![]() ![]() It is hard to write about this book because it is an experience I want to feel. ![]() My journey with Lispector will continue interminably. I’ve ordered Besieged City and Chandelier. I’ll probably turn to her collected stories next. It reminds me of the genre of such revisions of God, such as C.S. We are all actors in an absurd play written by an absurd God.” Lispector offers me a version of the Hebrew monotheistic god that I perhaps can accept: one who fumbles, who is actually sympathetic, and whom is also, and this is most important, clueless. “God is not known, so we worship and are obsessed with the Unknown. ![]() ![]() I could re-read this a million times, for Clarice Lispector is ecstatic liturgy. The feeling of these stream-of-consciousness, existential fragments that are a cause for contemplation helps me feel more at peace with my own suffering in this world, pain and distress and confusion that seems intrinsic to the human predicament when it is stripped bare. I read this as if the Author = God and Angela a human, there was a constant conversation between them while it was a conversation indirectly, talking over and past one another, only intuited. ![]()
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