![]() ![]() A woman sits by the open window of her Brazilian beachfront studio, writing a long letter to someone no more specific than ``you.'' She parries with language (which is ``only words which live off sound'') and is wholly consumed with problems of epistemology: ``I want to die with life.'' A painter, she struggles as well to recreate the world around her: ``On certain nights, instead of black, the sky seems to be an intense indigo blue, a color I've painted on glass.'' When she listens to music, she says, ``I rest my hand lightly on the turntable and my hand vibrates, spreading waves through my whole body.'' While the narrator's self-consciousness (``And if I say `I,' it's because I don't dare say `you,' or `we,' or `a person.' I'm limited to the humble act of self-personalization through reducing myself, but I am the `you-are.' '') and diction (``the ultimate substratum in the domain of reality'') may strike some readers as academic, others will appreciate the challenges of Lispector's philosophical investigations. Nature: that of the inviolability of things. Function of the wardrobe: to keep drag and disguises hidden. But when I open it, I see that penetration has been put off: since inside is also a wooden surface, like a closed door. ![]() Katrina Dodson reviewed by Dominic Jaeckle. Clarice Lispector, quote from The Stream of Life I see that the wardrobe looks penetrable because it has a door. This rarefied novel adopts the form of the interior monologue characteristic of Lispector's (1925-1977) oeuvre. Dominic Jaeckle: The Complete Stories - Clarice Lispector, trans. ![]()
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