Name: An Apprenticeship, or the Book of Pleasures
Rating: 4.464285714285714 (42 reviews)

Clarice Lispector

An Apprenticeship, or the Book of Pleasures

Brianna Hawkins

Noreen Farsai

Was protection a presence? If she were protected by Ulisses even more than she already was, she'd immediately aim for the maximum: to be so protected that she wouldn't fear being free: since from her Aights of freedom she'd always have somewhere to return.

For a fraction of a second the person saw herself as an object to be looked at, which could be called narcissism but, already influenced by Ulisses, she'd call: pleasure in being, To find in the external figure the echoes of the internal figure: ah, so it's true I wasn't just imagining it: I exist.

But she didn't fear the moon because she was more lunar than solar and could see with wide-open eyes in the dark dawns the sinister moon in the sky. So she bathed all over in the lunar rays, as there are others who sunbathed. And was becoming profoundly limpid.

We haven't accepted what we don't understand because we don't want to look stupid. We've hoarded things and reassurances because we dont have each other. We dont have any joy that hasn't already been caralogued. We've built cathedrals, and stayed outside because the cathedrals we ourselves built, were afraid they're traps. We havent surendered to ourselves, because that would be the start of a long life and were afraid of that. Weve avoided falling to our knees in front of the first one of us who says, out of love: you're afraid. 

Patricia K

In the past she didn't go to the beach out of idleness and also because she didn't like crowds. Now she went without any laziness at five in the morning, when the smell of the still unused sea would make her dizzy with joy. The tangy salt air -maresia, a feminine word, though for Lóri the salty smell was masculine. Shed go at five in the morning because that was the hour of the sea's great solitude. Sometimes on the side walk shed pass a man walking his dog, no one else. How to explain that the sea was her maternal cradle but that the smell was all masculine? Maybe it was the perfect fusion. Moreover, at dawn, the caps of the waves looked much whiter.

soochie

“Lóri put on perfume and this was one of her imitations of the world, she who was trying so hard to learn life with perfume, somehow she was intensifying what she was and that's why she couldn't use perfumes that contradicted her: perfuming herself was an instinctive knowledge, come from millennia of apparently passive women learning, and, like any art, it demanded a minimum of self- knowledge … because it was hers, it was her, since for Lóri putting on perfume was a secret and almost religious act.”

“It was then that Ulisses had turned up in her life. He, who had been interested in Lóri only because of desire, was now seeming to see how out of reach she was. And more than that: not just out of reach for him but for herself and for the world. She was living off a tightness in her chest: life.”

“With me you'll speak your whole soul, even in silence. One day I’ll speak my whole soul, and we wont run dry because the soul is infinite. And besides we have two bodies which will be a joyful, mute, deep pleasure for us.”

Juliana

Lóri herself had a kind of dread of going, as if she could go too far—in what direction? Which was making it hard to go. She kept holding back a little as if holding the reins of a horse that could gallop off and take her God knows where. She was saving herself. Why and for what? What was she sparing her- self for? There was a certain fear of her own capability, large or small, maybe because she didnt know her own limits. Were the limits of a human divine? They were. But it kept seeming to her that, as a woman sometimes saved herself untouched in order to give herself one day to love, she might want to die still completely whole so that eternity would have all of her.

Her immeasurable soul. For she was the World. And yet she was living so little. This was one of the sources of her humility and forced acceptance, and also kept her weak in the face of any possibility of action.

But sometimes the unbearable anxiety would come: she wanted to understand enough so that she'd at least become more aware of everything she didn't understand. Though deep down she didnt want to comprehend. She knew it was impossible and every time she had thought she'd understood herself it was because she'd understood wrongly. Understanding was always a mistake—she preferred the largesse, so wide and free and without mistakes, of not-understanding. It was bad, but at least you knew you were in the full human condition.

Yet sometimes she'd guess right. There were cosmic streaks that substituted for understanding.

"Not understanding" was so vast that it surpassed all understanding—understanding was always limited. But not-understanding had no frontiers and led to the infnite, to the God. It wasn't a not-understanding like that of a simpleton. What was good was having an intelligence and not understanding. It was a strange blessing like that of having madness without being crazy. It was a gentle disinterest toward the so-called matters of the intellect, a sweetness of stupidity.

She was hanging on ferociously to her hunt for a way of walking, for the right steps. But the shortcut with refreshing shade and light flashing between the trees, the shortcut where she'd finally be herself, that she'd only felt in a certain intermediate moment of the prayer. But she was also aware of something: when she was most ready, she'd move from herself to other people, her path was other people. When she could fully feel the other she'd be safe and think: here is my port of arrival. But first she needed to reach herself, first she needed to reach the world.

Alma

You can quickly think of the day that passed. Or of the friends that passed and were lost forever. But it’s no use to try to avoid it: the silence is there. Even the worst suffering, that of lost friendship, is just an attempt to escape. For if at first the silence seems to expect a reply — what an urge, Ulisses, to be called and to respond; soon you discover that it demands nothing of you, perhaps only your silence.

Look how she walks with the natural pride of someone who has a body. You, besides hiding what is called the soul, are ashamed to have a body.

i feel this lately and surviving means i already won

How to explain that, coming from as far away inside herself as she had, being half-alive was already a victory.

she was putting someone else on top of herself

With me you’ll speak your whole soul, even in silence. One day I’ll speak my whole soul, and we won’t run dry because the soul is infinite. And besides we have two bodies which will be a joyful, mute, deep pleasure for us.

smile??

A love story by the great Clarice Lispector that asks: Just how might two people be joined?

The Apprenticeship, Or the Book of Pleasures

áine

Tada

“”Not understanding” was so vast that it surpassed all understanding — understanding was always limited. But not-understanding had no frontiers and led to the infinite, to the God.“<br /><br />Here we are looking at the search for love as a pilgrimage. You select, connect, reflect, inject, dissect, deflect, resurrect, and protect the idea — or the mythical concept of — love. What do you arrive at? Most probably, the act of knowing and therefore, loving oneself. In this book, Lòri &amp; Ulisses are accidentally the wayfarers of the said pilgrimage. It might not read as such, but they finally learned that looking for an understanding lead you to meaningful absences. Whatever you want to conceive out of that. Stunning. 

“lóri was softly astounded. so this was happiness.”

- similar to the passion according to g.h., i think this book wonderfully captures the feelings of shame and fear, and the euphoria of acceptance. this is a story about joy, and love, and the struggle to come to terms with these things entering your life. how do we know if we deserve joy? how do we know if we've changed enough to have earned it, when we didn't have it before? what if the source of the joy leaves us? all of these questions are presented and gently resolved: 

“she's the lover who is fearless because she knows she'll have it all again”

- it can’t be understated how magical and comforting of an experience it is to read this book. this is the writing you give to your soul to keep it warm at night

- people talk about an apprenticeship as one of the more accessible clarice novels, and i think that's a fitting adjective. this is one of clarice’s most vivid and concrete novels, with scenes that often fill the entire chapter they’re contained in. we get a clear picture of the world experienced by the characters and the actions they take within it, which can’t always be said in some of clarice’s more abstract works

- in the first chapter clarice plays around with punctuation and sentence structure in Fascinating ways and it’s probably my favorite sentence-by-sentence quirk i’ve found in a novel from clarice. starting the book in the middle of a sentence and each new paragraph following that same theme.... clarice beautifully captures this instant of being dropped in lóri’s world, between the start and the end. blows my mind every time i think about it

- i adore this book, and i’m filled with such happiness every time i look back on the events within it. an apprenticeship is the type of book that reminds you of the beauty of humanity, and the beauty of allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and loved. such a a soft-hearted, charming classic

- “lóri was softly astounded. so this was happiness.” (p.60)

- similar to the passion according to g.h., i think this book wonderfully captures the feelings of shame and fear, and the euphoria of acceptance. this is a story about joy, and love, and the struggle to come to terms with these things entering your life. how do we know if we deserve joy? how do we know if we've changed enough to have earned it, when we didn't have it before? what if the source of the joy leaves us? all of these questions are presented and gently resolved: “she's the lover who is fearless because she knows she'll have it all again” (p.67)

- it can’t be understated how magical and comforting of an experience it is to read this book. this is the writing you give to your soul to keep it warm at night

- people talk about an apprenticeship as one of the more accessible clarice novels, and i think that's a fitting adjective. this is one of clarice’s most vivid and concrete novels, with scenes that often fill the entire chapter they’re contained in. we get a clear picture of the world experienced by the characters and the actions they take within it, which can’t always be said in some of clarice’s more abstract works

- in the first chapter clarice plays around with punctuation and sentence structure in Fascinating ways and it’s probably my favorite sentence-by-sentence quirk i’ve found in a novel from clarice. starting the book in the middle of a sentence and each new paragraph following that same theme.... clarice beautifully captures this instant of being dropped in lóri’s world, between the start and the end. blows my mind every time i think about it

- i adore this book, and i’m filled with such happiness every time i look back on the events within it. an apprenticeship is the type of book that reminds you of the beauty of humanity, and the beauty of allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and loved. such a a soft-hearted, charming classic

'One of the very great writers of the last century' Guardian 'Lispector had an ability to write as though no one had ever written before' Colm Tóibín 'He'd wait for her, she knew that now. Until she learned' Lóri yearns for love yet is scared of herself, and of connecting with another human. When she meets Ulisses, a Professor of Philosophy, she is forced to confront her fears. As both of them will learn, to be worthy of another person, they must first be fully themselves. The book of which Clarice Lispector said, 'I humanized myself', An Apprenticeship is about the ultimate unknowability of the other in a relationship, and what it means to love and be loved. Translated by Stefan Tobler Edited by Benjamin Moser with an Afterword by Sheila Heti

An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures

lispector has done it again- i find myself prolonging the moment i reach the last page. How does she manage to write such beautiful prose about the most dooming subjects? she delves into the question of existence and spirituality in a way no other author has managed to. A seamless read with a plot that’s easy to follow, yet still hauntingly contemplative 

aemouh

An Apprenticeship Or the Book of Pleasures

Okok before you judge for the  time it took me to read, I left it at university, so I didn't have it on me all the time. 

At first I was really sceptical if I liked it, however it has now a fixed spot in my heart. It's so poetic and this was one of the books that met me at the right place and time. I connected so so hard with her on her journey of finding herself and her reason of being. 

Didn't like Ulisses or what's his name, one bit, he's so corny and arrogant, like why would a man be there?? Also, I'm disappointed that in the end, them sleeping together was the great finale, as if all of her progress wouldn't be complete without it. It seemed to me as if she thought - or was led to think - she could never be fully transformed without sex with a man yk? I know it is literally called the Book of Pleasures, but still!!!!

I marked so many phrases that spoke to me on a spiritual level, so I'm definetely rereading that one!

Valentina

Okok before you judge for the  time it took me to read, I left it at university, so I didn't have it on me all the time. 

At first I was really sceptical if I liked it, however it has now a fixed spot in my heart. It's so poetic and this was one of the books that met me at the right place and time. I connected so so hard with her on her journey of finding herself and her reason of being. 

Didn't like Ulisses or what's his name, one bit, he's so corny and arrogant, like why would a man be there?? Also, I'm disappointed that in the end, them sleeping together was the great finale, as if all of her progress wouldn't be complete without it. It seemed to me as if she thought - or was led to think - she could never be fully transformed without sex with a man yk? I know it is literally called the Book of Pleasures, but still!!!!

I marked so many phrases that spoke to me on a spiritual level, so I'm definetely rereading that one!

masterful. what it is to love and be loved. 

marlisa

a book set in motion of the act of loving itself. not just to person but one own soul and life in its fullness

solitones

A love story by the great Clarice Lispector that asks: Just how might two people be joined? What to make of a writer who follows the metaphysical heights of her great Passion According to GH with a book that looks suspiciously like a romance novel? In An Apprenticeship, or The Book of Pleasures, Clarice Lispector tries to discover how to bridge the gap between people, or how to even begin to try. A woman struggles to emerge from solitude and sadness into love, including sexual love: her guide on this journey is Ulisses, who (yes) leads her patiently into the fullness of life. An Apprenticeship was a bestseller and, as her biographer Benjamin Moser writes, "This accessible love story surprised many readers. When it came out, an interviewer said: 'I thought The Book of Pleasures was much easier to read than any of your other books. Do you think there’s any basis for that?' Clarice answered: 'There is. I humanized myself, the book reflects that.'”

An Apprenticeship, or The Book of Pleasures

Most beautiful romance book I've ever read.

Alana Matheus de Jesus Andrade 

love isn’t just about feeling, it’s about letting yourself feel it fully. that’s the hardest part, and that’s exactly what this book captures so well.

lispector’s writing is sharp, intimate, and unfiltered. she takes the most ordinary moments, especially in a woman’s life and makes them feel profound. there’s deep insight, raw uncertainty, and an almost instinctive understanding of human emotions, yet she never pretends to have all the answers.

i find this book so compelling because of how it explores love, not just romance, but the act of allowing myself to be loved. it doesn’t try to give clear answers, just this quiet unraveling of emotions, uncertainty, and self-discovery. the hesitation, the doubt, the raw honesty, it all feels so real.

it’s not just about relationships with others, but about what it means to be human. to trust, to accept, to believe that love is something we are meant to feel.

love isn’t just about feeling, it’s about letting yourself feel it fully. that’s the hardest part, and that’s exactly what this book captures so well.

lispector’s writing is sharp, intimate, and unfiltered. she takes the most ordinary moments, especially in a woman’s life and makes them feel profound. there’s deep insight, raw uncertainty, and an almost instinctive understanding of human emotions, yet she never pretends to have all the answers.

i find this book so compelling because of how it explores love, not just romance, but the act of allowing myself to be loved. it doesn’t try to give clear answers, just this quiet unraveling of emotions, uncertainty, and self-discovery. the hesitation, the doubt, the raw honesty, it all feels so real.

it’s not just about relationships with others, but about what it means to be human. to trust, to accept, to believe that love is something we are meant to feel.

some books end. others stay. this book is the latter. not just a story i read, but a presence i carried, a quiet companion who gently sat beside me through my own silences and uncertainties.

i’ve spent so much time in lóri’s world that closing the book feels like saying goodbye to someone i’ve come to know. lóri isn’t just a character to me. her fragile, hesitant, tender, and brave all at once. its rare to meet a fictional character who feels like a mirror, someone who doesn’t just exist within the story, but stays in your mind; showing up in your quiet moments, your worries, and your longing for something you can’t even name.

lóri isnt a typical main hero who saves the world or suddenly finds all the answers to her problems. instead, she sits with her feelings and lets them stay beside her. she questions to be love or loved, freedom, life, and quiet moments that show up between those thoughts. and in this sitting, i found her the most beautiful. because i’ve been there too, wondering if the quiet means nothing is there, or if maybe the quiet is actually alive.

i’ve written letters to her, many times, even though she’s fictional character (i know im crazy for this) but somehow writing to her felt like writing to myself. like i could say the things i couldn’t always say out loud. and through those letters, i realized how much of me was reflected back in her.

lispector doesn’t write to explain life to you, 

. her language is liquid, shapeless until it touches you, and then suddenly, they become something personal and real. through lóri, she shows the pain of wanting to belong without losing who you are, of wanting to be loved without feeling trapped, of hoping for a love that doesn’t as you to become smaller just to fit.

this book was less a story and more a dialogue between me and lóri, between lóri and herself, between silence and sound, between the fear of being known and the desire to be seen. there were a times i paused to continue, not because i dont want to or tired or bored, but because a sentence surprised me so much, it felt like lispector reached through time and space to hold my hand. 

when i reached the last page, i felt a quiet sadness like the feeling i get after my bestfriend leaves, knowing you might not see them for a long long long time, but they’ve left a part of themselves with me. lóri has become a part of how i see the world and understand myself.

this isn’t a book i can recommend casually, because it’s not for everyone. its for who understand the heavy feeling of things left unsaid, who have sat along and wondered if anyone else feels the same. its for those who know that not every question needs an answer because sometimes you just need someone to sit with you in wondering.

i also want to thank my friend, jess, who recommended this book to me. without her recommendation, i might never have met lóri, and would have missed one of the most tender and honest reading experiences of my life.

lóri, thank you for your company. lispector, thank you for giving her to me. and jess, thank you for your recommendation that lead me to something that understands me this deeply.

alghi

some books end. others stay. this book is the latter. not just a story i read, but a presence i carried, a quiet companion who gently sat beside me through my own silences and uncertainties.

i’ve spent so much time in lóri’s world that closing the book feels like saying goodbye to someone i’ve come to know. lóri isn’t just a character to me. her fragile, hesitant, tender, and brave all at once. its rare to meet a fictional character who feels like a mirror, someone who doesn’t just exist within the story, but stays in your mind; showing up in your quiet moments, your worries, and your longing for something you can’t even name.

lóri isnt a typical main hero who saves the world or suddenly finds all the answers to her problems. instead, she sits with her feelings and lets them stay beside her. she questions to be love or loved, freedom, life, and quiet moments that show up between those thoughts. and in this sitting, i found her the most beautiful. because i’ve been there too, wondering if the quiet means nothing is there, or if maybe the quiet is actually alive.

i’ve written letters to her, many times, even though she’s fictional character (i know im crazy for this) but somehow writing to her felt like writing to myself. like i could say the things i couldn’t always say out loud. and through those letters, i realized how much of me was reflected back in her.

lispector doesn’t write to explain life to you, she writes to feel it with you. her language is liquid, shapeless until it touches you, and then suddenly, they become something personal and real. through lóri, she shows the pain of wanting to belong without losing who you are, of wanting to be loved without feeling trapped, of hoping for a love that doesn’t as you to become smaller just to fit.

this book was less a story and more a dialogue between me and lóri, between lóri and herself, between silence and sound, between the fear of being known and the desire to be seen. there were a times i paused to continue, not because i dont want to or tired or bored, but because a sentence surprised me so much, it felt like lispector reached through time and space to hold my hand. 

when i reached the last page, i felt a quiet sadness like the feeling i get after my bestfriend leaves, knowing you might not see them for a long long long time, but they’ve left a part of themselves with me. lóri has become a part of how i see the world and understand myself.

this isn’t a book i can recommend casually, because it’s not for everyone. its for who understand the heavy feeling of things left unsaid, who have sat along and wondered if anyone else feels the same. its for those who know that not every question needs an answer because sometimes you just need someone to sit with you in wondering.

i also want to thank my friend, jess, who recommended this book to me. without her recommendation, i might never have met lóri, and would have missed one of the most tender and honest reading experiences of my life.

lóri, thank you for your company. lispector, thank you for giving her to me. and jess, thank you for your recommendation that lead me to something that understands me this deeply.

i’m grateful for you, and for lóri.

i love and fw romantic classical fiction a lot dawg (I LOVE CLARICE LISPECTOR SO MUCH SHES SO ME RIP CLARICE YOU WOULD'VE LOVED ME) :((

personal library, bought from books are magic brooklyn heights

second read… felt this a bit more.

personal library, bought from books are magic brooklyn heights

Isabella 

Broke my fiction reading slump (been more drawn to non-fiction these days) because of this book and I have no regrets. This is my first Lispector and it quite literally changed my life and left me at a loss for words. I don't know how to fully encapsulate Lispector's ethereal, groundbreaking prose except to say that it took my breath away but even that would be an understatement. I am so excited to read more of her stuff. 

jess

Five stars would be an understatement. This book is the embodiment of "a perfect book at a perfect time", for I came to struggle on the quest of loving and being loved by someone, and how deserving I am to hold the title of happiness, that which is, to love, and being loved. But does happiness only really fathom such way? Does happiness really meant, putting a huge importance on finding someone, and pouring every bits of ourselves into them? Do we, in order to truly love, and be loved, must first find one's way to exist; find our own solitude and there forth, sharing it with one another? Why so, when human life is so very superficial, do we need love; and how does it complete us, when we are flawed, in our own way, and the mere possibility of ruining others, with our own flawed self, how do we find peace in loving, peace in moments of joy, when we never thought we deserve them?

Lispector has always been incredibly alluring, eloquent, spiritually profound in her prose, for how she elaborated feelings or petty aspects of life as a human, sensually grounded yet incredibly congenial. This slim but intense volume is definitely much more straightforward than her other works. The plot, such as it is, involves a man and a woman—Lori and the aptly named Ulisses—who love each other but can’t be together. At least, not yet, until they find their own meaning of existing; of living; of being human.

I can't help but to bear such a strong resemblance on Lori, of how she; in many instances, wonder about why she is living; existing, of how to let herself being flooded by joy, and how she manage to find peace with gradual acceptance of it. Lori knew, that her happiness is Ulisses, a wise professor of philosophy who, is waiting, and always being there for Lori, for her to find freedom within herself, in order for them to love each other. Maybe, in a sense, I desired to find the Ulisses to my Lori. Of how he is able to patiently, and relentlessly extend his hands to Lori, even when Lori struggled to find her way of existing. I always find myself, unable to give in to someone in fear of being the act of burden to them, and how I would ruin; taint them with my incredibly flawed self, and this book told me that well, that's what being human is all about; learning and accepting the gradual moments of joy even though we hardly understand it, just existing, even of how absurd it is; and to love, after we find the way to be worthy of life itself. Indeed, the prize of becoming a human; a few private moments between ourselves and the universe, that is the struggle toward love, is presented as an apprenticeship, and we will always remain as apprentices, for we will constantly learn, feel, and struggle, and that's on being human. This book will always hold a special place in my heart.

first lispector book ever. and i enjoyed it. i actually dislike rating the books i've read because it's never my focal point to do so. it's just is, a craft of another that i either enjoy or loathe. either way, that's a mystery others and my future self have yet to scrutinize. okay that aside, i do want to share what i think of this piece, because i enjoyed it. i've never finished a book so eagerly, with highlights shared here and all.

reading it felt like i woke up and stood from where i was, and then inside a room across where i was, lori and ulisses are there. like i walked inside in the middle of someone's story and expected to partake in whatever its universe makes me do. not just a reader but a spectator of a couple's venture in finding their selves before completely finding each other.

every part of this book spoke to me with more clarity about my past failed relationship than i ever did when i tried to reflect on my past actions. that mine wasn't a failed relationship but a bout of my life where i needed to experience something to learn better. that it didn't fail even if it concluded without my expectations met. lispector wrote with ardent devotion to the intrapersonal and interpersonal interactions of the character, especially lori. i've learned more about the ways of love in every dialogue, but quoting vash, i've yet to find my own words. 

kite

first lispector book ever. and i enjoyed it. i actually dislike rating the books i've read because it's never my focal point to do so. it's just is, a craft of another that i either enjoy or loathe. either way, that's a mystery others and my future self have yet to scrutinize. okay that aside, i do want to share what i think of this piece, because i enjoyed it. i've never finished a book so eagerly, with highlights shared here and all.

reading it felt like i woke up and stood from where i was, and then inside a room across where i was, lori and ulisses are there. like i walked inside in the middle of someone's story and expected to partake in whatever its universe makes me do. not just a reader but a spectator of a couple's venture in finding their selves before completely finding each other.

every part of this book spoke to me with more clarity about my past failed relationship than i ever did when i tried to reflect on my past actions. that mine wasn't a failed relationship but a bout of my life where i needed to experience something to learn better. that it didn't fail even if it concluded without my expectations met. lispector wrote with ardent devotion to the intrapersonal and interpersonal interactions of the character, especially lori. i've learned more about the ways of love in every dialogue, but quoting vash, i've yet to find my own words. 

Fraser Simons

This was such an interesting book to me. I have tabs peppering this thing. As I see it, this is a reaction to romance novels, so maybe post-romance (does that exist?). Rather than having the conflict be communication or some other flaw, the conflict is the inciting incident. A man tells a woman that she needs to do some internal growth in order for them to be together, and so the conflict is entirely within her as she earnestly undergoes that spiritual journey. 

Both are, to their own eyes anyway, subjectively beautiful and men and women have fallen for them—yet no lasting romantic attraction is something they have encountered. They both have flaws that are stark; the man more so, I think. And is much older. But they are both in an apprenticeship. One which is primarily the process of being fully themselves, loving themselves as they are, while being apart. They can both be insufferable at times, but their endeavour, at least to me, is one of the most interesting things I’ve encountered. It gives beauty and substance to the mundanity of life, and the every day person. Something I generally like a lot in my fiction. Everyone is interesting with the right craft applied. 

Reinforcing this is the stream-of-consciousness prose and the unconventional dialogue. It’s almost like what you’d usually get as dialogue, in terms of the refinement of what a character is saying… only it’s translated or run through a filter so it’s the core idea being conveyed. I don’t even know for sure that 100% of the time it’s not just subliminal communication, or something like it. Similar to how thoughts are on the page, with stray wisdom and epiphanies arrived at and then lost like a dream, they often tell one another what is at the heart of their being without, I feel, noticing. So they do say something, as chronicled by our protagonist, but what she recounts is the romanticized, recontextualized information, possibly.

This also felt really conducive to a queer reading. I don’t look for ace representation in things I consume, because generally very few things have it, and it’s pointless to look. But jumping out at me were several passages where it seemed very overt that the protagonist is demiromantic, and/or on the ace spectrum. How she thinks about love and romance versus sex are compartmentalized exactly right, and it kind of helps further understand, if the male counterpart is also ace spectrum, what that magnetic pull is. Like recognizing like, accepting and compartmentalizing certain aspects of their feelings and inner selves. I don’t know. It makes a heck of a lot of sense to me. If anyone else has thoughts on that, I’d love to know.

Sheila Heti’s afterword correctly summarizes: consuming this book is an entirely spiritual experience. As the character Lóri begins the book as one woman and ends as another, the reader, too, will undergo a similar experience. 

march🐇

Now in paperback, a romantic love story by the great Brazilian writer

sybil

Lexie 

Katrina Lott

[...] she wanted to be able to keep seeing him, but without needing him so violently.

though she herself wasn't sure what she meant by "being protected": did she, perhaps, have a childish wish to have everything but with the anxiety of having to give something in return? Was protection a presence?

It seemed to her that Ulisses, if she plucked up the courage to tell him what she was feeling, and she never would, if she told him he'd reply more or less like this and very calmly: the condition can't be cured but the fear of the condition is curable.

In the naked and absolutely blue sky there's not a cloud of love crying.

[...] one of the things I've learned is that we ought to live despite. Despite, we should eat. Despite, we should love. Despite, we should die. It's even often this despite that spurs us on.

A human being's most pressing need was to become a human being.

The heart must present itself alone to the Nothing and alone beat out in silence its palpitations in the shadows. You only sense your own heart in your ears. When it presents itself completely naked, it's not even communication, it's submission. For we were only made for the little silence, not for the silence of the stars.

[...] look at everyone around you and see what we've made of ourselves and considered our daily victory. We haven't loved, that most of all. We haven't accepted what we don't understand because we don't want to look stupid. We've hoarded things and reassurances because we don't have each other. We don't have any joy that hasn't already been catalogued. [...] We haven't used the word love so as not to have to recognize its contexture of hate, love, jealousy, and so many other contradictories. We've kept our death a secret in order to make our life possible. Many of us make art because we don't know what the other thing is like. We've disguised our indifference with false love, knowing that our indifference is disguised anguish. [...] We haven't been pure and naive in order not to laugh at ourselves and so that at each day's close we can say "at least I didn't do something stupid" and that we don't feel confused before putting out the light. We've smiled in public about things we wouldn't smile about alone. We've called our candor weakness. We have feared each other, most of all. And all this we consider our daily victory.

I've been the greatest hindrance along my path. It's with enormous effort that I manage to impose myself on myself.

[...] sometimes it seems like I'm wasting my time, sometimes it seems that on the contrary, there's no perfect, though worrisome, way to use time: the time of waiting for you.

My love for the world is like this: I forgive people for having a misshapen nose or lips that are too thin or for being ugly—every flaw or error in others is an opportunity for me to love.

Maybe before he'd spoken, she'd intended to give herself to him one day, since she knew that she'd have to give what she was to someone, otherwise what would she do with herself? How to die before you give yourself, even in silence? Because by surrendering she'd finally have a witness to herself.

Dying must be a natural pleasure. After dying you don't go to paradise, dying is the paradise.

[...] there was something she needed to know and experience, and she didn't know what and never had.

Could it be possible that at a certain point in life the world would become obvious? She was afraid of losing the life of continual surprise if she reached that point, and yet it would become a source of peace.

Lóri was softly astounded. So this was happiness. At first she felt empty. Then her eyes moistened: it was happiness, but how mortal I am, how the love for the world transcends me. Love for mortal life was killing her sweetly, bit by bit. And what can I do? What can I do with happiness? What can I do with this strange and piercing peace, which is already starting to hurt me like an anguish, like a great silence of spaces? To whom can I give my happiness, which is already starting to scratch at me a bit and scares me. No, I don't want to be happy. I prefer mediocrity.

Lóri was sad. It wasn't a difficult sadness. It was more like a sadness of longing. She was alone. With eternity in front of and behind her. The human is alone.

She was falling into a sadness without pain. It wasn't bad. It was part of life, certainly. The next day she would probably have some joy, also without great ecstasies, just a little joy, and that wasn't bad either.

That's how she tried to make peace with the mediocrity of living.

But it was late: she was already yearning for new ecstasies of joy or of pain. What she needed was everything the most of human of humans had. Even if it was pain, she'd bear it, unafraid of again wanting to die. She'd bear everything. Provided she was given everything.

Lóri was well aware that one of the qualities of an actor was in sensitive changes of facial expression, and that the mask would hide those changes. So why did she like the idea of actors going on stage without their own faces so much? Maybe she thought that the mask was a giving of oneself as important as giving oneself through the pain of the face. Teenagers too, who were all face, as they were living their lives were making their own masks. And with much pain. Because knowing that from then on you'll be playing a role was a frightening surprise. It was the horrible freedom of not-being. And the moment of decision.

Choosing your own mask was the first voluntary human act. And solitary. But when you finally buckled on the mask of whatever you'd chosen to play yourself and play the world, your body would gain a new firmness, your head could sometimes hold itself high like the head of someone who has overcome an obstacle: the person was.

Whoever writes or paints or teaches or dances or does mathematical calculations, is working miracles every day.

The tragedy of life does exist and we regret it. But that doesn't keep us from having a deep nearness with joy through that same life.

Lóri, despite my apparent sureness, I too am working to get ready for you.

In the worst moments, remember: whoever can suffer intensely, can also feel intense joy.

She knew the world of people who anxiously hunt down pleasures and don't know how to wait for them to arrive on their own. And it was so tragic: you only had to look around a nightclub, in the half light: it was the search for pleasure that doesn't come by and of itself. She'd only gone with some of her men from the past, maybe two or three times, and hadn't wanted to go back. Because the search for pleasure, when she'd tried it, had been bad water: she'd put her mouth on the tap, which tasted like rust and only gave two or three drops of lukewarm water: it was dry water. No, she'd thought, better real suffering than forced pleasure.

Oh, and to say that all this would end. That it couldn't last because of its own nature. No, she didn't mean the fire, she meant what she was feeling. What she was feeling never lasted, it would end and might never return. So she pounced on the moment, devoured the fire inside it, and the fire outside was burning gently, burning, flaring. Then, since everything would end, with vivid imagination, she took the man's free hand, and still in her imagination, as she held that hand between hers, all of her was gently burning, burning, flaring.

She wanted the pleasure of the extraordinary which was so simple to find in common things: the thing didn't need to be extraordinary in order for her to feel the extraordinary in it.

Lóri found out that you should let yourself be flooded bit by bit with joy—since it was life being born.

Lóri would never forget the help she'd received when she could only manage to stammer with fear.

She was trying to leave pain, as if trying to leave another reality that had lasted her whole life up to that point.

Oh God! Having just one life was so little!

How? How to stretch birth out for a whole lifetime?

We'd never reach the human being inside ourselves.

In the state of grace, you can see the profound beauty, once unreachable, of another person.

She'd experienced some thing that seemed to redeem the human condition, though at the same time the narrow limits of that condition were accentuated. And exactly because after grace the human condition was revealing itself in all its imploring poverty, you learned to love more, hope more. You'd start to have a kind of trust in suffering and its so often unbearable paths.

Even if she were never again to feel the serious and serene power of existing and loving, as she did now, in the future she would already know what to wait for, waiting her whole life if necessary, and if necessary never again having what she was waiting for.

It's down to us whether we manage painstakingly to be what we really are.

Could love be giving your own solitude to another? Because that's the ultimate thing you can give of yourself, said Ulisses.

An Apprenticeship, or the Book of Pleasures

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