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terppsi's review against another edition
5.0
as a friend of mine says, it is a painfully beautiful book.
great read even if very depressing. beautifully written. I could feel the scorching sun on my skin.
great read even if very depressing. beautifully written. I could feel the scorching sun on my skin.
tanel's review against another edition
1.0
Igav, lõputult kordav ja keriv, veidruste ja vigaste inimeste paraad.
"Surm surm surm surm surm". (lk 151)
Jah okei, aitäh.
"Surm surm surm surm surm". (lk 151)
Jah okei, aitäh.
vicenteesobral's review against another edition
4.0
Uma história da ruralidade (que nos passa despercebida neste mundo fervilhante) e da inexorabilidade triste da vida, que nem a beleza das palavras de José Luís Peixoto consegue iluminar.
Não sendo um page-turner, é um livro pequeno e de leitura relativamente rápida, embora as palavras exijam alguma contemplação. A prosa é indizivelmente bela e coerente, não nos permitindo evitar a realidade nefasta que o livro trata.
Qualidade literária: 5/5
Enredo: 4/5
Não sendo um page-turner, é um livro pequeno e de leitura relativamente rápida, embora as palavras exijam alguma contemplação. A prosa é indizivelmente bela e coerente, não nos permitindo evitar a realidade nefasta que o livro trata.
Qualidade literária: 5/5
Enredo: 4/5
sobreirinho's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
4.5
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child death and Death
stephb413's review against another edition
3.0
Beautifully written with interesting and developed characters, especially at the beginning. Yet the "second book's" characters and plot just didn't have the same flow and enjoyment level for me. The book ended up on my to-read list as I am soon moving to Lisbon and wanted to better understand Portuguese culture, which I think I do, so a lovely, magical, and worthwhile tale. I look forward to reading other books by Peixoto.
andreiagmmarques's review against another edition
4.0
" Não sei ao certo se é a manhã que passa, se é o dia que passa, ou se é toda a vida que passa nesta manhã, neste dia. "
blackoxford's review against another edition
5.0
Suffering - An Insider’s Report
To live in utter, grinding poverty is certainly to suffer. "All my days will forever be the summer roasting me like a torturer with red hot irons," says one of Peixoto's female characters. But she knows that this, as any other, is an inadequate description of the existential pain involved: "There's no way to explain all that we're saying when we say suffering." The reader comes to understand that poverty is about more than simple economics or even relative wealth.
The suffering in The Implacable Order of Things is indescribable because it takes place in a world that is surreal, a different world from that in which those who are not so impoverished exist. Peixoto's genius is his ability to allow one inside this surreal reality, not as a description but as a lived experience through the voices of those who are trapped by it, looking out to us, the rest of the world.
From this perspective, the world of poverty is inhabited largely by grotesqueries. But no matter how handicapped, disabled or inadequate, these odd people are unremarkable by local standards within their world. The illiterate shepherd beaten almost to death by a giant, but with no recourse; the young woman raped and ostracised by the pious ladies of the town, whom the shepherd marries for no clear reason; these two, living in the place of maximum suffering, the Mount of Olives, married but unable to communicate through lack of any suitable vocabulary; the Siamese twins connected only by one finger, one of whom marries in his seventies; his bride and a new mother of seventy who communicates largely through the food she cooks; the blind prostitute, blind because she genetically lacks eyes entirely, accepted by the community because she has no other way of making a living; the writer in a room without windows who scribbles throughout the night; the carpenter with only a left side that functions; the centenarian who can testify that nothing has ever been any differen, all these are normal, or at least unexceptionable in the world Peixoto creates.
What these characters perceive as real is not what folk from the other, outer, purportedly more civilised world would notice much less accept as commonplace: The local church has statues of saints but no one knows their names; the gentry, owners of everything, are never present but exert their power invisibly; meat cooked for the masters but uneaten must never be consumed by servants but given to the dogs; the priest is also the devil who taunts and tempts; a voice in a trunk recites epic poetry; unborn babies cry out from the womb; whitewashed cottages speak; the living undergo death and yet remain alive; animals act en bloc in the interests of human beings. These perceptions are not to be questioned but simply accepted as...implacable, the results of rules and traditions whose origins are permanently mysterious.
This is a world in which chance, that is an essential randomness in life, not science or superstition or religious belief of any kind, is the only plausible explanation for circumstances. The running theme is explicit: “...perhaps suffering is tossed by handfuls over the multitudes, with most of it falling on some people and little or none of it on others.” There is no way out of this cosmic lottery; the middle-class myth of self-improvement has been crushed by the power of what is solidly there. In despair, the protagonist, Jose, knows the pointlessness of his life, its futility, “I believed”, he says, “…that just by wanting, by trying hard, by working, we'd have what we longed for.” But this belief is just another source of punishment without the possibility of redemption. He knows through experience "the sad despair of having lost all certainties.”
As in Kafka, if there is a logic to this world it is hidden to its inhabitants. This world functions but its purpose is completely opaque to those through whose efforts it functions. Its meaning is created elsewhere and imposed by means which no one can identify with certainty. The source of the most debilitating oppression in this world is not injustice, or consequent suffering, in itself, but the ultimate absence of reason. Absence of reason is a definition of insanity. This is an implacably insane, as well as hot, world.
To live in utter, grinding poverty is certainly to suffer. "All my days will forever be the summer roasting me like a torturer with red hot irons," says one of Peixoto's female characters. But she knows that this, as any other, is an inadequate description of the existential pain involved: "There's no way to explain all that we're saying when we say suffering." The reader comes to understand that poverty is about more than simple economics or even relative wealth.
The suffering in The Implacable Order of Things is indescribable because it takes place in a world that is surreal, a different world from that in which those who are not so impoverished exist. Peixoto's genius is his ability to allow one inside this surreal reality, not as a description but as a lived experience through the voices of those who are trapped by it, looking out to us, the rest of the world.
From this perspective, the world of poverty is inhabited largely by grotesqueries. But no matter how handicapped, disabled or inadequate, these odd people are unremarkable by local standards within their world. The illiterate shepherd beaten almost to death by a giant, but with no recourse; the young woman raped and ostracised by the pious ladies of the town, whom the shepherd marries for no clear reason; these two, living in the place of maximum suffering, the Mount of Olives, married but unable to communicate through lack of any suitable vocabulary; the Siamese twins connected only by one finger, one of whom marries in his seventies; his bride and a new mother of seventy who communicates largely through the food she cooks; the blind prostitute, blind because she genetically lacks eyes entirely, accepted by the community because she has no other way of making a living; the writer in a room without windows who scribbles throughout the night; the carpenter with only a left side that functions; the centenarian who can testify that nothing has ever been any differen, all these are normal, or at least unexceptionable in the world Peixoto creates.
What these characters perceive as real is not what folk from the other, outer, purportedly more civilised world would notice much less accept as commonplace: The local church has statues of saints but no one knows their names; the gentry, owners of everything, are never present but exert their power invisibly; meat cooked for the masters but uneaten must never be consumed by servants but given to the dogs; the priest is also the devil who taunts and tempts; a voice in a trunk recites epic poetry; unborn babies cry out from the womb; whitewashed cottages speak; the living undergo death and yet remain alive; animals act en bloc in the interests of human beings. These perceptions are not to be questioned but simply accepted as...implacable, the results of rules and traditions whose origins are permanently mysterious.
This is a world in which chance, that is an essential randomness in life, not science or superstition or religious belief of any kind, is the only plausible explanation for circumstances. The running theme is explicit: “...perhaps suffering is tossed by handfuls over the multitudes, with most of it falling on some people and little or none of it on others.” There is no way out of this cosmic lottery; the middle-class myth of self-improvement has been crushed by the power of what is solidly there. In despair, the protagonist, Jose, knows the pointlessness of his life, its futility, “I believed”, he says, “…that just by wanting, by trying hard, by working, we'd have what we longed for.” But this belief is just another source of punishment without the possibility of redemption. He knows through experience "the sad despair of having lost all certainties.”
As in Kafka, if there is a logic to this world it is hidden to its inhabitants. This world functions but its purpose is completely opaque to those through whose efforts it functions. Its meaning is created elsewhere and imposed by means which no one can identify with certainty. The source of the most debilitating oppression in this world is not injustice, or consequent suffering, in itself, but the ultimate absence of reason. Absence of reason is a definition of insanity. This is an implacably insane, as well as hot, world.
laurikas's review against another edition
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.5
Estava mais do que na hora de descobrir a obra de José Luís Peixoto, e comecei com o livro que foi Prémio Saramago em 2001.
E tenho a dizer que a escrita é muito boa, mas a história em si não me entusiasmou tanto como esperava. Não sei o que faltava, só sei que algo faltava.
No entanto, próximo livro de JSP aqui vamos nós.
Os autores merecem sempre mais do que uma oportunidade para nos deixarem boquiabertos de emoção.
E tenho a dizer que a escrita é muito boa, mas a história em si não me entusiasmou tanto como esperava. Não sei o que faltava, só sei que algo faltava.
No entanto, próximo livro de JSP aqui vamos nós.
Os autores merecem sempre mais do que uma oportunidade para nos deixarem boquiabertos de emoção.
mmouse1977's review against another edition
2.0
This book was so sad. I enjoyed the prose style of writing, but couldn't enjoy the story much.
boopity's review against another edition
5.0
Stumbled upon this book in a small bookstore in Paris. It was stashed in the back and I only found it after knocking over a crap load of other books. I then proceded to lose it while traveling through Bosnia. I had finished part one and had just started on part two.
I loved the prose of this book. Found it really refreshing in it's simplistic repetition. I loved how the same sentence grew and changed as the book progressed. I found something so transcendent about this technique.
On a different note, I told my sister about the Siamese twins connected at the pinky and we proceeded to spend the entire afternoon with our pinkies intertwined :D
Have gone to a bunch of book stores and haven't found it..and am hesitant to buy online.
I loved the prose of this book. Found it really refreshing in it's simplistic repetition. I loved how the same sentence grew and changed as the book progressed. I found something so transcendent about this technique.
On a different note, I told my sister about the Siamese twins connected at the pinky and we proceeded to spend the entire afternoon with our pinkies intertwined :D
Have gone to a bunch of book stores and haven't found it..and am hesitant to buy online.