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The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector

The Hour of the Star (1977)

by Clarice Lispector

Other authors: See the other authors section.

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8072911,302 (3.86)1 / 112

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Showing 1-5 of 26 (next | show all)
Não é o tipo de literatura que eu aprecio, mas eu respeito a construção do livro em camadas: Clarice no topo, o narrador Rodrigo e a personagem Macabea. Em Rodrigo e Macabea a autora descarrega suas questões e angustias e o jogo de aflições se desenvolve em alternâncias, em idas e vindas tais que, ao fim do livro resta apenas um grande vazio. ( )
  Ursula.Wetzel | Aug 20, 2014 |
I had read a lot of hype on Clarice Lispector and my expectations were high as I started this novella. I found the narrator's introduction to be long winded and a bit confusing yet once the story introduced the main characters it moved quicker with meaning and sensitivity.

The nature of beauty, of wanting to belong to a relationship and how this plays out for the lower classes of Brazil are well illustrated in this short,, simple tale. ( )
  berthirsch | Jul 22, 2014 |
A good translation, with helpful insights provided in fore- and afterwords. ( )
  CSRodgers | May 3, 2014 |
Suggested by PEN online reading group http://www.pen.org/page.php/prmID/2012. What a great choice. A book about writing, about suffering, about consciousness, about death. And funny too. All that in a small, gem-like package. ( )
  CSRodgers | May 3, 2014 |

It was a grave mistake to commit to a binge of 200 or less page works, especially after so long a stint of the eighth longest novel in existence, third longest in English (looking at you, [Women and Men]) because I had forgotten how utterly manic tiny works can leave me. Can, because this is not a common complaint, as the last time this happened was with poor Zweig's [Chess Story] that left me bawling in my brain and stone cold in my expression. You should try it some time. I don't really mean that, but you understand.

I'm growing to like a lack of sentiment in my reading these days. If that's ironic, I don't want to hear it. Regardless, Lispector joins Lessing and Kertész and a few others, perhaps, in that grouping. The fact that the latter two have Nobel's to their name in no way an implication of refuted desires, I just read Lispector for godssakes and even I can tell the null and void of her politickings wouldn't appeal in the slightest to The Committee. There's the poverty thing, but this is microscale guilt complex of the individual, not the will to power of worldwide indictment and guide to humanity. This is not the polemic you're looking for.

Which embodies the lack of fifth star right there despite the familiar strains of [The Royal Family] calling my name, mixed in with a rampant "What. But. What?" concerning Lispector. Moser the translator of this edition speaks of "[e]xplicitly Jewish and explicitly Brazilian" writing, the former I know to be clogged with innumerable misconstruals on my part and the latter a lonely shelf with only de Assis' Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas] to my name; in summary, a mixture I don't feel comfortable passing judgment on as of yet.

If I'm name dropping like mad, imagine my argument/review/frenzied methodology of closure without them. I could try cutting myself off from any easy mentions in order to improve my logos, much as I could stop reading in order to promote my reading, but I really really really don't want to. Thereby summing up of my attitude towards Lispector's not reading business. How do.

Have some quotes that I'm too caught up in thinking my own things to obligingly incorporate:Who hasn't ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

The girl is a truth I didn't want to know about. I don't know whom to accuse but somebody has to have done it.
I could've fed you the "No one can enter another's heart" line this book also has at the beginning but too easy. Too canonical. Lispector was not, is now, or at least she should be in order to give snot nosed brats like me a punch in the fact every so often.

(A little dance around that K person I want to use for comparison purposes but won't due to reasons of recently acknowledged obtuseness. C'mon, though. K. You don't need anything else.)

The book? Don't ask me about the book. There are other reviews out there that led me to reading this in the first place through a far more measured and knowledgeable manner of composition that you'd be much better off with. I'm going to go off and do other things, eventually read [A Breath of Life], and get back to you on that later.

Also, the short works binge? No longer a mistake. ( )
2 vote Korrick | Apr 29, 2014 |
Showing 1-5 of 26 (next | show all)
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» Add other authors (17 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Clarice Lispectorprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Moser, BenjaminTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Tóibín, ColmIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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Awards and honors
Clarice stirs in the greater depths, where the world finds its true meaning, portraying mankind.
('Vision of Clarice Lispector')
Carlos Drummond de Andrade
For Olga Borelli
First words
Everything in the world began with a yes.
Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?
To probe oneself is to recognize that one is incomplete.
Things were somehow so good that they were close to becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Wikipedia in English (1)

Book description
Macabea, a young woman from the backwoods, arrives in bewildering Rio. Homely, ignorant, without skills or experience, she lodges in a shabby tenement in a squalid red-light district. Her transient boyfriend, a strutting lout and sham, soon abandons her.
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Narrated by the cosmopolitan Rodrigo S.M., this brief, strange, and haunting tale is the story of Macabe a, one of life's unfortunates. Living in the slums of Rio and eking out a poor living as a typist, Macabe a loves movies, Coca-Colas, and her rat of a boyfriend; she would like to be like Marilyn Monroe, but she is ugly, underfed, sickly and unloved. Rodrigo recoils from her wretchedness, and yet he cannot avoid the realization that for all her outward misery, Macabe a is inwardly free/She doesn't seem to know how unhappy she should be. Lispector employs her pathetic heroine against her urbane, empty narrator - edge of despair to edge of despair - and, working them like a pair of scissors, she cuts away the reader's preconceived notions about poverty, identity, love and the art of fiction. In her last book she takes readers close to the true mystery of life and leave us deep in Lispector territory indeed.… (more)

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Average: (3.86)
1 8
2 13
2.5 2
3 34
3.5 12
4 55
4.5 17
5 57

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