Background
Fernando Pessoa was a Portuguese poet and writer considered one of the most important literary figures of the 20th century. He is known for writing under other names, what he called “heteronyms”. Some of the most vociferous ones include Alvaro de Campos, Vicente Guedes, and Alberto Caeiro. The Book of Disquiet was written by Bernardo Soares. Pessoa confesses in a letter that Soares was really more of a semi-heteronym because he was not a different personality per se but more of a mutilated version of Fernando’s. In the book's early days, Pessoa attributed authorship to himself.
Here is how Fernando describes his heteronymic offspring from the unfinished preface to fictions of the interlude:
I place certain of my literary characters in stories, or in the subtitles of books, signing my name to what they say; others I project totally, with my only signature being the acknowledgment that I created them. The two types of characters may be distinguished as follows: in those that stand absolutely apart, the very style in which they write is different from my own and, when the case warrants, even contrary to it; in the characters whose works I sign my name to, the style only differs from mine in those inevitable details that serve to distinguish them from each other.
What the book is about
The book is written in a semi-aphoristic style. Some interpretations of the book consider the first half of the book to be written by another heteronym, Vicente Geudes, or Pessoa himself, and the second half Bernando Soares. The numbered entries are assembled from notes and various jottings that were found in a trunk after his death. The notes were in no particular order, which meant that organizing the book was and still is under some debate among academics.
What the book is about is perhaps a more difficult question. Pessoa, who himself wields the pen, writes about topics such as the banality of everyday life, the nature of tedium, dreams, spirituality, death, envy, anxiety, love, and revelations. Some of the entries are as short as a single sentence, others span several pages long. Stylistically, the entries can vary as well; some are confessional and concise, while others are more nebulous and poetic.
Tonally, the book also wavers quite substantially between a certain optimistic and unyielding nihilism. We get the impression that Pessoa, or Soares, struggles to find meaning the same way others do. He puts all his value and attention into his dreams, his inner life, in thoughts. His social life is performative, if not entirely dissoluble or irrelevant.
He invented a movement he called ‘sensationism’, and upon reading what he says in regards to sensation, one can see why he felt so strongly about it that he felt impelled to start a movement. He is utterly fixated on his sensations on what boards obsessive-compulsive. To him, there’s nothing of value, or of interest, than pure sensation. He scrutinizes everything he feels—he’s interested, but he’s also ambivalent as if he feels trapped or condemned by what he feels.
Quotations
“Who am I to myself? Just one of my sensations. My heart drains out helplessly, like a broken bucket. Think? Feel? How everything wearies when it’s defined!” (158. Pg 140).
“Some have a great dream in life that they never accomplish. Others have no dream, and likewise never accomplish it” (146. Pg 133).
“Having seen how lucidly and logically certain madmen justify their lunatic ideas to themselves and to others, I can never again be sure of the lucidness of my lucidity” (430. Pg 360).
“Since we can’t extract beauty from life, let’s at least extract beauty from not being able to extract beauty from life. Let’s make our failure into a victory, into something positive and lofty, endowed with columns, majesty and our mind’s consent. If life has given us no more than a prison cell, let’s at least decorate it, even if only with the shadows of our dreams, their colourful lines engraving our oblivion on the statically enclosing walls. Like every dreamer, I’ve always felt that my calling was to create. Since I’ve never been able to make an effort or carry out an intention, creation for me has always meant dreaming, wanting or desiring, and action has meant dreaming of the acts I wish I could perform” (307. Pg265).
“The outer world exists like an actor on stage: it’s there but is something else” (383. Pg 322).
My thoughts
The Book of Disquiet isn’t the kind of book you would read cover to cover. But I did. It feels a lot like reading the diary of a close friend. At times I was startled by the searing clarity and detail he can achieve, but I wasn’t particularly moved by his poetry. That is more of a personal qualm and taste, not exactly a commentary on the quality of it.
I’ve never read anything quite as introspective. The character develops a self-awareness that he probes life with, leaving nothing untouched. His revelations on dreams, nostalgia, and tedium give words to feelings that we all experience and yet can never seem to articulate accurately or fully.
There is an inspiring quality to his pessimism. His determination that everything is nothing is somehow an argument for creation, an embrace of self-exploration and creativity. If you decide to take on this simple, yet infinitely complex work, I recommend taking your time. Read a few entries at a time. Because there is no narrative structure, you might miss out on the more obscure elements if you try to approach this book like a typical work of fiction.
Works Cited
Pessoa, Fernando. The Book of Disquiet. Edited by Richard Zenith, Penguin Books, 2015.
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