In order to write I must place myself in the void. In this void is where I exist intuitively. But its a terribly dangerous void: its where I wring out blood. Im a writer who fears the snares of words: the words I say hide others which? maybe Ill say them. Writing is a stone cast down a deep well.*I write very simple and very naked. Thats why it wounds. Im a gray and blue landscape. I rise in a dry fountain and in the cold light.*Could I be betraying myself? Could I be altering the course of a river? I must trust that abundant river. Or maybe Im damming a river? I try to open the flood-gates,I want to watch the water gushing out. I want every sentence of this book to be a climax.*In every word a heart beats. Writing is that search for the intimate truth of life. Life that disturbs me and leaves my own trembling heart suffering the incalculable pain that seems necessary for my maturity maturity? Ive lived this long without it!*And is there another way to be saved? besides creating ones own realities?

"Quero escrever movimento puro"... Estou ouvindo música. Debussy usa as espumas do mar morrendo na areia, refluindo e fluindo. Bach é matemático. Mozart é o divino impessoal. Chopin conta a sua vida mais íntima. Schoenberg, através de seu eu, atinge o clássico eu de todo o mundo. Beethoven é a emulsão humana em temspestade procurando o divino e só o alcançando na morte. Quanto a mim, que não peço música, só chego ao limiar da palavra nova. Sem coragem de expô-la. Meu vocabulário é triste e às vezes wagneriano-polifônico-paranóico. Escrevo muito simples e muito nu. Por isso fere. Sou uma paisagem cinzenta e azul. Elevo-me na fonte seca e na luz fria. ...

I'm not gonna pretend I got it entirely, but this book is nevertheless one of the best I've ever read.

This was my pick for the Read Harder task "set in Central or South America, written by a Central or South American author."I chose Lispector because I'd never heard of her, wanted to know more, and to my knowledge I haven't read a book set in Brazil or by a Brazilian author. It is hard to explain my reaction to this book. It is about an author who creates a character and then watches this character live and then die. I found it moving and disturbing. It also reminded me of Sputnik Sweetheart in style as well as subject, different types of authors, but this book does not go further than this relationship between the author and the character, Angela. And yet it is so complex and strange. I adored it.

A Breath of Life is a collection of hundreds of fragments, structured and arranged by Olga Borelli after the death of Clarice Lispector, at 57, of ovarian cancer. More than any of Lispectors other works, this final book is for the true believers, the obsessive fans -- a group not small in number! Specifically, it is right to turn to this book if you loved Agua Viva, a book in some ways similar. If you read Agua Viva and thought, Whats the point?, then turn to the stories or to the cronicas.In the introduction Benjamin Moser, Lispectors brilliant biographer, writes, Was Clarice, more or less dying as she wrote it, mad? I sighed with relief when I read that. We /do/ get to ask that question. It is not off the table. This is, in many ways, a mad book, a monologue swirling like smoke. It is frequently maddening -- and for long stretches! There is no real difference between the author and Angela Pralini, her character. Nothing ever happens, no one even knocks at the door. Does the phone ever ring? Maybe.If you get stuck, if it all seems too crazy, too shapeless, all is not lost! My advice. Read the first 10 pages. Then read the last 15. Those 2 sections are by far the most unified, the most readable. Theyre gorgeous. Then read the middle in an aleatory fashion, as you would consult an oracle, picking it up and reading a page, paragraph, or sentence, not penalizing yourself if you get overwhelmed, not straining too hard to get it. Because if youre trying hard to follow this book -- youre already on the wrong track! Like Agua Viva, this book is utterly not for everyone, but the true devotees will love it, will cherish it, as indeed it deserves to be cherished, as a monument not only to Lispector, but also to Olga Borelli, who deserves to be remembered, too, as one of literatures heroes.