Customer Reviews

Journey to Portugal: In Pursuit of Portugal's History and Culture

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2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(3)

 

 

A meditation on the subtle mysteries of a rugged landscape occupied for thousands of years. A subjective and cerebral travelogue to be taken in and digested slowly. The traveller visits the tiniest villages and melencholy ruins; discribing encounters with the inhabitants and recording his moods and dreams. A treat!

I traveled much of Saramago's route over twenty years after he did. I am reading this book six years after my journey. I am delighted with his observations, and amazed at little some things changed in the years between our two journeys--there is timelessness about some of these places. It is, however, difficult reading. His habit of referring to himself as "the traveller" in nearly every other sentence really interrupts the flow and I can not read more than a chapter or two at a time without becoming so annoyed that I set it aside, only to go back to it the next evening. I'm now about three quarters of the way through it and will definitely finish it. Mechanically, it is much more difficult reading than his novels; intellectually, it is much less challenging.

I don't think I would be reading this book if I had not traveled in Portugal, but I wish I had had it with me when I did make that journey. It gives an insight to the people, places, and history that I, as a non-Portuguese speaking foreigner, did not get during my own travels. It is certainly bringing that trip back to me and I'm enjoying his view of the places I went and am regretting missing the places I didn't have time to see. If I am able to make another journey in Portugal, this book will go with me.

I am sure Saramago's tales are more lively than they come across in this book. Although I'm certain it was translated with care, the third-person narrative doesn't quite do it in English. I wish I had bought the Portuguese book and worked my way through, it is surely more lyrical and less clunky than this version.

I eventually struggled through to the end of "Journey to Portugal", more as a duty than a pleasure. After the first third, the sameness of the descriptions of churches, buildings and art works became a bit boring.

Sarmago certainly writes with insights that would resonate with readers who are familiar with the history, culture and art works of Portugal. I am not, so many of Saramago's allusions and comments on the churches and buildings he saw were opaque to me.

Having read (and reviewed) "Seeing", "Blindness" and "The Cave" by Saramago, I was a little disappointed at first with "Journey to Portugal". However, my disappointment was relieved by beautiful passages sprinkled through the text.

Saramago was born in Portugal and won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1998. "Journey to Portugal" is nominally a travel book, but of a special kind: it describes spiritual as well as spatial journeys.

The book is written in the third person, with Saramago referring to himself throughout as "the traveller".

Reflective travellers will understand when Sarmago says "...when the street descends once more to the old cathedral so does the rain; it overflows the gutters and, as one idea follows another, the traveller remembers how the waters of the Minho ran down the hard shoulders beside the street, how small the world is, all its memories jumbled together in the minimal space inside the traveller's head."

He also gives beautiful little word pictures of the lives and people he encountered on his journey. These are the real gems in this book, and why it is worth reading.

In one especially memorable story ("The Man Who Could Not Forget") Saramago gets into conversation with the waiter at dinner about his travel plans and learns that the waiter was born in Cidadelhe, one of the small, remote villages Saramago plans to visit.

Many years ago, when the waiter was a child, his sick young sister died on the way to get medical help, because none was available in their impoverished village. The waiter has never forgotten this family tragedy. His emotions are still raw as he talks to Saramago, who asks the waiter to come with him to the village and show him where he lived.

Saramago concludes thus: "The traveller returns to his room. He spreads out his big map on the bed and looks for Pinhel. There it is, and the road which heads off into the hills. At some point in this space a seven-year-old girl died; then the traveller finds Cidadelhe, on the heights, between the Rivers Coa and Massueime, it really is at the ends of the earth, the end of life. If there is no one to remember."

The book resonated with me for another reason. To quote Saramago: "The traveller preferred to admire the late afternoon gazing down towards the River Torto . . . . and then spent a long while leaning back against a wall . . . because from behind it there wafted the most exquisite perfume of flowers . . ."

Far too often in our travels we are driven onwards by an inexorable schedule that allows little time to stop and actually enjoy moments such as Saramago describes.

Those who have some affection for Portugal (like myself) will enjoy this book. It is not a travel book, rather, it's a collection of thoughts and rather low-key experiences that the author has while traveling through his country. The travels, and the writing of the book, took place over twenty years ago, and many changes have taken place since that time. Nonetheless it is still an interesting portrait of a place that I find fascinating.

This is Jose Saramago's spiritual journey through (primarily rural) Portugal. It's not a light-reading travel narrative. The feeling of this book is something of a cross between Henry Adams and James Michener. It's a book to read slowly and savor, in order to appreciate Saramago's tremendous metaphorical skill. He paints the picture slowly, with deliberate brush-strokes that reveal the masterpiece when viewed from a distance.

Yes, his descriptions of churches, winding roads, rain and his seemingly unconscious cultural insecurity (his came from a poor family and was not a university graduate) can become tedious, but that's only if you don't grasp the larger picture: Portugal is a settled land with hundreds of years of historic layers. Saramago wants to peel those layers back for you to expose the core. Only the reader can decide if he's been successful.

We fell under Lisbons spell last April, so wanted more info on the magic. This step by step Journey might be perfect to carry along, but too much detail on streetlamps and doorways to read from afar. And very little about Lisbon. Written in 1990 by a native Portuguse the prose sounds more 19thc. Perhaps it suffers in Translation to English.

Understandably, this book will be difficult reading for many American readers. It is not filled with action, sex, violence, or touristic visions. It is neither efficient nor pragmatic. Nevertheless, Jose Saramago is a Nobel Prize Winner for good reason. He writes with a depth of feeling and intense love that cannot be missed. The translation loses, as most translations do, the poetic passions of the author. However, if one can accept a very different style of writing, one that is decidedly not British nor American, this work will indeed be a journey.

I am reading this book and am laboring through it hoping it will get to something interesting or useful because I am planning on traveling through Portugal later this year. So far it has been very boring. I don't get a great insight of Portugal's history or culture. It is mostly a travelogue of his town by town personal encounter with little to relate. So far its been very disappointing and I feel like its a waste of time.

I picked up, Journey to Portugal, excited to find hidden treasures from Jose Saramango's expertise on his native soil, instead it was a flop.

My expectations were high because Portugal has such a rich history of intrigue within its borders. Instead Saramango's reference to its Jewish and Moorish past was nonexistent. This is shocking knowing that he has won a Nobel Prize in literature. Yet the past in which Portugal was framed like its other Iberian neighbor was purposefully withheld?

A man of letters such as Saramango must realize that this past, as dark as it might be, should be addressed. Instead only a few lines were devoted to its Jewish and Moorish heritage as if to say, "ah, they(the Jews and Moors) did not make a big difference here"

Mr. Saramango, this is what makes Portugal what it is, your dark past, surely you of all men should know that.

You should know that the Inquisition, persecuted men as yourself, men of letters, who were associated with Judaism! Men who escaped their past by becoming adroit at wielding letters, instead of swords. Where is your honra Senor?

In my humble estimation this book is as worthless as rags.