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A review by spenkevich
The Lives of Things by José Saramago
3.0
Nobel Laureate Jose Saramago is an author I can only speak lovingly of. He has such a charm and warm glow about his prose that fills my heart with each word from his pen. Sadly, he is no longer with us, but his passing has reinvigorated an interest in his publication that has brought several volumes of posthumous releases and newly translated works to help fill the void his absence has created. The Lives of Things is one such work, appearing for the first time in English and comprised of six stories previously published in 1978. These short pieces offer a unique look at his early writing, powerful in its own regard, and displays glimpses of themes he would mold and expand upon throughout his impressive career.
The dilemma with reviews is how to review a book that you really enjoy, but one that falls slightly short of the great achievements by that same author. The 3 stars I reluctantly awarded seems a slighting on this collection, but I assure you it is not so. To place 4 stars on the review would then align it in the same category as I have rated many of his other books, wholly deserving, and this collection does not quite have the same impact as, say, [b:Blindness|2526|Blindness|José Saramago|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327866409s/2526.jpg|3213039]. Also, when hearing there was a book of his short stories coming out, I was very excited, but felt a bit underwhelmed when I discovered it was such a slim volume. Basically, this is a giant self-serving disclaimer and you may now continue forth knowing this is a very high 3, or a 7.5/10.
Each story contained is very satisfying, and shows a younger author building an enviable style. It is interesting to see how he has progressed, as much of the sentence structure found here is more truncated than his later works. Also, Saramago’s signature rejection of dialogue conventions have yet to be developed at this point. Instead of the fascinating and unique way of dialogue as an unbroken sentence pulsating back and forth between interlocutors, in these stories we see Saramago using the em-dash and line breaks to flag dialogue while still avoiding calling out the speaker. His grasp on language and the sheer poetry of his words are anything but wanting however, and fans of Saramago will find many golden passages to bask in. Saramago pays strict attention to colors in many of these stories, which I need to reread his later work to see how that survived. His exciting and loving way of toiling through phrasing and circling around ideas is ever present as well, and gave me exactly what I crave most in his works. For example, the first story, The Chair, consists of a mere few seconds of time and space, which he exploits for nearly 30 pages of pure poetic investigation, elevating the breaking of a chair to epic proportions complete with Western-style showdowns between termite and wood that could rival Tombstone. 4 pages pass before he even gets on with it, choosing to examine the notion of the phrases ‘to come to bits’ and 'topple over'. I’ve always enjoyed his method of picking apart the shortcomings of language:
The world may not be perfect, but Saramago, you were damned close.
As with many of his novels, the settings of these stories feel wholly universal and timeless, attributing a fable-like mythology to the places spoken of. His satirical wit is shown to already be sharpened as he comically depicts the lives of civil servants, royalty, and the chains of command. His political parables are just as poignant today as they were in 70’s, and readers today will empathize with the man in Embargo as they watch the gas prices rise with the summer temperatures. I cannot fill up my tank now without thinking of his plight. Many of these allegorical themes will be familiar to the Saramago reader, and it is interesting to see the initial blueprints of many larger ideas and motifs in later novels. Stories like Reflux, where a walled off necropolis is constructed to remove the sight of death from a kingdom, seem to live on as the sprawling cemetery in [b:All the Names|2528|All the Names|José Saramago|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327955213s/2528.jpg|1030699], as well as the civil servant in Things. Death plays the largest role in the works of Saramago, and here too, as it is the common denominator of each story. Sometimes mocking, sometimes foreboding, but always with the aim of redemption does Saramago approach our inevitable end.
Let it be known that the story Things is worth the price of admission alone. A city begins to fall to pieces, both literally and figuratively, as the government decrees that all products must be made with lower standards of quality because there ‘was little point depriving members of the public (especially those in categories A, B, and C) of the civil right to lodge complaints; a wise decision which could only benefit the manufacturing companies.’ Hilarious right? Until man-made objects begin vanishing – entire apartment buildings disappearing into thin air sending the residents plummeting several stories to their deaths. Applying a wry satire on Government procedure, social status and abbreviations, this story is shocking and satisfying in a way that makes in seem like the best of Vonnegut crossed with P.K.D. The remainder of the stories are all worth a read still too. The probing of myth in the face of death in Minotaur and the highly ethereal Revenge will leave you craving for more of this great writer.
While this is early, unpolished Saramago, it is still of the highest caliber. I would, however, not recommend it as a starting place for new readers (except for Things), as having a bit of built-up love for the man will serve as a good pair of shocks over the few bumps and potholes. The man started strong and ended stronger, and this is a wonderful way to enjoy him in short bursts.
3.75/5
The dilemma with reviews is how to review a book that you really enjoy, but one that falls slightly short of the great achievements by that same author. The 3 stars I reluctantly awarded seems a slighting on this collection, but I assure you it is not so. To place 4 stars on the review would then align it in the same category as I have rated many of his other books, wholly deserving, and this collection does not quite have the same impact as, say, [b:Blindness|2526|Blindness|José Saramago|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327866409s/2526.jpg|3213039]. Also, when hearing there was a book of his short stories coming out, I was very excited, but felt a bit underwhelmed when I discovered it was such a slim volume. Basically, this is a giant self-serving disclaimer and you may now continue forth knowing this is a very high 3, or a 7.5/10.
Each story contained is very satisfying, and shows a younger author building an enviable style. It is interesting to see how he has progressed, as much of the sentence structure found here is more truncated than his later works. Also, Saramago’s signature rejection of dialogue conventions have yet to be developed at this point. Instead of the fascinating and unique way of dialogue as an unbroken sentence pulsating back and forth between interlocutors, in these stories we see Saramago using the em-dash and line breaks to flag dialogue while still avoiding calling out the speaker. His grasp on language and the sheer poetry of his words are anything but wanting however, and fans of Saramago will find many golden passages to bask in. Saramago pays strict attention to colors in many of these stories, which I need to reread his later work to see how that survived. His exciting and loving way of toiling through phrasing and circling around ideas is ever present as well, and gave me exactly what I crave most in his works. For example, the first story, The Chair, consists of a mere few seconds of time and space, which he exploits for nearly 30 pages of pure poetic investigation, elevating the breaking of a chair to epic proportions complete with Western-style showdowns between termite and wood that could rival Tombstone. 4 pages pass before he even gets on with it, choosing to examine the notion of the phrases ‘to come to bits’ and 'topple over'. I’ve always enjoyed his method of picking apart the shortcomings of language:
If they were to say the same thing, if they were to group together through affinity of structure and origin, then life would be much simpler, by means of successive reduction, down to onomatopoeia which is not simple either, and so on and so forth, probably to silence, to what we might term the general synonym or omnivalent. It is not even onomatopoeia, or cannot be formed from this articulated sound (since the human voice doe not have pure, unarticulated sounds, except perhaps in singing, and even then one would have to listen up close) formed in the throat of the person who is toppling or falling although no star, both words with heraldic echoes, which now describe anything which is about to come to pieces, therefor it did not sound right to join the parallel ending to this verb, which would settle the choice and complete the circle. Thus proving that the world is not perfect.
The world may not be perfect, but Saramago, you were damned close.
As with many of his novels, the settings of these stories feel wholly universal and timeless, attributing a fable-like mythology to the places spoken of. His satirical wit is shown to already be sharpened as he comically depicts the lives of civil servants, royalty, and the chains of command. His political parables are just as poignant today as they were in 70’s, and readers today will empathize with the man in Embargo as they watch the gas prices rise with the summer temperatures. I cannot fill up my tank now without thinking of his plight. Many of these allegorical themes will be familiar to the Saramago reader, and it is interesting to see the initial blueprints of many larger ideas and motifs in later novels. Stories like Reflux, where a walled off necropolis is constructed to remove the sight of death from a kingdom, seem to live on as the sprawling cemetery in [b:All the Names|2528|All the Names|José Saramago|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327955213s/2528.jpg|1030699], as well as the civil servant in Things. Death plays the largest role in the works of Saramago, and here too, as it is the common denominator of each story. Sometimes mocking, sometimes foreboding, but always with the aim of redemption does Saramago approach our inevitable end.
Let it be known that the story Things is worth the price of admission alone. A city begins to fall to pieces, both literally and figuratively, as the government decrees that all products must be made with lower standards of quality because there ‘was little point depriving members of the public (especially those in categories A, B, and C) of the civil right to lodge complaints; a wise decision which could only benefit the manufacturing companies.’ Hilarious right? Until man-made objects begin vanishing – entire apartment buildings disappearing into thin air sending the residents plummeting several stories to their deaths. Applying a wry satire on Government procedure, social status and abbreviations, this story is shocking and satisfying in a way that makes in seem like the best of Vonnegut crossed with P.K.D. The remainder of the stories are all worth a read still too. The probing of myth in the face of death in Minotaur and the highly ethereal Revenge will leave you craving for more of this great writer.
While this is early, unpolished Saramago, it is still of the highest caliber. I would, however, not recommend it as a starting place for new readers (except for Things), as having a bit of built-up love for the man will serve as a good pair of shocks over the few bumps and potholes. The man started strong and ended stronger, and this is a wonderful way to enjoy him in short bursts.
3.75/5