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polyphonic_reads's review against another edition
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
annacabrespina's review against another edition
5.0
m'ha agradat molt, super ben escrit i és molt fàcil entrar a la història. m'ha enganxat molt i tot i ser una novel·la molt breu arribes a conèixer super bé a la protagonista. el recomano moltíssim però no tinc clar si em vull llegir els altres dos llibres de l'autora.
veronn's review against another edition
3.0
3,5
Fue una lectura consistentemente entretenida, aunque el final no acabó de convencerme. Disfruté más de lo que me esperaba leer a un personaje con el que muchas veces no estaba de acuerdo. Tenía una especie de apatía cruel a la que terminé acostumbrándome y la forma de contar sus experiencias haciéndome sentir incómoda acabó siendo lo que más me gustó. Libro extraño pero guapo.
Fue una lectura consistentemente entretenida, aunque el final no acabó de convencerme. Disfruté más de lo que me esperaba leer a un personaje con el que muchas veces no estaba de acuerdo. Tenía una especie de apatía cruel a la que terminé acostumbrándome y la forma de contar sus experiencias haciéndome sentir incómoda acabó siendo lo que más me gustó. Libro extraño pero guapo.
spenkevich's review against another edition
4.0
‘God bless sedation’
Walking the knife’s edge of existing and not is a real existential battlefield (thank you all for existing, by the way), particularly for those really keyed in on the pulse of living and the narrator of Permafrost, the first novel by Catalan writer Eva Baltasar (gorgeously and affectionately translated by [a:Julia Sanches|13436953|Julia Sanches|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png]) after an impressive collection of 10 volumes of poetry, recounts her own struggles with this. The permafrost of the title is the cold layer between her and the world around her, a buffer against the harsh winds of reality that threaten to tear apart a mind as viciously as the world can a body. But eventually we must all wake up from our chosen methods of sedation and embrace life before it passes through us, to make our meaning and integrate into a great emotional current of lives if we want to stave off the loneliness. Told in a glorious mess of brief vignettes that cluster and spread across the narrator’s life, Permafrost goes through visions of suicide, sexual coming-of-age, torrid love affairs, trifling employment and more, gathering a huge emotional impact in a character study that barely surpasses 100 pages. Gallows humor comes alive through Baltasar’s gorgeously poetic style in this slim novel that is a barrage of experiences blowing in the breeze of time, reflecting the narrator’s own tumultuous travels at the whims of life.
Cue up the song Serotonin by Girl in Red because not only was it the song I was low key obsessed with while reading this book, it makes a perfect soundtrack to a review of this book since it feels like such companion to it both emotionally and lyrically.
This is such a story of the somatic and sensual for a book primarily centered in cerebral struggles. And for a novel where suicide is central, Baltasar never trips up into problematic territory around glorification of suicide ideation. And even though much of the dark humor is directed at her distaste for living or the many ways she talks herself down from death (the train is too long for a good jump death, her body would look too out of place dying on the perfect lawn, etc) it always feels comforting instead of mocking. Anyone who has had these dark moments will likely find solace in her depictions instead of grimness, discomfort or offense. Coupled with an empowerment for LGBTQ identities, Baltasar comes to you like a needed hug and companion you can laugh off your troubles with. Much like the Serotonin song, it’s comforting to talk about your struggles with someone who shares them. I’ve been led to believe that's how group therapy works.
Permafrost takes inspiration from an assignment from Baltasar’s therapist. She was instructed to journal her life and after finding much joy in styling her inner thoughts she began to blend it with fiction and thus this novel was born. Planned as the first in a loose trilogy of books about the female experience, Permafrost is a darkly delightful collection of thoughts from a wonderfully caustic, lesbian narrator as she struggles with the everydays of life. She figures herself the outcast of her family and much of the book deals with interpersonal struggles with her mother and sister. Her mother, she fears, finds her as a wasted talent who does not live up to expectations. Meanwhile her sister is hellbent on living the hetero dream of marriage and family and is only supportive to a point. ‘My sister can’t help but picturing herself as the lead role in a popular TV series,’ the narrator tells us, ‘Playing the sister of the lesbian is quite the role; it offers a seal of respectability.’ This respectability is not extended to the narrator, however, as the sister scoffs at the idea of the narrator raising her children in the probably unlikely chance of her death because they would need ‘real’ parents, a mom and dad, not a lesbian couple. Which, ouch. The limits to many’s proximity to an LGBTQ aquaintence often ends at the image of allyship and not actual affirmation.
‘Some individuals,’ the narrator says, ‘can only grow as amputations.’ She places herself outside of everyone around her, feeling pushed away as much as she pushes away. Which is easy to (unfairly) criticize someone for, as the impetus stems from her desire to push herself away from herself. Her desire to end cerebral despair through corporal violence keeps the reader in constant tension, uncomfortable in the knowledge she is always teetering on the edge and builds an empathy to the narrator. It is tragic to watch as you just want to validate her, but also in the knowledge that a solipsistic narration ends the moment the narrator does. If she closes the book of her life, the novel ends and the very slimness of the volume you hold in your hand suddenly seems like foreshadowing disaster.
The novel is rather fragmentary and jumps around the timeline, keeping us in a disarray grasping to piece together a life much like how the narrator feels about it. Though wondering when events take place in relation to each other isn't anything to fuss over, the narrator certainly wouldn't, and the chaos of the ride is half the joy. We watch her travel to different countries, work as an au pair, a language teacher, but mostly sit around reading books She especially enjoys being an au pair as she can read in peace while the children are away at school, ordering long volumes of philosophy for the most reading time for her money, one of the many humorous scenarios showing the great efforts she undertakes to avoid making much of an effort in life.
(If we are keepin with the Girl in Red musical theme, at this point you should throw on I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend.)
As is cliche of an inwardly struggling individual, she is quite hilarious to counteract the darkness. The prose in this novel is so absolutely beautiful, which captures the ironic beauty of darkness, feeling so yourself the closer you are to destruction. It is clear Baltasar is an accomplished poet from her surprising yet poignant metaphors and observations, with sentences waltzing in directions you’d never expect but are glad for the journey. To be frank, a good portion of the novel is sexual and the narrator is always willing to follow a sexual whim to it’s climax. But in these moments of vulnerability we see her perspective on herself at its most pure, watching her dismiss herself even at the heights of being and always self-sabotaging. ‘My entire body is a stick of hot, dense chewing gum tailored to her every cavity’ she says after a day of sex with a French woman she sees as the pinacle of desirability. The metaphor (is it supposed to be sexy?) of oneself as chewed gum, a fleeting pleasure to be mashed, is a sharp insight into her self-image and is the mental-health compass to navigate her reasoning for turning down a marriage proposal from the woman of her dreams.
Something I really love about this publisher, And Other Stories, is that they give space to the translators to speak about their work. Translation is amazing, friends, and its a work of art in its own way. Nothing but love to translators and Julia Sanches is phenomenal. Not only is her afterword extremely well written, but it gives a unique insight into the psyche of this novel. She examines the way she translated it similarly to a work of poetry and discusses the way words have different connotative mobility in the culture of their own languages. ‘What should I prioritize,’ she asks when considering how to navigate the prose, ‘Does the image take precedence over the music, or do I do my best to maintain both? To what do I owe my contentious fidelity?’ There is a great breakdown on the choices made to arrive at the line from Catalan to English ‘I felt smaller and smaller by the day, next to her nothing but a frilly kitchen curtain,” and also a really insightful defence on using a fairly taboo c-word for the purpose of faithful adaptation. Also, she mentions the novels she read alongside her work to better inform her translation methods, listing [b:Bluets|6798263|Bluets|Maggie Nelson|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1354902976l/6798263._SY75_.jpg|7003912], [b:My Private Property|29363291|My Private Property (Wave Books, 61)|Mary Ruefle|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1461817827l/29363291._SX50_.jpg|49608708], [b:Good Morning, Midnight|45894065|Good Morning, Midnight|Jean Rhys|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1571115346l/45894065._SX50_.jpg|138995], the [a:Anaïs Nin|7190|Anaïs Nin|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1585811222p2/7190.jpg] diaries, and the entirety of the brilliance that is [a:Anne Carson|34336|Anne Carson|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1621477490p2/34336.jpg] as adjacent to this book. Publishers, allow space for this more. This brief essay would be incredible on its own and translation insights are so lovely to have as well as it is cool to credit and give voice to the many people who work to make a novel happen.
Darkly funny and distinctly human, Permafrost is a slim joy of a novel. The ending is abrupt and shocking, particularly following a segment that feels akin to the latter portion of No One is Talking About This by [a:Patricia Lockwood|5220577|Patricia Lockwood|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1358584189p2/5220577.jpg], shocking us into life and humming with purpose all around us. Baltasar is an incredible writer, overflowing with poetry that makes the prose happen so effortlessly and effectively. As she credits at the beginning of the book, thank you to poetry ‘for permitting it.’
4/5
Don't just take my word for it, also check out Emily's amazing review!
Walking the knife’s edge of existing and not is a real existential battlefield (thank you all for existing, by the way), particularly for those really keyed in on the pulse of living and the narrator of Permafrost, the first novel by Catalan writer Eva Baltasar (gorgeously and affectionately translated by [a:Julia Sanches|13436953|Julia Sanches|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png]) after an impressive collection of 10 volumes of poetry, recounts her own struggles with this. The permafrost of the title is the cold layer between her and the world around her, a buffer against the harsh winds of reality that threaten to tear apart a mind as viciously as the world can a body. But eventually we must all wake up from our chosen methods of sedation and embrace life before it passes through us, to make our meaning and integrate into a great emotional current of lives if we want to stave off the loneliness. Told in a glorious mess of brief vignettes that cluster and spread across the narrator’s life, Permafrost goes through visions of suicide, sexual coming-of-age, torrid love affairs, trifling employment and more, gathering a huge emotional impact in a character study that barely surpasses 100 pages. Gallows humor comes alive through Baltasar’s gorgeously poetic style in this slim novel that is a barrage of experiences blowing in the breeze of time, reflecting the narrator’s own tumultuous travels at the whims of life.
Cue up the song Serotonin by Girl in Red because not only was it the song I was low key obsessed with while reading this book, it makes a perfect soundtrack to a review of this book since it feels like such companion to it both emotionally and lyrically.
This is such a story of the somatic and sensual for a book primarily centered in cerebral struggles. And for a novel where suicide is central, Baltasar never trips up into problematic territory around glorification of suicide ideation. And even though much of the dark humor is directed at her distaste for living or the many ways she talks herself down from death (the train is too long for a good jump death, her body would look too out of place dying on the perfect lawn, etc) it always feels comforting instead of mocking. Anyone who has had these dark moments will likely find solace in her depictions instead of grimness, discomfort or offense. Coupled with an empowerment for LGBTQ identities, Baltasar comes to you like a needed hug and companion you can laugh off your troubles with. Much like the Serotonin song, it’s comforting to talk about your struggles with someone who shares them. I’ve been led to believe that's how group therapy works.
Permafrost takes inspiration from an assignment from Baltasar’s therapist. She was instructed to journal her life and after finding much joy in styling her inner thoughts she began to blend it with fiction and thus this novel was born. Planned as the first in a loose trilogy of books about the female experience, Permafrost is a darkly delightful collection of thoughts from a wonderfully caustic, lesbian narrator as she struggles with the everydays of life. She figures herself the outcast of her family and much of the book deals with interpersonal struggles with her mother and sister. Her mother, she fears, finds her as a wasted talent who does not live up to expectations. Meanwhile her sister is hellbent on living the hetero dream of marriage and family and is only supportive to a point. ‘My sister can’t help but picturing herself as the lead role in a popular TV series,’ the narrator tells us, ‘Playing the sister of the lesbian is quite the role; it offers a seal of respectability.’ This respectability is not extended to the narrator, however, as the sister scoffs at the idea of the narrator raising her children in the probably unlikely chance of her death because they would need ‘real’ parents, a mom and dad, not a lesbian couple. Which, ouch. The limits to many’s proximity to an LGBTQ aquaintence often ends at the image of allyship and not actual affirmation.
‘Some individuals,’ the narrator says, ‘can only grow as amputations.’ She places herself outside of everyone around her, feeling pushed away as much as she pushes away. Which is easy to (unfairly) criticize someone for, as the impetus stems from her desire to push herself away from herself. Her desire to end cerebral despair through corporal violence keeps the reader in constant tension, uncomfortable in the knowledge she is always teetering on the edge and builds an empathy to the narrator. It is tragic to watch as you just want to validate her, but also in the knowledge that a solipsistic narration ends the moment the narrator does. If she closes the book of her life, the novel ends and the very slimness of the volume you hold in your hand suddenly seems like foreshadowing disaster.
The novel is rather fragmentary and jumps around the timeline, keeping us in a disarray grasping to piece together a life much like how the narrator feels about it. Though wondering when events take place in relation to each other isn't anything to fuss over, the narrator certainly wouldn't, and the chaos of the ride is half the joy. We watch her travel to different countries, work as an au pair, a language teacher, but mostly sit around reading books She especially enjoys being an au pair as she can read in peace while the children are away at school, ordering long volumes of philosophy for the most reading time for her money, one of the many humorous scenarios showing the great efforts she undertakes to avoid making much of an effort in life.
(If we are keepin with the Girl in Red musical theme, at this point you should throw on I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend.)
As is cliche of an inwardly struggling individual, she is quite hilarious to counteract the darkness. The prose in this novel is so absolutely beautiful, which captures the ironic beauty of darkness, feeling so yourself the closer you are to destruction. It is clear Baltasar is an accomplished poet from her surprising yet poignant metaphors and observations, with sentences waltzing in directions you’d never expect but are glad for the journey. To be frank, a good portion of the novel is sexual and the narrator is always willing to follow a sexual whim to it’s climax. But in these moments of vulnerability we see her perspective on herself at its most pure, watching her dismiss herself even at the heights of being and always self-sabotaging. ‘My entire body is a stick of hot, dense chewing gum tailored to her every cavity’ she says after a day of sex with a French woman she sees as the pinacle of desirability. The metaphor (is it supposed to be sexy?) of oneself as chewed gum, a fleeting pleasure to be mashed, is a sharp insight into her self-image and is the mental-health compass to navigate her reasoning for turning down a marriage proposal from the woman of her dreams.
Something I really love about this publisher, And Other Stories, is that they give space to the translators to speak about their work. Translation is amazing, friends, and its a work of art in its own way. Nothing but love to translators and Julia Sanches is phenomenal. Not only is her afterword extremely well written, but it gives a unique insight into the psyche of this novel. She examines the way she translated it similarly to a work of poetry and discusses the way words have different connotative mobility in the culture of their own languages. ‘What should I prioritize,’ she asks when considering how to navigate the prose, ‘Does the image take precedence over the music, or do I do my best to maintain both? To what do I owe my contentious fidelity?’ There is a great breakdown on the choices made to arrive at the line from Catalan to English ‘I felt smaller and smaller by the day, next to her nothing but a frilly kitchen curtain,” and also a really insightful defence on using a fairly taboo c-word for the purpose of faithful adaptation. Also, she mentions the novels she read alongside her work to better inform her translation methods, listing [b:Bluets|6798263|Bluets|Maggie Nelson|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1354902976l/6798263._SY75_.jpg|7003912], [b:My Private Property|29363291|My Private Property (Wave Books, 61)|Mary Ruefle|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1461817827l/29363291._SX50_.jpg|49608708], [b:Good Morning, Midnight|45894065|Good Morning, Midnight|Jean Rhys|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1571115346l/45894065._SX50_.jpg|138995], the [a:Anaïs Nin|7190|Anaïs Nin|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1585811222p2/7190.jpg] diaries, and the entirety of the brilliance that is [a:Anne Carson|34336|Anne Carson|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1621477490p2/34336.jpg] as adjacent to this book. Publishers, allow space for this more. This brief essay would be incredible on its own and translation insights are so lovely to have as well as it is cool to credit and give voice to the many people who work to make a novel happen.
Darkly funny and distinctly human, Permafrost is a slim joy of a novel. The ending is abrupt and shocking, particularly following a segment that feels akin to the latter portion of No One is Talking About This by [a:Patricia Lockwood|5220577|Patricia Lockwood|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1358584189p2/5220577.jpg], shocking us into life and humming with purpose all around us. Baltasar is an incredible writer, overflowing with poetry that makes the prose happen so effortlessly and effectively. As she credits at the beginning of the book, thank you to poetry ‘for permitting it.’
4/5
Don't just take my word for it, also check out Emily's amazing review!
andyzaka's review against another edition
challenging
dark
reflective
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
fabulousdave's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
venti's review against another edition
dark
emotional
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
laurapasqualii's review against another edition
dark
funny
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
michael070's review against another edition
dark
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
3.75
anna6carnegie's review against another edition
4.0
In Permafrost we follow the narrator, a 'no bullshit lesbian', through everything from family to sex and thoughts of suicide. Baltasar's slim novel covers usually intense or taboo subjects in such a candid way, with dark humour carrying a typically cynical character. This felt comforting to read, vignettes on life and an honest depiction of an existence suffering with mental health. Whilst it is centering a narrator navigating depression, it is not to say that Permafrost is a melancholy read - It felt refreshing and comforting to read in a bittersweet sort of way and I'm grateful to have read it!