Clarice Lispector was a Ukrainian-born Brazilian novelist. She published her first work Near to the Wild Heart when she was 23. The novel immediately caught the attention of critics and readers, although she was completely unknown at the time. The debut has been said to be one of the greatest debut novels a woman had written in all of Brazilian literature. Another critic went further and claimed that it was the greatest debut a woman has ever written in the Portuguese language. Despite its critical acclaim, Lispector wasn’t paid for producing the book.
Near to the Wild Heart, and indeed Clarice’s literary style encompassing many other works, has been compared to the likes of Dostoevsky. Her debut was written in a stream-of-consciousness style that I think most who’ve also read Dostoevsky would recognize in his literary bend. The story’s perspective flips between Joana as an adult, in the present, and Joana as a child. There are also moments when the perspective shifts to Joana’s husband, Otavio.
The story doesn’t follow a conventional plot structure. We as readers catch a glimpse of Joana's internal evolution and fluctuation as she experiences certain life events, some monumental, others minor. The character is prone to introspection and rumination to an extreme degree. The rapid pace of her thoughts, the often mercurial revelatory nature of her inner world reaches some profound areas; some of which are recognizable, such as god or death, others that one might find less so, like relationships or sensation itself. Her philosophical ramblings are often challenging to follow; she mentions at one point the influence of Spinoza. She’s also concerned with the notion of the thing itself, which is widely associated with Kant.
I particularly enjoyed the perspective of Joana, the child. I found her funny, interesting, and wise. She embodied a vibrant wisdom that few adults, let alone other children, seem to grasp. Furthermore, her rich inner world and propensity for reflection never really change, only strengths and intensifies. It was a reminder of how wise innocence renders us; the power of thought, limitless at the height of unconscious creativity. But there were also times when I found the character’s flagrantly impulsive thought patterns to be a bit tedious. The “dream” of the narrative starts to peel away toward the end, in my case, when the character intellectualizes a lot of what was frankly nothing more than thought indigestion. But one always respects the character’s independence and originality, even in moments when you can’t help but want to insert yourself in the character’s life to tell her to go see a therapist.
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