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Barba ensopada de sangue (Daniel Galera)

Faz um tempo que li esse, é gostei bastante... Eu sempre tenho um pé atras com literatura brasileira (assim como com filmes), mas a história é muito boa... É daquelas que você não vê a hora de virar a página pra saber o que vai acontecer com o professor, e torce por ele mesmo quando ele tá meio locão :lol:
Tô com outro do Galera aqui e em casa e aí, fiquei com medinho de começar a ler, por achar que talvez não seja tão bom. (tenho umas manias esquisitas). No todo Barba Ensopada de Sangue, foi uma grande surpresa positiva ^^

Faço coro as palavras do @Jacques Austerlitz: pode ir sem medo em Mãos de Cavalo. Só não concordo que seja melhor que Barba...
 
nível de fodelância: crítica positiva no new york times.

A Troubled Young Man Grapples With His Family’s Secrets
Daniel Galera’s ‘Blood-Drenched Beard’


JAN. 19, 2015

Photo
JPBOOK-master180.jpg
Daniel Galera CreditRenato Parada

Books of The Times

By DWIGHT GARNER
  • BOOK-master180.jpg
    Mr. Galera is a young Brazilian writer who is also the translator, into Portuguese, of fiction by Zadie Smith, John Cheever and David Mitchell. In 2013, Granta put him on its list of best young Brazilian novelists. “Blood-Drenched Beard” is his first novel to appear in English, in an appealing translation by Alison Entrekin.

    Our young hero is a disaffected triathlete and swimming coach who knows he should be doing more with his life. His brother, a novelist, has recently stolen his girlfriend. He’s licking his wounds. He’s spending too much time diddling with his FIFA World Cup soccer video game.

    One day his father, a man of big appetites, summons him. In oracular tones, dad tells him to read more Borges. Dad tells him that his hemorrhoids are a bitch. Dad also tells him (there’s a pistol on the table) that since old age has skewed his fun-to-pain ratio, he plans to kill himself the following day.

    Dad further unburdens himself of the story of his own father, the narrator’s grandfather. He was a leathery gaucho, prone to knife fights, who was murdered decades earlier by the villagers in the sleepy beach town ofGaropaba. One night, the lights went out at a dance. When they flickered back on, he was in a pool of blood on the floor.

    It was a collective killing, it seems, a rum-soaked version of Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery,” minus the randomness. The townspeople thought he was the Devil. A rumor had gone around (this is a fantastic detail) that he’d murdered José Feliciano’s girlfriend.

    Mysteries about this killing abound, and our narrator decides to go back to Garopaba to find the truth. Because he closely resembles his grandfather (“You look like Tom Hanks in that movie, man,” he is told, after a rough night), he spooks the townsfolk all over again.

    Mr. Galera has a lovely sense of the rhythms of beach town life in the off season, the salty air and the diesel fishing boat motors and sun that burns off the morning chill. He captures a prevailing odor, too, that subliminal essence of “wet clothes forgotten in a plastic bag.”

    He’s happy to let his novel drift for long, sensual sections. His narrator rents a beachfront apartment, swims, teaches at a local health club, cares for his dog, falls in and out of love, has enthusiastic and vividly described sex. He’s a casual gourmand with a fondness for cheese and chicken-heart sandwiches. He also cultivates a sense of dread, a sense that he is going to die in this town, too.

    Mr. Galera also, very happily, has a gift for zonked-out humor. Our narrator joins a poker game in which the players wear adult diapers, so they never have to leave the table. He meets a prostitute whose tramp stamp reads, “God is dead.”

    One man keeps an eye patch in his car to prevent him from seeing double when he’s driving drunk. This is the sort of novel that when a character asks, “Where are we?” the response is likely to be, “In what sense?”

    Sometimes “Blood-Drenched Beard” — someone, please, open a hipster steakhouse under this name — slows down too much, like a skiff floundering in a “no wake” zone. The tone can be uneven. There’s a fair amount of bogus profundity. (“As soon as you give something a name, it dies.”)

    Worse, our narrator is given a neurobiological disease from which to suffer: prosopagnosia, sometimes called face blindness or facial amnesia. He can’t remember faces, nor recognize his own in the mirror. This adds to the novel’s sense of spooky detachment, yet I’ve had my fill of amnesia as a trope in fiction and in the movies. No more for a while, please. My fingers have been burned on this buffet table.

    None of these things are deal-breakers. Mr. Galera is a gifted writer, and it is mostly a treat to watch him feel his way around this material. Like his narrator, he’s a lover as much as a fighter, and his novel is seductive. It’s got a tidal pull.

    “Blood-Drenched Beard” also has a terrific ending. It’s one that suggests, sometimes at least, that peace, love and understanding are vastly overrated.

    BLOOD-DRENCHED BEARD

    By Daniel Galera

    Translated by Alison Entrekin. 374 pages. Penguin Press. $26.95.
 
Por essas e outras é que comprei o livro ontem. :dance:


(apesar de eu não perdoar o Galera por falar merda dos colorados de um jeito muito escroto, enfim)
 
Quero comprar mas to com receio de vir nas cores azuis, hehe... Quando tiver mais tempo para trocar até vir certo, vou encomendar :dente: ... Vou viajar por uma semana a partir de domingo...
 
Eu achei as opções de cores de uma infelicidade tremenda!
É óbvio que 99% das pessoas vão querer a porra vermelha, porque néam, é de sangue. :tongue:
 
Eu achei as opções de cores de uma infelicidade tremenda!
É óbvio que 99% das pessoas vão querer a porra vermelha, porque néam, é de sangue. :tongue:

é que tem todo o lance do mar também

(mas sim, concordo. prefiro vermelha. fui até a cultura comprar o meu para garantir que fosse vermelha)
 
Olá. Eu li Barba Ensopada de Sangue. Amei. Em seguida Meia Noite e Vinte. Fiquei muito impressionado. Gostei muito tb. Resolvi procurar fóruns sobre Meia Noite e Vinte para discutir alguma ideias e encontrei o Valinor. Vou ler as postagens e depois pretendo interagir.
 
E só agora eu tô lendo o diabo do livro hahaha

E bem, ainda tô no começo e de resto minha leitura vai sair um pouco arrastada (estou aproveitando basicamente pra lê-lo no ônibus e nos intervaos), mas uma coisa já me parece que vai ficando cada vez mais clara: o Galera conseguiu um feito com esse livro dele. Com menos de dois capítulos ele já te mostra que domina direitinho a técnica do diálogo e da descrição.
 

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