José Saramago (1922-2010)

José Saramago, the only Portuguese Literature Nobel prize and indeed the only Portuguese-speaking Literature Nobel prize winner, died today. I still remember the joy of finding out he had won.

Controversial, praised, hated, communist, all these describe him, but ultimately he will remembered or not because of his work. I personally loved "Memorial do Convento" ("Balthasar and Blimunda" in English) which I read for school when I was 18. I read 2 more of his books which i liked much less and left a fourth unfinished, and have to admit that his personal style defeats me more than engages me - I can only read him in special moments. Still, I am curious about two of his later novels which I might pick at some stage.

The cover's design, recently replaced for something brighter, was one of the things I always admired in the edition of his books (well, the Portuguese ones, anyway). They were elegant and gave nothing away.

A quote by E. M. Forster

We do not see what we do not seek.
E. M. Forster, What does it matter? A Morality

The above has become a favourite quote of mine purely by accident. About 12 years ago I gave a friend, as Christmas or birthday present, E. M. Forster's posthumous collection of short stories, The Life to Come and other stories. Later he came up with that quote. I searched my copy in vain for it. Nothing.

Now, for some reason just thought of it again, and thanks to Amazon's search I managed to locate it at last. It's part of the short story mentioned above, and can be found on page 166 of Penguin's blue cover classics series.

Graham Greene quote

From a false equation you get only a chain of errors.
Graham Greene, The Honorary Consul

Having worked with numbers, equations and a variety of mathematical topics, when I came across this I loved it. It summarises everything so perfectly well. Pity most people don't grasp it, either in Maths or in Life.

Jane Austen quote

Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (Chapter 58)

Since I read "Pride and Prejudice" years ago this has been one of my favourite quotes. I must re-read it sometime soon.

On the ending of a short story

A few months ago I read a Portuguese XIX century short story collection entitled “Contos ao Luar”, by Júlio César Machado, which translates as “[Short] Stories in the Moonlight” or "Stories by the Moonlight" (either translation works). I bought the book because I liked the title and the look of it (lovely blue hardcover from 1889 I think – photo to the right), but the author was a complete unknown to me. The stories weren’t very good, nor were they particularly bad and they abused ellipsis (the three dots or "reticências", if you're Portuguese speaking), probably to create a little pause before the punchline, which invariably wasn't terribly good. However, the ending of the first one, "Os Noivos" (roughly "The Newlyweds") struck a chord with me for some reason.

The plot is banal – young and married pretty thing married is courted by womaniser, who happens to be really in love with her. Everything is blameless and rather platonic, but obviously it doesn’t really appear as such (oh dear…). She also has a mother and a sister which is very virtuous. Anyway, this gentleman gets obsessive, and the husband starts to suspect something. Meanwhile the mother dies, and one when the married couple and the sister go to the cemetery, the other man is there. In order to prevent a scandal, the virtuous sister quickly persuades the man that he must marry her to save everyone’s face.

I warned you of the banality of it. But the ending has struck a chord (it is presented as if selflessly motivated) and for some reason I think the interesting story is to know what would have happened next.

Wuthering Heights (1847)

There are books which are so famous that their reputation and the preconceptions around them precede them. I think “Wuthering Heights” is one such a book – for years I avoided it based on the urban legend of what it really was: a heavily romantic story about Heathcliff’s obsessive love for Catherine.

Its authoress’ biography didn’t help. The Brontë mythology is a bit too much for me, designed as it was by Charlotte to highlight the sisters’ mystique, where the three of them have nearly become a whole rather than three separate entities. So after having it sitting on my shelf for over 18 months I finally decided (half heartily) to give it a go (and no, 18 months is not a terribly long time in my overcrowded shelves and my decreasing available reading time). “Jane Eyre” also suffered from similar prejudices, and despite the fact that I loved its first two thirds, it didn’t help Emily’s book. I still knew I wasn’t going to like it…

… And obviously I was blown away – it was nothing of what I expected. In all fairness, I didn’t really like the book. But I am still fascinated by it and I was endlessly drawn to it. Along with “Nineteen Eighty-four” it now belongs to a category of books I didn’t like but can’t help classify as masterpieces and wish someone would make them compulsory reading.

This is the story of two houses, or rather within two houses. Never does the action really leave them or the path between the two. To this self-contained environment only a few foreigners are allowed in – first Lockwood, to whom the story is narrated and who is clearly despised by his creator (the pomposity of his narration in the opening chapters of the book is so brilliantly ironic); then Heathcliff in the main story, and finally Hindley’s wife. And while the first and last are there to fulfil a function and then leave, Heathcliff’s arrival from nowhere is the catalyst of the novel and he is the main force behind the events of the novel.

This is also the story of two generations, where the actions of those in the first generation have a huge impact on the lives of their descendants. And in this world, with the possible exception of Ellen who narrates the story within the story and therefore is perhaps placing herself under a better light, all characters are unredeemable, from Heathcliff and Catherine, to Hindley and the Linton children in the first generation, to their three offspring in the second. Each character brings out the worst in the others and there is no escape except death.

To summarise the plot is to due a disservice to the novel, which is so much more than just that. It’s the darker side of humanity – revenge, obsession, necrophilia, incest (or large hints of it anyway). Is this what kept attracting me to the book? I don't know, but I would say it is likely. Whatever it was, it made me wish that Emily could have had finished and published her second novel, or if legend is true, that Charlotte hadn’t burnt it down. It might just about been even better…

I think I should probably thank R who almost forced me to buy it in the first place...

On books and buying them

I love books. I love buying them, owing them and reading them - the order is simply the order of the process. I also love carrying them all over the place and hate when I damage them because of this - once or twice a book had to be replaced (ok, more than that!).

Bookshops are places of pleasure for me, especially those where I have never been and those I know by heart (in case I really just want to get something quickly). But best of all, every year there's a book fair in Lisbon - and for at least a good 10 years now I make a point of being there on the first day. So I book holidays to match (being in London and all that). This year there were a few problems with it and almost didn't happen. But afterwards I was wondering if that would have been such a misery for me.

I can read in Portuguese and English and when I am brave, I even read some stuff in French (not counting with la Bande Dessinée). So I can't say I am limited, can I? However, in a competitive and increasingly uninteresting book market in Portugal less and less books that appeal to me are now published. Furthermore, one of my favourite publishers was absent and I bought only 4 new books for myself, none of which printed in the last 2 years and all originally published before 1970. In contrast I came back with 7 second hand ones, all from the 1900s. With the increasing prospect of an idiotic spelling agreement for the Portuguese language, I believe that in six years time I shall stop buying new books altogether.

There is a bright side - I am now discovering the "alfarrabistas", the second hand bookshops and where I bought some nice books lately. For better or worst, I believe that this is where for Portuguese books, my future of book buying lies.

What I am reading...

sadly not very much... a few pages a day of "Le coté de chez Guermantes" (in a very good Portuguese translation) during my daily usage of the tube, meaning that it will take me forever to finish it (I am about half way through it) and "The Complete Peanuts 1965-1966" which is, with its immediate predecessor, far more interesting that the previous volumes.

Collect Plays of Somerset Maugham, Volume 2

Here is my second post about the plays of Somerset Maugham. A few years ago I got two different sets of his plays. The first, had nine plays spread over two volumes and was a recent edition by Methuen. It was one of my first buys after my arrival in the UK. The second was bought on ebay, a complete set of the three volumes of the “Collected Plays”, originally published in the fifties. This didn't make the first set redundant, because of the omission of “The Letter” in it. It was certainly one of my most inspired buys.

I have just finished reading/re-reading the whole second volume, which has some of his better known comedies and farces, including “Our Betters”, “The Constant Wife”, “The Circle” and a hilarious farce “Home and Beauty”. All of these I have read at one time or another. There are also two further plays, “The Unattainable” and “The Breadwinner”, which I read for the first time and both far more interesting in themes than they are in reality. The first, is a three act exposé of how we always want what we can’t have, and that when we can we don’t want it anymore. It was funny in several moments, but not successful enough. However, it seems it was a hit in 1917. The second is one of the last few plays he wrote. It’s about a man who decides to abandon his family (who find him an absolute bore) and career (he has just ruined himself) and go and Live, but despite an interesting ending, it has some very dull scenes, especially in the beginning, and the most irritating portrait of 18-year olds ever put on paper. Neither of them really recommended, unless you’re already a fan.

The remaining four titles are altogether much better and I wonder why they aren’t staged more often in London. I guess they are perceived as too old fashioned, or perhaps the author has really gone out of fashion, or a bit of both. It’s really a pity – their themes of equality between women and men and society’s double standards, may not be as obvious as they were in the years after WWI but they still matter. Ok, divorce nowadays is easier to get, transforming the irony of the last act of “Home and Beauty” into just a silly scene, as most people won’t be fully aware how hard was to get a divorce in Britain in those days. But perhaps more important, is the fact that in these plays women misbehave as much as men. That was uncomfortable then and is uncomfortable now, despite the ninety years that have passed.

I had a chance of seeing two of them at their last West End incarnations – “The Constant Wife” with a wonderful Jenny Seagrove (who was the lead in the recent revival of “The Letter”) and “Home and Beauty” with a not so good Victoria Hamilton. I also saw and recommend George Cukor’s film version of “Our Betters” with a brilliant performance by Constance Bennett and which is quite high on my DVD wish list. I just hope that someone decides to bring it to London again. The same goes for “The Circle” which would be a great vehicle for Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Patricia Routledge or Penelope Keith.

Lady Frederick (1907)

This is the first of a couple of posts I intent to make on the subject of Somerset Maugham's plays that I am reading/re-reading after having abandoned a couple of books. I can' t say I have discovered new favourites, but "Lady Frederick" was a pleasant surprise. It was funny, clever, and kept me interested - something that its successor in volume one of the collected plays had not. A drawing-room comedy about money (or rather the lack of it) and a few marriages. Far less stylised than Oscar Wilde's, it keeps to the tradition and although less funny more is more real and interesting. To me, it's only drawback is the portrait of Captain Montgomerie, probably quite acceptable then but uncomfortably anti-semitic nowadays.

Originally performed in 1907, it catapulted the author to amazing heights - he became the first living playwright to have four plays simultaneously in the West End (Noël Coward would match that in the mid-twenties). Perhaps it remains known today only (and rather unjustly) because of the amazing scene in the beginning of the third act where Lady Frederick appears without make-up before a young man who is in love with her. Every actress of the day refused to play it because of it. Today I imagine that most actress would sink their teeth in it, but then again it might still be too raw.

I would love to get a chance to see this in London. Strangest things have happened, and as far as I know the recent revival of "The Letter" was fairly successful. Meanwhile, I would recommend it to anyone who has had an introduction to Mr Maugham.

Cidade Proibida (2007)

Recently read two works of fiction by Portuguese author Eduardo Pitta, his recent novel “Cidade Proibida” and “Persona”, the later in the recent revised second edition. Neither impressed much and won’t last longer in my memory. I wasn’t impressed by either… but here’re my thoughts on the first.

“Cidade Proibida” (“Forbidden City”) is a short novel, with a plot that centres on the relationship between a british working-class professor in Lisbon and his upper class “native” boyfriend, and the people surrounding them. Somehow, I feel that its length was its greatest asset. I took me about four hours of reading spread over three days, in a few tube rides from home to work and back. I also liked the title, which refers not to any homosexual context (as one would have thought from the subject matter) but to the rarefied upper classes of Portuguese society.

But that’s were the good things stopped. It’s not a bad read, at worst it’s snobbish and pedantic, and at best I felt indifferent. While it describes the Lisbon environment fairly well, with its rules and codes, when the action changes to London, I couldn’t help not believing in it because I live here. It seemed too much stuck in the memories and places from the past and not at all real. The most (unintentional) hilarious moment of the book, which I shared with friends, is when Rupert, raised in London, says he can’t believe how expensive Portuguese houses are. It should be noted that a studio flat within a decent distance from the centre of London will probably buy a two bedroom flats in a nice area of Lisbon.

Often the book is simply a catalogue of unpleasant characters. In the first chapter we are introduced to Nora, Martim’s mother, and immediately, from the way she tells the maid off, and fires her on the spot, I disliked her. As the book progressed I realised neither of the leading men were much better. Rupert’s letter towards the end of the book kills whatever empathy we may have had for him that wasn’t killed from the events set in London. And a similar point could have been made for Martim, Guida, and all the others whose stories we are introduced despite their presence in the main events be little more than a glance.

There’s another issue, which I admit is due to personal taste. In an interview the author mentioned that his characters are not “sexless angels”, but I wonder if the explicitness of some of them is really necessary. I admit that I dislike sex scenes in books. They usually are uncomfortable readings, and the ones in the books are no exception. You require real talent to pull them off rather than just good writing skills. That does not mean that the characters must choose celibacy – but you can imply rather than describe, because in most cases details are unnecessary.

Ultimately books are a matter of taste. And this one isn’t for mine. But I might recommend it to someone who I think will enjoy it.

Lady Audley's Secret (1862)

Literature is full of good ideas that turn into bad books. My most recent experience in this category has to be “Lady Audley’s Secret” (1861 - 62) by Mary Elizabeth Braddon. To me this was one of the most frustrating books I have read recently, since despite a very good plot line, the main characters are at best uninteresting, and at worst completely dull.

Briefly the story is this: George Talboys returns from Australia, after having made a fortune, to find out that the wife he abandoned has recently died. Overwhelmed by grief he is taken by his friend Robert Audley for a tour of Europe and then a time at Audley Court. Here they meet Lord Audley’s (Robert’s uncle) new wife, the young Lucy Graham, now Lady Audley. Then George Talboys disappears – and Robert suspects Lucy might have had something to do with it. What follows (i.e. most of the book) is Robert’s obsession with finding out the truth.

But why did I find it so frustrating? Firstly, because never George Talboys is considered something other than a victim, despite the fact that he abandoned his wife without any money and with a child to raise. Surely not even in Victorian Literature this is a good thing. Lucy is the baddy, and so she must be, but the book’s point of view raises George to virtuous heights (more about this later). The book was written by woman, which as far I recall from the introduction was raised by a single mother. Unless the book is to be taken ironically – which I have to consider as a possibility – its values are too far away from mine to fully engage in it.

Secondly, because as detectives go, Robert Audley is the one of the silliest – He insists in behaving as a gentleman towards Lucy and therefore tells at every step what evidence has he just collected against her – in some cases prompting her to rush to destroy them (as happens at end of Part I).

Then there is the reasoning behind Robert’s obsession with George’s disappearance. My theory is that unless you consider that Robert is attracted to his friend – which is certainly not as preposterous as it may seem, at least to a modern reader – his obsession, and the vision of George as a true model of a man, makes no sense at all. I have to admit that the idea was placed on my mind after skimming through the introduction to my edition (Penguin Classics), but Robert’s characterisation made it flourish.

And finally, there’s the final twist. Until then in the book, it was easy to predict what was happening next. This caught me unaware and is probably one of the cleverest things in the plot (and I’m not revealing it in case anyone wants to read it, otherwise it can be found in cyberspace), but that leaves me wondering if Lady Audley is only being punished because she married above her class, at least in the eyes of her authoress.

If only Lucy was a cleverer woman, similar to Wilkie Collins’ Lydia Gwilt (the main character in “Amardale”) and acted accordingly, then this could have been so much better. Also it would have helped if poor Robert admitted that he might have had a crush on George – my suggestion would have been they met at school and George was the most popular boy.