A review by alectastic
The Chandelier by Clarice Lispector

4.0

"In truth she had always lived as if on the verge of things."

Once I'd reached the end, finished crying, and put the book back on the shelf, I didn't quite know what to do with the thing. Do I reread it? Do I write about it? I wasn't sure. I think that the story will touch some people deeply and glide past others like it were sound the wind makes.

Might you dedicate the time to reading this, and then, upon breaching the verbosity of Lispector's prose, find in it the truth of what she meant, and might that make you realize that all this time, words were never a game to Lispector—she was writing exactly what she'd meant, and she'd revealed the reality of the unseen.

I think Lispector, in certain moments, was able to pull back the curtain of life.

If you give this book a try, perhaps it will not move you, and perhaps you will drop it after the first fifty or maybe one hundred pages. But I'll tell you: I didn't quit, and yes, it changed me deeply, truly. Out of all of Lispector's novels, The Chandelier has moved me in ways I cannot define. It seems I'm going to think about this book for a long time.