FAMILY TIES, CLARICE LISPECTOR
The mystery of reality
Clarice Lispector was born in Podolia, a western Ukrainian region, in 1920. In 1922, her family, of Jewish origin, fled the country because of the Soviet invasion and went to live in Recife, the capital of Pernambuco, a state in Northern Brazil. Then they transferred to Rio de Janeiro for the rest of their lives. Clarice died in 1977.
Of her Ukrainian origins, I suppose Clarice remembered only her name, Хая Пінкасівна Ліспектор (Chaja Piscinskaja Lispector), which later she changed to Clarice Lispector, to underline her nationality. She is a naturalized Brazilian who is widely regarded as one of the greatest Brazilian writers as well as the best Jewish writer since Kafka.
The context of the 1922 Soviet invasion was very different from that of today, in 2022, and any parallelism is inappropriate.
Family Ties (1960) is a collection of fourteen short stories. The image on the cover of the edition I am holding is very beautiful, so much so that it can be intended as an introduction to the collection: a black and white photograph of the Brazilian writer, of Jewish origin, born in Ukraine. She is an elegant woman, with a thin oval face, in a thoughtful attitude, with a string of pearls around her neck. Short hair, elongated eyes. An aura of confidentiality surrounds her, the observer scrutinizes her face and tries to grasp her thoughts, her personality, which must be very strong, but hidden, a little mysterious at the same time.
These same characteristics are found in the stories. Clarice Lispector's writing does not reveal itself, rather it escapes; it is necessary to pursue it and read, also, or perhaps above all, what is not written.
The openings are always in medias res, as in the best tradition of the story. Lispector writes in the third person, where a narrator, who is not omniscient at all, bars entry to the thoughts of the protagonists, even withholding their names. The narrator observes from the outside, and revelations about the behaviour, the acts, even the missed ones, of the characters are discovered through this perspective. Her descriptions are deft, sparing sketches of humanity and the world around us, self-defined "impressions" that recalls her stylistic affinity with Virginia Woolf.
The unveiling in her writing is gradual. There is often the feeling of having lost something, of not having been attentive to details, which causes you to go back through the pages already read. Sometimes a sentence, usually short, throws a partial, blurred light on the narrative and forces the reader to reflect on it, like a presbyopic who must squint to see better. In fact, everything is blurred, only the essential remains, and sometimes not even that. Only the outlines of human beings and animals captured at a particular moment, with no other coordinates to help decipher what is happening. A glimmer of light filters between two half-closed doors which then vanishes, leaving behind, however, the firm perception of the seen, intense light.
The endings are never predictable, they are latent with future and past potentiality. Sometimes a word is enough to force you to stop reading to catch your breath and see how the traced threads correspond with each other. This is not always obvious, never ordinary, it leaves some desire to know more; you would like to ask: "But what exactly does that mean?". The meaning is played precisely on the plausible, on the fact that there is no single interpretation, nor a single perspective of reading, so rich is the language, evasive, allusive.
Her images are always accompanied by their negatives, so that "the positive" and "the negative" in her writing have equal relevance in showing a reality which is never how it appears. It is a demanding read, because the language is precise and controlled, careful not to introduce anything more than what is necessary to support the vision.
The "ties" of the title sometimes appear as invisible chains that prevent the escape towards freedom, they are familiar because the protagonists know them very well, even if they do not always concern relatives.
They are present in all the stories, in different forms: between people, or between people and animals ('The hen', 'The crime of the mathematics teacher', 'The buffalo'). Wives and husbands, a single wife, a son, a daughter, parents, a buffalo and a woman, a man — husband and father — and two dogs, one dead and the other abandoned due to a relocation, a pregnant pygmy.
It is precisely in these bonds — whether they are forced or natural — that what moves the actors in the world of Lispector comes to life: love. Not romantic love, nor passionate love, nor the banal love of the world, but a love that cannot be lived because it undermines the normal perception of things.
Lispector's relationship with her narratives is also one of love. It happens in 'The hen': the animal, after enjoying the grace of not having been eaten out of affection, is still killed, but by mistake. It happens in the story 'The dinner', where the protagonist feels a deep transport of love being born within her towards a blind man seen on the bus, completely unknown; this feeling, which manifests itself as suddenly as it is intense and all-encompassing, gradually softens until it disappears once she arrives at her house, where she is surrounded by unwelcome relatives invited to dinner. It is as if that emotional earthquake belongs to a different plane than that of everyday life.
It happens in the story 'Love', where love alone is not enough to achieve full recovery from a dark and mysterious disease. The love that in this eponymously named story floods all the protagonists — the unloved woman, the zoo animals, in their innocent and uncivilized perception of the world in which they live — does not concern the buffalo, to which the woman gives herself over to learn "hate". Love is not even so strong as to prevent the mathematics teacher from abandoning his dog and therefore from feeling gnawed by guilt.
Yet Lispector does not condemn, she does not judge, she sets out to simply observe, caress, accept. What remains of these stories is a sense of mystery about the infinite possibilities to which each reality opens up and the impression that there is still so much to understand, in reading and in life.
I am pleased to remember some "wise" quotation by Clarice Lispector:
Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?" ― Clarice Lispector"Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born." ― Clarice Lispector"Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?" ― Clarice Lispector"I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest." ― Clarice Lispector
YOU ARE READING
Family Ties, by Clarice Lispector
Non-FictionFAMILY TIES Clarice was born in Podolia, a western Ukrainian region, in 1920. Her family fled the country because of the Soviet invasion and moved to Brazil. She is a naturalized Brazilian who is widely regarded as one of the greatest Brazilian...
