![]() Maybe this is why it was so hard to get a hold onto. I don’t believe that any writer manages to get their form/style/project “perfect” on a first go around, and perhaps it is useful to think of this book as the first of her experiments. It is also her first novel, and the rest of her books would go on to experiment with this exact form. Otavio made her into something that wasn’t her but himself and which Joana received out of pity for both, because both were incapable of freeing themselves through love, because she had meekly accepted her own fear of suffering, her inability to move beyond the frontier of revolt. Still in bed, she had thought about sand, sea, drinking seawater at her dead aunt’s house, about feeling, above all feeling. She had awoken full of daylight, invaded. This book is all about the intensities of unknown inner lives – how people truly think and feel, it is all unfiltered and raw, the curious power of a deeply strange interior life: What matters then: to live or to know you are living? It is intensely concerned with transitions from childhood to adulthood, from innocence to understanding, from ignorance to knowledge. ![]() I’m going to assume she’d been working on it for several years, and it is – despite the incredible maturity of the style – a coming of age novel. First, it was first published in 1943, so she was 23. I think that I don’t necessarily have all the right “tools” at my disposal for a truly thoughtful approach to this book but I want to think about it within a few different contexts. ![]() Not that this is necessarily a horrible thing, but I’m shocked to find how much trouble I had getting through this-Lispector’s first novel-compared to the other novels I’ve read (and very much enjoyed). In all truth, reading Near to the Wild Heart was a frustrating reading experience. Clarice Lispector – Near to the Wild Heart
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