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A review by versmonesprit
The Passion According to G.H. by Clarice Lispector
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
2.0
I want to blame the translation, because the thought of not liking something written by Clarice is horrific. And it could very well be the translator’s fault for not conveying her art enough, because the translator Penguin used for this is not the same translator who worked on the marvellous Água Viva.
Don’t get me wrong, The Passion According to G.H. is not entirely devoid of Clarice’s magic: the beginning and the end both sparkle like the most exquisite wine, like the most exquisite waterfall in a fairytale grotto. They’re beautiful. But something happens in the middle, something so banal and artless that I can’t believe it’s written by Clarice, who writes pure magic! It goes on in circles, it’s repetitive to the point I dreaded picking the book up to continue reading, and it feels so stunted because of the way the sentences are chopped and because the narration is an endless series of questions.
Even then her brilliance shines through at moments, and her meditations — nay, straight out philosophy and theology are incredible. Hence my considering The Passion a philosophical novel.
In the end this was still a disappointment. I love transcendental books. I was so sure I would adore this, it was going to be my first Clarice. I’m glad it wasn’t, I might not have picked up another. What makes a transcendental story transcendental is the passion and the fervour, the borderline delirium. The Passion is too sober, too flat.
Still worth a read? Definitely for the beginning and the ending, but I’d suggest not prioritising it. It does not have enough substance, it’s spread too thin in the middle — half the page count, and this might have been another masterpiece.
Don’t get me wrong, The Passion According to G.H. is not entirely devoid of Clarice’s magic: the beginning and the end both sparkle like the most exquisite wine, like the most exquisite waterfall in a fairytale grotto. They’re beautiful. But something happens in the middle, something so banal and artless that I can’t believe it’s written by Clarice, who writes pure magic! It goes on in circles, it’s repetitive to the point I dreaded picking the book up to continue reading, and it feels so stunted because of the way the sentences are chopped and because the narration is an endless series of questions.
Even then her brilliance shines through at moments, and her meditations — nay, straight out philosophy and theology are incredible. Hence my considering The Passion a philosophical novel.
In the end this was still a disappointment. I love transcendental books. I was so sure I would adore this, it was going to be my first Clarice. I’m glad it wasn’t, I might not have picked up another. What makes a transcendental story transcendental is the passion and the fervour, the borderline delirium. The Passion is too sober, too flat.
Still worth a read? Definitely for the beginning and the ending, but I’d suggest not prioritising it. It does not have enough substance, it’s spread too thin in the middle — half the page count, and this might have been another masterpiece.