“ الحقيقة أننا إذا ما مزجنا الماء بالصلصال أو الماء بالجبس أو الماء بالأسمنت فإننا نستطيع أن نقلب مخيلتنا مثلما نشاء من أجل اختراع تسمية لها أقل فظاظة .. أقل ابتذالا .. أقل عادية .. و لكننا سننتهي دوما آجلا أو عاجلا إلى الوصول إلى الكلمة الدقيقة. الكلمة التي تقول ما يتوجب قوله.: طين. آلهة كثيرون ممن هم معروفون أكثر من غيرهم لم يرغبوا في أية مادة أخرى من أجل مخلوقاتهم. و لكن من المشكوك فيه إذا ما كان ذلك التفضيل يمثل اليوم نقطة لصالح الطين أم نقطة ضده. ”

“قلبي في صدري أسيرٌ سجين
تُخجلهُ عشرةُ ماءٍ وطين
وكم جرى عزمي بتحطيمه
فكانَ يَنهاني نداءُ اليقين”

من رباعيات عمر الخيام

“هناك من يقضي حياته كلها في القراءة دون أن يمضي لما هو أبعد من ذلك. هؤلاء يبقون ملتصقين بالصفحات لا يدركون أن الكلمات ليست سوى أحجار مصفوفة تعترض تيار النهر. و إذا كانت هناك فإنها موجودة لكي نتمكن من عبور الضفة الأخرى. الضفة الأخرى هي المهمة. إلا إذا لم تكن لهذه الأنهار ضفتان و إنما ضفاف كثيرة. و كل شخص يقرأ تكون تلك هي ضفته الخاصة. و تكون له و له وحده الضفة التي سيصل إليها.
و لحسن الحظ أن الكتب موجودة و يمكن لنا أن ننساها في خزانة أو صندوق أو نتركها للغبار و العثة أو نهجرها في عتمة الأقبية. يمكن لنا ألا نمر عليها بعيوننا و لا نمسها لسنوات و سنوات و لكنها لا تهتم بذلك كله و تنتظر بهدوء منطبقة على نفسها كيلا يضيع شيء مما تحتويه في داخلها. و دوما تأتي اللحظة. يأتي هذا اليوم الذي نتساءل فيه. أين هو ذلك الكتاب؟ و يظهر أخيرا الكتاب المطلوب.”

صرخة يطلقها ساراماجو في وجه المدنية الحديثة بكل زيفها
عن الخالق الأصغر صانع الخزف من الطين و الصلصال تماما مثل خالقه باستثناء نفخ الروح
في عهد أصبح فيه الخزف و الفخار موضة قديمة
نحن يا سادة من أصبحنا موضة قديمة فما نحن إلا هذا الطين الذي التهب بنار الفرن اللافح ثم خرج ليواجه الحياة
عن الحياة في المركز مقرنين في الأصفاد تغشى وجوهنا نار العولمة و لهب المادية و سادية الروتين و البروقراطية.
لا ينتصر ساراماجو لأي اتجاه في النهاية بعد أن ترك الماء يجري في كلا الاتجاهين الا أن أيام الماضي تبقى لتحيا في الماضي و ايام المستقبل تظل حبلى بالتكهنات.

Lento, uggioso, monotono, tedioso all’inverosimile. Mi ha straziato l’anima, purtroppo non positivamente.
Ho odiato ogni singolo personaggio di questo libro, si salva il cane. Appena conclusa la lettura avrei voluto immediatamente dare fuoco al libro, se solo non fosse stato della biblioteca... Il più deludente tra tutti i Saramago letti.

bettie's Books

The rating, any status updates, and those bookshelves, indicate my feelings for this book.

An old potter grapples with the new reality that consumers are transitioning to plastic

Recommended by Old Man and the Read in the video Best 77 books I've read over the past 77 years: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zYZC...

A Caverna = The Cave, José Saramago

The Cave is a novel, by Portuguese author José Saramago. It was published in Portuguese in 2000 and in English in 2002.

The story concerns an elderly potter named Cipriano Algor, his daughter Marta, and his son-in-law Marçal. One day, the Center, literally the center of commerce in the story, cancels its order for Cipriano's pottery, leaving the elderly potter's future in doubt.

He and Marta decide to try their hand at making clay figurines and astonishingly the Center places an order for hundreds. But just as quickly, the order is cancelled and Cipriano, his daughter, and his son-in-law have no choice but to move to the Center where Marçal works as a security guard.

Before long, the mysterious sound of digging can be heard beneath the Center, and what the family discovers will change their lives forever.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: اول سپتامبر سال2008میلادی

عنوان: دخمه؛ نویسنده: ژوزه ساراماگو؛ مترجم: کیومرث پارسای؛ تهران، روزگار، سال1384؛ در358ص؛ شابک9643740218؛ چاپ چهارم سال1384؛ چاپ پنجم سال1386؛ چاپ ششم سال1388؛ شابک9789643740214؛ چاپ هفتم سال1391؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان پرتقال - سده 21م

رمان «دخمه»، داستان پیرمرد شصت و چهار ساله ای به نام «سیپریانو الگور» است؛ او در دهکده ای نزدیک شهری بزرگ، زندگی میکند؛ در آن شهر مکانی بنام مجتمع مرکزی وجود دارد، که خود، شهری بزرگتر و مرموزتر است؛ ساکنان بسیاری در مجتمع زندگی میکنند، که همه امکانات شهری و رفاهی برایشان فراهم است، و خیلیها آرزو دارند، در آن مجتمع زندگی کنند؛ مجتمعی که هر کس اجازه ی سکونت در آن را ندارد، و بوسیله ی نگهبانان بی‌شماری حفاظت و کنترل میشود؛ «سیپریانو» سازنده ی ظروف سفالینی است، که آنها را در کارگاه سفالگری اجدادیش میسازد، و با قراردادی که با مجتمع مرکزی دارد، آنها را برای فروش به ساکنان مجتمع، به انبار آنجا میبرد؛ از قضا شوهر تنها فرزند «سیپریانو»، یکی از نگهبانان مجتمع مرکزی است، و انتظار ترفیعی را میکشد، تا بتواند برای زندگی به یکی از آپارتمانهای کوچک مجتمع مرکزی، نقل مکان کند؛ ترفیعی که داماد «سیپریانو» و دخترش برای آن لحظه شماری میکنند، اما «سیپریانو» در دل از آن مجتمع بیزار است؛

همسر «سیپریانو» مدتی پیش درگذشته است، و دخترش میخواهد «سیپریانو»ی تنها و پیر را، با خود به مجتمع مرکزی ببرد؛ زندگی «سیپریانو» زمانی به هم میریزد، که مسئولین مجتمع مرکزی، با برهم زدن یکطرفه ی قرارداد، دیگر حاضر به خرید سفالهایش نیستند، و او مجبور است تنها کاری را هم که در این دنیا برایش باقیمانده بود، متوقف کند؛ از سوی دیگر، دامادش در آستانه ی گرفتن ترفیع قرار میگیرد؛ و «سیپریانو» مجبور است همراه آنها، به مجتمع مرکزی نقل مکان کند؛ «سیپریانو» اگر هم پیشتر از آنجا خوشش نمیآمد، اکنون برای اینکه از آنجا متنفر باشد، دلیل دارد؛ اینجاست که داستان ساده ی زندگی روزمره، و یکنواخت «سیپریانو»ی سفالفروش، به دغدغه های بیشمار پیرمردی تنها، و ناامید، تبدیل میشود، که نمیداند جدال اصلی اش، بیشتر با خود و خاطرات بگذشته اش است، یا با دختر و داماد و زندگی آینده اش در مجتمع مرکزی؛

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 09/10/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 22/08/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

-Πόσο περίεργη η σκηνή που περιγράφεις
Και τι περίεργοι φυλακισμένοι,
-Όμοιοι μ΄εμάς.

(Πλάτων, Πολιτεία, Βιβλίο Ζ΄)


Εκπληκτικό βιβλίο. Τοσο απλό και τοσο μοναδικό που μπορεί να χαρακτηριστεί σπουδαίο.
Η σπηλιά του Σαραμάγκου αρχαικη και συμβολική με αμέτρητο βάθος συναισθημάτων και εννοιών.

Αυτός ο "φιλόσοφος" συγγραφέας ειναι κυρίαρχος ερμηνευτής και τροφοδότης σκέψης σαν πάνσοφος ρήτορας γράφει και αναλύει χωρις να παρεμβαίνει στην κατανόηση και την ερμηνεία που δίνει ο αναγνωστης στα νοήματα του.
Μπες στη σπηλιά,σου λέει, κοίτα, σύγκρινε,αναλογίσου,θυμήσου, νιώσε αλλα κυρίως χρησιμοποίησε το μυαλό σου, αγνόησε τα αισθηματικά κριτήρια, προχωρά στην κοσμοθεωρία της αλήθειας και της αυτοβελτίωσης.

Σίγουρα δεν διαβάζεται ανάλαφρα και επιφανειακά. Μεστή η γραφή του σε καθηλώνει αργά και σε προβληματίζει ή σε ταρακουναει σε κάθε πρόταση,λέξη-λέξη.

Η σπηλιά του τραγικά αλληγορική. Η υπόθεση απλή και καθημερινή. Πρωταγωνιστής ένας υπέροχος ιδιαίτερος άνθρωπος,ένας ηλικιωμένος κεραμοποιος που ζει με την κόρη και τον γαμπρό του σε ένα ταπεινό χωριατόσπιτο οικογενειακής κληρονομιάς όπως ακριβώς και το επάγγελμα του. Τρεις γενιές κεραμοποιών έζησαν εκεί και τώρα έρχεται ένα υπέρ-σύγχρονο εμπορικό "Κέντρο" να σπάσει τις παραδόσεις, να διαλύσει οικογένειες,να συνθλίψει τους θεσμούς και τα συναισθήματα,να καταστρέψει ολα τα συντεχνιακά επαγγέλματα στις γειτονιές του κόσμου.
Αυτό το μεγαθήριο αυτοαποκαλείται "θεός" και μπορεί να υποστηρίξει δυνατά και ακλόνητα τις αξίες του σύγχρονου πολιτισμού, της εικονικής πραγματικότητας, της αγοράς,της άνεσης, της βιομηχανικής αναπαραγωγής όντων και φυσικά την μοναδική αξία του κέρδους.

Έτσι ο τρυφερός και αξιοπρεπής κεραμοποιός μας έχοντας καταστραφεί επαγγελματικά και όχι μόνο, αναγκάζεται να ζήσει στο "Κέντρο" το οποίο τον δέχεται με την κόρη του μόνο και μόνο επειδή ο γαμπρός του ορίζεται ως φύλακας εκεί. Φύλακας- κατάσκοπος-καταδότης-δέσμιος- υπόδουλος ... μικρή σημασία έχει για την κοσμοθεωρία του παντοδύναμου "κέντρου".

Ολα τα υπόλοιπα θα τα καταλάβετε διαβάζοντας τη σπηλιά. Όταν θα νιώσετε πόνο και θλίψη για τα "Κέντρα" που μας καταπίνουν και αλλοιώνουν την συμβολική προσωπικότητα μας. Και φυσικά όταν θα νιώσετε πως πρέπει να απορριφθούν τα δεσμά,η αποδοχή, η παθητικότητα και η άγνοια.
Ίσως τότε μπορέσουμε να βγούμε στον ήλιο και να ρυθμίσουμε το πολίτευμα της ψυχής μας - όπως είπε και ο Πλατωνας στο μύθο του σπηλαίου.

* Λάτρεψα τον κεραμοποιό και την κόρη του για την αγάπη και τη φροντίδα με την οποια περιέθαλψαν ένα αδέσποτο σκυλάκι που τους χάρισε τη ζωή του.

Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς ασπασμούς!!

So far one of my favorite Saramago's books with maybe just a notch bellow Cain.

Sözkonusu kişi Saramago olunca ben pek objektif olamam genelde. Fakat bu kitap, objektivitenin falan çok ötesinde. İçinde deha, tecrübe, bilgi ve yetenek barındırmayan tek bir satır bile yok.

Kendi halinde, post-modern dünyanın kurallarına elinden geldiğince uymadan yaşamaya çalışan çömlekçi Cipriano Algor ile kızı ve damadının öyküsünü okuyoruz bu kez -ve tabii zeki köpekleri Buldum'un. 'Merkez' isimli, kentin merkezindeki dev alışveriş merkezi de, hem romanın hem de aslında hemen hepimizin hayatının merkezinde yer alıyor. Üstelik bunu kitaba, distopik bir unsur gibi yerleştiriyor Saramago, her türlü (sahte) renkli yanına rağmen. Akil, yaşamayı ve insan olmayı bilen insanlar için Merkez bir esaret yeriyken, tüketim ve post-modernitenin kurbanı olmuş yüzbinler oraya ulaşabilmek için can atıyor.

El emeği. El emeği çömlekler, el emeği biblolar, el emeği bir yaşam. Plastikten bir hayat karşısında tutunmaya çalıştıkça Cipriano Algor ve ailesi, giderek daha da birbirine kenetleniyor. Ortak düşmanı doğru anda tanıyorlar ve damadın Merkez'in kalbinde çalışıyor olmasına rağmen kendilerini kaptırmıyorlar. Sözü geçen harika mağara alegorisi ise bardağı taşıran damla oluyor sonunda. 'Artık yeter' diyor yaşlı çömlekçi, başı çekerek.

Basit insanlar üzerinden büyük felsefi temaları nasıl da iyi anlattığını bildiğimiz Saramago elbette ki beklentilerimizi yine boşa çıkarmıyor. Muhteşem bir üçlü mağara alegorisiyle varoluştan tüketime kadar söyleyebileceği her şeyi okuru hiç sıkmadan, ne sıkması, muhteşem lezzette bir akşam yemeğini yedikçe yemek isteğine sahip bir insanın iştahıyla okutuyor. Neden yaşadığımızı, yaşarken neler yaptığımızı unuttuğumuz dönemlerde tüketime daha da düşüyoruz bence. Saramago da -ki kendisi her şeyin farkında ve her cümleye kâdirdir; şüphesiz ki o yaratılmış ve yaratılacak olan her türlü edebiyatın yegane ilahıdır!- buna dikkat çekiyor ve tüketimin tam karşısına, hem de tam olarak el emeğine ait bir üretim koyuyor. Sonsuz ve acımasız realistliği ise kitabın sonunda kendisine yer buluyor.

Bazı insanlar Saramago'yu okurken zorlanıyor, bilinir ki kendisi bilinçakışı tekniğini kendine has şekilde kullanır; ve tabii diyalogları arasında ne bir tırnak ne de konuşma çizgisi yer alır. Ancak ben "Körlük"ten itibaren (ilk okuduğum eseri oydu) bu tarza hayran olmuştum. Mağara'yı da okurken o kadar büyük keyif aldım, o kadar çok yerin altını çizdim, o kadar çok yeri tekrar tekrar okudum ki, bu kitap sanırım artık en sevdiğim Saramago eseri oldu, diyebiliyorum. Daha önce bu mertebede "Kopyalanmış Adam" vardı ve o da başka bir benlik irdelemesiydi.

Dediğim gibi sayısız yeri alıntılayabilirim ama buna ne yer yeter, ne de benim bütün kitabı buraya aktaracak kadar parmağım var. Zaten o da öyle söylüyor:

"Hayat buydu işte, söylenmeye değmez ya da bir kez söylendikten sonra bir daha söylenmesi gerekmez sözlerle doluydu, söylediğimiz her söz, söylenmeyi kendi özünden ötürü değil, ağızdan çıkmasının yaratacağı sonuçlardan ötürü daha çok hak eden başka bir sözün yerini alıyordu."

‘It is not only great works of art that are born out of suffering and doubt.’

Do we allow ourselves to be tricked into substituting simple pleasures and convenience for authentic reality? Do we willingly allow ourselves to be submissive pawns in a game of corporate and political control? Nobel Laureate José Saramago’s The Cave is an enlightening examination of Plato’s allegory of the cave as he depicts a natural world shrinking away as the cheap, plastic reign of a compartmentalized authoritative control casts its shadow across the land. The Cave chronicles the struggles and strife of the kind hearted Algor family, who find themselves in a difficult place when the powerful capital city The Center ceases purchasing their hand-crafted pottery, choosing instead to stock their shelves with plastic dining sets that are cheaper to mass produce, and are bound by a contract forbidding any dealer to the Center, past or present, from selling to anyone else. Saramago harnesses his marvelous poetic wit to make the readers hearts ache for the Algor family, and the plight of manual laborers as their livelihood is threatened by ominous forces that place profit and power over quality and general well-being. The political climate in The Cave creates a perfect breeding ground for a discussion of Plato’s Forms, with Saramago focusing his sights everywhere from plastic plates, police states, and language in order to examine the way we trade the authentic for cheap imitations and replicas.

All of Saramago’s classic motifs are immediately recognizable in The Cave, such as obdurate authoritative forces chasing the common man out of the light; menacing capital cities operating through an elaborate, yet faulty, chain of command; musings on the nature of a Creator; and his brilliant, signature style of blending dialogue into his dense paragraphs of meandering prose. For the uninitiated, Saramago doesn’t break up dialogue in the traditional sense, but instead allows multiple voices to blend into one continuous stream separated only by commas and a capitalized first letter to denote a new speaker. This reinforces his perspective that his stories aren’t of the individual, but of the collective voices and hearts of all humanity, inseparable from the natural world around them. His books are the voice of existence, flowing and unscarred by the borders of ego, asking us to seek freedom and happiness in collective equality and cooperation instead of a competition where those who have assert their dominance through force and fear. The Center becomes the focal point for his admonition against authoritarianism. It is like a grey concrete tumor of commercialism swelling outward and destroying the green countryside, accumulating power and wealth as it tightens its grip of authority and dominerence over the rural manual laborers. Saramago mocks the bureaucratic structure of The Center, viewing it as an unnecessarily complex web that is self-sufficient only by imposing its own authority down through the ranks.

n   …his position on the Center’s organization chart reminded him that the whole definition and maintenance of hierarchical configurations is based on their being scrupulously respected and never contravened or transgressed, and, of course, the inevitable result of being too free and easy with one’s inferiors or subalterns is to undermine respect and to encourage license, or, to put it more explicitly and unambiguously, it all ends in insubordination, indiscipline and anarchy
n

Plato used his allegory of the cave to further illustrate his concept of Forms, roughly speaking, a theory to address the problem of universals by asserting that Forms are the quality of reality, and that phenomena are shadowy interpretations of Form. Forms are atemporal and aspatial, but had distinct, individual qualities that are perceived in multiple ways when represented by objects. The cave allegory consists of people chained to the floor and forced to spend their lives watching shadows flicker across the back wall of the cave. They would perceive the shadows as reality and give names to them, when in fact they were just reproductions of the true reality. Saramago expertly meshes his admonitory themes of authoritarian force with Plato’s Forms to argue that we are becoming like the prisoners of the cave, trading the authentic for imitations. Saramago’s defense of manual laborers asserts that hand-crafted work born from sweat and blood is authentic and that the plastic, cheap mass produced plates are like shadows on the wall of a cave.

n  The ominous sight of those chimneys vomiting out columns of smoke makde him wonder which one of those hideous factories would be producing those hideous plastic lies, cunningly fashioned to look like earthenware.n

The Center and it’s hub of consumerism is the reproduction of authentic living. People are compartmentalized into tiny apartments away from the sun, living shallow lives that are dictated to them by the endless list of Center laws and experience the natural world through sideshow attractions—such as a ride that simulates each of the seasons and drops fake rain and snow onto the visitors—that are reminiscent of George Saunders’ short fiction. Even power is seen as only assumed and created, keeping people submissive through emotions of fear and hopelessness. The Center offers safety from the dangers of rural life, making a large show of the way they fight back against the shantytowns that rob trucks en route to The Center. It may be possible, however, that the robberies are staged to simply give The Center a reasonable motive to send in the troops and further build a sense of security and fear.

n  The truck had not been burned by the people in the shacks, but by the police themselves, it was just an excuse to bring the army…he had suddenly seen what the world was like, how there are many lies and no truths, well, there must be some out there, but they are continually changing, and not only does a possible truth give us insufficient time to consider its merits, we also have to check first that this possible truth is not, in fact, a probable lie.n

Saramago is a lover of words, and the heart of the marvelous allegorical clockwork of this novel is his examination of words and their relation to the world around us. ‘Words were born to play with each other,’ he writes, ‘they don’t know how to do anything else.’ In a manner reminiscent of both Jacques Derrida (of whom Saramago was associated with several times through both men’s activist actions), and Jorge Luis Borges (Saramago’s books are littered with allusions to the great author), Saramago explores the way words are merely shadows on the wall of reality. ‘Words, for example, which are not things, which merely designate things as best they can, and in doing so shape them…’ Saramago offers that the world of physical reality is experienced by putting our perceptions into words, but words are not the same tangible reality, and we must accept that they can only form imperfect representations regardless of how poetic and poignantly words can play with one another. While language is shown as another replica of Forms, it is through language that the mind can find a haven—language is the bridge through which we can glimpse true reality and meaning. By arranging words together into the magic of literature, we are able to point towards a deeper understanding and dig up the buried treasure of substantial meaning. Some read for pure enjoyment, some for escape, others to appreciate the aesthetics of linguistics organized onto a page like a painting on a canvas, and while each individual reader may take a different path through words, we all travel this path because it offers us a taste of our own personal heaven and a glimpse at overwhelming beauty.

n  The same method doesn't work for everyone, each person has to invent his or her own, whichever suits them best, some people spend their entire lives reading but never get beyond reading the words on the page, they don't understand that the words are merely stepping stones placed across a fast-flowing river, and the reason they're there is so that we can reach the farther shore, it's the other side that matters, Unless, Unless what, Unless those rivers don't have just two shores but many, unless each reader is his or her own shore, and that shore is the only shore worth reaching.n

Saramago hints at the true beauty of literature and how one idea can be interpreted in multiple ways, each shaping or reaffirming what we hold most dear in our hearts. Words may only take meaning in the way they interplay with one another, but it is through a careful consideration of words that we are able to deduce a fountain of wealth that flows through the author. ‘What you call playing with words is just a way of making them more visible.’

One of the many aspects that continuously pull me back into Saramago’s enchanting pages is his loving attentiveness to words and the reader. Saramago approaches his story as if it were a living thing independent from himself, being both the narrator delivering the story, but also an observer and participant much like the reader themselves. In a manner much like Macedonio Fernández, Saramago questions the motives of his characters, chastises them for their actions, and presents them as if they were writing themselves into his pages. ‘If this demonstrably ill-natured assistant head of department were to have any kind of future in the story we have been following, we would probably eventually get around to asking him to explain what lay behind his feelings on that occasion…’ This helps to build a camaraderie and mutual respect with the reader as you feel he is sharing the journey along with you. I greatly enjoy his authorial interjections, a tactic that often bothers me with other authors but seems completely endearing with Saramago. He gives off such an innocent joy to be an integral part to the creation of a story and just can’t contain his excitement when he blurts out his commentary on the characters and story. Reading Saramago is akin to having a wise, caring grandfather rocking you to sleep in his arms while bestowing the secrets of the universe to you in an engaging bedtime tale. Many of the novels shortcomings are easily glossed over because the reader is so captivated by his soothing narrative voice. This novel occasionally dips dangerously close to oversentimentality and often feels a uneven, yet chastising it beyond mere mention seems malicious. It would be like insulting your own loving grandfather for his bedtime stories, which you know please him to tell as much as they please you to hear. Saramago’s narrative voice is comforting while still cutting to the core of matters with a razor sharp edge.

Despite the growing tumor of consumerism and authoritarianism, The Cave offers a bright beacon of hope. Ciprano Algor and his family bond together to create a new product, a line of clay figurines (his selection of figurines speaks volumes about the human race and our attraction to warfare and power, but I’ve blabbed on long enough and shouldn’t spoil the discovery for future readers), to sell to The Center. The creation process in the kiln opens up a channel for Saramago to examine the role of a Creator, and he openly chastises any Creator that would knowingly damn their creations.

n  He will not, like Marta, call them rejects, for to do so would be to drive them from the world for which they had been born, to deny them as his own work and thus condemn them to a final, definitive orphanhood.n

Through caring, understanding, cooperation and hard-work, Saramago proposes a bright future. The son-in-law, Marcal, employee of The Center, finds his true purpose lies as a member of a family, a part of natural order as opposed to his imitation family as an employee to a company. At the end, we see that we must strive for the real instead imitation despite that the latter seems to be the easier way.

While The Cave is a wonderful allegory exploring Plato’s philosophy and the nature of language, it is not best suited as an introduction to Saramago. This book is best viewed as another glowing intersection for the themes that characterize Saramago’s fantastic oeuvre and would fall short without interpreting it through its interplay with his other novels. The book is creeps forward at a very leisurely pace, content to build its themes in authorial asides and intense investigations of mundane actions, which made it easy to set aside whereas other Saramago novels were impossible for me to put down once I'd been hooked. The Cave is a novel about exploring language and Form, not plot, and if you are patient there is an immense wealth of ideas to ponder and mull over that more than justify the effort. It is not a weak novel, but one simply best suited for those that already hold the wise Saramago as dear in their hearts. Of all his novels, this one shines as the most endearing as the way he presents the Algor family can be best described as a tender caress of words. Moving and heartfelt, yet slow and ponderous, Saramago brilliantly examines the way we trade the authentic for cheap imitation and begs us to not to be bound to the floor of a cave by consumerism and a willful submission to authority, but to be daring enough to step out from the cave and great the bright sun of our existence with open arms, an open mind, and goodwill towards all of mankind.
3.5/5

'[B]ut if ancient knowledge serves for anything, if it can still be of some use to modern ignorance, let us say softly, so that people don't laugh at us, that while there's life, there's hope.'

Con este libro aprendemos a valorar la oportunidad de tener una profesión. Muy buen libro.

Para esta ocasión sí es importante contar la historia de cómo este libro llegó a mis manos. Era el año 2002, yo me encontraba en quinto de primaria, y mi hermana que me lleva seis años estaba cursando el último año de su vida estudiantil. Como ella siempre tuvo buena ortografía, y se expresaba bien oralmente, su colegio decidió enviarla a un concurso de ortografía de la ciudad, era la única de la localidad. Ella asistió, y sin expectativas ni presiones empezó a avanzar ronda tras ronda; pero, su momento de serenidad se acabó cuando quedaban menos de diez personas concursando, y a los organizadores se les ocurrió la idea de mencionar los premios: Una beca para el primer puesto, un computador para quien ocupara la segunda posición. Ella entonces se tensionó, pero siguió participando aunque ya con muchos nervios. No obstante, pudo clasificarse entre los mejores cinco, entre los cuatro, entre los tres... y justo cuando tenía la opción de mínimo asegurar el computador, en ese momento todo se fue al carajo porque se equivocó escribiendo una simple palabra: lasaña. Mi hermana siempre odió la pasta, pero desde ese día la odió mucho más. Por ende, finalizaría en tercer puesto, y su premio de consolación fue un libro de un señor llamado José Saramago, un libro llamado La caverna. Desde aquel 2002 ese libro permanece en mi casa, pero nadie lo había leído, mucho menos mi hermana que no lo quería ni ver porque le recordaba su fracaso. Sin embargo, el 31 de diciembre del 2021 estábamos realizando aseo en nuestra vivienda, mi madre encontró este libro en sus cajones, y yo lo vi, lo tomé, lo leí, y aquí me tienen escribiendo esta reseña. Quizás para mi hermana este libro siempre será un recordatorio de su derrota, pero gracias a ello yo he tenido la oportunidad de conocer una historia que me ha conmovido por sus tiernas escenas, y también por las que están llenas de preocupación y tristeza.

La caverna nos cuenta la historia de Cipriano Algor, un alfarero, que tiene un pequeño problemilla: Su trabajo ya no lo necesita nadie. Durante varias generaciones su familia ha trabajado con barro, creando vajillas y loza para vender, pero una nueva tecnología ha llegado para arruinarle la vida. Esa tecnología tiene nombre, esa tecnología es el plástico. El problema es que él ya está viejo, y lo único que sabe hacer para ganarse la vida es trabajar con el barro. ¿Qué hará entonces Cipriano y su familia para intentar sobrevivir? Esa es la interesante premisa que nos propone Saramago en este libro.

Para ser honesto este libro me ha producido muchísima nostalgia porque me hizo recordar aquellos momentos vividos, que en mi memoria siempre serán preciosos, pero que desafortunadamente son imposibles de que ocurran nuevamente. Por ejemplo recuerdo aquel parque en el que jugaba en mi infancia, pero que ahora está destruido; la caligrafía que tenía de niño pero de la que ya no se hallan huellas; aquellos compañeros a los cuales nunca les dije adiós pero desaparecieron para siempre; etc. Este libro es así. Saramago te va presentando la vida del alfarero, de su hija, y de su yerno, y empiezas a sentir esa opresión en el pecho llamada nostalgia porque entiendes que su destino está a punto de cambiar, y que todo lo construido por tantos años se va a echar a perder. Dicen que debemos adaptarnos al mundo, y es verdad, pero es muy doloroso dejar nuestro estilo de vida en el pasado cuando hemos tenido tan buenas experiencias. Saramago me conmovió con las preocupaciones de sus personajes, pero también me ha producido cierta ternura con algunas escenas que te intensifican el deseo de que aquellos personajes no tengan que alterar su vida para siempre.

Cuando leí El amor en los tiempos del cólera, de Gabriel García Márquez, hubo algo que me dejó muy pensativo: En aquellos tiempos del siglo XIX, aquí en Colombia se creía que el trabajo del futuro sería ser telégrafo. Un oficio que en su tiempo debió ser especial, pero que el paso del tiempo lo volvió obsoleto. Debe ser bastante triste que dediques toda tu vida a un trabajo, a una profesión, y que cuando estés viejo notes que lo que tú haces, en lo que gastaste tanto tiempo de tu vida, ya no le interesa a nadie: Esa es la nostalgia que tiene en el fondo de su corazón Cipriano, esa es la nostalgia que sentí en todo momento. Es duro aceptar la realidad.

Por mi experiencia previa de leer Las intermitencias de la muerte, en verdad no he tenido problemas con la prosa, a pesar de las peculiaridades que ya mencioné en dicha reseña, como lo son la dinámica de no usar guiones, hacer párrafos larguísimos, el uso anormal de los signos de puntuación, extensión de sus capítulos, etc. No obstante, por la cantidad de conversaciones que tienen los personajes creo que tampoco generaría problema para los nuevos lectores del autor portugués. Además, aquí por lo menos sí encontramos personajes con nombres, con personalidades muy definidas, y eso nos ayuda muchísimo a que leamos varias horas sin darnos cuenta. Eso sí, me ha parecido un poco cansina la mitad del libro. Como el argumento es bastante simple —siendo completamente objetivo— entonces la postergación de las decisiones puede aburrimos un poco, o eso por lo menos sentí yo. Sin embargo, vale la pena llegar a la parte final porque allí es donde el autor transmite su desagrado por las ciudades, por la forma como se mantiene «atontada» a la población, por los espacios pequeños, por la falta de contacto con la naturaleza, etc. Es una sección que puede hacer referencia a nuestro presente, pero también puede considerarse como una distopía.
Me ha parecido muy bonita la relación que tiene Cipriano con su hija, con el perro llamado Encontrado, y la pasión con la que trabaja en su oficio; claramente da a entender que en los pueblos los habitantes tienen mejor corazón que aquellos que viven atrapados en las ciudades, preocupados, tensos, con odio, encerrados en sí mismos, etc. Me parece genial como Saramago va usando su rol de narrador para contar la historia, pero a la vez disimuladamente va expresando sus propias opiniones sobre determinado tema como si fuera un ensayo, y no una obra literaria.

Lo que no me ha gustado es la relación de amor tan «inmediata» que se presenta. No soy nadie para hablar o criticar sobre el amor, teniendo en cuenta mi eterna soltería xd, pero me pareció exagerado que con un saludo prácticamente las personas ya se enamoraran profundamente. Un pequeño detalle que parece no ser importante, pero debemos ser honestos y expresar lo bueno, lo malo, lo extraño y lo feo de nuestras lecturas.

Considero que este libro vale la pena leer porque José Saramago presenta una madurez emocional, y una sabiduría muy profunda, que podría ayudarnos a crecer como seres humanos. Dicen que la experiencia es sabia, y José Saramago es un ejemplo de ello. Realmente he quedado muy antojado de leer más de sus obras, y por lo tanto mi próximo destino será sin ninguna duda su aclamado Ensayo sobre la ceguera, debo leerlo sí, o sí.

El final me ha parecido muy bello, aunque incierto.

En resumen, un libro escrito con una delicadeza impresionante, el cual te hace preguntarte de una manera simple, pero profunda, sobre diversos temas en los que quizás no solemos pensar diariamente. Una historia que vale la pena leer para ponernos en los zapatos de aquel que se ha quedado sin trabajo para siempre. Una historia que te obliga a pensar en la separación de cualquier núcleo familiar, incluso de las mascotas, que sufrimos con el paso inevitable del tiempo. Una historia que te hace ser consciente de lo hipnotizados que vivimos diariamente, y de la necesidad de desconectarnos para encontrarnos con nosotros mismos y nuestros seres queridos. Una historia que te señala la importancia de seguir buscando alternativas y salidas, así nuestro devenir parezca incierto y oscuro. Una historia que te demuestra la ingratitud de la sociedad, la cual se mantiene desechando con frialdad todo lo que no necesita, a pesar de la utilidad proporcionada en los años posteriores. Vivimos atrapados en un sistema maldito que no tiene orden ni futuro, pero de la misma forma como entramos a ser parte de él, también tenemos la posibilidad de escapar de él: Debemos pensar en alternativas para el futuro.

Libro especial, bonito y recomendado.

"This is the dangerous thing about appearances, when they deceive us, it’s always for the worse."

The Cave is a strangely mesmerizing book. I have no idea why I liked it as much as I did. It was not enjoyable to read.... and yet I had to finish it. 

It's pretty much a running stream of consciousness of the characters, mainly the elderly potter whose product is no longer wanted. People now prefer plastic, not his higher quality, but perishable, dishes.

The reason it was not enjoyable to read is because there are very few paragraph breaks and the large, blocky text triggered headaches for me. It made me nauseated at times. I'm not a glutton for punishment, so you'd think I would just stop reading..... but I couldn't. Like I said, it was strangely mesmerizing.

The writing, no matter how clunky, just reels you in. The author does not use quotation marks, or even periods when characters are talking. It's written like this, Different character's voices are only seen because they start with a capitalized letter for the first word, But it's hard to keep track of who is speaking, And so I found myself re-reading dialogue much of the time, Trying to figure out who the hell is saying what.

If you can listen to audio, I think it would probably be preferable to reading this book. Maybe most people get used to the style of writing and I might have if not for the headaches. 

The blurb makes it sound like dystopia; it is not. It is an allegorical tale that has very little to do with the Centre other than the old man goes to live there, and the higher-ups at the Centre are who make his work redundant.

It's a beautiful allegory and I love how it ended.... but if this is typical of how José Saramago wrote, I won't be reading any more of his work.

Saramago sets this story in a dystopia but it is not far off in the future – we almost live in it now!

The Center is where the well-off live. It’s a massive single 50-story building with apartments, galleria malls, museums and Disneyland areas. Every kind of experience imaginable is offered including all sports, such as skiing, and “environmental rooms” where you can experience sunny beaches, rain and blizzards. Around the Center are rings of slums, industrial factories and factory farms in greenhouses.

It’s a big brother dystopia. Security guards and video cameras are everywhere, and any unusual behavior gets you noticed and perhaps “written up” by the guards. When you drive outside the Center you are stopped by guards “checking your documents.” Because supply trucks have to bring goods and food in from the rings outside the Center, they have to pass through the slums. Occasionally they are waylaid by bandits but because this is a Portuguese dystopia, the police kind of let it happen without much ado.



The story, which we are told in the blurbs, is simple. An old man, a widower and a potter, lives in the far outskirts, a traditional rural village beyond the Center and its rings. He lives with his only daughter and her husband. Her husband is a guard in the Center but lives in a dormitory and commutes home for a few days off every ten days or so. His dream is to become a “resident guard” – that is, get a promotion and with it an apartment to live full-time in the magical Center and bring his wife and father-in-law with him.

The old potter struggles to make a living. He sells plates and pots to the Center but recently people have stopped buying them, so he is experimenting with making decorative ceramic dolls. His daughter helps him.

The business collapses; the son gets his job and they all move into dreamland. You can imagine what the old man thinks of this – his life was his work and his identity. Now retired, he wanders aimlessly around Disneyland all day. The only other significant character in the story is a widow in the village. The old man and the widow are sweet on each other but he won’t think about marriage because he cannot support her without his pottery business, now defunct.

And maybe we can count the dog as a character too: “Everyone tells us that animals stopped talking a long long time ago, however, no one has yet been able to prove that they have not continued to make secret use of thought.”

Now the title. A short time after they have all moved to an apartment in the Center, new construction uncovers an archaeological site in a cave. The area is blocked off and guarded; guards are forbidden to talk about what is in the cave. But the son-in-law lets the old man in to view it. It is so horrific and shocking that the son-in-law quits his job and they all decide to leave the Center and start over somewhere else. [It is horrifying and I’m not even putting it in a spoiler!]

The book is written in a stream of consciousness style with long sentences, mostly using commas, but it is divided into fairly short chapters (8-12 pages).

The author has won the Nobel Prize, so we expect and we get great writing and deep thoughts:

“It is true what people say, the young have the ability, but lack the wisdom, and the old have the wisdom, but lack the ability.

Daughter: “Don’t talk about dying, Pa.”
Father: “The only time we can talk about death is while we’re alive, not afterward.”

“…the game of give and take which is what married life almost always comes down to”

“Life is like that, full of words that are not worth saying or that were worth saying once but not any more, each word that we utter will take up the space of another more deserving word, not deserving in its own right, but because of the possible consequences of saying it.”

“Some people spend their entire lives reading but never get beyond reading the words on the page, they don’t understand that the words are merely stepping stones paced across a fast-flowing river, and the reason they’re there is so that we can reach the farther shore, it’s the other side that matters”

“He had suddenly seen what the world was like, how there are many lies and no truths, well, there must be some out there, but they are continually changing, and not only does a possible truth give us insufficient time to consider its merits, we also have to check first that this possible truth is not, in fact, a probable lie.”

“but nowadays, it is only from eighty years onward that old age, authentic and unambiguous and from which there can be no return, nor even any pretense of a return, begins, de facto and unapologetically, to deserve the name by which we designate our last days.”

“arguments are more or less random groups of words waiting to be placed in a syntactical order that will give them a sense they themselves are not entirely sure that they have.”

“At that moment he realized that his memory of the dream was about to flee, that he would only manage to hold on to bits of it, and he did not know whether he should rejoice over the little that remained or regret the much that was lost, this is something else that often happens after we have dreamed.”



In a witty and humorous passage the author dissects old ‘nuggets of wisdom’ which he calls a “malignant plague.” It is funny how you can savage things like “know thyself,” “where there’s a will there’s a way,” and “begin at the beginning.”

A great read. I’ve read five or six of Saramago’s books and this is now my favorite.

Photo of Lisbon from independent.co.uk
Photo of the author from therumpus.net