how I met Clarice

| "In the doorway", Andrew Wyeth (1984) |


the story of the books I call mine can be extreme and diverse.
at times, it is a story of personnal discovery, adventure and pure "chasse", amidst the dense forest (arid savannah?) of poor literature true words' lovers find in bookshops today.

i am fortunate to have grown up in a home inhabited by books and cultural references. knowledge came always first. it still does.

i am happy to be made of that very same substance of my ancestors, who treasure the heritage of the text (no, we are not stuck in time, and are very aware of its revolutionary new forms and facets).

but the sweet and sour smell of pages is a pleasure we indulge ourselves in. continuously.

but this post is about how I met Clarice.

| i am deeply sceptical about bestsellers and readers' hysteria.
so when i initiate a query
or a process of ontological search
trying to reach in books a form of complementing myself
i normally look back. yes, i look back |

this time the pleasure of words happened to be discussed with a friend.
Ju introduced me to Clarice Lispector. She saw an exhibition at São Paulo's Museu da Língua Portuguesa.
"A Hora da Estrela", Ju recommended to me. Pain was all over Clarice, she said.

And within me I felt a terrible urgency of rescuing Clarice from such pain. I had to do it, by reading her words.

It wasn't easy, I must confess. Up and down Lisbon's hills I tried to find Clarice.
I finally found her in a single bookshop. It is not "A Hora da Estrela", but "Uma Aprendizagem, ou o Livro dos Prazeres".

I found Lóri, the character, at the doorway of existence.
What could be better than reading her cross it? Que profundeza. Que profundidade.

"Uma das coisas que aprendi é que se deve viver apesar de. Apesar de, se deve comer. Apesar de, se deve amar. Apesar de, se deve morrer. Inclusive muitas vezes é o próprio apesar de que nos empurra para a frente. Foi o apesar de que me deu uma angústia que insatisfeita foi a criadora de minha própria vida." (C.L.)