Showing posts with label Fiction-Post-Apocalyptic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction-Post-Apocalyptic. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

177. BLINDNESS

Jose Saramago 1997
Translated from the Portuguese by Giovanni Pontiero

If you are weak in your heart (or in your stomach), this magnificently written book may not be for you. It is hard enough that you will be groping for the conversations buried within the lengthy paragraphs and the chapters that are undesignated. But harder still is where the story takes you: the dreadful abyss of the haunting life after an epidemic of 'white blindness' hits a city and the entire population (except one) goes blind. The main characters are the first people to go blind, led by the sole exception, the doctor's wife. She becomes the eyes for the doctor, the wife of the first blind man, the boy with the squint, the old man with the black eyepatch, the girl with the dark glasses, and later, the dog of tears. Vivid, detailed and organized, this atmospheric book exposes the frailness of humanity in a way that is both disturbing and thought-provoking. Is there anything we can't bear or won't do when the unimaginable thing happens?

'The amber light came on. Two of the cars ahead accelerated before the red light appeared. At the pedestrian crossing the sign of a green man lit up. The people who were waiting began to cross the road, stepping on the white stripes painted on the black surface of the asphalt, there is nothing less like a zebra, however, that is what it is called.'(opening lines)

'Who would have believed it. Seen merely at a glance, the man's eyes seem healthy, the iris looks bright, luminous, the sclera white, as compact as porcelain. The eyes wide open, the wrinkled skin of the face, his eyebrows suddenly screwed up, all this, as anyone can see, signifies that he is distraught with anguish. With a rapid movement, what was in sight has disappeared behind the man's clenched fists, as if he were still trying to retain inside his mind the final image captured, a round red light at the traffic lights. I am blind, I am blind, he repeated in despair as they helped him to get out of the car, and the tears welling up made those eyes which he claimed were dead, shine even more.'(2)

'Like most people, he had often played as a child at pretending to be blind, and, after keeping his eyes closed for five minutes, he had reached the conclusion that blindness, undoubtedly a terrible affliction, might still be relatively bearable if the unfortunate victim had retained sufficient memory, not just of the colours, but also of forms and planes, surfaces and shapes, assuming of course, that this one was not born blind. He had even reach the point of thinking that the darkness in which the blind live was nothing other than the simple absence of light, that what we call blindness was something that simply covered the appearance of being the things, leaving them intact behind their black veil. Now, on the contrary, here he was, plunged into a whiteness so luminous, so total, that it swallowed up rather than absorbed, not just the colours, but the very things and beings, thus making them twice as invisible.'(6)

'The shouting had died down, now a confusion of sounds was coming from the hallway, these were the blind, driven like sheep, bumping into each other, crammed together in the doorways, some lost their sense of direction and ended up in other wards, but the majority, stumbling along, huddled into groups or dispersed one by one, desperately waving their hands in the air like people drowning, burst into the ward in a whirlwind, as if being pushed from the outside by a bulldozer.'(67)

'... if, before every action, we were to begin by weighing up the consequences, then the probable, then the possible, then the imaginable ones, we should never move beyond the point where our first thought brought us to a halt. The good and evil resulting from our words and deeds go on apportioning themselves, one assumes in a reasonably uniform and balanced way, throughout all the days to follow, including those endless days, when we shall not be here to find out, to congratulate ourselves or ask for pardon, indeed there are those who claim that this is the much-talked-of immortality.'(78)

'If we cannot live entirely like human beings, at least let us do everything in our power not to live entirely like animals, words she repeated so often that the rest of the ward ended up by transforming her advice into a maxim, a dictum, into a doctrine, a rule of life, words which deep down were so simple and elementary, probably it was just that state of mind, propitious to any understanding of needs and circumstances, that contributed, even if only in a minor way to the warm welcome the old man with the black eyepatch found there when he peered through the door and asked those inside, Any chance of a bed here.'(116)

'How can we play a game if we cannot see what we are playing, asked the wife of the first blind man, Well, not a game exactly, each of us must say what we saw at the moment we went blind, That could be embarrassing, someone pointed out, Those who do not wish to take part in the game can remain silent, the important thing is that no one should try to invent anything, Give us an example, said the doctor, Certainly, replied the old man with the black eyepatch, I went blind when I was looking at my blind eye, What do you mean, It's very simple, I felt as if the inside of the empty orbit were inflamed and I removed the patch to satisfy my curiosity '(127)

'We're in an impossible situation, it has been impossible ever since we came into this place, yet we go on putting up with it, You're an optimist, doctor, No, I'm not an optimist, but I cannot imagine anything worse than our present existence, Well, I'm not entirely convinced that there are limits to misfortune and evil,'(144)

'Little by little, under the murky yellowish light of the dim lamps, the ward descended into a deep slumber, bodies comforted by the three meals consumed that day, as had rarely happened before. If things continue like this, we'll end up once more reaching the conclusion that even in the worst misfortune it is possible to find enough good to be able to bear the aforesaid misfortune with patience,'(151)

'Fortunately, as human history has shown, it is not unusual for good to come of evil, less is said about the evil that can come out of good, such are the contradictions of this world of ours, some warrant more consideration than others,'(213)

'Today is today, tomorrow will bring what tomorrow brings, today is my responsibility,'(252)

'what is right and what is wrong are simply different ways of understanding our relationships with the others, not that which we have with ourselves, one should trust the latter, forgive this moralising speech, you do not know, you cannot know, what it means to have eyes in the world in which everyone else is blind, I am not a queen, no, I am simply the one who was born to see this horror, you can feel it, I both feel and see it,'(276)

'If I ever regain my sight, I shall look carefully at the eyes of others, as if I were looking into their souls, Their souls, asked the old man with the eyepatch, Or their minds, the name does not matter, it was then that, surprisingly, if we consider that we are dealing with a person without much education, the girl with the dark glasses said, Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are.'(276)

'Words are like that, they deceive, they pile up, it seems they do not know where to go, and suddenly, because of two or three or four that suddenly come out, simple in themselves, a personal pronoun, an adverb, a verb, an adjective, we have the excitement of seeing them coming irresistibly to the surface through the skin and the eyes and upsetting the composure of our feelings, sometimes the nerves that cannot bear it any longer, they put up with a great deal, they put up with everything, it was as if they were wearing armours, we might say.'(281)

'What is your name, Blind people do not need a name, I am my voice, nothing else matters,'(290)

'The difficult thing is not living with other people, it's understanding them,'(301)

a Harvest Book edition
326 pages
Book owned
Book qualifies for: 100+ Reading Challenge
Book idea from Bethany @ Subtle Melodrama (thanks!). Her awesome review is HERE.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

38. the ROAD


Cormac McCarthy 2006

This bleak, frightening story rendered in remarkable lyrical prose is about the world after a great catastrophe, when the life that we now take for granted is gone and all that is left is the road that is barren and unpredictable. This is a gripping account of an unnamed father and son on this road.

"When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before."

"Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget."

"On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world. Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?"

"No list of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes. So, He whispered to the sleeping boy. I have you."

"As for me my only hope is for eternal nothingness and I hope it with all my heart."

"After a while he fell back and after a while the man could hear him playing. A formless music for the age to come. Or perhaps the last music on earth called up from out of the ashes of its ruin."

"He could not construct for the child's pleasure the world he'd lost without constructing the loss as well and he thought perhaps that child had known this better than he."

"He lay there a long time, lifting up the water to his mouth a palmful at a time. Nothing in his memory anywhere of anything so good."

"Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe...Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it."

"He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not."

"Maybe you should always be on the lookout. If trouble comes when you least expect it then maybe the thing to do is to always expect it."

P"eople are always getting ready for tomorrow. I didn't believe in that. Tomorrow wasn't getting ready for them. It didn't even know they were there."

"When we're all gone at last then there'd be nobody here but death and his days will be numbered too. He'll be out in the road there will be nothing to do and nobody to do it to."

"When your dreams are of some world that never was or of some world that never will be and you are happy again then you will have given up. Do you understand? And you can't give up. I won't let you."

"Of a thing that could not be put back. Not to be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."