The book of Disquiet
By Fernando Pessoa
Translated by Richard Zenith
Narrated by Adam Sims
Length: 17 hrs and 28 mins
Publisher: Naxos AudioBooks
Genre: Classics
There are bad books. There are good books. And then there are great books. There are books we don’t like. There are books we find okay. And then there are books that we love. Usually it is fairly easy for most of us to decide what type of book we are reading, and very easy for us to know whether we liked it or not.
I mention this here because upon completing Fernando Pessoa’s ‘The Book of Disquiet’ I have found it hard to do either.
The main protagonist of the work is outwardly an extremely dull and friendless assistant bookkeeper in down town Lisbon. He writes to make sense of, or maybe just to dwell on, his own unsatisfactory inner life. It is described as a “faceless autobiography”, and if it was a work of non fiction it would probably be described as a collection of philosophical musings.
One (of many) unusual things about this book is that it was not completed by the author in his lifetime. Pessoa died in middle-age and the work was compiled from his many notes and jottings for the project. It is therefore not clear that it is exactly how he envisaged it. For example, it is credited to Bernardo Soares, one of Pessoa’s heteronyms, However there seems to be some dispute over whether the work should actually have been credited to more than one heteronym.
A heteronym for Pessoa seems to be a mix between a pseudonym and an alter ego. He had quite a number of these, but then he was an unusual guy. It turns out that in the arena of early twentieth century Portuguese literary philosophers he was the big cheese. But don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of him. I hadn’t either. Even this book, considered perhaps his greatest work, wasn’t translated into english until 1982 – 47 years after his death.
Not long after I started listening to the book, I realised I had no idea what was going on. It was only after a quick visit to a wikipedia summary that I understood what I was reading. This too is unusual because it feels like the first rule drummed into a fiction writer is that a work should stand alone and make sense on its own merits.
Even when I understood what I was reading the book remained hard to follow. It was packed with interesting anecdotes and fascinating thoughts, but without an obvious narrative structure it was incredibly difficult to keep up.
And I’m not saying that the book doesn’t have a narrative structure. I’m just saying that I couldn’t find one upon first reading – and I am not an inexperienced reader.
Normally, at this point in a review, I would look to say what I did and did not like about a book. In this case I don’t know where to start. I suppose that I liked the idea underlying it. I would read a genuine autobiography based on the author’s actual thoughts. But I’m not sure that this can ever be made to work without at least some grounding in the real world in which they inhabit.
I also like the philosophy in this book. There is plenty of good stuff to digest for anyone interested in the angst of existence. The only issue is finding it. The book is a long read, and I’m not sure if I will ever feel inclined to go back over it to pick out its pearls of wisdom given all the other things I could be doing with my time.
Maybe this is a work of genius. Maybe it is a collection of interesting curios that would be best left as the preserve of academics. I honestly don’t feel qualified to judge.
Rating:
Unclassified
Summary:
Not one for the feint of heart.
