A few thoughts on Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen's "Os Navegadores"

Eles habitam entre um mastro e o vento. 

Têm as mãos brancas de sal
E os ombros vermelhos de sol. 

Os espantados peixes se aproximam
Com olhos de gelatina. 

O mar manda florir seus roseirais de espuma. 

No oceano infinito
Estão detidos num barco
E o barco tem um destino
Que os astros altos indicam.

They live between a mast and the wind.

They have salt-whitened hands
And shoulders reddened by the sun.

The frightened fish approach
With gelatin eyes.

The sea sends its rosebushes of foam.

In the infinite ocean
They are held on a boat
And the boat has a destination
Which the stars on high indicate.

Any errors in the English translation are my own.  I just finished reading Portuguese poet/writer Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen's Mar, an anthology of her poetry that focuses on the sea and its real and metaphorical impact on people.  In reading "Os Navegadores" ("The Navigators"), I found myself thinking of old dreams, dreams of the wind, sea, and stars, of venturing forth into the unknown, surprising other life just as our ancestors were surprised in turn at what they discovered.  The imagery of the "salt-whitened hands" and "shoulders reddened by the sun" create a physical "realness" against the more ethereal "rosebushes of foam."  Add to this the more stock connections of ocean/stars being symbols of destiny/destination and this is a poem that appeals to the more Romantic side of me.

Clara Sánchez, Últimas noticias del paraíso

Creo que sólo algunos padres representan a su vez la idea de padre, como algunas esposas la idea de esposa y algunos empleados de grandes almacenes la idea de empleado de grandes almacenes.  Porque nada más que unas cuantas personas son las elegidas para simbolizar al resto de las personas.  Así que esas raras ocasiones en que mi padre me abrazaba y trataba de comunicarme su amor no han servido de gran cosa, no se han convertido en idea.  Porque, en el fondo, más que padres auténticos lo que se quiere son ideas con las que vivir, con las que seguir cavilando todo el santo día, con las que continuar dándole vueltas a la cabeza, con las que poder unir esto con aquello, o sea, un cierto material para hacer lo que no se puede dejar de hacer:  pensar y pensar.  Por eso cuando alguien te abraza, pero el abrazo no se te queda en la mente, es como si no te hubieran abrazado.  No es tan desesperante que no te quieran si no necesitas imaginarte que eres querido, amado, como diría Alien. (pp. 130-131)

I believe that only some parents represent in their time the ideal of parenthood, just like some wives the ideal of the wife and some department store employees the ideal of the department store employee.  For nothing more than a few people are chosen to symbolize other people. So on those rare occasions when my father hugged me and tried to communicate his love it didn't help much, wasn't ideal. Because, in the end, rather than real parents what they want are ideas with which to live, with which to follow brooding all day, with which continue turning the head, with which to unite this with that, that is, a certain material doing what they can't stop doing: thinking and thinking. So when someone hugs you, but that hug does not stay in the mind, it's as though you had not embraced. It's not as frustrating that they don't love you if you do not need to imagine that you are wanted, loved, like say Alien.

 Suburbia is a late twentieth century socio-cultural malaise that first began to be seen in isolated teenage wastelands several miles from the decaying centers of large urban areas sometime in the 1970s or early 1980s.  Symptoms of this malaise include harried parents who have less and less "quality time" (this word being itself a symbol of the malaise) for their children; vapid interactions of adolescents with their peers and the world itself; and only medium-deep introspection that progressively proves to be shallow the older the would-be thinker becomes and the more callouses s/he develops from the indifference of those around him/her.  In cinema, where such symptoms are not just esteemed but are idealized, the infected may gather in shy, haltering breakfast clubs, may see if they are pretty in pink, or perhaps snort a few lines of coke before lighting sixteen candles.  Yet despite the potential for self-parody and a deepening of this sense of socio-cultural disconnect, for the past thirty-five years or so, writers as well as filmmakers have sought to capture this seemingly paradoxical pathos of the emotionally drained youth.

Clara Sánchez's 2000 Premio Alfaguara-winning novel, Últimas noticias del paraíso (Latest News from Paradise), on the surface breaks no new ground.  Her protagonist, the teen Fran, has concerns and issues that were a dime a dozen in teen-oriented novels and movies of the 1980s and 1990s.  He lacks a good family life; his parents are preoccupied with other matters those rare times that they are physically present in his everyday life.  Like so many before him, he searches for answers.  Can happiness be found in drugs, in sex, or is he fated to just be another smothered candle, with his life's brightness doused prematurely by the pressures placed upon him?  Despite the familiarity most readers will have with the subject matter, Sánchez does do a good job in fleshing out Fran's character.

Últimas noticias del paraíso does not contain any big reveals or titanic climaxes.  Instead, there is an episodic feel to the narrative, as Fran meanders his way around Madrid's suburbs, seeking out friends (one important one being the so-called "Alien," who represents the kid who is smart yet who has become disenchanted with life) and musing over the frustrations that have beset him.  Those of us who grew up "latch key kids" or were labeled "Gen X slackers" will readily understand his conundrums and the various ways in which he seeks out new experiences to fill the void left by his parents' frequent absences.  He is not the twin to Alberto Fuguet's Matías (Mala Onda); he is not especially embittered by the vapidity surrounding him, but he does represent a mirror to Fuguet's character in his desire to escape, to find that little bit of imagined "paradise" around him.  The narrative follows his search for meaning and his eventual finding of something that gives Fran hope for the future.  It is a small, rather subtle conclusion, yet it contains surprising power to it.

The characterization is fairly well-done, although the character types often resemble those from other period writings.  If there is something that Sánchez can be faulted with in the prose, it would be the relative lack of slang expressions.  Fran's voice feels almost too polished, not always close to that of an angst-filled teen, and there are times that this creates an artificial levity that threatens to leech energy away from the narrative.  But this is balanced with some keen observations on the part of Fran that leads to a quick-moving, fast-paced narrative that somehow manages to retain a good narrative flow.

Compared to the previous Premio Alfaguara winners, Últimas noticias del paraíso is a slighter work.  It is not a poor nor even a mediocre novel, but it is a novel that settles for being a quieter, less moving narrative than its award-winning predecessors.  This is not a bad thing, mind you, but does mean that Últimas noticias del paraíso leaves this reader wishing there was just a little bit more to it, a little bit more than just telling a frequently-told teen tale just a little bit better than most of its sort.

1999 Premio Alfaguara winner, Manuel Vicent's Son de Mar

Recién aprobada la cátedra de literatura llegó a Circea, pequeña ciudad de la costa, con veintisiete años, solo, con una úlcera de duodeno y una maleta llena de libros.  Tenía todos sus estudios a flor de piel y ninguna experiencia de la vida.  El Instituto de segunda enseñanza, donde el joven profesor iba a impartir su asignatura, estaba situado muy cerca del mar y cuando lo visitó por primera vez, antes de que comenzara el curso, Ulises Adsuara tuvo una sensación muy agradable al comprobar que desde la tarima de su aula, a través del ventanal, mientras explicara a sus alumnos los clásicos griegos y latinos podría ver toda la raya del Mediterráneo dividida por la escollera del puerto.  Indudablemente sería un privilegio hablar de Homero y del Virgilio sin dejar de contemplar su cuna de agua meciéndose a sus pies. (p. 43)

Recently appointed the literature chair he arrived at Circea, a little town on the coast, twenty-seven years old, alone, with an ulcer of the duodenum and a suitcase full of books.  He had book knowledge and no experience of life.  The Grammar School, where the young teacher would teach his subject, was situated near the sea and when he first visited it, before beginning the course, Ulises Adsuara had a nice feeling to see that from the stage their classroom through the window, while explaining to his students the classic Greek and Latin writers would be able to see the whole Mediterranean  divided by the harbor breakwater. Undoubtedly it would be a privilege to speak of Homer and Virgil without stopping to contemplate his watery crib rocking at his feet.

Manuel Vicent's 1999 Premio Alfaguara-winning novel Son de Mar (Song of the Sea) is one of those rare novels in which the premise, which begins with a drowned body washing ashore and then goes back fifteen years in time, interesting as it may be, pales in comparison to the depth of character development and emotion.  It is a story chock full of allusions to classic literature, particularly The Odyssey and The Aeneid, and readers familiar with the themes present in those two epic poems will see parallels in Vicent's text, especially in the structure of the narrative, in which time and place at times dilate into something that is more ethereal than the present yet somehow also more vivid and memorable.

The first chapter begins with a drowned body washing ashore and the surprise that the villagers of the Mediterranean town of Circea (itself an allusive name) have when the body appears to resemble greatly that of a former classics schoolteacher, Ulises Adsuara, who had presumably drowned near there ten years previously.  Vicent carefully develops this mystery by having the villagers recall this presumed-dead person's key points in life, particularly his relationship with a woman, Martina, who had remarried after his presumed death.  Key points are paradoxically foreshadowed here, leading the reader wanting to know more about this mysterious man and how things developed to the point of his earlier drowning.

Subsequent chapters go back fifteen years in the past, covering the young, callow Ulises as he arrives in town, fresh with book knowledge and no understanding of life itself.  The chapters in which he meets his landlord's daughter and they begin a courtship that contains quotations from Vergil on the tragic relationship of Aeneas and Dido develop both Ulises and Martina's characters, making their love story a continuation of sorts of the tales told by Homer and Vergil.  And yet there is trouble in paradise, and the lovers have a rift develop, centered around an old flame of Martina's who is one of the wealthiest individuals in town.

Vicent does an excellent job developing these tensions.  Ulises' first "death" is something purposely left cloudy, in order that the mysterious phone call that Martina receives ten years later from a man claiming to be Ulises can have a more lasting impact.  The second half of the novel is about return and if it is a matter of enduring love, of the sort Odysseus had for Penelope despite his occasional dalliances, or a matter of confused emotions.  While Vicent leans more toward the former (and the text certainly contains Homeric metaphors that support this reflowering of love), it is not a simple love tale.  The machinations of Martina's second husband adds a counterpoint to the romantic elements, setting the stage for a conclusion in which the titular yacht, previously sailed by the actor Yul Brynner, plays a pivotal role.

If Vicent merely had stuck with the romance story, it would have been a solid tale but one that would lack a richness in prose and characterization that readers who do not typically read such fare might cling to as a reason for enjoying the novel.  However, Son de Mar's prose is beautiful to read without ever feeling too ornate or devoid of warmth.  There are few extraneous passages and the classical references add greatly to the novel.  It may not pack the immediate punch of the two preceding Premio Alfaguara co-winners in terms of psychological trauma or political turmoil, but Son de Mar's quiet and yet subtly powerful human drama makes this a worthy winner of the Premio Alfaguara.

List of Prémio Literário José Saramago winners

One of my previously unstated 2014 reading goals was to read more literary prize winners from each of the four Romance languages (Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and French) that I am reading extensively in this year.  While this literary prize is much newer (and worth only €25,000) than the Premio Strega, Goncourt, or even the revived Premio Alfaguara, there are some high-quality writers on this list that I do want to read in Portuguese by year's end, if possible, with perhaps some, if not all, of them being reviewed.  Below are the list of the winners of this biannual prize:


1999  Paulo José Miranda, Natureza Morta

2001  José Luís Peixoto, Nenhum Olhar

2003  Adriana Lisboa, Sinfonia em Branco

2005  Gonçalo M. Tavares, Jerusalém*

2007  Valter Hugo Mãe, o remorso de baltazar serapião

2009  João Tordo, As Três Vidas

2011  Andréa del Fuego, Os Malaquias

2013  Ondjaki, Os Transparentes

*  first read in Spanish translation years ago

Based off of the three (two in Portuguese) that I have read, the quality is very good in terms of the content as well as the form.  The Tavares at least is available in English translation (through Dalkey Archive); uncertain if any of the others have been translated yet into English.

Reflections on a partial translation of The Aeneid that I did twenty years ago (Book I, lines 1-20)

Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris
Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit
litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto
vi superum saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram;
multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem,
inferretque deos Latio, genus unde Latinum,
Albanique patres, atque altae moenia Romae. 

 "I sing of arms and of the man..."  That clause has stuck with me for twenty years now, ever since I took Latin 252 at the University of Tennessee in the Spring of 1994.  That semester, we were required to translate all of Book I and parts of Books IV and VI.  Looking back, it may have been one of my favorite classes in that I learned not only that if I made the effort (which I really didn't my first three semesters of Latin, making only a B and two C+s, when I could have and should have striven to make As) that a language could become "easy" for me, but also that by paying close attention to words and how they sounded that I would hear music in the words of a poet such as Vergil.  I still have my notebook full of penciled translations, often crossed out or with arrows to denote a second, usually (but not always) better prose translation.  We were not to attempt to write our translations in poetic form, in part because we were not adept enough poets to recast the verses, but also because the focus was on getting the sense of the words while letting the original music of the Latin hexameters work its magic with us.

I didn't list this in my 2014 reading/reviewing resolutions, but I do plan on re-reading Vergil slowly, maybe 10-20 lines at a time, perhaps with days or even weeks in-between.  As I do, I will post transcripts of my 1994 translation of assigned passages, perhaps with some commentary along the way.  There is something almost "mystical" about Latin for me even today; it possesses charms that other languages in which I am currently more fluent in mostly lack.  Perhaps it is because I've read mostly only the very best literature that the Romans produced during the Late Republic and the first half-century of the Empire.  There is a polish to the meters that just cannot be replicated in anything modern today, but that does not stop certain writers from pushing themselves to the limit to recall a faint echo of the melodic lines of Vergil and others.

Let me continue then:

"I sing of arms and the man, who first from the shores of Troy, by fate exiled, came to Italy and to the Lavinian shore, that man who was buffeted much from land and the deep sea because of the force of the gods, on account of the wrathful memory of fierce Juno, and moreover he suffered much in war, until he founded the city and introduced his gods to Latium, the source of the Latin race and the Alban fathers and the lofty walls of Rome."

I modified my 1994 translation slightly as I typed this, purposely making it a single sentence again instead of employing em-dashes to separate strains of description, but this is still only but a second, very rough literal translation.  Likely this would be broken further into 2-4 sentences in order to preserve a sense of "flow" in English, but even at this stage, there is the echo of something powerful.  The fierce and long-remembering enmity of Juno, the suffering of this man, only later to be identified as the Trojan prince Aeneas, these are set in a pulsating counterbeat that makes the whole fascinating to consider.  The introduction of the poetic "argument" continues with the traditional invocation of the Muse:

Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso,
quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus
insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores
impulerit. Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?

"O Muse, relate the reasons to me, because of what wounded sense of divinity did Juno, Queen of the gods, compel a man marked by his piety to undergo so much misfortune, to encounter so many labors.  Is there so much anger in heavenly souls?"

Although today I probably would translate the first line as "O Muse, who sparks memory in me" or "O Muse, to me the cause of memory," but there are some issues with both, as each would not only stray a bit further from the original text, but each might sound more stilted in English.  This is but a minor example of the problems caused when translating from a source language into a target language, especially when time-stressed syllables and allusive language are involved.  To continue with the original assignment, to line 20:

Urbs antiqua fuit, Tyrii tenuere coloni,
Karthago, Italiam contra Tiberinaque longe
ostia, dives opum studiisque asperrima belli;
quam Iuno fertur terris magis omnibus unam
posthabita coluisse Samo; hic illius arma,
hic currus fuit; hoc regnum dea gentibus esse,
si qua fata sinant, iam tum tenditque fovetque.
Progeniem sed enim Troiano a sanguine duci
audierat, Tyrias olim quae verteret arces;

"There was an ancient city (colonists from Tyre having founded it) named Carthage, opposite of Italy and far from the mouth of the Tiber, rich in resources and eager and fierce in the pursuits of war; which single place Juno is said to have honored above even Samos more than all other lands:  here were her arms, here was her chariot; now for a long time she intended and cherished the idea for this to be the ruling power over the world, if the Fates would allow it.  However, she had heard that a race derived from Trojan blood which one day would overturn the Tyrian walls."

Vergil here not only sets up the immediate action that occurs around a hundred lines into the poem, but he further develops the reasons behind not just Juno's action but he also creates a thematic contrast to the mythical Trojan/proto-Romans:  the city initially favored, the people who are beloved by Juno, a nation fated to oppose Rome, not just by its geography but by its own sense of historic destiny.  While these lines no doubt could use more polishing to accentuate this, the gist should be clear enough to the reader.

Sometime this weekend, perhaps as early as Saturday, I'll continue with another 20-25 lines.  Hope this has been of some interest.  And for those whose Latin knowledge is superior to mine, yes, I know there are some areas that could be strengthened greatly, however I am focusing more on showing how the 19 year-old me approached this text, with the comments between the passages reserved for the 39 year-old me to reflect upon.

2014 Reading/Reviewing Goals

Now that 2013 has come and gone like the bad cold I felt like I had all year, time for new and updated goals to reflect the changing of the calendar.  Some of these are alterations of things I considered in December, but others are brand new.  Feel free to comment on them.

1.  Read (or re-read) at least 50 books each in Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and French. 

I'm still working on my reading comprehension of the Western Romance languages, plus I have at least 75 books/e-books in each of these languages (in the case of Spanish, around 600, and for French, just over 300), so there should be plenty of good reading material.

2.  Have 35% or more of my reading/re-readings this year be of works (co)-authored or (co)-edited by women.

Slight expansion of last year's goal of 33%.

3.  To (re)-read and review each of the Premio Alfaguara winners, including those of the 1965-1972 incarnation.

In the past I have reviewed a few of the 1998-present winners (and have read all but some of the pre-1998 winners), but I think it should be a nice challenge to review 1-2 of these books a month for the year.  Progress will be tracked on this old article.

4.  During the months leading up to the 2014 World Cup, reprise my 2010 "World Cup" series of posts by writing a combination of reviews of prominent writers from participating countries or summaries of national literature.

This should be both fun and educational, no?

5.  Do an in-depth series of articles/reviews on a Southern writer.

The last two years, I wrote several posts on William Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor (abandoning each by early spring) on a weekly Friday basis, but this year, I think I'll save myself stress by covering the writing of Thomas Wolfe, who wrote four novels and only a few short stories.  These won't be on a weekly basis, but maybe a monthly or even quarterly basis, depending on my time.  Also might cover some of Howard Waldrop's short fiction if time permits.

No set overall reading number goal, although I wouldn't be surprised if I average more than a book a day again.

What are your 2014 reading goals?

Edit:  Not a reading nor a reviewing goal, but I also might devote more energy in 2014 to wailing away against that puerile, creativity-sucking entity that sometimes goes by the moniker of "geekdom."  These days, I find myself waiting eagerly for the next decade or so to pass, in hopes that this rehashing of things that I find troublesome in content and presentation (not to mention the perceived lack of originality in content creation) will have passed the way that feathered hair and leg warmers did in my youth.

December 2013 Reads

Here are the final books that I read in 2013:  49 books in December alone, an even 400 for the year, making this the fifth straight year that I read 400 or more books in a calendar year.  I managed to meet or surpass every one of my original 2013 reading goals, along with the stretch goals that I added over the previous few months.  Some were very close, however.  Those goals will be listed at the end of the post.  Now for the books read/re-read this month:

352  Svetislav Basara, Mein Kampf (Serbian; excellent)

353  Tahar ben Jelloun, Le racisme expliqué à ma fille (French; non-fiction; very good)

354  Assia Djebar, L'Amour, la fantasia (French; excellent)

355  Fausta Cialente, Le quattro ragazze Wiselberger (Italian; Premio Strega winner; good)

356  Mariateresa di Lascia, Passaggio in Ombra (Italian; Premio Strega winner; good)

357  Iosi Havilio, Open Door (Spanish; very good)

358  Milorad Pavić, Kutija za Pisanje (Serbian; re-read; very good)

359  Fernando Nobre (ed.), Cartas a Deus (Portuguese; essays; good)

360  Françoise de Graffigny, Lettres d'une Péruvienne (French; excellent)

361  Moacyr Scliar, A Guerra no Bom Fim (Portuguese; very good)

362  Dino Buzzati, Sessanta racconti (Italian; short fiction collection; Premio Strega winner; excellent)

363  Umberto Eco, Il cimitero di Praga (Italian; re-read; very good)

364  Umberto Eco, El cementiri de Praga (Catalan; very good)

365  Umberto Eco, El cementerio de Praga (Spanish; re-read; very good)

366  Umberto Eco, The Prague Cemetery (very good)

367  José Saramago, Cadernos de Lanzarote IV (Portuguese; essays; very good)

368  Pepetela, Mayombe (Portuguese; Premio Camões winner; very good)

369  Ann Leckie, Ancillary Justice (already reviewed)

370  Valter Hugo Mãe, O Remorso de Baltazar Serapião (Portuguese; Premio José Saramago winner; very good)

371  Eleanor Catton, The Luminaries (2013 Man Booker Prize winner; excellent)

372  João Negreiros, O Mar que a Gente Faz (Portuguese; very good)

373  João Cerqueira, A Tragédia de Fidel Castro (Portuguese; very good)

374  João Cerqueira, The Tragedy of Fidel Castro (very good)

375  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Pilote de guerre (French; very good)

376  Andre Dubus, Selected Stories (short fiction collection; excellent)

377  Gordana Ćirjanić, Оно што одувек желиш (Serbian; NIN Prize winner; very good)

378  George Packer, The Unwinding:  An Inner History of the New America (2013 National Book Award winner for Non-Fiction; outstanding)

379  Edwidge Danticat, Claire of the Sea Light (very good)

380  Ron Rash, Nothing Gold Can Stay (short fiction collection; very good)

381   László Krasznahorkai, The Bill (art essay; excellent)

382  Michel de Montaigne, Les Essais (French; essays; excellent)

383  Umberto Eco, Storia delle Terre e dei Luoghi Leggendari (Italian; non-fiction/art book; excellent)

384  Umberto Eco, Le Sette Meraviglie (Italian; non-fiction/interactive art e-book; very good)

385  Paolo Giordano, La solitudine dei numeri primi (Italian; Premio Strega winner; very good)

386  João Tordo, As Três Vidas (Portuguese; Premio José Saramago winner; excellent)

387  João Tordo, O Ano Sabático (Portuguese; excellent)

388  Mariano Villarreal and Luis Pestarini (eds.), Terra Nova vol. 2 (Spanish; anthology; good)

389  Rafael Marín, Lágrimas de luz (Spanish; very good)

390  Tom Drury, Pacific (good)

391  Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Manifest der Kommunistischen Partei (German; non-fiction; excellent for what it is)

392  Scott and Kimberly Hahn, Rome Sweet Home (religious; re-read; very good)

393  Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies (bilingual English and German; poetry; re-read; excellent)

394  Yasmina Reza, Le dieu du carnage (French; play; good)

395  James McBride, The Good Lord Bird (2013 National Book Award winner for Fiction; very good)

396  Tash Aw, Five Star Billionaire (2013 Man Booker Prize longlisted nominee; good)

397  Bill Cheng, Southern Cross the Dog (meh to decent attempt at Southern Gothic)

398  Jamaica Kincaid, At the Bottom of the River (re-read; very good)

399  Jim Holt, Why Does the World Exist? (non-fiction/philosophy; excellent)

400  Charles Perrault, Contes de ma Mère L'Oye (French; fairy tales, excellent)


2013 Reading Goals:

Overall:  400/366

Women Writers/Editors:  134/400, or 33.50%, 1 book ahead the 1/3 or 33.33% goal.

Foreign Language:  186/175 (46.50% of total reads)

Spanish:  54/52

Italian:  31/25

French:  26/25

Portuguese:  26/25

Serbian:  14/12

German:  12/12


I'll post my 2014 reading goals later today.