It is curious to note how, at times, the difference between a technique used well or poorly, between a stimulating result and a tedious one, can be so subtle. In *Corpo vivo*, Adonias Filho interweaves narrative threads, as if gradually unfolding the story across the past and the present. As he does so, he introduces new characters. Throughout, he builds anticipation for a revelation or an event; and as soon as he satisfies one curiosity, he creates a new one, and so it goes throughout the narrative, sustaining an interest that never wanes. Furthermore, he employs the aesthetic, even visual pattern arising from these interweavings: the present narrative is followed by quotes that reveal the past, in a rhythm that is almost hypnotic, which, if attempted by less skilled writers, results in indescribable rubbish. This is the miracle of the great writer: with his masterful touch, he makes what is tedious interesting. Imitating him is always dangerous; but appreciating him—ah!—that is a privilege we all have.
Tag: literature
Corpo vivo, by Adonias Filho
If Adonias Filho had published this short novel in any language other than Portuguese, and in any country other than Brazil, his name would have been put forward for the highest literary honors on the planet. Being Brazilian, of course, that did not happen. Never mind… This book, however, possesses the qualities that define a masterpiece. And it makes that old theme, so artificially and unfortunately handled by authors of the past, truly interesting: here, the natural aversion to it disappears. For the rest, suffice it to say the following: for its excellent writing, its stimulating narrative technique, the story’s unparalleled intensity, and the authenticity of the characters, this is one of the best novels Brazilian literature has ever produced.
Freedom… Certainly, I Was Lucky…
Freedom… Certainly, I was lucky to have devoured books on finance before discovering literature, that is, to have understood the mechanics of money before committing the folly of dropping everything to become a writer. That way, I was able to do something no one could have taught me: I devised a financial plan, parallel to my study plan, to enable me to write. I prepared myself, through a plan that is still in place, to take the plunge with confidence. Has there ever been a penniless writer with the same luck? I was saved by this very special circumstance. Without it, if I had come across all this talk of freedom, I would have ended up very, very badly.
Disgrace, by J. M. Coetzee
This unsettling narrative is permeated by an indescribable sense of foreboding that never subsides as the story unfolds. There is a palpable sense that something is about to occur, something terrible and shocking, and in the face of this impending danger, one feels an urge to act, to do anything at all, which is repeatedly thwarted. Nothing is done; and so the narrative carries us toward the events, as if defying our desire to avoid them, even though we are, at the same time, eager to know them and put an end to the apprehension once and for all. It is an interesting construction; the author’s style fades into the background before the scenes he describes. Above all, it is a book that leaves no one indifferent and that, perhaps, holds an important lesson.