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'No portico, farmhouse or ancient church is left undisturbed in Saramago's readable, if labyrinthine, tale of travelling across his homeland in 1979' --I (Independent supplement), May 2011
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Crossing his native land from northeast to southwest, the great novelist explores the villages and towns of Portugal and discovers what it is that binds him to his country and his people. Climbing into his aged motor, Jose Saramago's trip across Portugal is a voyage of discovery about his own land. His attention to all he sees is meticulous, whether it be a cobweb-ridden chapel or a grand urban mansion, and each unlocks a thousand memories - of kings, warriors, painters, explorers, writers, saints and sinners. What unites his observations is Saramago's distinctive character as a travelling companion: whether genial after a glass of wine and a drive through misty mountains, or tetchy at being greeted in English by an Algarve hotelier, he is invariably delightful and stimulating company.
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Nothing of the kind had occurred within the living memory of any border guard. Read the first page
Front Cover | Copyright | Table of Contents | Excerpt | Index | Back Cover
Nothing of the kind had occurred within the living memory of any border guard. Read the first page
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
5 of 5 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
José Saramago begins his travels in his native land in an unusual fashion: he leaves the country. The opening paragraphs see him crossing the bridge from Spain into the far north-eastern corner of Portugal, savouring the experience of arrival. From here, he criss-crosses the country, leaving no corner unvisited until he passes along the Algarve months later.
It is an exhaustive itinerary, and apart from the interesting conceit at the start, not one which springs any formal suprises on the reader. Saramago's remit seems to have been to persuade the Portuguese to pay attention to a heritage that, at the time he wrote (late 1970s) was crumbling through neglect. Accordingly, the focus is firmly on the things visited and not - in contrast to much modern travel writing - on the traveller. The narrator - always referred to simply as "the traveller", never "I" - remains a rather shadowy figure, acquiring little in the way of character apart from a slight tendency to tetchiness and a nervousness of dogs.
In line with Saramago's apparent mission, the coverage of his native country's built and painted heritage is largely laudatory, which makes for a certain monotony of tone - I would have enjoyed having the traveller encounter something he really hated, for the sake of variety. Also problematic, in this translation, is the level of background knowledge assumed. Each chapter concludes with some notes expanding on allusions, but there are many others that remain unexplained and the process of choosing which to footnote and which to leave seems to have been random. So, for instance, Saramago can write of a particular town having witnessed the meeting of two historical characters "as we all learned at school"; he can allude, near Olivenza / Olivença, to a border dispute with Spain; and he can refer repeatedly to the Battle of Aljubarrota as a founding moment in Portuguese history; but in all these cases no is footnote provided to explain for Anglophones. (Aljubarrota, fought in 1385, saw João I defeat Castile to cement Portuguese independence: the following year the newly-secure state signed the Treaty of Windsor with England, making Portugal England's oldest ally).
So, for the non-Portuguese reader, a frustrating exercise: a future edition would serve Saramago better by including far more editorial apparatus. Even with that provided, however, I think that for the Anglophone this would probably remain a frustrating work: Saramago here is not concerned to show Portugal to the outsiders, to make it picturesque and appealing to the tourist, but to have a conversation with his own countrymen and women and persuade them to look not merely at the treasures of Italy or France, but closer to home, to their own country.
It is an exhaustive itinerary, and apart from the interesting conceit at the start, not one which springs any formal suprises on the reader. Saramago's remit seems to have been to persuade the Portuguese to pay attention to a heritage that, at the time he wrote (late 1970s) was crumbling through neglect. Accordingly, the focus is firmly on the things visited and not - in contrast to much modern travel writing - on the traveller. The narrator - always referred to simply as "the traveller", never "I" - remains a rather shadowy figure, acquiring little in the way of character apart from a slight tendency to tetchiness and a nervousness of dogs.
In line with Saramago's apparent mission, the coverage of his native country's built and painted heritage is largely laudatory, which makes for a certain monotony of tone - I would have enjoyed having the traveller encounter something he really hated, for the sake of variety. Also problematic, in this translation, is the level of background knowledge assumed. Each chapter concludes with some notes expanding on allusions, but there are many others that remain unexplained and the process of choosing which to footnote and which to leave seems to have been random. So, for instance, Saramago can write of a particular town having witnessed the meeting of two historical characters "as we all learned at school"; he can allude, near Olivenza / Olivença, to a border dispute with Spain; and he can refer repeatedly to the Battle of Aljubarrota as a founding moment in Portuguese history; but in all these cases no is footnote provided to explain for Anglophones. (Aljubarrota, fought in 1385, saw João I defeat Castile to cement Portuguese independence: the following year the newly-secure state signed the Treaty of Windsor with England, making Portugal England's oldest ally).
So, for the non-Portuguese reader, a frustrating exercise: a future edition would serve Saramago better by including far more editorial apparatus. Even with that provided, however, I think that for the Anglophone this would probably remain a frustrating work: Saramago here is not concerned to show Portugal to the outsiders, to make it picturesque and appealing to the tourist, but to have a conversation with his own countrymen and women and persuade them to look not merely at the treasures of Italy or France, but closer to home, to their own country.
11 of 14 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
As someone with a Portuguese heritage - I desperately wanted to like this book. The countless holidays I have spent there with friends and family has revealed a country rich in history, culture and tradition. A friendly and vibrant country, with great cuisine and wines - stunning vistas and varied regions, I thought having searched for so long for a travel book to do it justice - who better than a Portuguese Nobel prize winning author. Wrong! Saramago's words are as dry and dusty as the stones in the old churches that he visits an interminable amount of times - on his journey through a cold and dull country I barely recognise.
I was looking for smart observation and keen insight into the culture - amusing anecdotes, humouress encounters with the natives, no such luck! I would avoid this book if your looking for a literary companion to your travels in Portugal. Though there is certainly a dirth of decent travelogs on Portugal, I would wait until Mssrs Bryson or someone else happens down the Iberian Peninsula. Avoid.
I was looking for smart observation and keen insight into the culture - amusing anecdotes, humouress encounters with the natives, no such luck! I would avoid this book if your looking for a literary companion to your travels in Portugal. Though there is certainly a dirth of decent travelogs on Portugal, I would wait until Mssrs Bryson or someone else happens down the Iberian Peninsula. Avoid.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews on Amazon.com (beta)
Amazon.com:
11 reviews
32 of 36 people found the following review helpful
Rewarding for a patient reader
16 May 2001
Format:Hardcover
A meditation on the subtle mysteries of a rugged landscape occupied for thousands of years. A subjective and cerebral travelogue to be taken in and digested slowly. The traveller visits the tiniest villages and melencholy ruins; discribing encounters with the inhabitants and recording his moods and dreams. A treat!
23 of 25 people found the following review helpful
Delightful on one level, disappointing on another...
10 May 2002
Format:Hardcover
I traveled much of Saramago's route over twenty years after he did. I am reading this book six years after my journey. I am delighted with his observations, and amazed at little some things changed in the years between our two journeys--there is timelessness about some of these places. It is, however, difficult reading. His habit of referring to himself as "the traveller" in nearly every other sentence really interrupts the flow and I can not read more than a chapter or two at a time without becoming so annoyed that I set it aside, only to go back to it the next evening. I'm now about three quarters of the way through it and will definitely finish it. Mechanically, it is much more difficult reading than his novels; intellectually, it is much less challenging.
I don't think I would be reading this book if I had not traveled in Portugal, but I wish I had had it with me when I did make that journey. It gives an insight to the people, places, and history that I, as a non-Portuguese speaking foreigner, did not get during my own travels. It is certainly bringing that trip back to me and I'm enjoying his view of the places I went and am regretting missing the places I didn't have time to see. If I am able to make another journey in Portugal, this book will go with me.
10 of 10 people found the following review helpful
The translation misses
2 Sep 2003
Format:Paperback
I am sure Saramago's tales are more lively than they come across in this book. Although I'm certain it was translated with care, the third-person narrative doesn't quite do it in English. I wish I had bought the Portuguese book and worked my way through, it is surely more lyrical and less clunky than this version.
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