
The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas
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Narrated by:
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Edoardo Camponeschi
Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis (1839-1908) was the greatest writer ever to come from Brazil and one of the masters of nineteenth-century fiction. Susan Sontag calls him "the greatest writer ever produced in Latin America", surpassing even Borges. Harold Bloom says that Machado is "the supreme black literary artist to date". And Allen Ginsburg calls him "another Kafka". And The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas is his masterpiece, a dazzling, tragic, and profound novel that belongs next to the greatest works of his contemporaries Melville and Dostoevsky. Lexicos is proud to present Machado's supreme achievement in this gorgeous new translation by Neil McArthur.
©2018 Neil McArthur (P)2018 Neil McArthurListeners also enjoyed...









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An inspired interpretation of a singular novel.
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A hidden masterpiece
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xx
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There is no doubt that this book is witty. If it were not for the wit, the book would be in its grave (like the narrator!) rather than still standing on one leg - yes just one leg, barely able to hold its own weight. Kudos to the author for trying to build a three legged stool made of wit, love and philosophy, except that other than wit, the other two legs didn’t find their footing.
The book is a love story - an extramarital affair for nobody. It’s neither happy, nor sad. It’s neither romantic nor obsessive. The more you think about it, the more you realize that it’s just a narration auxiliary to the wit. The narration can be filled with any other story, perhaps that of a person running a marathon encountering wit at every mile - no one would know the difference. And like every unsuccessful love story, this one tries to venture into philosophy to express its regret - both with love and with life. The dabble attempts to describe a school of thought that the author himself didn’t understand. Was it witty that the author tried to wrap it as if someone else was explaining it to him in the book or just plain foolish?
So, after philosophy and love are lost for the reader, what’s left is just wit, like delicious chips in a salty chocolate chip cookie. Who doesn’t like salty chocolate chip cookies or rather who does?
The merit of this book lies in an obscure realm from where the literature can both extol or debase it, for instance for its one or three line chapters. Whether it deserves a rediscovery, remains an open question.
Salty chocolate chip cookie
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The wittiest novel ever written? Uh, no.
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His story about Bras Cubas is witty, poignant, hilarious, a little sad, but ultimately a page turner from the first until the last.
The guy doing the reading is really good, but it took me a minute because I speak Portuguese and I’ve read the in the original Portuguese so it took me a little while to get over hearing Brazilian culture and the story in English.
The translation is really well done as well, and keeps the humor and the spirit of Assis. Very well done, so don’t cheat yourself by skipping out on this one!
Simply marvelous from the king of Brazilian literature!
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disappointing to read this book. It is meandering tale of nothing happening to a lazy, arrogant, narcissistic, self-obsessed man.
It was this month’s choice for our book club and was universally disliked, to the point where we are considering cancelling the meeting at which it would have been discussed.
Totally unimpressed!
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High production quality, good translation.
If you decide to listen to the novel anyway, I suggest starting with Chapter 9, marked by the author with the word TRANSITION, when the narrative shifts gears to faux-autobiographical with the narrator's birth. The preceding eight chapters are as revealed by the narrator himself in chapter nine, a deathbed or post-death "delirium". Those chapters are easier to parse, if you read them after reading at least three-quarters of the novel, once the names the narrator refers to have become familiar to the reader.
Favorite turn of phrase from the novel: "While this idea worked on the trapeze in my brain..."
Favorite simile from the novel: "...as pallid as the magpies painted upon a ceiling in Sintra."
Suggested better alternative: Leopoldo Alas "La Regenta" (1884, Spain) translated by John Rutherford
Pointless picaresque drivel.
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