived happily ever after' tale.
I am completely and irrevocably absorbed into his works. I am jumping like a mosquito from one book to another, in a very ambitious attempt to read as much as possible, but of course I am not able to because I feel I am not grasping as much as I need in this frenzy and hectic pace, so I take one step or even two back and start anew.
I think I even firmly established my aim when reading Jose Saramago which is: to rediscover the importance and beauty of questioning; to refresh my personal writing style to the level of being able to communicate (verbally and in written) using a vocabulary that is full of savor and rhythm, as if it were not something outside the language, but intrinsic. This is a language like an uninterrupted flow, like a river, a large mass of water that slips heavy, shining, with fast forward rhythm, even if, occasionally, its course is interrupted by cataracts. I have no fear whatsoever (although pragmatically I fear water because of lack of swimming skills) to get immersed fully in this best prose (in my mind’s eyes) and to disappear there for a few days, weeks, months...maybe couple of years😊
The History of the Siege of Lisbon treats, within parallel plots [one set in the twelfth century, describing some key episodes of the ‘alternative’ history of the siege of Lisbon, which our hero Raimundo Silva is asked to write; and, the other, in the twentieth century, showing the day to day routine of our proof-reader’s existence and, of course, the very important destiny encounter with a new editor who becomes his trigger for a new life…] an important aspect of speculating between historiography, historical novels and “stories inserted into history”, which seem the type of book that Saramago himself prefers to write, in the end history and fiction constantly overlap, or in Saramago’s own words: “The truth is that history could have been written in many different ways and this idea of infinitude and variation are the essence of my writing. The possibility of the impossible, dreams and illusions, are the subject of my novels”. And with this, fortunately, everything was almost covered as for review 😊😊😊
[a bit more or less extrapolating, I dare say that even myself have confronted something similar with these days. The real History is that my performance management 2018 got the final score of Exceptional which is better than Target (that I was supposed to achieve) but if/when the Grandparent (a boss of my boss, who also has a boss above his head and so on until a certain level) says that due to political-reasons, this Exceptional cannot be accepted for final/formal History, then someone enters a change in the Assessment and then the final (but no imaginary) History is that (maybe) I am just Normal,ie Target limits. ]
But, skipping over this (there is no need to leverage our satisfaction based on pecuniary ground), I am glad to acknowledge that I have thoroughly liked and loved the main male character Raimundo Benvindo Silva. In the serie of books I've read so far (luckily it seems I followed intuitively a perfect sequence, starting with Baltasar and Blimunda and then The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis), this is number 3 novel actor, and it has had an extensively positive impact over me. Could be due to number 3 magic properties. I relish 3 and any multiples of it, including number 7.
And from here on-wards I give the word to the great voice of Saramago, this being a block of text that I have had lots of fun reading it 😊😊😊 reminding me of myself.
≪ …Raimundo Silva must have whispered a similar plea [may God protect all of us, for we are fighting in His name], transposed into the first person singular, as he set about dialing the number of his destiny, but in a whisper so low that it scarcely passed his lips, a plea as tremulous as that of any adolescent, he himself now has more food for thought, if he thinks, whether his body is not simply one huge kettledrum where the bell of the telephone rings and rings, not the bell, the electronic signal, awaiting the sudden interruption of the call, and a voice that says, Speaking, or, What can I do for you, perhaps Hello, perhaps Who’s calling, there is no lack of possibilities amongst the conventional phrase and their modern variants, however, dazed as he was, Raimundo Silva was unable to hear what was being said, only that it was a woman speaking, so he asked disregarding any niceties, Is that Dr Maria Sara, no, it was not, Who’s speaking, it was as if Raimundo Silva wanted to know his editor’s voice, this was not a truth beyond question, but served as a simple form of identification, we are certainly not going to suggest that he introduced himself as Raimundo Benvindo Silva, proof-reader, working for the same publishing house, and even if he had, the reply would have been the same, Wait a moment, please, I’ll see if Dr Maria Sara can take your call, never had a moment been so brief, Don’t ring off, I’m carrying the telephone through, then silence.
…How are you, her voice taking him by surprise, Raimundo Silva, has expected to hear the maid say something more, such as, I’m passing the telephone to Dr Sara, that would have meant a further postponement of three or four seconds, but instead this direct question, How are you, reversing the situation, for surely it was up to him to express interest in her state of health, I’m fine, thank you, and quickly added, I wanted to know if you’re feeling better, How did you know I’ve been ill, At the office, When, Yesterday forenoon, So you decided to ring to see how I am, Yes, Many thanks for being so thoughtful, you’re the only proof-reader to have shown any interest, Well, I felt I had to, I hope I haven’t disturbed you, On the contrary, I’m deeply grateful, I’m feeling better, I think probably tomorrow or the day after, I’ll be back at the office, Well, I mustn’t tire you, I wish you a speedy recovery, Just before you ring off, how did you find my telephone number, Young Sara gave it to me, Ah, the other Sara, Yes, the telephonist, When, As I told you, yesterday forenoon, And you waited until today to call me, I was afraid of disturbing you, But you overcome your fear, I suppose so, otherwise I wouldn’t be speaking to you right now, Meantime, you should have been told that I wanted to speak to you. For two seconds, Raimundo Silva thought of pretending that he had not received the message, but before the third second passed, he found himself answering, Yes, Therefore I can assume that you couldn’t help calling me once I had taken the initiative, You may assume what you please, that’s up to you, but you must also assume that if I asked the telephonist for your number it wasn’t just to carry it around in my pocket, waiting for who knows what, there was another reason, What, Simply a lack of courage, Your courage appears to have been limited to that little proof-reading episode you don’t like me mentioning, In fact, I’m only telephoning to inquire about your state of health and to say I’ll hope you’ll soon be better, And don’t you think it’s time you asked me why I called you, Why did you call me, I’m not sure that I like your tone of voice, Words are more important than the way they’re spoken, I would have assumed that your experience as a proof-reader must have taught you that words mean nothing unless spoken in a certain tone of voice, The written word is mute, Reading gives it a voice, Except when read in silence, Even then, unless Senhor Raimundo Silva believes the brain is a silent organ, I’m only a proof-reader, like the shoemaker, I make do with carpet-slippers, my brain knows me, I know nothing about my brain, An interesting observation, You still haven’t answered my question, What question, Why did you telephone me, I’m no longer certain that I feel like telling you, So, I’m not the only coward, I don’t recall having said anything about cowardice, You spoke about a lack of courage, That’s not the same thing, The two sides of a coin are different, but the coin is one and the same, Valour is only to be found on one side, This conversation is getting beyond me and I suggest we drop the subject, besides it’s most unwise to argue like this, given your state of health, This cynicism doesn’t become you, I’m not being cynical, I know, so stop pretending, Seriously, I don’t think we know what we’re talking about, Speak for yourself, Then explain it to me, There’s no need for any explanations, You’re evading the question, It’s you who are evading the question, your’re hiding from yourself and want me to tell you what you already know, Please, Please what, I think we ought to ring off, this conversation has got out of hand, You’re to blame, Me, Yes, you, You’re much mistaken, I like things to be clear, Then try being clear and tell me why you are so aggressive whenever you speak to me, I’m never aggressive with anyone, I don’t have this modern vice, Then why are you aggressive with me, It isn’t true, Since the first day we met, should you need reminding, Circumstances, But those circumstances have changed yet you’re gone on being aggressive, Forgive me, that was never my intention, Now it’s my turn to ask you not to use such meaningless words, Agreed, I’ll say no more, Then listen, I telephoned you because I was feeling lonely,, because I was curious to know if you were working, because I wanted you to take an interest in my health, because, Maria Sara, Don’t say my name like that, Maria Sara, I like you, a long pause, Is that so, It’s the truth, You took your sweet time before telling me, And perhaps I might never have got round to telling you, Why not, We’re different, we belong to different worlds, What do you know about all these differences between us and our worlds, I can guess, observe, draw my own conclusions, These three operations can just as easily lead us to draw the right or the wrong conclusions, Agreed, and my biggest mistake right now is to have confessed that I like you, Why, Because I know nothing about your private life, whether you are, Married, Yes, or, In any way spoken for, to use an old-fashioned expression, Yes, Well, let’s imagine that I am already married or engaged, would that prevent you from being fond of me, No, And if I really were married or engaged to someone else, should that prevent me from being fond of you, if that was how I felt, I don’t know, Then you should know that I am fond of you, a long pause, Is that true, Yes, it’s true, Listen Maria Sara, Tell me, Raimundo, but first you should know that I got divorced three years ago, that I ended an affair three months ago and haven’t had any more affairs since, that I have no children but would dearly love to have them, I live with a married brother, and the person who answered the telephone was my sister-in-law, and you don’t have to tell me who took down my message, she’s your cleaner, and now, Mr Proof-reader, you may speak, pay no attention to this wild outburst, it’s that I’m brimming over with joy, Tell me, why do you like me, What can I say, I just like you, And aren’t you afraid that once you get to know me, you won’t like me anymore, It sometimes happens, in fact, it happens quite a lot, So, So, nothing, it takes time to get to know each other, I like you, I believe you, When can we see each other, As soon as I can get up from this bed of pain, Where’s the pain, All over, What is actually wrong with you, Nothing serious, or rather, the worst flu I’ve ever experienced, From where you are, you can’t see me, but I’m smiling, Now that’s really something, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a smile cross your lips, Can I confide that I love you, No, simply say that you are fond of me, I’ve already said so, Then keep the rest for the day you truly love me, should that day ever come, It will come, Let’s not bank on the future, better to wait and see what it has in store for us, and now this weak, feverish woman asks to be left in peace to rest, to recover her strength in case it occurs to someone to call back again today, To speak to you, Or you, for the phrase could just as easily refer to either of us, Ambiguity isn’t always a defect, So long, Let me leave you with a kiss, The time will come for kisses, For me it has been slow in coming, One last question, Tell me, Have you started to write your ‘History of the Siege of Lisbon’, Yes, I have, Good, for I’m not sure that I could have gone on liking you if you’d said no, Goodbye. …≫
NB: Saramago acknowledged in an article that there is a lot of him in the protagonist of the novel, Raimundo Silva, a middle-aged, isolated proofreader who falls in love with his boss, an attractive, younger editor who 'saves' him from emotional mediocrity. The novel is dedicated to his wife (as are all his subsequent books), the Spanish journalist Pilar del Rio, whom he married in 1988. In other words, this is a '...and they lived happily ever after' tale.
September 20, 2019
Το βιβλίο αυτό βρισκόταν αφημένο στη βιβλιοθήκη μου κάμποσα χρόνια. Το κοιτούσα, με κοιτούσε... Αφού δεν σηκώθηκε να μου ρίξει καμία, πάλι καλά.
Αποφάσισα ότι πλέον ήταν καιρός να το διαβάσω και δεν μετάνιωσα. Με τον μοναδικό τρόπο του, ο Σαρμάγκο μπορεί να κάνει έναν μεσόκοπο επιμελητή βιβλίων, να μοιάζει με τον λαμπερότερο ιππότη, αρκεί να μπορέσει κανείς να μπει στην ουσία και στο βάθος της γραφής του, πράγμα όχι και τόσο εύκολο ομολογουμένως.
Συνίσταται για όλους, κυρίως όμως για όσους έχουν διαβάσει πρώτα άλλα έργα του Σαραμάγκο και έχουν προλάβει ήδη να εκτιμήσουν το μεγάλο αυτό λογοτέχνη.
Αποφάσισα ότι πλέον ήταν καιρός να το διαβάσω και δεν μετάνιωσα. Με τον μοναδικό τρόπο του, ο Σαρμάγκο μπορεί να κάνει έναν μεσόκοπο επιμελητή βιβλίων, να μοιάζει με τον λαμπερότερο ιππότη, αρκεί να μπορέσει κανείς να μπει στην ουσία και στο βάθος της γραφής του, πράγμα όχι και τόσο εύκολο ομολογουμένως.
Συνίσταται για όλους, κυρίως όμως για όσους έχουν διαβάσει πρώτα άλλα έργα του Σαραμάγκο και έχουν προλάβει ήδη να εκτιμήσουν το μεγάλο αυτό λογοτέχνη.
August 22, 2018
Jose Saramago may not somebody who relies so heavily on plot. He utilizes stream-of-consciousness in "The History of the Siege of Lisbon" as a way to merge the history of the city’s past with that of the protagonist living out his life in the modern day. In the novel, conversations bear no quotations, no parentheses appear on added-on ideas/non sequiturs, nor are questions accompanied by a ?. Whole paragraphs are pages long, & it's safe to say that most of them contain a single action or noun which is then fully explored for the remainder of that paragraph: each minutiae is meticulously explained and more questions (plenty of the hypothetical kind) are added on to the subject in question. Also a heavy use of commas and lists is a way of penetrating truths in a deeper way. He's NOT MY KIND OF WRITER: he asks way too much of his readers, & one wonders what would happen if Saramago had SOMETHING going on, namely a STORY, & if he added all the flourishes that make him unique: THAT would truly grab me.
Here then (for my CONSCIOUSNESS & FICTION grad class) an attempt at a Saramagian yarn:
Montage
Lazaro has put on his contact lenses and is ready to get to work. Some saline solution still drips down the sides of his bright, bright eyes as he tidies up the bathroom a bit, dabbing the teeny puddles of water left on the rim of the faucet with the Kleenex he used previously to wipe the sides of his eyes, making perfect green vertical rectangles of the bath towels hanging on a chrome bar to his side, placing the half-empty bottle of solution, his eyeglasses which he won’t need anymore, and his contact case inside the mirror cabinet, then enters his room, his domain, his dark lair, sits still on his chair and exhales loudly. He hasn’t even looked at the posters which undoubtedly require, seek, his attention, which are the sole objects we must now devote our focus on. Let’s not look too much at this room, though there is a considerable plenty to contemplate here: books on the redwood shelf, A Confederacy of Dunces, The Corrections, White Teeth, The Secret History, The Rules of Attraction, The Blithedale Romance, all three Lord of the Rings plus The Hobbit, The Complete Short Stories of J. G. Ballard, Bel Canto, Candide, The Shining, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord and additionally a huge array of colors, thin and almost invisible, in the form of individual DVD titles, Titanic, Cool Hand Luke, Mulholland Drive, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Halloween, Sleeping Beauty, Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, Pink Flamingoes, Lost in Translation, Before Sunrise plus some smaller slits of color nearby which conform exactly to the shapes of CDs the colors white, red, black, blue, magenta, with titles given them by the artists responsible, just as writers themselves must give names to their peculiar rowdy offspring made of ink and paper, but these music artists are more important than the forgettable titles of their work, songs played in supersonic repetition by the likes of Pink Floyd, E.L.O., Dr. Dre, NIN, Philip Glass, Black Flag, Maria Daniela y su Sonido Lasser and Britney Spears. All this is too much to see all at once but a mixture of all these catalysts and inspiring cores exists in some indiscernible form within the brain of our Lazaro. There is however a vast difference between all the inspiration found in these artistic forms of the modern age, their sheer attainability is surreal, all these masterpieces, all this plot, image and sound in a micro museum at our protagonist’s disposal, his points of reference, & the posters which are laid down like grey corpses, spread out the full length of the desk. These are definitely unfinished, unpublished, unseen by the masses, and they are precisely this way because at this point Lazaro is barely getting the courage to move his drawing pencil in concentric circles, rightward, downward, then back up again as the snake eats up its tail, as this surely will bring something out. Maybe the knife should gleam only slightly, he thinks then, at its tip, and maybe the victim’s mouth will be the circles, which can become as small or as large as the artist imagines. And words. There will be a cryptic feel to this poster, this attempt at art, attempt at permanence, just as those others are there now, looking down at him with ambiguity from their shelves, maybe even with some jealousy, and the feeling will be inspired by everything he’s ever come into contact with. He takes some certain image from a book, from a film, from the lyrics of songs and tries to do something of it, he takes it within himself to rearrange it, chip at it, add some meat to it, change its entire significance. He starts committing the pencil to the noisy endless paper, begins to think calmly, letting things displace themselves like autumn leaves from his cranium. The montage then is too much to bear, this happens when Lazaro thinks way too much on a single muchness, on one singular complexity, because everything everything has been done one or two or millions of times before and nothing is ever quite original, but only the montage will bring out something that he would have otherwise kept to himself, inside himself, entombed, and it hurts. He has, some hours later, a blueprint, an essence and sure existence, since now it is there for all to see, for there it is for Lazaro to finish off, and he is incredibly happy on many levels, one being that he has not wasted his time after all, one below that that this may actually turn out to be something, something good, and in the basement level which states that leaving things internal is just so wrong that it could lead to something bad, an overload, like cancer.
Here then (for my CONSCIOUSNESS & FICTION grad class) an attempt at a Saramagian yarn:
Montage
Lazaro has put on his contact lenses and is ready to get to work. Some saline solution still drips down the sides of his bright, bright eyes as he tidies up the bathroom a bit, dabbing the teeny puddles of water left on the rim of the faucet with the Kleenex he used previously to wipe the sides of his eyes, making perfect green vertical rectangles of the bath towels hanging on a chrome bar to his side, placing the half-empty bottle of solution, his eyeglasses which he won’t need anymore, and his contact case inside the mirror cabinet, then enters his room, his domain, his dark lair, sits still on his chair and exhales loudly. He hasn’t even looked at the posters which undoubtedly require, seek, his attention, which are the sole objects we must now devote our focus on. Let’s not look too much at this room, though there is a considerable plenty to contemplate here: books on the redwood shelf, A Confederacy of Dunces, The Corrections, White Teeth, The Secret History, The Rules of Attraction, The Blithedale Romance, all three Lord of the Rings plus The Hobbit, The Complete Short Stories of J. G. Ballard, Bel Canto, Candide, The Shining, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord and additionally a huge array of colors, thin and almost invisible, in the form of individual DVD titles, Titanic, Cool Hand Luke, Mulholland Drive, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Halloween, Sleeping Beauty, Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, Pink Flamingoes, Lost in Translation, Before Sunrise plus some smaller slits of color nearby which conform exactly to the shapes of CDs the colors white, red, black, blue, magenta, with titles given them by the artists responsible, just as writers themselves must give names to their peculiar rowdy offspring made of ink and paper, but these music artists are more important than the forgettable titles of their work, songs played in supersonic repetition by the likes of Pink Floyd, E.L.O., Dr. Dre, NIN, Philip Glass, Black Flag, Maria Daniela y su Sonido Lasser and Britney Spears. All this is too much to see all at once but a mixture of all these catalysts and inspiring cores exists in some indiscernible form within the brain of our Lazaro. There is however a vast difference between all the inspiration found in these artistic forms of the modern age, their sheer attainability is surreal, all these masterpieces, all this plot, image and sound in a micro museum at our protagonist’s disposal, his points of reference, & the posters which are laid down like grey corpses, spread out the full length of the desk. These are definitely unfinished, unpublished, unseen by the masses, and they are precisely this way because at this point Lazaro is barely getting the courage to move his drawing pencil in concentric circles, rightward, downward, then back up again as the snake eats up its tail, as this surely will bring something out. Maybe the knife should gleam only slightly, he thinks then, at its tip, and maybe the victim’s mouth will be the circles, which can become as small or as large as the artist imagines. And words. There will be a cryptic feel to this poster, this attempt at art, attempt at permanence, just as those others are there now, looking down at him with ambiguity from their shelves, maybe even with some jealousy, and the feeling will be inspired by everything he’s ever come into contact with. He takes some certain image from a book, from a film, from the lyrics of songs and tries to do something of it, he takes it within himself to rearrange it, chip at it, add some meat to it, change its entire significance. He starts committing the pencil to the noisy endless paper, begins to think calmly, letting things displace themselves like autumn leaves from his cranium. The montage then is too much to bear, this happens when Lazaro thinks way too much on a single muchness, on one singular complexity, because everything everything has been done one or two or millions of times before and nothing is ever quite original, but only the montage will bring out something that he would have otherwise kept to himself, inside himself, entombed, and it hurts. He has, some hours later, a blueprint, an essence and sure existence, since now it is there for all to see, for there it is for Lazaro to finish off, and he is incredibly happy on many levels, one being that he has not wasted his time after all, one below that that this may actually turn out to be something, something good, and in the basement level which states that leaving things internal is just so wrong that it could lead to something bad, an overload, like cancer.
November 2, 2014
قصة حصار لشبونة
مع ساراماغو أكون قد قرأت مئة كتاب لهذا العام، وأنجزت التحدي القرائي لـ 2014، طبعاً لا يعني هذا أنني سأجلس بلا قراءات فيما بقي من العام، بالعكس الرقم مرشح للزيادة، لأن القراءة بالنسبة لي ليست تحدياً سنوياً وإنما هي ممارسة يومية، تملأ روحي وقلبي وعقلي بهجة ولذة.
اخترت ساراماغو لأني أردت ختاماً يليق بعام قرائي حافل ومثير، قرأت فيه عناوين كانت تنتظر منذ زمن، ولم يخيبني النوبلي البرتغالي، فقدم رواية يمتزج فيها التاريخ – سقوط لشبونة بيد البرتغاليين وتأسيس البرتغال بعد طرد المسلمين منها - بالواقع - من خلال مصحح يعمل على مخطوطة تتحدث عن حصار لشبونة يقرر أن يعيد كتابة التاريخ انطلاقاً من تغيير طفيف، كلمة واحدة - وكذلك بالحب - من خلال علاقة المصحح بامرأة يتعرف عليها وتنمو علاقتهما سريعاً -.
الرواية رغم أسلوب ساراماغو المميز وطريقته المرهقة في الكتابة، إلا أنها تبدو مختلفة نوعاً ما، مختلفة عن ما قرأته لساراماغو حتى الآن، ففي حين تتشابه العمى والطوف الحجري، تبدو هذه الرواية أقرب لرواية (كل الأسماء).
مع ساراماغو أكون قد قرأت مئة كتاب لهذا العام، وأنجزت التحدي القرائي لـ 2014، طبعاً لا يعني هذا أنني سأجلس بلا قراءات فيما بقي من العام، بالعكس الرقم مرشح للزيادة، لأن القراءة بالنسبة لي ليست تحدياً سنوياً وإنما هي ممارسة يومية، تملأ روحي وقلبي وعقلي بهجة ولذة.
اخترت ساراماغو لأني أردت ختاماً يليق بعام قرائي حافل ومثير، قرأت فيه عناوين كانت تنتظر منذ زمن، ولم يخيبني النوبلي البرتغالي، فقدم رواية يمتزج فيها التاريخ – سقوط لشبونة بيد البرتغاليين وتأسيس البرتغال بعد طرد المسلمين منها - بالواقع - من خلال مصحح يعمل على مخطوطة تتحدث عن حصار لشبونة يقرر أن يعيد كتابة التاريخ انطلاقاً من تغيير طفيف، كلمة واحدة - وكذلك بالحب - من خلال علاقة المصحح بامرأة يتعرف عليها وتنمو علاقتهما سريعاً -.
الرواية رغم أسلوب ساراماغو المميز وطريقته المرهقة في الكتابة، إلا أنها تبدو مختلفة نوعاً ما، مختلفة عن ما قرأته لساراماغو حتى الآن، ففي حين تتشابه العمى والطوف الحجري، تبدو هذه الرواية أقرب لرواية (كل الأسماء).
July 29, 2020
A delightful, mature and sensitive love story surrounded by a bizarre fictionalized narrative of the bloody and violent expulsion by Portuguese Christians of the Islamic Moors from Lisbon in 1174. A simple quiet 50 year old bachelor meets an attractive and successful 40 year old divorcé. She likes him and politely seduces him. He likes her. They’re happy together. The intimacy of the bedroom scenes is touching and sincere. A beautiful feel good story oddly surrounded by hatred and death, but also accomplishment, as Lisbon does become Portuguese. Cool book. Fun to read. My new favorite Saramago. Five stars!
Read
November 19, 2020Odavno nisam čitala nešto ovako kvalitetno i lepo napisano.
Saramago je odabrao najnevidljiviju moguću profesiju za svog junaka: on je, naime, korektor i ceo život je proveo ispravljajući greške u tuđim knjigama i... to je sve, ništa drugo nije radio. Ništa žena, deca, kućni ljubimci. Ali roman započinje u trenutku kad korektor, iznerviran osrednjošću istorijske knjige koju pregleda i povremenim materijalnim greškama koje nalazi (ali ne sme da ih ispravlja), jednu potvrdnu rečenicu pretvori u odričnu. Nikad jadnije pobune nije bilo, ali kako to već biva, uhvate ga, dobro ga izgrde, i postave mu novu šeficu čiji je posao od sada da nadgleda korektore.
Međutim, nova urednica je zapravo oduševljena njegovim blesavim potezom i predloži mu da napiše celu knjigu koja bi počela od te rečenice: da su krstaši rešili da NE pomognu u opsadi Lisabona.
I to je to. Ali kako Saramago od te gotovo socrealističke anegdote (nek digne ruku ko se seća scene s lektorkama u filmu Ogledalo) ispreda roman, to treba stati pa gledati. U svojim tradicionalno bezobalnim rečenicama, on uz finu ironiju i mnogo nežnosti ismejava svoje junake, književnost kojoj su posvećeni, istoriju sa kojom se rvu, ismejava i versku mržnju i samu religiju, ali istovremeno lagano vuče zaplet u smeru retko jednostavne i ljupke ljubavne priče.
A način na koji razvija roman-u-romanu je domišljat i ekspeditivan - posle prvog većeg segmenta nam sam pripovedač skreće pažnju na to da jedan pisac-početnik nikad ne bi mogao da ispiše ovoliko pa još sređenog teksta za samo dan i po i da ovo treba da posmatramo više kao aproksimaciju romana u nastajanju tako da se time praktično obezbeđuje od mehaničkog uklapanja dva različita narativa (i ostavlja sebi prostor da zajedljivo komentariše opšta mesta istorijskog romana). Umesto toga imamo istinski uspešno pretapanje dve ravni pripovedanja koje ni u jednom trenutku ne ode u jeftine paralele.
Jedina mana ovog izdanja jeste prevod, i to kažem uz veliku ogradu da portugalski ne znam i ne poznajem original pa se moj sud a priori ne računa, i još veću, da dobro znam pod kakvim pritiskom i kakvim uslovima prevodioci danas kod nas rade. Iako bih rekla da se prevoditeljka potrudila koliko god je mogla (na početku navodi i saradnike koji su je savetovali) i da su pojedina rešenja uspela, malo-malo pa tekst negde isklizne, rečenica se pokarabasi, pojavi se moreuz u Lisabonu (?) ili tako štogod i onda sve vreme čitam pitajući se šta sam još propustila. I to je šteta jer je ovo zaista dobra knjiga i po meni ide odmah uz Godinu smrti Rikarda Reiša po kvalitetu.
Saramago je odabrao najnevidljiviju moguću profesiju za svog junaka: on je, naime, korektor i ceo život je proveo ispravljajući greške u tuđim knjigama i... to je sve, ništa drugo nije radio. Ništa žena, deca, kućni ljubimci. Ali roman započinje u trenutku kad korektor, iznerviran osrednjošću istorijske knjige koju pregleda i povremenim materijalnim greškama koje nalazi (ali ne sme da ih ispravlja), jednu potvrdnu rečenicu pretvori u odričnu. Nikad jadnije pobune nije bilo, ali kako to već biva, uhvate ga, dobro ga izgrde, i postave mu novu šeficu čiji je posao od sada da nadgleda korektore.
Međutim, nova urednica je zapravo oduševljena njegovim blesavim potezom i predloži mu da napiše celu knjigu koja bi počela od te rečenice: da su krstaši rešili da NE pomognu u opsadi Lisabona.
I to je to. Ali kako Saramago od te gotovo socrealističke anegdote (nek digne ruku ko se seća scene s lektorkama u filmu Ogledalo) ispreda roman, to treba stati pa gledati. U svojim tradicionalno bezobalnim rečenicama, on uz finu ironiju i mnogo nežnosti ismejava svoje junake, književnost kojoj su posvećeni, istoriju sa kojom se rvu, ismejava i versku mržnju i samu religiju, ali istovremeno lagano vuče zaplet u smeru retko jednostavne i ljupke ljubavne priče.
A način na koji razvija roman-u-romanu je domišljat i ekspeditivan - posle prvog većeg segmenta nam sam pripovedač skreće pažnju na to da jedan pisac-početnik nikad ne bi mogao da ispiše ovoliko pa još sređenog teksta za samo dan i po i da ovo treba da posmatramo više kao aproksimaciju romana u nastajanju tako da se time praktično obezbeđuje od mehaničkog uklapanja dva različita narativa (i ostavlja sebi prostor da zajedljivo komentariše opšta mesta istorijskog romana). Umesto toga imamo istinski uspešno pretapanje dve ravni pripovedanja koje ni u jednom trenutku ne ode u jeftine paralele.
Jedina mana ovog izdanja jeste prevod, i to kažem uz veliku ogradu da portugalski ne znam i ne poznajem original pa se moj sud a priori ne računa, i još veću, da dobro znam pod kakvim pritiskom i kakvim uslovima prevodioci danas kod nas rade. Iako bih rekla da se prevoditeljka potrudila koliko god je mogla (na početku navodi i saradnike koji su je savetovali) i da su pojedina rešenja uspela, malo-malo pa tekst negde isklizne, rečenica se pokarabasi, pojavi se moreuz u Lisabonu (?) ili tako štogod i onda sve vreme čitam pitajući se šta sam još propustila. I to je šteta jer je ovo zaista dobra knjiga i po meni ide odmah uz Godinu smrti Rikarda Reiša po kvalitetu.
October 18, 2023
“L’esperienza della comunicazione ha infine provato che questa abbondanza apparente di visualizzazioni non ha diminuito il bisogno delle parole. Ogni parola è un pericoloso apprendista stregone”.
Scrittori come Saramago riportano al centro la letteratura come arte unica, come esperienza diversa da tutto il resto, proprio nell’era della convergenza in cui tutti vogliono semplificare la prosa per renderla vicina alle sequenze delle serie tv o alla rapidità e all’istantaneità dei social. Al contrario, in questo Autore le parole non sono mai isolate, non c’è la ricerca a tutti i costi dell’immagine, della scena iconica. I suoi romanzi si avviluppano attorno a una cascata di parole, andando a formare testi che quasi non hanno pause, dialoghi senza virgolette, pagine che racchiudono pensieri, azioni, fantasie, presente, passato, futuro, tutto mescolato, tutto elevato a Letteratura.
Questa è la semplice storia di un revisore, Raimundo Silva: un tipo di mezz’età, magro e impettito, con i capelli malamente tinti, che vive chiuso in casa, triste come un cane senza padrone. A un certo punto Raimundo decide – mentre sta revisionando un romanzo storico sull’assedio di Lisbona che avrebbe portato alla cacciata dei Mori e al trono il primo re del Portogallo, Alfonso – di commettere deliberatamente un errore dov’era invece suo dovere correggerlo. Decide di aggiungere una sola parola, un “non” nel passaggio in cui si dice che i Crociati aiutarono i portoghesi nella liberazione della città. Ecco, allora che la Storia con la s maiuscola viene cambiata. I crociati non aiutarono i portoghesi. Ma perché? Questa è solo la prima di una delle tante domande che assediano il romanzo. Apparentemente il racconto iperbolico di un assurdo storico, nella sostanza una provocazione politica: un insolente attentato contro la solidità dei fatti storici che deve essere continuamente strombazzata e propagandata, difesa dagli eventi esterni, altrimenti si rischia di perdere il significato della nostra attualità con grave turbamento delle opinioni che ci guidano e delle convinzioni che sorreggono l’impalcatura sociale.
Ma c’è della nobiltà nel fatto che un uomo normale assurga al ruolo di oppositore e si metta nella posizione scomoda di mettere in dubbio ogni cosa e reinventare la realtà. Raimundo, un comune revisore, si prende la libertà di dire no, di resistere a una Realtà bigia e assediante. All’interno di questa storia di ribellione si innesta la storia reinventata dell’assedio di Lisbona, creando un intreccio fatto di corrispondenze continue tra presente e passato, un gioco di composizione, una storia nella storia. In nuce ci sarebbero tutti i temi presenti anche in un altro romanzo straordinario che celebra un singolo atto di ribellione, un canto di felicità e amore contro i compiti ottusi a cui ci piega l’omologante disciplina del Reale ovvero “Il Maestro e Margherita”. Anche qui, tra le righe di un racconto meraviglioso, leggiamo una riflessione metaletteraria sul perché si scrive: “Ogni romanzo consiste in questo, disperazione, tentativo frustrato che il passato non sia una cosa definitivamente perduta. L’unica cosa che non si è ancora appurata è se sia il romanzo che impedisce all’uomo di dimenticarsi, o se sia l’impossibilità dell’oblio che lo porta a scrivere romanzi”.
Scrittori come Saramago riportano al centro la letteratura come arte unica, come esperienza diversa da tutto il resto, proprio nell’era della convergenza in cui tutti vogliono semplificare la prosa per renderla vicina alle sequenze delle serie tv o alla rapidità e all’istantaneità dei social. Al contrario, in questo Autore le parole non sono mai isolate, non c’è la ricerca a tutti i costi dell’immagine, della scena iconica. I suoi romanzi si avviluppano attorno a una cascata di parole, andando a formare testi che quasi non hanno pause, dialoghi senza virgolette, pagine che racchiudono pensieri, azioni, fantasie, presente, passato, futuro, tutto mescolato, tutto elevato a Letteratura.
Questa è la semplice storia di un revisore, Raimundo Silva: un tipo di mezz’età, magro e impettito, con i capelli malamente tinti, che vive chiuso in casa, triste come un cane senza padrone. A un certo punto Raimundo decide – mentre sta revisionando un romanzo storico sull’assedio di Lisbona che avrebbe portato alla cacciata dei Mori e al trono il primo re del Portogallo, Alfonso – di commettere deliberatamente un errore dov’era invece suo dovere correggerlo. Decide di aggiungere una sola parola, un “non” nel passaggio in cui si dice che i Crociati aiutarono i portoghesi nella liberazione della città. Ecco, allora che la Storia con la s maiuscola viene cambiata. I crociati non aiutarono i portoghesi. Ma perché? Questa è solo la prima di una delle tante domande che assediano il romanzo. Apparentemente il racconto iperbolico di un assurdo storico, nella sostanza una provocazione politica: un insolente attentato contro la solidità dei fatti storici che deve essere continuamente strombazzata e propagandata, difesa dagli eventi esterni, altrimenti si rischia di perdere il significato della nostra attualità con grave turbamento delle opinioni che ci guidano e delle convinzioni che sorreggono l’impalcatura sociale.
Ma c’è della nobiltà nel fatto che un uomo normale assurga al ruolo di oppositore e si metta nella posizione scomoda di mettere in dubbio ogni cosa e reinventare la realtà. Raimundo, un comune revisore, si prende la libertà di dire no, di resistere a una Realtà bigia e assediante. All’interno di questa storia di ribellione si innesta la storia reinventata dell’assedio di Lisbona, creando un intreccio fatto di corrispondenze continue tra presente e passato, un gioco di composizione, una storia nella storia. In nuce ci sarebbero tutti i temi presenti anche in un altro romanzo straordinario che celebra un singolo atto di ribellione, un canto di felicità e amore contro i compiti ottusi a cui ci piega l’omologante disciplina del Reale ovvero “Il Maestro e Margherita”. Anche qui, tra le righe di un racconto meraviglioso, leggiamo una riflessione metaletteraria sul perché si scrive: “Ogni romanzo consiste in questo, disperazione, tentativo frustrato che il passato non sia una cosa definitivamente perduta. L’unica cosa che non si è ancora appurata è se sia il romanzo che impedisce all’uomo di dimenticarsi, o se sia l’impossibilità dell’oblio che lo porta a scrivere romanzi”.
September 20, 2019
ای کاش برای امتیاز دادن ستارههای بیشتری وجود داشت مثلاً ده یا صد ستاره (امتیاز از ده یا صد ستاره) یا اگر همین پنج ستاره بود میشد با دقت دو رقم اعشار ستاره داد. در حقیقت امتیاز واقعی من به این کتاب سه و نیم است. اگر میخواهید کتاب تاریخ محاصره لیسبون را بخوانید بدانید که با کتاب کوری خیلی فاصله دارد و نباید توقع زیادی از این کتاب داشته باشید. من ترجمه کیومرث پارسای، نشر علم را خواندم که متأسفانه پر از غلطهای املایی و نگارشی بود. از طرفی اسامی خاص هیچ کدام به زبان اصلی پانویس نشده بودند و کلاً کتاب هیچ پانویس یا توضیحی از طرف مترجم نداشت (شاید واقعا نیاز نداشته، البته به نظر من نیاز داشت).
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زندگی همین است، نمیتوان از همه رویدادها جلوگیری کرد. هرگز نمیتوانیم از توصیه دادن به خداوند، اجتناب کنیم! ولی طبیعت، قواعدی انعطاف ناپذیر دارد و غالباً نتایجی غیرمنتظره و هنرمندانه به بار میآورد. ص 24 کتاب
انسانها آهن گداختهای هستند که باید روی سندان چکش بخورند و شکل بگیرند. بنابراین اگر گناه نباشد، انسان معنایی پیدا نمیکند. ص 26 کتاب
آدم راحتتر میتواند کسی را دوست بدارد تا اینکه کسی آدم را دوست داشته باشد. ص 41 کتاب
به هر حال ما شهامت حذف کردن دروغها را از کتابها نداریم و نمیتوانیم واقعیت را جایگزین آنها کنیم. ص 51 کتاب
وسوسه بازگشت به دوران کودکی، از ویژگیهای غیرقابل مقاومت و همیشگی نوع بشر است. ص 84 کتاب
اگر با پدیدهای برخورد کنیم که بر اساس ظواهر، معلول به نظر برسد و علت مستقیم و واضحی هم نداشته باشد راهکار این است که آن را به گذر زمان واگذار کنیم. زیرا تقدیر بشر این گونه است که باید تا ابد در انتظار معلولها بماند و تا ابد علتها را جستجو کند، یعنی همان کاری که تا کنون کرده است. ص 160 کتاب
همیشه همین طور است همه چیز را گردن خداوند میاندازیم، درحالیکه خود آنها را به وجود آوردهایم. ص 212 کتاب
سن و سال هر کس هنگامی معنا و مفهوم ویژه دارد که سن و سال دیگران مطرح شود. فکر میکنم از نظر پیرمردی هفتاد ساله، مرد جوانی هستم ولی بدون تردید از نظر جوانی بیست ساله پیرمرد به حساب میآیم. ص 331 کتاب
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زندگی همین است، نمیتوان از همه رویدادها جلوگیری کرد. هرگز نمیتوانیم از توصیه دادن به خداوند، اجتناب کنیم! ولی طبیعت، قواعدی انعطاف ناپذیر دارد و غالباً نتایجی غیرمنتظره و هنرمندانه به بار میآورد. ص 24 کتاب
انسانها آهن گداختهای هستند که باید روی سندان چکش بخورند و شکل بگیرند. بنابراین اگر گناه نباشد، انسان معنایی پیدا نمیکند. ص 26 کتاب
آدم راحتتر میتواند کسی را دوست بدارد تا اینکه کسی آدم را دوست داشته باشد. ص 41 کتاب
به هر حال ما شهامت حذف کردن دروغها را از کتابها نداریم و نمیتوانیم واقعیت را جایگزین آنها کنیم. ص 51 کتاب
وسوسه بازگشت به دوران کودکی، از ویژگیهای غیرقابل مقاومت و همیشگی نوع بشر است. ص 84 کتاب
اگر با پدیدهای برخورد کنیم که بر اساس ظواهر، معلول به نظر برسد و علت مستقیم و واضحی هم نداشته باشد راهکار این است که آن را به گذر زمان واگذار کنیم. زیرا تقدیر بشر این گونه است که باید تا ابد در انتظار معلولها بماند و تا ابد علتها را جستجو کند، یعنی همان کاری که تا کنون کرده است. ص 160 کتاب
همیشه همین طور است همه چیز را گردن خداوند میاندازیم، درحالیکه خود آنها را به وجود آوردهایم. ص 212 کتاب
سن و سال هر کس هنگامی معنا و مفهوم ویژه دارد که سن و سال دیگران مطرح شود. فکر میکنم از نظر پیرمردی هفتاد ساله، مرد جوانی هستم ولی بدون تردید از نظر جوانی بیست ساله پیرمرد به حساب میآیم. ص 331 کتاب
May 5, 2017
Encontrei na escrita o cunho de Saramago, mas não a superioridade habitual das personagens.
Escrito em dois planos temporais perfeitamente interligados, o livro reescreve a história do cerco de Lisboa e, simultaneamente, dá-nos a conhecer as personagens atuais num enredo que mistura História e ficção.
Sem grande força ou carisma e com um desenrolar calculável, reinventa um novo cerco para um mesmo desfecho.
Ainda assim, vale sempre a pena ler Saramago e admirar a sua arte de escrever como quem conta histórias à lareira, repletas de satírico bom humor e a fineza do costume.
Escrito em dois planos temporais perfeitamente interligados, o livro reescreve a história do cerco de Lisboa e, simultaneamente, dá-nos a conhecer as personagens atuais num enredo que mistura História e ficção.
Sem grande força ou carisma e com um desenrolar calculável, reinventa um novo cerco para um mesmo desfecho.
Ainda assim, vale sempre a pena ler Saramago e admirar a sua arte de escrever como quem conta histórias à lareira, repletas de satírico bom humor e a fineza do costume.
November 1, 2014
- هل كل الحروب التاريخية قائمة على أسباب دينية أو أسباب ممجدة للأوطان ؟ هل أرضية المصالح الشخصية لم تكن قوام كل تلك الحروب ؟
( قصة حصار لشبونه )
لشيخ الرواة / البرتغالي جوزيه ساراماغو
هذا القفل الأدبي المحكم كله ثقة بأن الرواية المريحة لا تستحق عناء قرائتها!..
انطلاقًا من عنوان الرواية تجد إزدواجية التركيب ( قصة ( مركب تخييلي ) حصار لشبونه ( مركب تاريخي ) ) بذلك يتجلى مكر ساراماغو بهذا المزيج الذي يحاصر القارئ .. ساراماغو هذا الشيخ يحاور شيخًا آخر أدهى منه / التاريخ / بل ويساومه على بعض حقائقه بإفتراضاته المتشعبة المبتغيات ، محاورة جادة للغاية و المحاورة بين شيخين فن عتيق .. ناتجهُ لا يطوى ولا يروى كما يُقال .. فالأمر شخصي للغاية بينهما..
وجهة نظر ساراماغو الأدبية الإفتراضية V الحقيقة التاريخية
في حين أن التاريخ يخبرنا عن قصة الحصار الشهيرة للشبونه أن الصليبين ساعدوا البرتغاليين في إنجاح الحصار و استعادة لشبونه بعد قرون من الحكم العربي لها وهذا بند تاريخي لا جدال فيه ، ساراماغو يقول : كيف نتأكد من ذلك ؟ المصدر التاريخي الواحد بات موضة العصور الغابرة ، و مامن مصدر تاريخي لم تخنه ولى قليل من التفاصيل جعلت روايته متزعزعة ناهيك حين تصدر أوامر عاجلة برفع الأقلام دون جدل من قبل الجهات العليا:) .. فهل سيخضع التاريخ لمخاض جديد على يديّ ساراماغو ؟
أثناء تصحيح رواية تاريخية لمؤلف تقليدي لا يحيد عن الإرث التاريخي قيد أنملة ، و بغية تجهيز الرواية التاريخية للنشر نجد المصحح -المحب لعمله - رايمندو سيلبا يضيق ذرعاً ب نعم التي تثبت المساعدة الصليبية للجيوش البرتغالية في حصار لشبونه في عهد الملك البرتغالي أفونسو ، فيقرر استبدالها بلا و كشط زيف لا يتقبله منطقه ! هذا العمل الجريء يجعل مهنته في مهب الريح حيث تقرر دار النشر - ممتنة لخدماته الجليلة - منحه فرصة أخرى تحت إشراف السيدة ماريا سارة ، التي سوف تشجعه على التمسك ب لا كحق مواطن بمقدوره السباحة ضد التيار و إن كان التيار سيجرفه في النهاية ، لا بأس بشرف المحاولة .. تبدأ الرواية التي سيكتبها رايمندو وبتشجيع من ماريا سارة ب- الفجر السّلمي الأخير و المؤذن يرفع صوته باطمئنان مناديًا لصلاة الفجر وتنتهي روايته ب فجر عبثي تُحزّ فيه رقبة المؤذن قبل إطلاق صوته المدوي بالإذان - و الفجر في الحالتين يرمز للوضوح و الخلود رغم غفلة التاريخ لهذا .
قراءة هذه الرواية قراءة تاريخية بحتة هو الظلم بعينه فلا أحد يزايد على ذاكرة التاريخ فمابالك بمن يحاول إفقادها إياه عمدًا . ولكن مهلاً فالبعد الافتراضي الذي أضافه ساراماغو عليه لم يغير المعادلة التاريخية ( فالنصر محتوم بمساعدة البرتغاليون أو بدونها / ناهيك أن الصليبيون انقسموا و شريحة منهم بقت وساعدت في الحصار ) فما فائدة إستبدال المصحح ريمندو سيلبا ( نعم ب لا ) ، البعد الافتراضي ب هو محاولة لإدارة عجلة القدر ومنحه استدارة المحارب المراوغة ؟ لإلقاء الضوء على النوايا و الدوافع كل من / الملك - الصليبيون - البرتغاليون / سبر ملعون من ساراماغو لبواطنهم و وساوسهم ، -مثلاً -
الصليبيون كتجمع ديني متعدد القوميات لا يمكن أن يجتمع على رأي واحد سواءًا المقاطعة أو الإنخراط في الحصار مع ملك البرتغال و هنا يقدم ساراماغو قراءة دقيقة لفكر المشاركين و المقاطعين ، والخزائن الخالية لملك البرتغال أفونسو لم تكن حافز حقيقي للصليبين لمساعدة البرتغاليين فلذلك تجده يعوّل على الرابط الديني بينهم بإستدعاءه الحثيث للرموز الدينية كمحرك مشترك لفرض الحصار على المسلمين ، والتباهي بتأييد المسيح بنفسه للبرتغاليين و الذي جاء في خطبة الملك كان سبب رفض جزء كبير من الصليبيون لمساعدتهم ، بينما تبقى شريحة قليلة منهم بعد تطميع الملك لهم بالحصول على حصة الأسد من الغنائم التي سيغنمونها بعد الحصار ، ولعلك تستشف من انتهازية الموقف السابق من قبل كل من الملك والصليبين .. أن هذا سيأتي على حساب البرتغاليين و ستتسائل ماهو الدافع الذي حرك البرتغاليون لفرض الحصار ؟ لم يكن الدفاع عن القومية البرتغالية و إلا لكانت محركهم منذ زمن عشش فيها الأسلام لعدة قرون في لشبونة؟
بل هو أن مسلمو لشبونه محدودو الثراء مقارنة بغيرهم من المسلمين في المناطق المجاورة كأشبيليه و غرناطة ! ما دام البرتغاليون هم الجيش الحقيقي - الذي لم يحركه استعادة مجد وطنه من البداية - فلن يرضى بإشراف مدعوم من قبل الصليبين دون اتفاق مسبق لمناصفة الغنائم معهم .. في النهاية تبدو ال ( لا )التي خطّها ساراماغو أقرب ل كمين ينتقد من خلاله الروح البرتغالية الخائرة في نظر ساراماغوأولاً ... ثم لمنحها حقها التاريخي في الإستقلال بنصرها دون مساعدة من أحد .. النصر = البقاء .. لم يحركهم مجد الوطن و لم يطمحوا لنصر ديني .. فقط الرغبة في البقاء .. و البقاء تاريخيًا هو التهميش و هذا ما لم يقلبه ساراماغو فتحدى بهرجة التاريخ ومنحه للنصر اعتبارات طنانة أكثر من الحقيقة
..
لنقل أن ساراماغو غيّر تفاصيل اللعبة وترك الأمور في نصابها في نهاية المطاف .
أحببت الرواية بعمق ، ف ثيماتها مغرية و سردها المشوش والمحفز مغر.. و تقنياتها مدمرة .
December 13, 2021
É tão tão bom e reconfortante regressar a quem sempre nos deslumbra e delicia!!!
Não é o meu favorito de Saramaguinho, mas tenho um carinho deveras especial pelo Raimundo revisor!
Opinião detalhadinha aqui: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1_5q...
NOTA - 09/10
Não é o meu favorito de Saramaguinho, mas tenho um carinho deveras especial pelo Raimundo revisor!
Opinião detalhadinha aqui: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1_5q...
NOTA - 09/10
June 16, 2020
"Aslanı altetmek için kafesine girip güreşilmez. Yemeği kesilir ve yavaş yavaş ölmesi izlenir kenardan."
⭐
Her seferinde bu kadar harika anlatmak zorunda mısınız, sayın Saramago?
Bir düzeltmen olan Silva'nın tarih kitabının bir cümlesini değiştirmesiyle hayatının da birden yön değiştirmesini anlatıyor.
İki hikaye içiçe geçmiş durumda. Çok akıcı, heyecan verici.
⭐
Her seferinde bu kadar harika anlatmak zorunda mısınız, sayın Saramago?
Bir düzeltmen olan Silva'nın tarih kitabının bir cümlesini değiştirmesiyle hayatının da birden yön değiştirmesini anlatıyor.
İki hikaye içiçe geçmiş durumda. Çok akıcı, heyecan verici.
June 23, 2017
5 αστέρια, εις ανάμνησιν! Γιατί οι μεγάλες αγάπες ΔΕΝ ξεχνιούνται!
https://pepperlines.blogspot.gr/2017/...
https://pepperlines.blogspot.gr/2017/...
July 25, 2025
One of the many reasons I love (and have loved since I first read him 20 years ago) Saramago’s writing (as translated by the extraordinary Pontiero) is because it matches so closely to the way I read. I do not, and have never as far as I know, visualised or imagined anything that I read. In fact, I lack much of a visual imagination or memory in any respect. When I read it is much more about the sound and the rhythm of the words, literature is much closer to music for me than it may be for others with a better imagination. When I read it is like listening to a radio play inside my head. Or being sat at the feet of the storyteller as the fire dims and the night grows late. This is why I love Gaddis’ JR, or the works of Ivy Compton Burnett. So I have never had any problem distinguishing the different voices in his text, I hear the changes of tone and diction immediately. The flow and the sound and the meaning are so perfectly intertwined. His humour comes across perfectly, as does his sadness and his intellectual playfulness. Reading him (in these translations) is always a pleasure.
I don’t know why I always loved this one so much - perhaps it is because for my degree I studied History with a Minor in English Literature and Creative Writing. So my interests were always at this intersection between history and literature, between fact and fiction. My MA thesis caused a few problems because I wanted to blur disciplines in a way that feels very connected to the core of this book. So yeah, that probably explains it
I don’t know why I always loved this one so much - perhaps it is because for my degree I studied History with a Minor in English Literature and Creative Writing. So my interests were always at this intersection between history and literature, between fact and fiction. My MA thesis caused a few problems because I wanted to blur disciplines in a way that feels very connected to the core of this book. So yeah, that probably explains it
October 28, 2017
While typing up my brief review of One-Hundred Years of Solitude, i was reminded of this book, one of my favorites of all time, because like Gabriel García Márquez's book, this was beautifully written as well as an awe-inspiring translation effort.
For 15 years i was an editor of reference books. It shouldn't be a surprise, then, that a professional proofreader protagonist/narrator immediately compelled me and held my attention. The idiosyncratically minimalist punctuation and the pages-long comma-spliced sentences were so unbelievably perfect for me as a reader (and for this story) that i couldn't put it down despite the difficulties they presented for comprehension. Saramago was forcing me to read more carefully than when i was attempting to consume the entire science fiction canon in the mid-1990s.
Finally (for the time being anyway) i never would've thought that i could find so much enjoyment in what reasonably could be considered "merely" a love story. But let's not forget Pride and Prejudice.
For 15 years i was an editor of reference books. It shouldn't be a surprise, then, that a professional proofreader protagonist/narrator immediately compelled me and held my attention. The idiosyncratically minimalist punctuation and the pages-long comma-spliced sentences were so unbelievably perfect for me as a reader (and for this story) that i couldn't put it down despite the difficulties they presented for comprehension. Saramago was forcing me to read more carefully than when i was attempting to consume the entire science fiction canon in the mid-1990s.
Finally (for the time being anyway) i never would've thought that i could find so much enjoyment in what reasonably could be considered "merely" a love story. But let's not forget Pride and Prejudice.
October 25, 2022
Superb lucru ce reușește Saramago în această carte. Folosindu-se de un eveniment crucial în fondarea Portugaliei, practic piatra de temelie a Portugaliei și istoriei sale, îmbină trecutul și prezentul într-o manieră originală și autentică, specifică stilului său.
Ironia fină, gândirea analitică, sinceritatea și cinismul, nu lipsesc, acestea făcând parte din opera lui Saramago, dar totodată am luat contact și cu sensibilitatea, emoția, meditația și filosofia.
Nu este o carte fundamentală și nu se ridică la nivelul operelor clasice, dar este aparte, este o carte cu ,,parfum’’, o carte ce te plimbă prin Lisabona secolului XX, dar și prin Lisabona de la jumătatea veacului al-XII-lea. Se merită a fi citită din multe puncte de vedere, dar mai ales pentru punerea în paralel a aceluiași eveniment, dar relatat diferit și cum este abordată problema adevărului, mistificării și falsului în istorie.
4.5/5
Ironia fină, gândirea analitică, sinceritatea și cinismul, nu lipsesc, acestea făcând parte din opera lui Saramago, dar totodată am luat contact și cu sensibilitatea, emoția, meditația și filosofia.
Nu este o carte fundamentală și nu se ridică la nivelul operelor clasice, dar este aparte, este o carte cu ,,parfum’’, o carte ce te plimbă prin Lisabona secolului XX, dar și prin Lisabona de la jumătatea veacului al-XII-lea. Se merită a fi citită din multe puncte de vedere, dar mai ales pentru punerea în paralel a aceluiași eveniment, dar relatat diferit și cum este abordată problema adevărului, mistificării și falsului în istorie.
4.5/5
October 26, 2020
What history?
In 1147, Dom Afonso Henriques and his fellow Portuguese laid siege to the Moors who had occupied Lisbon. Known as the Reconquista, Christian armies including English, French, German and Spanish, were trying to win back land from the Muslims who had taken much of Iberia and Southern Europe since the 8th century. These foreign soldiers were known as the Crusaders.
What is history?
We know our history from historians and the books handed down to us over the centuries. We also know that history is written mostly by the victors. This helps nationalism develop in countries trying to define themselves. What we did in the past is what we shall become or hopefully avoid. Are these truths, stories, hearsay, or just passing accounts?
What are the facts?
What if an editor sought to change a word in a historical tract? A simple word. “Não” or No in English. A negative that defines what didn’t happen. Or what could have happened.
In the Saramago world, what if this editor, Raimundo Benvindo Silva claims that the Portuguese King didn’t ask the Crusaders for their help? What would be the outcome? Could the Portuguese do it on their own? Will that help their nationalism? And what of the losers, the Moors?
What does history say?
History is typically told from the view of the kings, leaders, their immediate followers and families. We don’t hear much about the common man. We don’t hear much about the other side. Except maybe in a novel, written by a certain Portuguese author.
What does love have to do with this?
The old tales of knights and their crusades were known as romances. Nothing like inserting a love story with the editor and his boss. Or how about a love story within the tales of the siege? Does it just come down to love and hate? War and peace? It all seems to fit.
What is real?
We weave ourselves into history. We are not bound by time but only by our desire to become part of our own simple history.
I leave this to Senhor Saramago to address this. “In truth, I believe there is a great division of people who say yes or say no.” You decide.
In 1147, Dom Afonso Henriques and his fellow Portuguese laid siege to the Moors who had occupied Lisbon. Known as the Reconquista, Christian armies including English, French, German and Spanish, were trying to win back land from the Muslims who had taken much of Iberia and Southern Europe since the 8th century. These foreign soldiers were known as the Crusaders.
What is history?
We know our history from historians and the books handed down to us over the centuries. We also know that history is written mostly by the victors. This helps nationalism develop in countries trying to define themselves. What we did in the past is what we shall become or hopefully avoid. Are these truths, stories, hearsay, or just passing accounts?
What are the facts?
What if an editor sought to change a word in a historical tract? A simple word. “Não” or No in English. A negative that defines what didn’t happen. Or what could have happened.
In the Saramago world, what if this editor, Raimundo Benvindo Silva claims that the Portuguese King didn’t ask the Crusaders for their help? What would be the outcome? Could the Portuguese do it on their own? Will that help their nationalism? And what of the losers, the Moors?
What does history say?
History is typically told from the view of the kings, leaders, their immediate followers and families. We don’t hear much about the common man. We don’t hear much about the other side. Except maybe in a novel, written by a certain Portuguese author.
What does love have to do with this?
The old tales of knights and their crusades were known as romances. Nothing like inserting a love story with the editor and his boss. Or how about a love story within the tales of the siege? Does it just come down to love and hate? War and peace? It all seems to fit.
What is real?
We weave ourselves into history. We are not bound by time but only by our desire to become part of our own simple history.
I leave this to Senhor Saramago to address this. “In truth, I believe there is a great division of people who say yes or say no.” You decide.
Read
March 16, 2025Ще ніколи так не раділа факту, що книга закінчилась 🥲
August 9, 2018
من أعلى القلعة هبط لأول مرة نهائيا وإلى الأبد، الهلال الإسلامي وإلى جواره الصليب الذي يعلن للعالم التعميد المقدس للمدينة المسيحية الجديدة، ارتفعت ببطء في زرقة الفضاء يقبلها الضوء ويحركها النسيم خفاقة بكبرياء النصر راية ملك البرتغال الذي استولى على لشبونة من أيدي المسلمين "دون أفونسو هنريكس" وعليها شجر الكينا، وهو يصدح: لا تفرقوا بين عمر وجنس، اقتلوا الطفل الرضيع والشيخ الهرم والشابة اليافعة والعجوز الفانية.
إنها قصة حصار لشبونة البرتغالية، واستسلام المسلمين من جراء الجوع، فهم في نظرهم ليسوا أهلا للشفقة حين عرضوا عليهم الانسحاب في سلام ومعهم أمتعتهم وثرواتهم، فالدم في نظرهم هو الذي يستطيع غسل أسوار لشبونة من الدنس الذي ظل يلوثها أكثر من ثلاثمائة وخمسون عاماً، واعادتها طاهرة نقية للمسيح بمساعدة الفرنسيين والنورمانديين لهم.
في الخط الآخر من الرواية قصة حُب نشأت بين المصحح "رايموندو سيلبا" والمدير الأدبي لدار النشر السيدة "ماريا سارة"، ومزجها بين قصة الحصار وتفاصيل حياتهم.
رواية ذات تفاصيل دقيقة، كعادة ساراماغو وعالمه الذي لا يمكن أن يصل إليه خيالك مهما بلغ من ابداع وتميز.
إنها قصة حصار لشبونة البرتغالية، واستسلام المسلمين من جراء الجوع، فهم في نظرهم ليسوا أهلا للشفقة حين عرضوا عليهم الانسحاب في سلام ومعهم أمتعتهم وثرواتهم، فالدم في نظرهم هو الذي يستطيع غسل أسوار لشبونة من الدنس الذي ظل يلوثها أكثر من ثلاثمائة وخمسون عاماً، واعادتها طاهرة نقية للمسيح بمساعدة الفرنسيين والنورمانديين لهم.
في الخط الآخر من الرواية قصة حُب نشأت بين المصحح "رايموندو سيلبا" والمدير الأدبي لدار النشر السيدة "ماريا سارة"، ومزجها بين قصة الحصار وتفاصيل حياتهم.
رواية ذات تفاصيل دقيقة، كعادة ساراماغو وعالمه الذي لا يمكن أن يصل إليه خيالك مهما بلغ من ابداع وتميز.
November 11, 2022
L'amore ai tempi dei Mori a Lisbona
Noto che ultimamente i romanzi che più mi piacciono sono spesso quelli in cui c'è una commistione tra antico e moderno in cui l'autore cerca di descrivere il passato, o un evento del passato, tentando di filtrarlo con occhi contemporanei, prova quanto sia sempre difficile colmare le distanze temporali.
Due narrazioni corrono intersecate: la storia dell'assedio di Lisbona nel 1147, occupata da secoli dai Mori che i portoghesi tentano di liberare, e una storia contemporanea di un amore nascente tra un revisore di testi e il suo superiore (donna).
C'è un equilibrio perfetto tra le due parti.
Oggi tendiamo a credere di essere più complessi dell'uomo antico perché la nostra complessità, dal 900 in avanti è stata teorizzata e vivisezionata dalle varie discipline, e nel romanzo moderno si affaccia forse per la prima volta l'uomo nel suo flusso di coscienza ed entriamo davvero nei suoi pensieri e meccanismi psicologici, non ci limitiamo a seguirne solo le azioni.
Ma è davvero così?
L'uomo è cambiato? È cambiato il suo modo, per esempio, di amare nel tempo?
Probabilmente no.
È cambiato il modo di esprimerlo.
Oggi c'è chi pensa che con un cuoricino rosso pulsante su uazap ha espresso qualcosa.
È cambiato il linguaggio.
E sono questioni che il nostro revisore, il protagonista del romanzo, si chiede continuamente quando da revisore diventa autore e riflette come affrontare, all'interno del romanzo che a sua volta sta scrivendo, come nasca e possa svilupparsi l'amore tra un soldato crociato e una donna del popolo, e sono pagine di una vibrante passione
Come era l'amore ai tempi dei Mori a Lisbona, parafrasando l'immenso Marquez, come un sentimento che è universale abbia cavalcato le epoche.
Come lo esprimevano un uomo e una donna del tempo.
Ma i temi che Saramago indaga in questo romanzo complesso dalla prosa sontuosa e dal periodare arduo (ma non c'è mai bellezza che si dia tanto facilmente) sono molti e anche altri.
C'è il tema dell'ecumenismo religioso.
C'è la bellezza della descrizione dell'assedio, i piani strategici per sfondare le mura della città, i problemi organizzativi, il morale delle truppe.
E c'è una riflessione costante di metaletteratura sull'attività autoriale, e, in anticipo sui tempi, Saramago si fa anche carico delle fake news, soggetto così incandescente oggi, a causa del quale non riusciamo (non riesco) per esempio ad avere una lucida fotografia del conflitto ucraino.
Il romanzo infatti prende l'avvio proprio da un errore (ma fatto e voluto consapevolmente dal revisore) il quale aggiunge un NON ad una frase, venendo così a negare il contributo dei crociati alle truppe portoghesi.
Saramago riscrive la storia e dà forma ad un romanzo che può anche essere letto come ucronico, il romanzo dei se.
Mai avrei immaginato che Saramago fosse capace di una così grande verità nel gestire in narrativa una storia d'amore (vedere le vibranti pag. 124 e125 della mia versione digitale) e mi domando sempre quando un autore descrive con un grado di veridicità così geometricamente esatto qualcosa se significhi che lo ha vissuto per saperlo esprimere così bene, oppure no.
Il Saramago più cinico e fustigatore delle bassezze dell'essere umano si è come addolcito.
Un Saramago che davvero ha superato se stesso, finora sono a quota 4 Saramaghi e questo è il migliore letto, ma lo è anche in valore assoluto, romanzo davvero straordinario.
Noto che ultimamente i romanzi che più mi piacciono sono spesso quelli in cui c'è una commistione tra antico e moderno in cui l'autore cerca di descrivere il passato, o un evento del passato, tentando di filtrarlo con occhi contemporanei, prova quanto sia sempre difficile colmare le distanze temporali.
Due narrazioni corrono intersecate: la storia dell'assedio di Lisbona nel 1147, occupata da secoli dai Mori che i portoghesi tentano di liberare, e una storia contemporanea di un amore nascente tra un revisore di testi e il suo superiore (donna).
C'è un equilibrio perfetto tra le due parti.
Oggi tendiamo a credere di essere più complessi dell'uomo antico perché la nostra complessità, dal 900 in avanti è stata teorizzata e vivisezionata dalle varie discipline, e nel romanzo moderno si affaccia forse per la prima volta l'uomo nel suo flusso di coscienza ed entriamo davvero nei suoi pensieri e meccanismi psicologici, non ci limitiamo a seguirne solo le azioni.
Ma è davvero così?
L'uomo è cambiato? È cambiato il suo modo, per esempio, di amare nel tempo?
Probabilmente no.
È cambiato il modo di esprimerlo.
Oggi c'è chi pensa che con un cuoricino rosso pulsante su uazap ha espresso qualcosa.
È cambiato il linguaggio.
E sono questioni che il nostro revisore, il protagonista del romanzo, si chiede continuamente quando da revisore diventa autore e riflette come affrontare, all'interno del romanzo che a sua volta sta scrivendo, come nasca e possa svilupparsi l'amore tra un soldato crociato e una donna del popolo, e sono pagine di una vibrante passione
Come era l'amore ai tempi dei Mori a Lisbona, parafrasando l'immenso Marquez, come un sentimento che è universale abbia cavalcato le epoche.
Come lo esprimevano un uomo e una donna del tempo.
Ma i temi che Saramago indaga in questo romanzo complesso dalla prosa sontuosa e dal periodare arduo (ma non c'è mai bellezza che si dia tanto facilmente) sono molti e anche altri.
C'è il tema dell'ecumenismo religioso.
C'è la bellezza della descrizione dell'assedio, i piani strategici per sfondare le mura della città, i problemi organizzativi, il morale delle truppe.
E c'è una riflessione costante di metaletteratura sull'attività autoriale, e, in anticipo sui tempi, Saramago si fa anche carico delle fake news, soggetto così incandescente oggi, a causa del quale non riusciamo (non riesco) per esempio ad avere una lucida fotografia del conflitto ucraino.
Il romanzo infatti prende l'avvio proprio da un errore (ma fatto e voluto consapevolmente dal revisore) il quale aggiunge un NON ad una frase, venendo così a negare il contributo dei crociati alle truppe portoghesi.
Saramago riscrive la storia e dà forma ad un romanzo che può anche essere letto come ucronico, il romanzo dei se.
Mai avrei immaginato che Saramago fosse capace di una così grande verità nel gestire in narrativa una storia d'amore (vedere le vibranti pag. 124 e125 della mia versione digitale) e mi domando sempre quando un autore descrive con un grado di veridicità così geometricamente esatto qualcosa se significhi che lo ha vissuto per saperlo esprimere così bene, oppure no.
Il Saramago più cinico e fustigatore delle bassezze dell'essere umano si è come addolcito.
Un Saramago che davvero ha superato se stesso, finora sono a quota 4 Saramaghi e questo è il migliore letto, ma lo è anche in valore assoluto, romanzo davvero straordinario.
November 10, 2019
این کتاب که در بین کتابهای ساراماگو چندان مشهور نیست از حیث نوع روایت و زاویه دید رمانی قابل تامل است.
داستان به دو بخش تاریخی محاصره لیسبون و توصیف جزئیات آن دوره(که انصافاً به زیبایی پرداخت شده) و ماجرای عاشقانه مصحح کتاب تاریخ محاصره لیسبون تقسیم شده که به تناسب روایت در هر دو دوره در جریان است.
اما نکته ظریف ماجرا اینجاست که شما همزمان دو کتاب تاریخ محاصره لیسبون را مطالعه میکنید کتابی درون کتابی دیگر!
داستان به دو بخش تاریخی محاصره لیسبون و توصیف جزئیات آن دوره(که انصافاً به زیبایی پرداخت شده) و ماجرای عاشقانه مصحح کتاب تاریخ محاصره لیسبون تقسیم شده که به تناسب روایت در هر دو دوره در جریان است.
اما نکته ظریف ماجرا اینجاست که شما همزمان دو کتاب تاریخ محاصره لیسبون را مطالعه میکنید کتابی درون کتابی دیگر!
July 6, 2013
إن كنت مستعداً لإصاخة السمع والبصر والتركيز ،، وكل حواسك المرئية وغير المرئية منها ،،
للجلوس أمام طفل يحفظ كل القصص وسيقولها لك كلها في قصة واحدة !
فأنت مهيأ لبداية قصة الحصار هذه ..!
لست أعني بالطفل ،، التقليل من شأن المؤلف ،، لكن فعلا
كسر الاحترام الذي أوليناه لقصصنا المهيبة ،، لن يقوم به إلا عقل متمرد ،، كـعقول الاطفال التي هي على أتم الاستعداد لتقول لك وقد تصدق ماقالته ،، بأن الامير لم يعثر على صاحبة الحذاء الجميل ولم ولن يحدث ماأنت موقن به ،،!
هذه النوعية من التمرد الفكري ،، هي بداية وقائع هذه الرواية
تغيير لمجرى الاحداث ،، واستطرادات تأخذك بعيدا عن حصار فرضه البرتغاليون على لشبونة المسلمة ،،
وفلسفات مذهلة يحاصرك بها ساراماجو ،، حول الحب والعزلة ،، والثقافة ،، والحروب أيضا.
أيضا هناك كم من السخرية ،، ليس بقليل ! بل جعلني أتسائل ،، هل هو مدرك أن عنوان الكتاب يشير إلى حرب وحصار ،، وليست مسرحية هزلية ؟
جرأة مذهلة ،، وتمرد عبقري يحدث في هذه القصة
*
حقيقة أقولها : تستحق كل معاني الحفاوة والتكريم
وخمسة نجوم قليلة..!!
November 17, 2024
Прекрасний текст, багато в чому іронічний і сатиричний, містить записи знакових (псевдо)історичних подій ХІІ століття, що переносять то у місто маврів, то у військовий табір португальців, поперемінно з описами щоденного простого життя головного героя в сучасному Лісабоні, і неочікувано стає пристрастною романтичною історією.
Сарамаґівській стиль написання, щільно насичений метафорами та аллюзіями, який завжди зачаровує.
Сарамаґівській стиль написання, щільно насичений метафорами та аллюзіями, який завжди зачаровує.
December 7, 2015
The story of Raimundo Silva, a proofreader, who acts on an impulse and by adding a “no” changes the content of a book and his life too.
Same long phrases, same existential questions, same irony and humor between the lines. Really missed his style.
Same long phrases, same existential questions, same irony and humor between the lines. Really missed his style.
September 11, 2025
Дядько редагував історичну працю про облогу маврами Лісабона в 12 ст., трохи загрався і в тексті почали зʼявлятись особисті «хвостики» редактора. Звісно, він отримав на горіхи від видавця, але через свій солідний редакторський багаж, його залишають, а новопризначена керівниця тільки розпалює його інтерес до його художнього вимислу. Пізніше, художній інтерес переростає в особистий і робочі відносини змішуються зі фліртом.
По-суті, це опис всього сюжету😁
Так, Сарамагу чудово пише, його мова багата і насичена, але окремо цей текст сильно поступається його хедлайнерам.
Читати раджу хіба вже ознайомленим, які мають досвід та запас терпіння до його безкінечних речень.
По-суті, це опис всього сюжету😁
Так, Сарамагу чудово пише, його мова багата і насичена, але окремо цей текст сильно поступається його хедлайнерам.
Читати раджу хіба вже ознайомленим, які мають досвід та запас терпіння до його безкінечних речень.
April 12, 2020
Literary fiction about a proofreader that significantly alters the meaning of a book by changing one word, such that his revised text states the crusaders did NOT help the Portuguese drive the Moors out of Lisbon in the year 1147. At the suggestion of his newly appointed supervisor, the proofreader then goes on to write his own version of The History of the Siege of Lisbon, using his altered text as a starting point. Since he lives in Lisbon, he can actually visit some of the locations where the Siege took place. The proofreader’s version of history is interspersed with his present-day narrative.
Saramago’s writing is lovely, but the meandering can be distracting. I often had to re-read sections to figure out where the initial thought started and how I ended up so far afield from that thought. He employs long sentences using only commas and periods. Dialogue is embedded in the prose, and there is no indication which character is speaking, so the reader will have to keep track mentally. The author does not differentiate between two story arcs, often moving between them within the same paragraph. There are long paragraphs describing a character’s internal dialogue (for example, of whether or not to make a phone call) that span several pages. The narrator goes off on many tangents, some of which are head-scratchers. In short, this book requires a great deal of patience and concentration.
I found I needed to understand more about Portuguese history to fully appreciate the storyline, so it took me a while to finish this book, since I was constantly looking up events and people that played a role in the actual Siege of Lisbon. Thus, I recommend getting an overview of the historical Siege, as well as the key players involved, before embarking on this novel.
I believe the point of this book is to show how fiction can impact the historical record. Participants often leave no written record of their thoughts and emotions, and Saramago explores whether we can truly understand the reasons behind why people acted the way they did after many years have passed.
I have read two other books by Saramago, Blindness and The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis, and enjoyed both. As clever as it is, this one just didn’t work as well for me, primarily due to its structure. I found the present-day story more engaging than the alternate history. It isn’t necessarily fun to read this book, but it certainly engages the brain.
Saramago’s writing is lovely, but the meandering can be distracting. I often had to re-read sections to figure out where the initial thought started and how I ended up so far afield from that thought. He employs long sentences using only commas and periods. Dialogue is embedded in the prose, and there is no indication which character is speaking, so the reader will have to keep track mentally. The author does not differentiate between two story arcs, often moving between them within the same paragraph. There are long paragraphs describing a character’s internal dialogue (for example, of whether or not to make a phone call) that span several pages. The narrator goes off on many tangents, some of which are head-scratchers. In short, this book requires a great deal of patience and concentration.
I found I needed to understand more about Portuguese history to fully appreciate the storyline, so it took me a while to finish this book, since I was constantly looking up events and people that played a role in the actual Siege of Lisbon. Thus, I recommend getting an overview of the historical Siege, as well as the key players involved, before embarking on this novel.
I believe the point of this book is to show how fiction can impact the historical record. Participants often leave no written record of their thoughts and emotions, and Saramago explores whether we can truly understand the reasons behind why people acted the way they did after many years have passed.
I have read two other books by Saramago, Blindness and The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis, and enjoyed both. As clever as it is, this one just didn’t work as well for me, primarily due to its structure. I found the present-day story more engaging than the alternate history. It isn’t necessarily fun to read this book, but it certainly engages the brain.
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