I think I would enjoy Jose Saramago's book so much more if he wasn't so bloody difficult to read. "The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis" could use a lot more paragraphs and a slew of quotation marks.

At any rate, I think Saramago is pretty brilliant and has interesting things to say, though I don't particularly enjoy reading him. I thought Saramago's Baltasar and Blimunda had more of a payoff for the work than this book.

If you're going to read this, do yourself a favor and read up on Fernando Pessoa.... if this weren't a group read where someone pointed me to the Wikipedia entry on Pessoa I would have been completely lost.

This book blends magical realism, historical fiction, and literary fiction. The title character, Ricardo Reis, a doctor and poet, returns to Lisbon, Portugal, after living in Brazil for sixteen years. He stays at a hotel, encounters two women, is questioned by local authorities, and is visited by the spirit of recently deceased poet Fernando Pessoa, an historic figure. The year is 1935 to 1936, and the backdrop is the rise of the fascist movement in Europe.

This is a philosophical novel, filled with musings on life, love, art, literature, politics, religion, history, and death. It is character driven and the plot is sparse. The protagonist seems to be sleep-walking through life, withdrawing into his personal world, avoiding reality. He strikes up a relationship with a woman he considers beneath his station and longs for a much-younger woman for whom he writes poetry. He appears oblivious to the political situation taking place around him, though he reads the papers and recounts the headlines of the day.

Saramago is a keen observer of human nature. He inserts his wit and clever observations about life. He speaks directly to the reader, at points even referencing the reading process and preferences:
“A chambermaid appeared, but it wasn’t Lydia. Ah, Carlota, light a heater and put it in the lounge. Whether such details are indispensable or not for a clear understanding of this narrative is something each of us must judge for himself, and the judgment will vary according to our attention, mood, and temperament. There are those who value broad ideas above all, who prefer panoramas and historical frescoes, whereas others appreciate the affinities and contrasts between small brush strokes.”

Saramago’s style is not for everyone. He employs long paragraphs, stretching over many pages. Dialogue is embedded within these paragraphs. For me, this type structure is hard on the eyes, as it provides no natural stopping places for reflection (and this book requires lots of reflection). I have to say though, I found it kept my interest and I learned quite a bit about Portuguese history and literature.

Memorable quotes:

“Clearly man is trapped in his own labyrinth.”

“One reaches a point where there is nothing but hope, and that is when we discover that hope is everything.”

“Man, in the final analysis, is an irrational creature.”

“There is nothing more pointless in this world than regret.”

“One cannot resist time, we are within it and accompany it, nothing more.”

“Poets often begin at the horizon, for that is the shortest path to the heart.”

Portuguese writer, Jose Saramago, the only Portuguese Nobel prize winner, joined the highly honoured and distinguished list of novelists who have offended governments: His book, "The Gospel According to Jesus Christ", was supposed to be contestant for the European Literary Award in 1992, but Lisbon's "cultural" commissars, led by the Under-Secretary of State Antonio de Sousa Lara, by orders from prime minister Aníbal Cavaco Silva, (It's amazing how all those bloody little f* pricks always manage to be in positions of power) saw it as a challenge to "Christian Principles" (whathever the F* that means...) and censoriously banned the book from participating.
As almost all Nobel winners in literature, Saramago has a unique voice and unparalleled style.

"The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis" explores human relationships, class differences, and the nature of dreams and illusions. It is lyrical and meditative, carrying a profound philosophical weight. Saramago's writing style, free from practically all common punctuation marks available in grammar, such as question marks or exclamation marks, using only commas, some full stops and linked sentences, separated by capital letters to mark the dialogues and when the author changes the subject, determines a very particular reading rhythm, to which the reader needs some time to get used to. But after acquiring the rhythm, from then on, the reading progresses at full steam and takes on a hypnotic tone.
The narrative is enhanced by a refined, complex style and a perspective on history, even if it is disheartening due to the comparison between historical events and present-day occurrences. Let's just hope that History doesn't repeat itself as usual.
In this book, the story, writing style, philosophical insights, and reflections on the history of Portugal and Europe provide valuable enlightenment.
The year is 1936, when Europe dances the waltz of liberalism while republicanism dies. Across the border, in Spain, fascism is on the rise, and Franco is preparing his coup d'état; Mussolini invaded Etiopia; German troops occupied the Rhineland; In Portugal, Salazar is already in power and establishing a "New" state.

To fully understand and appreciate the book, it's better (in my opinion) to know some of the work of the poet Fernando Pessoa.
Ricardo Reis, the main character in this book, was a creation of his imagination, a heteronym that Pessoa invented to write part of his literary work.
Pessoa, a unique and solitary poet, was one of the most prolific minds in the history of poetry, he was an eccentric and exceptional philosopher and poet; the greatest poet in the Portuguese language and one of the greatest in the world of poetry, who invented and "lived" countless heteronyms, and wrote as if he was many.
Behind this shy, physically small man was hidden a brilliant mind who needed to be several poets simultaneously to express his tortured soul. With his multifaceted genius, he needed to fragment; to free the capacities of one it was necessary to unfold into many to express everything it contained within himself, as if it were imperative to divide his self and invent another one (or others); a sort of Dr Jeckil and several poetic Mr Hides.

The poet is a pretender.
He pretends so completely
That he even pretends it's pain
The pain he truly feels.

And those who read what he writes,
In the pain read, they really feel
Not the two he had,
But only the one they don't have.

Academics who studied his work claim that Pessoa created more than 100 heteronyms; however, those that "come to life" systematicaly were the trio, Álvaro de Campos, Alberto Caeiro and Ricardo Reis.
Alberto Caeiro is considered the "master" of all of them. He is a poet of Nature and has a simple and direct style.
Álvaro de Campos is a naval engineer and Pessoa's most modernist heteronym with a free and tumultuous style of poetry.
Ricardo Reis, our main character in this book, is a doctor and a classical lyrical poet. He is known for his poetry that reflects on life and death.
And I don't want to fail to mention a semi-heteronomy that bequeathed us "The Book of Disquiet", an extraordinary, unfinished work published posthumously.
By this, I do not mean that it is essential to know Pessoa's work to read Saramago's book. It just means that having prior knowledge of Fernando Pessoa's work and his mind games with heteronomy gives greater depth to the reading of this book, which can be read and appreciated without ever having heard of who Fernando Pessoa was.

Saramago, in this novel, brings Pessoa and Ricardo Reis to life to engineer a series of meetings between the two, in which the poet and his alter ego debate their idiosyncratic, yet perhaps complementary, visions of the world in general and human predicament in particular, in a game of mirrors, in a dialogue between a ghost and a figment of the imagination of that same ghost. Ricardo Reis is someone who doesn't exist, and Pessoa is dead.
I believe Pessoa, with his heteronyms, was telling us that each of us has several personalities and identities, and we have to express them all to pretend that we only have one personality. Saramago's reinterpretation of this concept is wonderfully echoed in this great novel as an awareness that teaches us that between lies and the truth, there is just a very thin line of words on a paper.
This is a story, or perhaps a compelling portrait of a man of great sensibilities and bleak vision, who, failing to escape the world in life, prefers death.

This review turned out to be more about Fernando Pessoa than about Saramago. But, in certain measure, it's his fault because the book is entirely about Pessoa and only Saramago had the skill and sensibility with his extraordinary spell bind prose to write about such a great poet.

...those who do not have God seek gods, those who have abandoned their gods invent God. Perhaps one day we will get rid of these and That...(JS)

PS:
There is a movie with the same title, from 2020 if I'm not mistaken, available on the usual internet channel. It was shot in B&W, but the actors and actresses chosen for the roles were, for me, an absolute disappointment.
Anyway, if you are curious, you'll have to search with the title in Portuguese - O ano da morte de Ricardo Reis - otherwise, you will only find small extracts.

A escrita de Saramago, embora diferente e não muito apelativa à primeira leitura, é uma escrita de se louvar. A história em si é genial; quem pensaria em contar os acontecimentos deste ano (tão cheio de acontecimentos) e ao mesmo tempo provocar uma das facetas de Pessoa? Só Saramago, mesmo.

Every time I read a book by Saramago I feel sad because he is no longer among us, to delight us with his writing, and that feels terrible. I felt this once more while reading this book, and I think I will feel it when I read the books I haven't read yet.

Having said this, I had a wonderful time reading this book. Basically it tells what happens when Ricardo Reis, one of Fernando Pessoa's heteronyms, returns to Lisbon after sixteen years living in Brazil. There is a revolution in that country, Reis learns that Pessoa has died, and he makes up his mind to return to Portugal. And finds that many things have change, only in his country but also in Europe. In the first months, Reis lives in a hotel and starts an affairs with a chambermaid called Lídia. There, he also meets Marcenda, a young lady from Coimbra, who suffers a mysterious condition that has paralyzed her left arm. Reis is a medical doctor but in is first times in Lisbon he does not practice. Instead, he walks around the city, reads the papers, and he's visited by Fernando Pessoa, who, despite being dead, is capable of visiting Reis (he offers a very interesting theory on this).

After leaving the hotel, Reis finds a house to live and he even finds a job as a substitute doctor. But most of his time is spent walking around and learning the news, both national and international, throught the reading of the newspapers. And thus, we now how the life went in the Portugal of the mid-thirties, and in the world.

Another great book.

رواية مملة، أجبرت نفسي على إتمامها حتى المنتصف تقريبًا. لم أستطع التركيز من كثرة الملل والتثاؤب الذي تملكني. هذه الرواية ليست لي.

Pressenti que este seria um dos meus Saramagos preferidos e não estava errada.
É mais uma obra soberba do nosso Prémio Nobel que me fez viajar por Lisboa e apreciar a mestria deste autor. Perdi conta ao número de post-its que coloquei, porque houve demasiadas frases que me marcaram. Cada uma construída da forma meticulosa, ponderada, intencional e perfeita a que Saramago nos habituou. Recomendadíssimo.

Ένιωσα πως σε τούτο το βιβλίο, ο Σαραμάγκου έστησε έναν λαβύρινθο... You know, σαν εκείνο τον λαβύρινθο της Αλίκης στη χώρα των θαυμάτων (έχει έναν τέτοιο στη Eurodisney), που μπαίνεις μέσα όλο χαρά κι αρχίζεις και γυρνάς γύρω γύρω, ζαλίζεσαι, πέφτεις πάνω σε εμπόδια, τοίχους ολάκερους, γυρνάς πίσω και ξαναπέφτεις σε τοίχο, κι άλλο αδιέξοδο, μέχρι που κάποια στιγμή τα καταφέρνεις και βγαίνεις, κατάκοπος και καταϊδρωμένος αλλά δικαιωμένος που τα βγαλες πέρα μ’αυτή τη δοκιμασία.
Δεν με ενόχλησαν οι μεγάλες χωρίς τελείες προτάσεις (τις έχω συνηθίσει – λέμε τώρα – αυτές του Σαραμάγκου), θεωρώ απλώς πως το βιβλίο ήταν τόσο προσανατολισμένο προς την Πορτογαλία και ιδιαίτερα προς τη Λισαβώνα, που κάπου το έχανα... δεν βρήκα τον οικουμενικό χαρακτήρα που έχω βρει σε άλλα του βιβλία.
Ο Ρικάρντο Ρέις, πορτογάλος γιατρός, δόκτορας με τ’όνομα, επιστρέφει από τη Βραζιλία μετά από 16 χρόνια στην πορτογαλέζικη πρωτεύουσα, χωρίς λόγο και αιτία, χωρίς σκοπό και στόχο. Σαν clandestino igual καταλύει πρώτα στο ξενοδοχείο Μπραγκάνσα και δημιουργεί απ’αυτές τις σχέσεις που προσωπικά λατρεύω, με παλαιακούς ξενοδόχους και μπάρμεν, μέχρι να νοικιάσει το προσωπικό του διαμέρισμα ως πολίτης που σέβεται τον εαυτό του. Χρόνο έχει άπλετο και σουλατσάρει στη Λισαβώνα, πρωί, μεσημέρι και βράδυ σε αξιοθέατα κι εστιατόρια, σε παγκάκια δίπλα στο ποτάμι, πίνοντας πόρτο και διαβάζοντας εφημερίδα.
Εάν είχα επισκεφθεί τη Λισαβώνα, εάν είχα κολλητούς που η μητρική τους μοιάζει με «βλάχικα καστιλιάνικα», σόρρυ μέου αμίγκου, εάν, εάν, είμαι σίγουρο πως θα κατάφερνα να εισχωρήσω καλύτερα στην πορτογαλέζικη αμπιάνς κι αυτά τα κομμάτια να τ’αγαπήσω λίγο περισσότερο, αλλά ούτε την αμπιάνς ήξερα ούτε την αγάπησα. Έτσι γύριζα τόσο που ζαλίστηκα κι η Λισαβώνα μου έπεσε βαριά στο στομάχι.
Στον Σαραμάγκου αρέσουν τα παιχνίδια. Κι αποφασίζει να παίξει ένα από αυτά τα λογοτεχνικά που τόσο αρέσουν σε κριτικούς και σε φιλολόγους για να παιδεύουν τους μαθητές στα διαγωνίσματα. Ο Ρικάρντο Ρέις, ο πρωταγωνιστής του βιβλίου, είναι ένα από τα «ετερώνυμα εγώ» του Πορτογάλου ποιητή Φερνάντο Πεσσόα που είχε διάφορες λογοτεχνικές περσόνες, που εάν το κάνω εγώ στην καθημερινότητά μου, θα με πούνε σχιζοφρενή, αλλά εδώ είναι σικ «ετερώνυμο εγώ». Αυτά τα ετερώνυμα εγώ, εμφανίζονται στο βιβλίο... ο μόνος πιστός φίλος του Ρικάρντο λοιπόν, είναι ο Φερνάντο Πεσσόα, ο οποίος όμως έχει αποδημήσει πρόσφατα εις τόπον χλοερόν και τον επισκέπτεται συνήθως τις άγριες ώρες για φιλοσοφικό και όχι μόνο κουτσομπολιό. Ομολογώ την άγνοια μου. Πριν διαβάσω τούτο το βιβλίο, δεν ήξερα τίποτα από Πεσσόα και Ρικάρντο Ρέις, αυτό δεν εμποδίζει την ανάγνωση του βιβλίου, ωστόσο θεωρώ πως οι καθηγητάδες της λογοτεχνίας πολύ θα το χάρηκαν το παιχνίδισμα και θα έχουν έναν ωραίο λόγο για να παιδέψουν τους φοιτητές τους κατά την εξεταστική.
Ο Ρικάρντο Ρέις όμως δεν είναι μόνο γιατρός και ποιητής. Είναι και άνδρας. Και έχει και ορμές. Κι έτσι συνάπτει στενές επαφές τρίτου τύπου με τη Λίντια, την καμαριέρα του ξενοδοχείου. Είναι όμως και άντρας της εποχής του και της τάξης του. Και ερωτεύεται πλατωνικώς τη Μαρσέντα, την χλωμή νεαρά με το ανάπηρο χέρι, παρθένα όπως επιβάλλει η τάξη της γιατί είπαμε καλώς ο σαρκικός έρως αλλά που ακούστηκε δόκτορας με καμαριέρα… Ντροπή!
Λοιπόν το βιβλίο είναι πολλά πράγματα, εγώ όμως κατέληξα πως το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο είναι ένα και μόνο ένα. Είναι ένα βαθιά πολιτικό βιβλίο, που ειρωνεύεται, καγχάζει και σαρκάζει τον φασισμό (η όλη ιστορία τοποθετείται την εποχή της ανόδου του φασισμού στην Ευρώπη – Χίτλερ, Σαλαζάρ, μελανοχιτώνες στην Ιταλία) και όλα τα ολοκληρωτικά καθεστώτα. Πιστεύω πως ο Σαραμάγκου για να σφάξει με το γάντι τον ολοκληρωτισμό μας έκανε ένα ζαλιστικό ζιγκ – ζαγκ ώσπου να φτάσουμε ξέπνοοι στο τέλος και να μείνουμε με έναν κόμπο στον λαιμό.
Εάν αγάπησα κάποιον ήρωα, αυτή είναι μόνο η Λίντια, η καμαριέρα, η γυναίκα του λαού, που έχει μάθει να ζει τη ζωή όπως είναι γιατί δεν ξέρει να κάνει αλλιώς. Τη Λίντια που έχει αποδεχθεί την τάξη της και που λέει τις πιο απλές σοφίες γιατί έτσι είναι. Viva Lindia!
Υ.Γ. Κλείνοντας το βιβλίο, μου έμεινε στη μύτη μια μυρωδιά κρεμμυδίλας... Τι τύπος αυτός ο Βίκτωρ...

4.5 ⭐️

“Vivem em nós inúmeros, se penso ou sinto, ignoro quem é que pensa ou sente, sou somente o lugar onde se pensa e sente, e, não acabando aqui, é como se acabasse, uma vez que para além de pensar e sentir não há mais nada.
Se somente isto sou, quem estará pensando agora o que eu penso, ou penso que estou pensando no lugar que sou de pensar, quem estará sentindo o que sinto, ou sinto que estou sentindo no lugar que sou de sentir, quem se serve de mim para sentir e pensar, e, de quantos inúmeros que em mim vivem, eu sou qual, quem, Quain, que pensamentos e sensações serão os que outros não sejam ou tenham sido ou venham a ser.”
- Ricardo Reis

-—-

“Aos deuses peço só que me concedam o nada lhes pedir, há ocasiões assim, acreditamos na importância do que dissemos ou escrevemos até um certo ponto, apenas porque não foi possível calar os sons ou apagar os traços, mas entra-nos no corpo a tentação da mudez, a fascinação da imobilidade, estar como estão os deuses, calados e quietos, assistindo apenas.”
- Ricardo Reis

-—-

“Hoje é o último dia do ano. Em todo o mundo que este calendário rege andam as pessoas entretidas a debates consigo mesmas as boas ações que tencionam praticar no ano que entra, jurando que vão ser retas, justas e equânimes, que da sua emendada boca não voltará a sair uma palavra má, uma mentira, uma insidia, ainda que as merecesse o inimigo, claro que é das pessoas vulgar que estamos falando, as outras, as de exceção, as incomuns, regulam-se por razões suas próprias para serem e fazerem o contrário sempre que lhes apetece ou aproveite, essas são as que não se deixam iludir, chegam a rir-se de nós e das boas intenções que mostramos, mas, enfim, vamos aprendendo com a experiencia, logo nos primeiros dias de Janeiro teremos esquecido metade do que havíamos prometido, e, tendo esquecido tanto, não há realmente motivo para cumprir o resto, é como um castelo de cartas, se já lhe faltam as obras superiores, melhor é que caia tudo e se confundam os naipes.”
- Ricardo Reis

-—-

“Não digamos, Amanhã farei, porque o mais certo é estarmos cansados amanhã, digamos antes, Depois de amanhã, sempre teremos um dia de intervalo para mudar de opinião e projecto, porém ainda mais prudente seria dizer, Um dia decidirei quando será o dia de dizer depois de amanhã, e talvez nem seja preciso, se a morte definidora vier antes desobrigar-me do compromisso, que essa, sim, é a pior coisa do mundo, o compromisso, liberdade que a nós próprios negámos.”
- Ricardo Reis

-—-

“Um morto é uma pessoa séria, ponderada, tem consciência do estado a que chegou, e é discreto, detesta a nudez absoluta que o esqueleto é, e quando aparece, ou se comporta como eu, assim, usando o fatinho com que o vestiram, ou embrulha-se na mortalha se lhe dá para querer assustar alguém, coisa a que eu, aliás, como homem de bom gosto e respeito que me prezo de continuar a ser, nunca me prestaria.”
- Fernando Pessoa

-—-

“A mais inútil coisa deste mundo é o arrependimento, em geral quem se diz arrependido quer apenas conquistar perdão e esquecimento, no fundo, cada um de nós continua a prezar as suas culpas.”
- Ricardo Reis

-—-

“Eu sou quase uma analfabeta, mas uma coisa eu aprendi, é que as verdades são muitas e estão umas contra as outras, enquanto não lutarem não se saberá onde está a mentira.”
- Lídia Martins

The only difference between life and death is that the living still have time, but the time to say that one word, to make that one gesture, is running out for them. What gesture, what word, I don't know, a man dies from not having said it, from not having made it, that is what he dies of, not from sickness, and that is why, when dead, he finds it so difficult to accept death. My dear Fernando Pessoa, you're reading things upside down. My dear Ricardo Reis, I can no longer read. Improbable on two counts, this conversation is reported as if it actually took place. There was no other way of making it sound plausible.
-----José Saramago

Sometimes Silence is enshrouded in such disquiet that unheard voices have the loudest sound. Their echoes continue to haunt generations to come long after the voices have themselves ceased to exist. Among those haunted, there remain a few whose sojourn in the land of unheard is deliberately prolonged. Perhaps what haunts them is the echo of their own thoughts, sometimes resulting in a laborious love affair with words which benefits the readers like us in a twofold manner. Interestingly, even if those words, at a glance seem mundane, they carry with them such traces which make you feel nostalgic for that Silence you savored in the first place. This is how I can describe my reading experience of this work by Saramago featuring Fernando Pessoa.

Pessoa’s “The Book of Disquiet” left a profound impression upon me and the knowledge of his creation of heteronyms (around 80) intrigued me even more. To be able to create such heteronyms and then to ascribe different personality traits and writing style to them, is a marvelous feat in my opinion, especially since it demonstrates the enormity of an otherwise trivial human existence. And this idea is what is precisely achieved by Saramago through his writing in this work. He creates a piece which befits his style and his personality, written in a manner quite ordinary (as demonstrated by the thoughts and life of Ricardo Reis, a heteronym of Pessoa, in this work) yet it captures the immensity of a banal existence so beautifully that it makes you ache more for the master.

“We mourn the man whom death takes from us, and the loss of his miraculous talent and the grace of his human presence, but only the man do we mourn, for destiny endowed his spirit and creative powers with a mysterious beauty that cannot perish. The rest belongs to the genius of Fernando Pessoa.”

It seems Saramago was enchanted not only by the creative power of Pessoa but also by his life, his everyday life. That is why he casts Ricardo Reis, a heteronym of Pessoa, as the central character here and offers us a glimpse into the master’s mind as he carefully constructs the character of a sluggish and estranged Reis, these traits being also associated with Pessoa during his lifetime. His deftness in using magical realism shines forth as he juxtaposes Reis and Pessoa in the novel. Reis comes to Lisbon after the death of Pessoa and visits his grave. He is then visited by the ghost of Pessoa and the two engage in conversations whenever they meet. The conversations are cerebral at times which only seems to suggest the kind of struggle Pessoa, who mostly remained solitary, went through during his lifetime.

“If I accept sleep, it's to be able to dream, To dream is to be absent, to be on the other side, But life has two sides, Pessoa, at least two, we can only reach the other side through dreams, you say this to a dead man, who can tell you from his own experience that on the other side of life there is only death. Well I don't know what death is, but I am not convinced that it is this other side of life we are discussing, because death, in my opinion, limits itself to being. Death is, it does not exist, it is. Are being and existing not the same thing then, No, my dear Reis, being and existing are not the same thing, and not simply because we have these two different words at our disposal, on the contrary it is because they are not the same thing that we have these two words and make use of them.”

Being and existing are not the same things. Sometimes we just exist, as life exists but without being aware of this existence. We stride through life as in a dream, languid and aloof. Sometimes we struggle to be on the other side, to feel intensely and make out some meaning, to seek answers and to elevate. And perhaps these are the two sides of life which are indispensable, which are necessary to navigate through this world.

I am still not sure why Saramago named this work as “The Year of the death of Ricardo Reis”, maybe I am looking for too much, may be this way he pays his tribute to the master, by saying all those words that Pessoa didn’t in his lifetime and thus finally letting him rest in peace.

Não sei se esta é a história de Ricardo Reis, ou se Saramago o usou como pretexto para dar a conhecer o mundo, particularmente a Europa, no ano de 1936.
Em qualquer dos casos, Ricardo Reis volta a Portugal, depois do exílio no Brasil, quando tem conhecimento da morte de Fernando Pessoa.
Desembarca numa Lisboa sombria; sombria pelo tempo chuvoso e pelo clima político e social que se vive no país.
Numa narrativa onde a melancolia dá mãos à beleza, o autor disseca a realidade crua de uma das piores fases deste país; uma população esmagada sob um regime ditatorial, sem justiça, sem esperança, a depositar a última fé de salvação nos hipotéticos milagres de Fátima.
O futuro é incerto, sobretudo com a Europa unida num abraço fascista que abarca a Alemanha de Hitler, a Itália de Mussolini, a Espanha de Franco, e Portugal; que se ajoelha perante o "salvador" da Pátria, Salazar, louvado e temido na mesma medida.
Perante este cenário, Ricardo Reis, na sua costumada pasmaceira de viver sem nada ambicionar, conformado com a efemeridade, tendo a morte como única certeza, vai tomando conta do estado da nação, sobretudo pelos jornais. Mero espectador, o seu senso crítico é nulo e Saramago serve-se dele para expor a sua crítica pessoal com a ironia e sarcasmo habituais.

Mal Ricardo Reis pôs os pés em terra começou a receber visitas se Fernando Pessoa, que vem do mundo dos mortos para encontros onde discutem a vida, o mundo à sua volta, os amores e a conduta do poeta. Foi o lado irreal da história, e onde a ficção e a realidade coexistiram de uma forma fascinante.
A mulher forte desta obra é Lídia: criada no hotel onde o poeta se hospedou, começa pouco tempo depois a fazer-lhe "visitas noturnas". Mulher do povo, inculta, pouco espera da vida mas é ciente da realidade e destemida.
Ricardo Reis faz-lhe um filho - que não pretende reconhecer- e Lídia nada exige, aceita o seu destino. Ela que era a sua ligação ao quotidiano, vai ficando mais independente, vai-se afastando, e ele vai caindo no marasmo. Ricardo Reis desiste de viver. Lídia enfrenta a vida carregando no ventre a esperança de um melhor futuro.

Outro dos pontos fortes deste livro é o roteiro lisboeta percorrido por Ricardo Reis. Muitos o fazem e eu também o fiz. Foram três dias a subir e descer ruas, ao segundo, pés e pernas já pediam clemência, ao terceiro parecia uma aleijadinha. Mas foi inesquecível!

Quer pelo valor indesmentível da obra, quer pelas recordações da fantástica maratona pedestre, este é um dos livros especiais que só a demência poderá apagar da minha memória.

Ένα βιβλίο που καλεί τον αναγνώστη να του αφιερωθεί σε βάθος, του ζητά την προσοχή και την συγκέντρωση του. Ο ήρωας μας καταφθάνει στην Λισαβόνα, την εποχή που σε όλη σχεδόν την Ευρώπη ο φασισμός έχει ανοδική πορεία. Εκεί συναντάει και τον αγαπημένο αλλά νεκρό φίλο του Πεσσόα, οι διάλογοι ανάμεσα στους δυό, σου γεννούν σκέψεις, ενώ ο Σαραμάγκου σε αυτά τα σημεία δείχνει την δυναμική της γραφής του και αποδεικνύει ότι είναι μεγάλος συγγραφέας!