{"id":305116,"date":"2016-12-14T21:00:00","date_gmt":"2016-12-14T21:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.wdev.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent-dev\/2016\/12\/14\/chronicle-of-the-murdered-house-by-lucio-cardoso-excerpt\/"},"modified":"2018-04-16T14:57:21","modified_gmt":"2018-04-16T14:57:21","slug":"chronicle-of-the-murdered-house-by-lucio-cardoso-excerpt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/2016\/12\/14\/chronicle-of-the-murdered-house-by-lucio-cardoso-excerpt\/","title":{"rendered":"Chronicle of the Murdered House by Lucio Cardoso [Excerpt]"},"content":{"rendered":"

The pub date for<\/em> Chronicle of the Murdered House<\/a> by L\u00facio Cardoso, which is translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa and Robin Patterson, with a biographical note from Ben Moser officially came out on Tuesday, December 13th. To celebrate the release of this Brazilian masterpiece, we’ll be running a series of pieces over the rest of this week, including an interview with the translators, some early reviews, a press release,<\/a> and part of Ben Moser’s piece.<\/em><\/p>\n

Following on the press release post,<\/a> here’s an excerpt from the book itself.<\/em><\/p>\n

Chronicle is available at better bookstores everywhere, or through our website.<\/a> If you order before the end of 2016, use the code BOOKSEASON<\/span> at checkout to receive 40% off your total order.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/center><\/p>\n

Andr\u00e9\u2019s Diary (conclusion)<\/b><\/p>\n

18th . . . 19 . . . – (. . . ah, dear God, what is death exactly? When she\u2019s far from me, beneath the earth that will enfold her mortal remains, for how long will I have to go on remaking in this world the path she taught me, her admirable lesson of love, finding in another woman the velvet of her kisses\u2014\u201cthis was how she used to kiss\u201d\u2014in yet another her way of smiling, in yet another the same rebellious lock of hair\u2014all the many women one meets throughout one\u2019s life, and who will help me to rebuild, out of grief and longing, that unique image gone for ever? And what does \u201cforever\u201d mean\u2014the harsh, pompous echo of those words ringing down the deserted corridors of the soul\u2014the \u201cforever\u201d that is, in fact, meaningless, not even a visible moment in the very instant in which we think it, and yet it is all we have, because it is the one definitive word available to us in our scant earthly vocabulary . . .<\/p>\n

What does \u201cforever\u201d mean but the continuous, fluid existence of all that has been set free from contingency, that is transformed, evolves and breaks ceaselessly on the shores of equally mutable feelings? There was no point in trying to hide: the \u201cforever\u201d was there before my eyes. A minute, a single minute\u2014and that, too, would escape any attempt to grasp it, while I myself\u2014also forever\u2014will escape and slip away, and, like a pile of cold, futile flotsam, all my love and pain and even my faithfulness will drift away forever. Yes, what else is \u201cforever\u201d but the final image of this world, and not just this world, but any world that one binds together with the illusory architecture of dreams and permanence\u2014all our games and pleasures, our ills and our fears, our loves and our betrayals\u2014the impulse, in short, that shapes not our everyday self, but the possible, never-achieved self that we pursue as one might follow the trail of a never-to-be-requited love, and that becomes, in the end, only the memory of a lost love\u2014but lost when?\u2014in a place we do not know, but whose loss pierces us and, whether justifiably or not, hurls us, everyone of us, into that nothing or that all-consuming everything where we vanish into the general, the absolute, the perfection we so lack.)<\/p>\n

All day, I wandered about the empty house, unable even to dredge up enough courage to enter the living room. Ah, how painfully intense the knowledge that she no longer belonged to me, that she was merely a thing looted and manhandled by strangers, without tenderness or understanding. Somewhere far from me, very far, they would uncover her now defenseless form\u2014and with the sad diligence of the indifferent, would dress her for the last time, never even imagining that her flesh had once been alive or how often it had trembled with love\u2014that she had once been younger, more splendid than all the youth you could possibly imagine blossoming throughout the world. No, this was not the right death for her, at least, I had never imagined it like this, in the few difficult moments when I had managed to imagine it\u2014so brutal and final, so unjust in its violence, like the uprooting of a new plant torn from the earth.<\/p>\n

But there was no point in remembering what she had been\u2014or, rather, what we had been. Therein lay the explanation: two beings hurled into the maelstrom of one exceptional circumstance, and suddenly stopped, brought up short\u2014she, her face frozen in its final, dying expression, and me, still standing, although God knows for how long, my body still shaken by the last echo of that experience. All I wanted was to wander through the rooms and corridors, as bleak now as a stage when the principal actor has left\u2014and all the weariness of the last few days washed over me, and I was filled by a sense of emptiness, not an ordinary emptiness, but the total emptiness that suddenly and forcefully replaces everything in us that was once impulse and vibrancy. Blindly, as if in obedience to a will not my own, I opened doors, leaned out of windows, walked through rooms: the house no longer existed.<\/p>\n

Knowing this put me beyond consolation; no affectionate, no despairing words could touch me. Like a cauldron removed from the fire, but in whose depths the remnants still boil and bubble, what gave me courage were my memories of the days I had just lived through. Meanwhile, as if prompted by a newly discovered strength, I managed, once or twice, to go over to the room where she lay and half-opened the door to watch from a distance what was happening. Everything was now so repellently banal: it could have been the same scene I had been accustomed to seeing as a child, had it not been transfigured, as if by a potent, invincible exhalation, by the supernatural breath that fills any room touched by the presence of a corpse. The dining table, which, during its long life, had witnessed so many meals, so many family meetings and councils\u2014how often, around those same boards, had Nina herself been judged and dissected?\u2014had been turned into a temporary bier. On each corner, placed there with inevitable haste, stood four solitary candles. Cheap, ordinary candles, doubtless rescued from the bottom of some forgotten drawer. And to think that this was the backdrop to her final farewell, the stage on which she would say her last goodbye.<\/p>\n

*<\/center><\/p>\n

Another, totally different excerpt is available over at Lit Hub.<\/a> This one is from the “First Letter from Nina to Valdo Meneses.” Enjoy!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The pub date for Chronicle of the Murdered House by L\u00facio Cardoso, which is translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa and Robin Patterson, with a biographical note from Ben Moser officially came out on Tuesday, December 13th. To celebrate the release of this Brazilian masterpiece, we’ll be running a series of pieces over […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":292,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[67486],"tags":[9196,64816,64826,13566,28166,1646,64836],"class_list":["post-305116","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles","tag-brazilian-literature","tag-chronicle-of-the-murdered-house","tag-lucio-cardoso","tag-margaret-jull-costa","tag-open-letter-books","tag-review","tag-robin-patterson"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/305116","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/292"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=305116"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/305116\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":315746,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/305116\/revisions\/315746"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=305116"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=305116"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=305116"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}