When Things Go Bad (Saramago, The Live Of Things, 2012)

 Jose Saramago. The Lives of Things (2012) Saramago is a Nobel P:riz winner. I have mixed feelings about the Nobel Prize for Literature. By its very nature it tends to reward translatable literature,  which usually means literature that’s heavy on theme and thesis and light on language and style. Saramago wrote during the Salazar dictatorship in Portugal. His stories are fantasies; their ambiance and tone is claustrophobic, stifling. There’s a sense of a fate that can be neither evaded nor comprehended, only endured. The “things” are both actual objects that turn on their owners, and people that have become objects, lacking the autonomy that would make them free agents..

An oddly unengaging read for the most part. I don’t know if that’s the effect of translation. I suspect that in Portuguese there are allusions, puns, verbal effects etc that add nuance, scope, and satirical point, but which would be difficult to render in English. Another book that drew me in despite its flaws, which testifies to the power of theme. ***

Esther's Gift (Karon, 2002)

 Jan Karon. Esther’s Gift. (2002) A “gift book”, really a Christmas greeting card in hard covers. Esther has decided to forgo her annual gift of orange marmalade cakes. But when she muses about the recipients, she changes her mind.

Good for Jan Karon fans, a bit sticky-sweet for everybody else I think. Recipe included. **

Barrel Fever (Sedaris, 1994)

  David Sedaris.  Barrel Fever. (1994) A very mixed bag. In some of the stories, Sedaris comes across as the little boy that tries to shock his elders. But the elders are not shocked. Merely irritated by having a good story spoiled by affected naughtiness. Or if in a more kindly mood, perhaps amused that Sedaris feels that naughtiness is necessary to make his stories worth reading.

Many of the stories read like fictionalised memoirs. Staying true to background reality makes them involving in a personal way; Sedaris comes across as someone with a deep and charitable interest in his fellow human beings, but also with a sardonic awareness of their (our) self-delusions, and of the ways in which they (we) strive to keep our amour propre intact. That justifies the cover blurb describing him as “shrewd, wickedly funny...” despite its exaggeration.

His essays are better, I think. He is both outsider and insider, which adds flavour and spice to his observations about what are after all fairly ordinary slices of a fairly ordinary life. His ability to see what’s odd about the ordinary makes his writing both funny and valuable. It also reassures us that our own fairly ordinary lives are worth living after all. ***