By Clarice Lispector
Lispector’s so much surprising novel.
The ardour in keeping with G.H., Clarice Lispector’s mystical novel of 1964, matters a well-to-do Rio sculptress, G.H., who enters her maid’s room, sees a cockroach crawling out of the dresser, and, panicking, slams the door ―crushing the cockroach ―and then watches it die. on the finish of the unconventional, on the peak of a non secular challenge, comes the main well-known and such a lot surely surprising scene in Brazilian literature…
Lispector wrote that of all her works this novel was once the one who “best corresponded to her calls for as a writer.”
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Extra info for The Passion According to G.H.
I shall have to raise my consciousness of life outside to so high a point that it would amount to a crime against my personal life. as for my prior profound morality, for me to discover that I am as crudely alive as that bare light that I learned of yesterday, as for that morality of mine, the harsh glory of being alive is horror itself. I lived before of a humanized world; did the simply alive destroy the morality that I had then? A world wholly alive has a Hellish power. A world wholly alive has a Hellish power.
A paradise that I don't want! During the time I'm writing and speaking, I'm going to have to pretend that someone is holding my hand. Oh, at least at the beginning . . only at the beginning. As soon as I can do without it, I'll go on alone. even if I can't picture your face and your eyes and your mouth. But even though it is cut off from a body, this hand doesn't scare me. Its creation comes from an idea of love such that it is as if the hand were really attached to a body, and if I don't see it it's because I am unable to love more.
My foresight closed the world to me. Until, for a few hours, I stopped. And, my God, I got what I didn't want. I had always imagined that discovery would be fertile and humid, like river valleys. I never thought it would be the immense disencounter that it was. Is my sacrifice for continuing to be human just forgetting? I shall now be able to recognize in the common faces of some people that. . that they have forgotten. And that they no longer know that they have forgotten what they have forgotten.