nickvoro's review against another edition
5.0
Disclaimer: This review is not a true review. It is more of a summary composed of the author’s own words. Call it an enthusiastic proclamation. I leave reviewing to the real reviewers. I am simply sharing my enthusiasm for the work with this summary / prose collage.
*
Since conventional reviews are a thing of the past. Let us begin with an interpretation. This reviewer’s take on a set of events that will capture the reader’s attention:
Relentless rain falls. I wet my face. Is it obscene to wet one’s face in front of others, especially if a lady is present? A lady who has a very tempting little nose I would like to nibble. A nose with a striking resemblance to a radish, or so I think as my mouth fills with too much saliva. A toothless fidgety ginger boy laughs nearby with a face that generates a desire for violence. A respectable lady’s bag suddenly breaks open, scattering rolling heads on garlic on the floor. I find myself on a streetcar, public transport, a den of bestiality, with a driver who is a vile destroyer of umbrellas. I do not focus on them, just her, I think only about her, the departure, a waveless sorrowful farewell.
And just as the true review begins, we encounter the protagonist, soaked and miserable, trying to pull himself together from a pitiful state, a state of mental obscenity, broken down and unfulfilled, wanting only the return of his Helena.
A tortured soul, born at the wrong time, for he could have been a figure from Greek mythology, a god fallen into disgrace, a condemned eternal sufferer facing the absurd.
Instead, he is a feeble bronchitis-sufferer of the present age who translates the scribbles of others for a living if it could be called that. Working tirelessly in a room without heat. A dark and cold room with just a bed, a chair, a closet, a desk covered with papers and books, a basin filled with water and the complete absence of natural light. He works by candlelight. Candles he has to beg his landlady for, a shrewd woman with sinister facial contractions every observer of human nature would love to study.
He navigates a city, a den of rubbish, a sewer with an everlasting reek while worrying about contraction of double pneumonia and the meaning of the mysterious word that keeps popping into his head: Kartofler. All the while longing for her, for his Helena. Helena with her dark eyes and dark hair, a dimple that appears on her left cheek when she smiles. But she is aboard a disembarked ship heading elsewhere, and far, far away from him.
He is alone. Without her, his immediate environment resembles a freak show, a circus. He cannot help but to stare askance. He encounters warted women, misers, stingy publishers, rogues with goatees and twisted mouths, aberrations-batting eyelashes, scoundrels, diabolic entities with mummified reptile hands who don’t know the meaning of a proper handshake.
They all inhabit a city, his city, his country. The country that has gone to the dogs. To the way of general coarseness. What remains is the pestilent stench of urine, tar and filth, the stench of concentrated humanity. Is the protagonist the only normal person left, the only one able to smell the burning sulfurous smell as he walks through the cobblestoned streets of a country still stuck in the Stone Age?
And all he wants is Helena. His solution to life. To gain redemption through her. She who can absolve him by locking away his pain. Close the doors to the antechamber to hell and retrieve his lost outer conscience.
Root for him, dear readers, this trembling match flame of a human on a cold, windy, wintry night. To get his Helena, to purchase that little pink house of his dreams. He demands his money. Demands his respect. Wants to seize visiting one den of ignominy after another. He wants to stop being a wretched man, with a greasy tie, a tramp presenting himself in disarray, dirty, hatless, eating peas and mushy rice for the rest of his miserable existence.
For he is wittiness personified. A one-man show. A Bernhardian character fighting the good fight against the bootlickers and the sellouts, those disgraceful parasites inhabiting a rotten, dismal land. The gruesome comedy of life. But a life worth living. For there is always redemption to be had, joy to be found, love waiting for its cue and curtain reveal.
João Reis has undeniable talent. This book is undoubtedly a great success. You feel the pain, you will laugh uproariously, you will be awestruck by the mesmeric prose, you might put this book down after completing it, but I guarantee that much time won’t lapse before you will reach for the Dublin Literary Award nominated Bedraggling Grandma with Russian Snow from corona/samizdat.
- Nick Voro
*
Since conventional reviews are a thing of the past. Let us begin with an interpretation. This reviewer’s take on a set of events that will capture the reader’s attention:
Relentless rain falls. I wet my face. Is it obscene to wet one’s face in front of others, especially if a lady is present? A lady who has a very tempting little nose I would like to nibble. A nose with a striking resemblance to a radish, or so I think as my mouth fills with too much saliva. A toothless fidgety ginger boy laughs nearby with a face that generates a desire for violence. A respectable lady’s bag suddenly breaks open, scattering rolling heads on garlic on the floor. I find myself on a streetcar, public transport, a den of bestiality, with a driver who is a vile destroyer of umbrellas. I do not focus on them, just her, I think only about her, the departure, a waveless sorrowful farewell.
And just as the true review begins, we encounter the protagonist, soaked and miserable, trying to pull himself together from a pitiful state, a state of mental obscenity, broken down and unfulfilled, wanting only the return of his Helena.
A tortured soul, born at the wrong time, for he could have been a figure from Greek mythology, a god fallen into disgrace, a condemned eternal sufferer facing the absurd.
Instead, he is a feeble bronchitis-sufferer of the present age who translates the scribbles of others for a living if it could be called that. Working tirelessly in a room without heat. A dark and cold room with just a bed, a chair, a closet, a desk covered with papers and books, a basin filled with water and the complete absence of natural light. He works by candlelight. Candles he has to beg his landlady for, a shrewd woman with sinister facial contractions every observer of human nature would love to study.
He navigates a city, a den of rubbish, a sewer with an everlasting reek while worrying about contraction of double pneumonia and the meaning of the mysterious word that keeps popping into his head: Kartofler. All the while longing for her, for his Helena. Helena with her dark eyes and dark hair, a dimple that appears on her left cheek when she smiles. But she is aboard a disembarked ship heading elsewhere, and far, far away from him.
He is alone. Without her, his immediate environment resembles a freak show, a circus. He cannot help but to stare askance. He encounters warted women, misers, stingy publishers, rogues with goatees and twisted mouths, aberrations-batting eyelashes, scoundrels, diabolic entities with mummified reptile hands who don’t know the meaning of a proper handshake.
They all inhabit a city, his city, his country. The country that has gone to the dogs. To the way of general coarseness. What remains is the pestilent stench of urine, tar and filth, the stench of concentrated humanity. Is the protagonist the only normal person left, the only one able to smell the burning sulfurous smell as he walks through the cobblestoned streets of a country still stuck in the Stone Age?
And all he wants is Helena. His solution to life. To gain redemption through her. She who can absolve him by locking away his pain. Close the doors to the antechamber to hell and retrieve his lost outer conscience.
Root for him, dear readers, this trembling match flame of a human on a cold, windy, wintry night. To get his Helena, to purchase that little pink house of his dreams. He demands his money. Demands his respect. Wants to seize visiting one den of ignominy after another. He wants to stop being a wretched man, with a greasy tie, a tramp presenting himself in disarray, dirty, hatless, eating peas and mushy rice for the rest of his miserable existence.
For he is wittiness personified. A one-man show. A Bernhardian character fighting the good fight against the bootlickers and the sellouts, those disgraceful parasites inhabiting a rotten, dismal land. The gruesome comedy of life. But a life worth living. For there is always redemption to be had, joy to be found, love waiting for its cue and curtain reveal.
João Reis has undeniable talent. This book is undoubtedly a great success. You feel the pain, you will laugh uproariously, you will be awestruck by the mesmeric prose, you might put this book down after completing it, but I guarantee that much time won’t lapse before you will reach for the Dublin Literary Award nominated Bedraggling Grandma with Russian Snow from corona/samizdat.
- Nick Voro
thomasgoddard's review against another edition
3.0
Taking a trip away, I scoured my shelves for some thin books. The sorts of books you can finish on a train journey. I didn't put a huge amount of thought into it and just decided to grab four to last me.
This book was the first of the selection. What a great start.
The story revolves around a young translator whose partner has left the city. He begins to spiral out in her absence. Progressively he loses more and more control until his outbursts become dangerous.
What I loved about it was that the narration is clear and there appears to be no filter over his thoughts. There's a clarity to them, even in their fever. He's a man adrift.
It was a good book, but not a great book. Why? Well, I feel it comes down to the lack of intellect shown by the translator himself. The character didn't stretch his thoughts out enough. He drew no real conclusions. It was a little too knee-jerk for me.
See, I get that he is just reacting to things and life is out of his control in a very real way. But his single focus, her (and perhaps the house) just doesn't register. If you're obsessed and a little unhinged with someone leaving then you tend to think about times spent together a lot. Or you begin to and then try to distract yourself away. They haunt you. Here, not so much. He's angry and spiteful and filled with schemes, but they're never moving his actions forward.
Even the end, when he acts recklessly, it isn't a plan with any real steps that he dreams up. It is just a thing he does 'because'. If it was really trying to sell the mania idea, he'd have had a few run ups. Or come up with a crazy plan and then adjusted it while in operation.
Yeah, the writing gave this sense that there was more to the character than simply a man who reacts. His ability to keep two worlds (1) the world in his head, racing along 2) and the world around him) separate and function shifting between both was fantastic. But it gave me the feeling that the character should have acted differently to the way he did. That struck me as a deep shame.
This book was the first of the selection. What a great start.
The story revolves around a young translator whose partner has left the city. He begins to spiral out in her absence. Progressively he loses more and more control until his outbursts become dangerous.
What I loved about it was that the narration is clear and there appears to be no filter over his thoughts. There's a clarity to them, even in their fever. He's a man adrift.
It was a good book, but not a great book. Why? Well, I feel it comes down to the lack of intellect shown by the translator himself. The character didn't stretch his thoughts out enough. He drew no real conclusions. It was a little too knee-jerk for me.
See, I get that he is just reacting to things and life is out of his control in a very real way. But his single focus, her (and perhaps the house) just doesn't register. If you're obsessed and a little unhinged with someone leaving then you tend to think about times spent together a lot. Or you begin to and then try to distract yourself away. They haunt you. Here, not so much. He's angry and spiteful and filled with schemes, but they're never moving his actions forward.
Even the end, when he acts recklessly, it isn't a plan with any real steps that he dreams up. It is just a thing he does 'because'. If it was really trying to sell the mania idea, he'd have had a few run ups. Or come up with a crazy plan and then adjusted it while in operation.
Yeah, the writing gave this sense that there was more to the character than simply a man who reacts. His ability to keep two worlds (1) the world in his head, racing along 2) and the world around him) separate and function shifting between both was fantastic. But it gave me the feeling that the character should have acted differently to the way he did. That struck me as a deep shame.
sireadings's review against another edition
5.0
De uma intensidade fascinante que nos agarra da primeira à última página.
Uma pátria que nos empurra para longe mas que nos agarra pelos pés, um amor perdido e resgatado.
Vale todos os minutos de leitura e muito mais.
Uma pátria que nos empurra para longe mas que nos agarra pelos pés, um amor perdido e resgatado.
Vale todos os minutos de leitura e muito mais.
whogivesabook's review against another edition
3.0
Taking a trip away, I scoured my shelves for some thin books. The sorts of books you can finish on a train journey. I didn't put a huge amount of thought into it and just decided to grab four to last me.
This book was the first of the selection. What a great start.
The story revolves around a young translator whose partner has left the city. He begins to spiral out in her absence. Progressively he loses more and more control until his outbursts become dangerous.
What I loved about it was that the narration is clear and there appears to be no filter over his thoughts. There's a clarity to them, even in their fever. He's a man adrift.
It was a good book, but not a great book. Why? Well, I feel it comes down to the lack of intellect shown by the translator himself. The character didn't stretch his thoughts out enough. He drew no real conclusions. It was a little too knee-jerk for me.
See, I get that he is just reacting to things and life is out of his control in a very real way. But his single focus, her (and perhaps the house) just doesn't register. If you're obsessed and a little unhinged with someone leaving then you tend to think about times spent together a lot. Or you begin to and then try to distract yourself away. They haunt you. Here, not so much. He's angry and spiteful and filled with schemes, but they're never moving his actions forward.
Even the end, when he acts recklessly, it isn't a plan with any real steps that he dreams up. It is just a thing he does 'because'. If it was really trying to sell the mania idea, he'd have had a few run ups. Or come up with a crazy plan and then adjusted it while in operation.
Yeah, the writing gave this sense that there was more to the character than simply a man who reacts. His ability to keep two worlds (1) the world in his head, racing along 2) and the world around him) separate and function shifting between both was fantastic. But it gave me the feeling that the character should have acted differently to the way he did. That struck me as a deep shame.
This book was the first of the selection. What a great start.
The story revolves around a young translator whose partner has left the city. He begins to spiral out in her absence. Progressively he loses more and more control until his outbursts become dangerous.
What I loved about it was that the narration is clear and there appears to be no filter over his thoughts. There's a clarity to them, even in their fever. He's a man adrift.
It was a good book, but not a great book. Why? Well, I feel it comes down to the lack of intellect shown by the translator himself. The character didn't stretch his thoughts out enough. He drew no real conclusions. It was a little too knee-jerk for me.
See, I get that he is just reacting to things and life is out of his control in a very real way. But his single focus, her (and perhaps the house) just doesn't register. If you're obsessed and a little unhinged with someone leaving then you tend to think about times spent together a lot. Or you begin to and then try to distract yourself away. They haunt you. Here, not so much. He's angry and spiteful and filled with schemes, but they're never moving his actions forward.
Even the end, when he acts recklessly, it isn't a plan with any real steps that he dreams up. It is just a thing he does 'because'. If it was really trying to sell the mania idea, he'd have had a few run ups. Or come up with a crazy plan and then adjusted it while in operation.
Yeah, the writing gave this sense that there was more to the character than simply a man who reacts. His ability to keep two worlds (1) the world in his head, racing along 2) and the world around him) separate and function shifting between both was fantastic. But it gave me the feeling that the character should have acted differently to the way he did. That struck me as a deep shame.
gonna_mess's review against another edition
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
100reads's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
Unique. If I write a book, it should read like this one. What a gem. Dark humour.
cristinabessa's review against another edition
5.0
Ainda estou a pensar no que li. O tradutor é um pouco de todos nós (uns mais do que outros), e a sua jornada, e considerações sobre os lugares e pessoas, carregadas de humor, encerram tantas coisas, tantas leituras que é difícil, terminando a leitura, ter uma ideia precisa do que acabámos de ler.
E ter leituras que nos deixam a pensar, horas e dias depois de as terminarmos é muito bom. Preciso de continuar a digerir a história, mas a certeza que tenho é que quero ler mais de João Reis.
E ter leituras que nos deixam a pensar, horas e dias depois de as terminarmos é muito bom. Preciso de continuar a digerir a história, mas a certeza que tenho é que quero ler mais de João Reis.
fevi's review against another edition
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
O personagem principal é uns dos mais ranzinzas e duas caras que eu já li. Fora a pitada de loucura. Curti bastante a escrita e o enredo, mas acho que faltou algo. Não consigo explicar. No fim, é um excelente leitura. Recomendo.