The Natural Order of Things

A novel by Antonio Lobo Antunes, "The Natural Order of Things", with an excellent translation by Richard Zenith. Antunes seems more accessible to me than the work of Jose Saramago, mainly based on the text. Saramago imbeds intricate story lines into block text that sometimes confuse me as a reader, though his characters and their place in the nameless city are masterfully portrayed. Antunes, likewise, plays with text, but it is written in the voice of the speaker, not the writer, and includes tangents into dreams, memory, and history that I find remarkably honest to how we think and communicate with ourselves and each other. I'm excited to read more of Antunes' work. He seems to have a penchant for the horror of circus shows.  

Writing is like a drug. You begin [to do it] just for the fun and you end up organizing your life around your vice, like the addicts. That’s the life I lead. It is the same with my own pain. I look at it like a schizoid: there’s the man who suffers and the writer who asks himself how he can use that suffering in his work.
–António Lobo Antunes

The Beginning of Sorts

A web presence, good to have. There's a photo, links to stories (support the journal, support your local book store), and links to authors I enjoy reading who have a website.  

My most recent story appears in Quay: a journal of literature and art. It is called "The Sufferers". It is an uplifting summer time read. 

I've recently finished some excellent books worth noting: 

Geraldine Brooks' "Year of Wonders", another uplifting summer time read about the Plague in 1666. An excellent novel, precise and genuine. 

Mo Yan's "Life and Death are Wearing me Out", an amazing novel that holds tight for nearly 600 pages.

Joseph O'Neil's "Netherland", a novel of the city with great clarity and purpose, a truly enviable narrative. 

Charles D'Ambrosio's "Dead Fish Museum", stories from a far off place, right around the corner.

Some other notables include: Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley", Denis Johnson's "Tree of Smoke", Aravind Adiga's "The White Tiger", Jon Raymond's "Livability", John Banville's "The Sea", Robert Olmstead's "Coal Black Horse", and William Gay's "I Hate to See That Evening Sun Go Down".

I've read plenty of terrible books recently, but this is not the place for that. I have to think that even a bad book has the hours of a life inside it and so must be worth something.