A discussion on the street of Alarcón 2002. The old man turned out to be José Saramago, the Nobel Prize winner in Literature 1998. The author who needs exceptionally few grammar rules. His streams of consciousness have carried me along as a reader of his books. He even came to visit one of my own children’s books after his death.
I have a strange feeling of meeting the Portuguese Nobel author José de Sousa Saramago many times in my life. Each time the experience has been unique. Once we even faced each other in real life and changed a few words together.
Our first encounter was his book The Double (2002). A total love-hate relationship from my side. Annoyed, I threw the book away, over and over, but always kept reading though. The author offered a weirdly mesmerizing stream of consciousness for the reader to float in. Finally, the page-long sentences without punctuation marks felt quite natural. I just had to jump in and let the stream with its whirled waters to carry me on.
Gradually, the pointless fractions formed clearer pictures and captured my entire attention. I faced obscure limbos and metamorphoses – and enjoyed it!
After the first battle, I have read several books by Saramago. The latest experience has been The Elephant's Journey (the original in Portuguese, 2008). It’s one of his last books and clearly shows how the elderly writer has enjoyed the leisurely journey. The peculiar entourage is traveling with a very special gift. After they reach their goal, the reader feels happy for them and smiles in his heart. The combination of life-long wisdom and sarcasm is tasty.
Some twenty years ago, I was pushing a baby stroller in the old city center in Alarcón, Spain. I had just visited the San Juan Bautista Church with my family. This ancient building had recently been renovated with the help and funding of UNESCO and many others and now served as an art center. The plentiful murals by painter Jesús Mateo covered the walls and ceilings inside. In the middle of the church, the visitors could lay down on their backs and admire the art above and around.
After stepping outside, I still heard the exceptional echos in my ears. We had been testing the marvelous acoustics of the church building with my oldest child. Suddenly, a strange man was standing close to me. He gestured vividly and recommended me to visit the renovated church. As I had already done it, he was happy and asked my comments. We shared the admiration for the power of the paintings and the echoing sounds. Then he nodded me friendly and put his hand over his heart – I followed his example.
After the old man was gone already, I realized I had just met José Saramago, one of the influential cultural persons, involved in the church renovation project.
Even a short encounter like this can make a huge impact. I became interested in Saramago and his works. The next book on my bedside table is The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis (the original in Portuguese, 1984), which is considered to be one of his best. Will see. Expectations are high, anyway.
Saramago’s unique way of writing has made me ponder the relationship between the form and the content. Like some extreme example, his style shows that it’s always the content that exceeds. Even without the structures of grammar, the text itself can carry all that matters to the reader. It can crab us so tightly that no commas, full stops, names, or capital letters are needed. After all, the most important messages are often hiding between the lines and the words.
What matters is the discussion between the hearts. In one of my children’s books, Leo, the Little Wanderer (2012), a wise old author and a little boy accidentally meet on the street of the historic town and talk about this issue together. Maybe this sounds familiar somehow?
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