‘God bless sedation’

Walking the knifeÂ’s edge of existing and not is a real existential battlefield (thank you all for existing, by the way), particularly for those really keyed in on the pulse of living and the narrator of Permafrost, the first novel by Catalan writer Eva Baltasar (gorgeously and affectionately translated by Julia Sanches) after an impressive collection of 10 volumes of poetry, recounts her own struggles with this. The permafrost of the title is the cold layer between her and the world around her, a buffer against the harsh winds of reality that threaten to tear apart a mind as viciously as the world can a body. But eventually we must all wake up from our chosen methods of sedation and embrace life before it passes through us, to make our meaning and integrate into a great emotional current of lives if we want to stave off the loneliness. Told in a glorious mess of brief vignettes that cluster and spread across the narratorÂ’s life, Permafrost goes through visions of suicide, sexual coming-of-age, torrid love affairs, trifling employment and more, gathering a huge emotional impact in a character study that barely surpasses 100 pages. Gallows humor comes alive through BaltasarÂ’s gorgeously poetic style in this slim novel that is a barrage of experiences blowing in the breeze of time, reflecting the narratorÂ’s own tumultuous travels at the whims of life.

Cue up the song Serotonin by Girl in Red because not only was it the song I was low key obsessed with while reading this book, it makes a perfect soundtrack to a review of this book since it feels such companion to it both emotionally and lyrically.

This is such a story of the somatic and sensual for a book primarily centered in cerebral struggles. And for a novel where suicide is central, Baltasar never trips up into problematic territory around glorification of suicide ideation. And even though much of the dark humor is directed at her distaste for living or the many ways she talks herself down from death (the train is too long for a good jump death, her body would look too out of place dying on the perfect lawn, etc) it always feels comforting instead of mocking. Anyone who has had these dark moments will ly find solace in her depictions instead of grimness, discomfort or offense. Coupled with an empowerment for LGBTQ identities, Baltasar comes to you a needed hug and companion you can laugh off your troubles with. Much the Serotonin song, itÂ’s comforting to talk about your struggles with someone who shares them. IÂ’ve been led to believe that's how group therapy works.

Permafrost takes inspiration from an assignment from Baltasar’s therapist. She was instructed to journal her life and after finding much joy in styling her inner thoughts she began to blend it with fiction and thus this novel was born. Planned as the first in a loose trilogy of books about the female experience, Permafrost is a darkly delightful collection of thoughts from a wonderfully caustic, lesbian narrator as she struggles with the everydays of life. She figures herself the outcast of her family and much of the book deals with interpersonal struggles with her mother and sister. Her mother, she fears, finds her as a wasted talent who does not live up to expectations. Meanwhile her sister is hellbent on living the hetero dream of marriage and family and is only supportive to a point. ‘My sister can’t help but picturing herself as the lead role in a popular TV series,’ the narrator tells us, ‘Playing the sister of the lesbian is quite the role; it offers a seal of respectability.’ This respectability is not extended to the narrator, however, as the sister scoffs at the idea of the narrator raising her children in the probably unly chance of her death because they would need ‘real’ parents, a mom and dad, not a lesbian couple. Which, ouch. The limits to many’s proximity to an LGBTQ aquaintence often ends at the image of allyship and not actual affirmation.

‘Some individuals,’ the narrator says, ‘can only grow as amputations.’ She places herself outside of everyone around her, feeling pushed away as much as she pushes away. Which is easy to (unfairly) criticize someone for, as the impetus stems from her desire to push herself away from herself. Her desire to end cerebral despair through corporal violence keeps the reader in constant tension, uncomfortable in the knowledge she is always teetering on the edge and builds an empathy to the narrator. It is tragic to watch as you just want to validate her, but also in the knowledge that a solipsistic narration ends the moment the narrator does. If she closes the book of her life, the novel ends and the very slimness of the volume you hold in your hand suddenly seems foreshadowing disaster.

The novel is rather fragmentary and jumps around the timeline, keeping us in a disarray grasping to piece together a life much how the narrator feels about it. Though wondering when events take place in relation to each other isn't anything to fuss over, the narrator certainly wouldn't, and the chaos of the ride is half the joy. We watch her travel to different countries, work as an au pair, a language teacher, but mostly sit around reading books She especially enjoys being an au pair as she can read in peace while the children are away at school, ordering long volumes of philosophy for the most reading time for her money, one of the many humorous scenarios showing the great efforts she undertakes to avoid making much of an effort in life.

(If we are keepin with the Girl in Red musical theme, at this point you should throw on I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend.)

As is cliche of an inwardly struggling individual, she is quite hilarious to counteract the darkness. The prose in this novel is so absolutely beautiful, which captures the ironic beauty of darkness, feeling so yourself the closer you are to destruction. It is clear Baltasar is an accomplished poet from her surprising yet poignant metaphors and observations, with sentences waltzing in directions you’d never expect but are glad for the journey. To be frank, a good portion of the novel is sexual and the narrator is always willing to follow a sexual whim to it’s climax. But in these moments of vulnerability we see her perspective on herself at its most pure, watching her dismiss herself even at the heights of being and always self-sabotaging. ‘My entire body is a stick of hot, dense chewing gum tailored to her every cavity’ she says after a day of sex with a French woman she sees as the pinacle of desirability. The metaphor (is it supposed to be sexy?) of oneself as chewed gum, a fleeting pleasure to be mashed, is a sharp insight into her self-image and is the mental-health compass to navigate her reasoning for turning down a marriage proposal from the woman of her dreams.

Something I really love about this publisher, And Other Stories, is that they give space to the translators to speak about their work. Translation is amazing, friends, and its a work of art in its own way. Nothing but love to translators and Julia Sanches is phenomenal. Not only is her afterword extremely well written, but it gives a unique insight into the psyche of this novel. She examines the way she translated it similarly to a work of poetry and discusses the way words have different connotative mobility in the culture of their own languages. ‘What should I prioritize,’ she asks when considering how to navigate the prose, ‘Does the image take precedence over the music, or do I do my best to maintain both? To what do I owe my contentious fidelity?’ There is a great breakdown on the choices made to arrive at the line from Catalan to English ‘I felt smaller and smaller by the day, next to her nothing but a frilly kitchen curtain,” and also a really insightful defence on using a fairly taboo c-word for the purpose of faithful adaptation. Also, she mentions the novels she read alongside her work to better inform her translation methods, listing Bluets, My Private Property, Good Morning, Midnight, the Anaïs Nin diaries, and the entirety of the brilliance that is Anne Carson as adjacent to this book. Publishers, allow space for this more. This brief essay would be incredible on its own and translation insights are so lovely to have as well as it is cool to credit and give voice to the many people who work to make a novel happen.

Darkly funny and distinctly human, Permafrost is a slim joy of a novel. The ending is abrupt and shocking, particularly following a segment that feels akin to the latter portion of No One is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood, shocking us into life and humming with purpose all around us. Baltasar is an incredible writer, overflowing with poetry that makes the prose happen so effortlessly and effectively. As she credits at the beginning of the book, thank you to poetry ‘for permitting it.’

4/5

Don't just take my word for it, also check out Emily's amazing review!2021 catalan lgbtq274 s5 comments David300 1,172

Permafrost is first-person fiction at its most raw, a savage take on everything from family to relationships to sex from its cynical narrator. The unnamed narrator, a lesbian in early adulthood, finds release in sex and reading while also navigating depression and thoughts of suicide. BaltasarÂ’s voice here is unique, with crisp and cutting sentences that convey the urgency of the narratorÂ’s precarious existence. Translated by Julia Sanches and published by And Other Stories.fiction-queer150 s Orsodimondo [part time reader at the moment]2,287 2,159

LA SOCCOMBENTE


Margo Ovcharenko: Rita with a Cigarette, 2009. Sono sue anche le foto a seguire.

Thomas Bernhardt abita qui. In tutte queste scarse centocinquanta paginette. Non solo nellÂ’epigrafe:
Essere partoriti è un’infelicità, diceva, e fintanto che viviamo che viviamo ci portiamo appresso questa infelicità.
E, come sempre nelle persone che non sono innamorate della vita, che non la considerano un bene in sé, pulsa anche tanta capacità di sorridere e ridere. Tanta ironia, accanto al desiderio di morte, quasi a marcare distanza dal magma della sofferenza, dal peso dell’esistenza.



Eva senza nome - perché l’io-narrante rimane sempre innominato, o meglio, innominata, ma è automatico percepire che la distanza tra lei ed Eva (nel senso di Baltasar) è poca - si racconta, a brevi capitoli, avanti e indietro nel tempo, senza filo logico o cronologico: in qualche modo si lascia seguire dai suoi venti ai suoi quarant’anni, dalla laurea alla disoccupazione, ai lavori e lavoretti inventati, ai tanti amori, tutti rigorosamente lesbici – e qui parentesi: niente sofferenza nell’essere omosessuale, niente difficoltà, ma piuttosto baldanza – numerosi, tanti, notti intere di sesso, più che amore, perché alla coppia, al legame, ancor più al vincolo matrimoniale, la nostra è allergica come lo è il manzo alla picana.




Si parla e ragiona di vita e morte, di suicidio, con idee scartate e tentativo abortito, di assenza di sogni progetti prospettive.
Il modo di affrontare l’esserci, di arginare l’esistere, per la nostra è così racchiuso:
Dovevo solo lasciarmi vivere senza opporre resistenza, come farebbe un rametto marcio lungo il fiume, senza altre pretese che filare via accogliendo ogni cambio di direzione, accettando lÂ’usura.
Baltasar viene dalla poesia, qui è alla sua prima prova narrativa. E fa centro. E io immagino che leggerò anche quello dopo, Boulder.

spagnola110 s Fionnuala814 Read

This morning, during the time I'd set aside to review Eva Balthasar's Permafrost, I stumbled on an article by Alberto Manguel on the subject of translation, and in particular on translation from Spanish to English. Now I know that Eva Balthasar wrote Permafrost in Catalan and not Spanish but Catalan must surely be closer to Spanish than to English? Anyway, the reason I mention Manguel's article is that I've seen criticisms of Permafrost along the lines of 'over-written', 'florrid', 'too many adjectives', you get the picture.

But Manguel says that one of the big differences between Spanish and English is in the amount of adjectives and adverbs used. He says a text in Spanish might be called 'purple prose' if judged by English standards. He talks in terms of the Baroque for Spanish and the Reformation for English, implying Spanish is about 'highly decorative' and English about 'plain'. He also mentions the challenge that a translator faces in rendering Spanish into English: he thinks you have to choose between focussing on offering a version of the experience of hearing the sounds and rhythms of the sentences in the original or offer a text that's purely about delivering meaning.

In the afterword to Permafrost, translator Julia Sanches tells us that Eva Balthasar's only condition for any issues that might occur in the translation was that the word in question be replaced with one that was similarly stressed or unstressed, as the case may be. What mattered was how each word affected the music of the sentence, what this music conveyed, and how the music delivered up the image to the reader. An example,
Catalan: "Jo em sentia cada dia empetida, reduida, a una cortineta de cuina al seu costat."
My [Julia Sanches's] translation: "I felt smaller and smaller by the day, next to her but a frilly kitchen curtain."
Julia Sanches then explains how the sentence works in Catalan, how it ushers us forward via the end rhymes (ee-ah, ee-ah, ee-dah, ee-dah) of the first clause as they flow into the head rhymes of the second (coo, coo, coo), and come to a sudden and dry stop.

So it's as if Sanches has chosen the first of Manguel's options, and offers us a version of the experience of hearing the sounds and rhythms of the sentences in the original rather than focussing purely on delivering meaning. She doesn't worry about whether we can relate to someone feeling a frilly kitchen curtain or not (though to her it's clear: the narrator feels overly transparent and kind of pointless in comparison to the person she's talking about). Instead, Sanches tries to give us her version of the music of Balthasar's writing.

She mentions the words 'versioning' and 'againing' as possible equivalents for the word 'translating', and she quotes the translator and novelist Kate Briggs (whose book on translation, This Little Art I read recently) on this subject: some new thing starts to get made in the frame of againness; something that is of the original, yes, but that would extend beyond the reach of it, the purview of it, since it is being made by someone else, by me now, and will be read, perhaps, by some or many others...

So we the readers have a role too when it comes to translation. It seems to me that reading in translation is very traveling beyond my own country's borders and being exposed to art and architecture from different cultures and time periods. Judging new places I visit by the standards of my own place would limit me and make me poorer. Instead, travelling and reading in translation makes me a thousand times richer.

Â…Â…Â…Â….Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…

I read Eva Balthasar's Boulder recently. It is the middle book of a triptych of which Permafrost is the first volume. The two books are very different.
Permafrost has a young and volatile narrator, and her voice seems deliberately over the top as she highlights both the most comic and the most tragic aspects of her experiences, and uses a lot of odd and original similes, and metaphors—such as the one Julia Sanches mentioned in the Afterword.
Boulder's slightly older narrator seems more stable and centered, and I loved the richness and depth of her narrative voice which was less loaded with image-inducing language.
There is nothing to indicate that the two narrators might be earlier and later versions of the same person but nothing to rule it out either.
I'm glad I read both books and will definitely seek out the third when it is translated.memorable-21st-century-books translated-from-catalan93 s58 comments julieta1,221 29.6k

Más que leerlo, me devoré esta maravilla. ¿De dónde salió esta mujer? Humor negro, muerte, familia, ironía, sexualidad, suicidio, en fin, trata mil temas, y los toca como de pasada, pero siempre con una mirada contundente, una mujer buscándose a sí misma en un mundo tan blando y bienpensante.
Me encantó.europa women67 s Repellent Boy526 559

Ya me declaro fan de esta señora, es una maravilla como escribe. La historia es narrada en primera persona por una protagonista deprimida, a la que le cuesta (o no quiere) relacionarse con el exterior y que constantemente fantasea con la idea del suicidio. Con esta premisa, cabría pensar que es un libro complicado de leer, pero nada más lejos de la realidad. Además de ser super corto, la pluma de la escritora es adictiva. Un ejemplo perfecto de que se puede escribir maravillosamente bien, sin ser pedante.

He disfrutado mucho de los diferentes personajes, que están tan bien creados. Por una parte, la protagonista tiene ese punto introvertido, que no quiere experimentar apego hacia los demás y frustra esto en el sexo. También nos encontramos con su hermana, que detrás de su aparente positivismo extremo, se esconde una adicción a los medicamentos. Por último tenemos a la madre de estas dos, controladora y egocéntrica, que vive para conseguir que sus hijas cumplan los objetivos que ella considera importantes.

Empaticé mucho con el personaje principal, ya que aún siendo dura su situación, el tono irónico de ella lo hacía terriblemente ameno y te hace comprenderla perfectamente. El final me dejó con la boca abierta hasta el suelo. Y lo mejor es que parece que Eva Baltasar quiere explorar el tema en otras dos historias, y una de ellas ya está publicada, así que en breve estaré con ella.2010-2019 espana europa ...more64 s Justo Martiañez447 165

Jaja, no tengo muy claro lo que he leído. Estoy dudando entre 1 y 5 estrellas.

Voy a intentar ordenar las ideas. Cosas que tengo claras.

¿Me ha gustado el estilo? no demasiado. Cómo podría definirlo: directo, agresivo, sincero, como un derechazo a la mandíbula. Pero está bien escrito, sin duda.

¿Me ha gustado lo que se trata en el libro? A ver, Justo, primero ¿Te has enterado de qué va esto?
-Tengo claro que el tratamiento del suicidio es uno de los ejes de la trama: Brutal, impactante, difícil de digerir para el que no haya pasado por esto directamente o en su entorno. Felizmente no es mi caso.
-El otro eje es la libertad sexual, la homosexualidad: quitando que algunos pasajes parecen cuasi pornográficos, me ha llegado e impactado. Nos presenta una visión poderosa y novedosa, sin tapujos.
-Otro eje más pequeñito (o no): el futuro de la juventud, el futuro laboral, económico, su integración en la sociedad.
-Mas cosas, la maternidad: las dificultades, renuncias y sufrimientos que acarrea. Esa visión edulcorada que se nos presenta, está muy alejada de una realidad en la que la conciliación es cada vez más difícil (de esto si entiendo un poco).
¿Más? Si, todavía hay más temas subyacentes por ahí pululando: la familia, las relaciones con los padres, con los hermanos, con los sobrinos......y más si eres el hermano/a, hijo/a, sobrino/a, tío/a homosexual.....

Menos de 140 páginas y mucho contenido. No se merece 1 estrella. La forma de contarlo y el estilo, me ha chocado demasiado. Lo dejamos en 3 estrellas. Aprobado alto.

Libro de alto voltaje, no te lleva mucho tiempo de lectura y puede sorprenderte hasta cotas inesperadas.

Permafrost: "terreno que haya permanecido congelado durante al menos dos años y está conformado por tierra, rocas y sedimentos amalgamados en un todo por el hielo, el cual actúa como cemento" : ¿La piel que protege a la protagonista de sus obsesiones, de sus pensamientos, de su entorno?...y ¿que pasa si empieza a descongelarse, a debilitarse?47 s2 comments Paul FulcherAuthor 2 books1,523

Translation longlisted for the 2022 Oxford-Weidenfeld Prize

To be born is to be unhappy, he said, and as long as we live we reproduce this unhappiness.
THOMAS BERNHARD, THE LOSER

Any novel that begins with an epigraph from Bernhard goes straight to the top of my to-read pile.

Permafrost is Julia SanchesÂ’s translation of Eva BaltasarÂ’s Catalan original Permagel, and published by the wonderful small press And Other Stories

And Other Stories publishes some of the best in contemporary writing, including many translations. We aim to push peopleÂ’s reading limits and help them discover authors of adventurous and inspiring writing.

Sanches also translates from Portuguese and Spanish, such as another And Other Stories book in 2021, Slash and Burn, and provides an illuminating afterword.

As the novel’s English blurb accurately describes, Permafrost’s “no-bullshit lesbian narrator is an uninhibited lover and a wickedly funny observer of modern life.” Her story is told, over just 111 pages (a shining example to all novelists), in fragmentary non-linear vignettes.

The narrator is often acerbic and irreverent, although at times her permafrost shell cracks, often suicidal (but more in her fantasies than reality where she is foiled by do-gooders: The world is full of unscrupulous people certified in first aid), and, un the typical Bernhardian narrator, not at all monomaniacal, rather the opposite as her aims in life and her lovers change as frequently as the short chapters. At one point, while she is unclear how to make a living, a friend tells her:

“Why not work as an au pair for a year?” Now I remember, it was Jovana who said it, also that thing about having a “degree in sitting on a couch all day twiddling your thumbs.” “What can I say, I reading,” I said. “So go work as an au pair. You can read all day long.” Jovana assured me that all I would have to do was take the kids to school, and some light dusting. I might even be given a small salary. Maybe, I thought. Sure, maybe.

Doubt: the rift through which the world's heat slips in, a brazen violation of the permafrost.

She goes rather randomly from her home town of Barcelona to a remote small town in Scotland (on another occasion she goes to live in Brussels simply because “a city whose symbol is a little boy pissing was a city I knew I would ”) for an au-pair role which initially, living up to Jovana’s advance billing, she enjoys so much that she fantasises about crippling one of the children to prolong the family’s need for her assistance - these thoughts are so soothing, I don’t need to act on them,

But then she becomes oppressed by the endless greenery:

This green is indulgent and verges on offensive. It visually assaults me Matisse's red table, except without the ensuing peace and child calm. It annoys me to have my deep-seated love for Matisse compromised by an unsettling coat of green. Green permeates my body a horse shot; it rises a suffocating tide, floods every cavity, and colonizes the most fertile parts of my ego. I have the frightening urge to end this relentless unease by leaping out of the window. A lousy idea —the window isn't far enough from the ground. A death on damp garden tiles doesn't really appeal to me. I can't stomach the thought of a slug accidentally trailing its miserable life over my miserable death, or of using my dying breath to gnaw on fragments of death, or of using my dying breath to gnaw on fragments of words as leftover thoughts gush down my forehead in plain sight and my eyes take on the sympathetic look of a server at a late-night bar.

A week later, I go home.

Although home is to a spare room in the house or her avowedly heteronormative sister, one who regards coke as a drug - coca-cola that is not the Class A substance. And itÂ’s in passages this where the narratorÂ’s acerbic humour comes to the fore:

‘So, what’s it with a woman? In bed, I mean.’ It’s half-past twelve and it’s taken my sister two whole servings of almond chicken and fried rice to let her hair down. Or maybe it was the Coke. She hasn’t had any in more than three years. Slow-acting poison, she calls it. But tonight is special. Not everybody has a lesbian sister to comfort them after a breakup. Tonight’s heart-to-heart will be a real treat – irresistibly modern, maybe even obscene. My sister can’t help picturing herself as the lead in a popular TV series. Playing the sister of the lesbian is quite the role; it offers a seal of respectability. ‘Do you want Nestea?’ I ask her before dinner. She throws me a thunderous look, as if she’d just decided to go into business with the Mafia. ‘Screw it, I’ll have the Coke!’ she says, thrilled. Screw it! ‘Careful it doesn’t go to your head. You’re not used to such strong beverages.’ My sister doesn’t know her way around a can, so I transfer the Coke into a tall glass that she takes from my hands with a wanton gleam in her eye. The poor thing feels funny, she’s used to getting her beauty sleep. But great things are afoot!

And yet her permafrost cracks a little when she ends up sitting beside her sisterÂ’s first daughter night after night in hospital, while her sister nurses her new baby. But she still decides that when the girl is better she will finally go through with her plans.

At first the end of the novel, that follows immediately after, felt a bit disappointing to me - something already prefigured in the narratorÂ’s fantasies comes to pass - although on reflection it makes for a satisfying close to this phase of the narrator's life, and also is open to interpretation as to whether this is actually just another fantasy:

Even though IÂ’m single, even though IÂ’m gay, even though IÂ’m suicidal. Auntie is a responsible person now. This morning I made myself some fresh orange juice and washed it down with pills. I smile without crying. Smiling this thaws the permafrost. The violin plays on. Families huddle villages under siege. But the savagery that stalks and besieges us - is life.

4 stars

Extract:
https://www.andotherstories.org/wp-co...2021 bernhardian38 s Alwynne734 969

The first in a planned trilogy exploring facets of three contemporary women’s lives, Permafrost’s a wonderfully wry, fiercely intimate, exploration of its heroine’s existential dilemmas. It’s episodic but composed in flowing, rhythmic prose that recalls Baltasar’s background as an established poet. The narrator of Baltasar’s debut novel’s drifting: she’s content buried in a book; she hates relationships but she loves to fuck, satisfying her cravings with an array of women, a way to stave off otherwise obsessive thoughts of suicide. She’s learnt how to project a suitably conventional exterior, protected behind her very own layer of permafrost but she can’t figure out how to thrive or even survive in a society where medication – self or otherwise – is rapidly becoming the only way for people to get through the day. But this isn't an unrelentingly downbeat emotional drama, Baltasar’s keenly aware that the bleak’s often partner to the absurd - after reading this it makes perfect sense that she opens with lines from Thomas Bernhard and cites Sylvia Plath as one of her favourite authors. Passages outlining the central character’s thwarted suicide plans read an extended, sardonic riff on Dorothy Parker’s famous verse: she contemplates throwing herself under a train but it’s too long; she ponders launching herself off a building but that might squash one of the cats swarming in the streets below; and her vision of an aesthetically-pleasing, candlelight exit’s marred by the wrong type of razor and a mouldy shower curtain. I was totally immersed in Baltasar’s narrative throughout, although I’m still trying to work out how I feel about her choice of ending, seen from one perspective it’s moving and powerful but viewed more cynically it comes dangerously close to contrived. Julia Sanches’s translation is convincingly fluid, and her afterword presents a fairly compelling argument for the decisions she’s made here. and-other-stories contemporary-fiction memorable-2021 ...more36 s Malacorda536 298

Preso solo perché attratta dal titolo, non avevo idea di cosa avrei potuto trovarci. E per stavolta ci ho trovato soddisfazione, non era solo uno specchietto per le allodole.
Proprio scritto bene: giusti i toni, giusti i tempi, non una parola fuori posto. L'accostamento dei temi erotismo e morte è studiato in modo da non risultare mai pacchiano (anche la brevità del testo contribuisce a ciò).
Narrazione cristallina, argomentazioni politically incorrect, con humour nero ma anche cinismo e finanche quasi strafottenza: è il racconto di una vita che non vorrebbe doversi sottomettere alla necessità della menzogna e che tuttavia si scontra con le mille assurdità del mondo moderno che impongono invece menzogna a tutto spiano. "Permafrost" perché vivere senza la intima convinzione o l'intimo istinto ad adattarsi alle necessità del mondo d'oggi, richiede a prescindere una corazza solidissima e non scalfibile da chicchessia. Se la corazza di ghiaccio sia naturale o costruita a posteriori, quella è un'altra questione.
Finale difficilmente classificabile: lo si può vedere come positivo o negativo a seconda da quale parte si voglia girare la frittata, di sicuro giunge inaspettato.
Come tipo di romanzo, nel mio immaginario scaffale tematico lo catalogherei a metà strada tra due che mi sono piaciuti molto: La vita in tempo di pace di Pecoraro e Caos Calmo di Veronesi.

Giorni fa qualcuno ha messo un , facendo così tornare a galla una mia recensione a L'acquaiola della Russo, recensione in cui mi lamentavo della banalità di tutti questi personaggi femminili che sono sempre più-tutto e superlativi in tutto: questo invece - e per fortuna - è un bellissimo esempio di personaggio femminile diverso dal solito stereotipo e dalle solite fregnacce.

Non arrivo alle cinque stelle piene solo perché nella seconda metà ho trovato che un paio di capitoli non fossero così perfettamente dosati e centrati come gli altri, comunque le quattro stelle e mezza sono il minimo, meritatissime, libro consigliatissimo.34 s Paula Mota1,196 381

Tenho um bom revestimento, impermeável como o dos navios, mas não é mentira, não: a dureza do gelo preserva o mundo habitável, só que este adormeceu.

Gostei muito da voz da narradora de “Permafrost”, este aparente bloco de gelo que tem dificuldade em relacionar-se com a sua família, em entregar-se plenamente às suas parceiras, em seguir uma carreira, em estabelecer-se num local, em suma, em fazer aquilo que a sociedade espera dela.

No que diz respeito à minha ocupação actual, acho que a minha mãe está satisfeita. A menina mais velha tinha-lhe saído esquiva como uma enguia, mas, por fim, parece que “assentou”. Para dizer a verdade, se assentar for precisamente isto, acho que vou precisar de drogas muito, muito duras para manter a minha cabeça em silêncio e quieta na sua gaiola.

Com uma licenciatura que de pouco lhe serve e perante o iminente despejo do apartamento que subaluga como meio de subsistência, a jovem narradora sente-se verdadeiramente perdida e sempre com aquele pensamento insidioso a bichanar-lhe ao ouvido.

Pensei em trabalhar como modelo na faculdade de Belas-Artes. Será que aceitariam desenhar-me nua num sofá? A ler? Era a única maneira que me passava pela cabeça de manter o meu estilo de vida. Tratava-se de um pensamento irracional, mas era tão real! Durante uns minutos foi a única solução. Ou isso ou saltar pela varanda. Logo agora que não pensava nesse assunto a sério. Com a sorte que tinha, de certeza que esmagava um gato.

Eva Baltasar criou uma protagonista lésbica que fala de sexo de forma despudorada e do suicídio com um humor negro a raiar a morbidez, numa constante luta entre Eros e Thanatos, em que a vontade de viver para ler, viajar e fazer sexo ultrapassa a vontade de morrer, já que esta me parece mais uma intelectualização da dor, uma construção, do que um verdadeiro desespero, um impulso incontrolável.

Penso muito em sexo, mas também penso em alturas, em linhas de comboio, em giletes, em canivetes suíços e facas de cozinha, em barbitúricos, em piscinas e em banheiras, em ácidos, psicopatas assaltantes, bandeiras e semáforos vermelhos.

A proposta desta colecção da Faktoria K é realmente interessante: autores portugueses traduzidos para espanhol e outros tantos espanhóis traduzidos para português, entre os quais espero voltar a ver Eva Baltasar, já que “Permafrost” integra uma trilogia, toda ela protagonizada por mulheres solitárias com estilos de vida alternativos.

A liberdade da morte é um slogan muito bom e adoro slogans.30 s3 comments Ana Cristina Lee713 304

Sobrevalorat? No ho sé, el cert és que Eva Baltasar escriu com els àngels, amb una prosa poètica molt treballada que flueix amb facilitat i et transporta d’una manera que has de continuar llegint. A les primeres línies ja et queda clar que no és un llibre més que parla de vivències intimistes, sinó que té l’alè de la bona literatura.

Bellesa en la forma que he trobat a faltar en el contingut. La protagonista - i la història - m’ha semblat freda, esquerpa, potser de manera voluntària per emmirallar aquest permagel que l’envolta. Els altres personatges no tenen massa entitat, són més aviat com titelles al servei de la seva tesi, que resumint seria ‘Quin fàstic tot!’. De fet, és un llarg monòleg interior, un seguit de petites anècdotes sense ordre temporal, que van configurant el perfil d’aquesta dona lesbiana que està obsessionada amb el suidici perquè no troba el seu lloc en la societat heteropatriarcal. M’estalviaré el comentari de que aquesta noia no sap el què és tenir problemes de veritat, perquè cadascú se sap lo seu, però n’hi haurà molta gent que ho pensarà.

A veure, que a mi m’encanta aquest tipus de crítica total que posa de caps per avall tots els conceptes establerts – un tipus de literatura que sobre tot dones estan practicant de manera brillant: per exemple Lectura fácil de Cristina Morales o qualsevol obreta de la reina de la destrucció, Amélie Nothomb. Pero m’agraden perquè el seu nihilisme està ple de moments de bellesa i d’humor que es troba en els llocs més insospitats; això els converteix en cants d’alliberació plens d’esperança.

El que no m’agrada de Permagel es aquesta absència de bellesa, aquesta manca de percepció de les coses bones de la vida per part d’una protagonista tant negada a tot el que no sigui sexe obsessiu. Certament és interessant la descripció que ens fa del progressiu descobriment de la seva identitat sexual, però potser ocupa massa espai en la novel•la i arriba un moment que és allò: ‘val d’acord, de veritat, no cal tanta informació...’.

Però el que menys m'ha conveçut és el final. A la manera de les comèdies hollywoodienses de sobretaula en què un personatge reconegudament bord/borda es veu obligat a tenir cura d’un nen/a i això li canvia radicalment el caràcter i tothom comenta com ha millorat i acaben tots contents – l’escletxa que s’obre finalment al permagel té a veure amb cuidar dels nens, com si les dones no poguessin fer res més amb la seva vida. De veritat, Eva?

De tota manera, continuaré amb Boulder i llegiré tota la trilogia, perquè el talent que hi ha en aquesta petita obra no es troba cada diacontemporánea28 s LolaF399 345

Libro corto que me ha sorprendido mucho, donde me ha gustado el estilo de prosa de la autora.

Narrado en primera persona, en plan monólogo, salpicado de ironía y toques de humor, son como pensamientos o recuerdos que van fluyendo mientras conoces a la protagonista.

*** Ligero spoiler***

Etapas de la vida de una mujer un tanto inestable, con tendencias suicidas, lesbiana, menospreciada o infravalorada por la familia, en especial por una madre que la considera la oveja negra o el patito feo en comparación con su brillante y tradicional hermana: la infancia, la presión de una madre un tanto controladora, el deseo de cambiar algunas cosas -hay una escena con una aguja, jeje-, la identidad sexual y el tipo de relaciones que mantiene la protagonista, ...

Y esa pregunta constante que va surgiendo a lo largo del libro: ¿Cómo es estar con una mujer? ¡No importa! A pesar de lo que digan o piensen algun@s, nuestras tendencias sexuales no nos diferencian/incapacitan . Solo basta con ver el final del libro. Quién se queda con quien.

Valoración: 8/10
Lectura: Agosto 2020agatha-202026 s emily480 355

“I’m an imperfect woman, stiff as licorice, flinty and exasperating as a splinter of rabbit bone wedged between two molars. I hope they find me before the birds spot my eyeballs. Birds have always inspired in me a sort of ancestral terror; their despotic beaks admit no feelings and I have feelings.”
Poetic prose at one of its finest moments. Been a while since I read a whole novel in one go. And/but I have to say that I’m very partial to novels/book with this kind of ‘tone’, and this 'type' of protagonists. In fact, I don’t even the narrator/protagonist, but she makes me laugh, and she makes sickly, jaundice-yellow daisies grow in the cold concrete corners of my heart – so much so that I can almost trick myself into loving her a little (as a beautiful, and harmless illusion).

“I’m a huge fan of cadaverines and putrescines. Decomposing amino acids, a top-notch source of life!... Tonight my sister will eat anything. A blow to the self-esteem leaves a deep but non-lethal wound, a black hole that can suck up scraps of death and memory.”

The plot’s so cleverly composed, and the writing is absolutely marvellous. Every sentence/line in the book is brilliant; no waffles to provoke eye-rolling, and none of that lazy, half-arsed attempts to build momentum/cheap ‘shock value’. To put it very briefly, it’s putting Maggie Nelson and Ottessa Moshfegh into a centrifuge (sprinkled gently with cocaine before serving). But even with the playfulness of the tone/writing, and the darkness of the humour, underneath it all – Baltasar approaches mental health, suicide, and familial/societal issues seriously.

“Who knew, maybe luck was on my side. A death by melanoma was a death worth considering. A word so close to “melomaniac” and “megalomaniac” couldn’t be that bad, a slight etymological violation. “You should make an appointment to see the dermatologist. At a private practice. It’ll have spread to your internal organs by the time you’re seen to at a public clinic.” A sensible idea. I mulled it over for a few days, then made an appointment with a public health physician.”

Julia Sanches – you absolute legend – a fantastic writer/translator – just look at those crazy beautiful lines. It just makes me want to read everything written/translated by Sanches. But that aside, I love how Baltasar sieves social/political satire into her work so cleverly. Not only does it help to highlight the problems and issues in the protagonist’s life, but it also enhances the characterisation, and cheeky plot pattern in the novel. The protagonist fantasises about her own death almost romantically a lot while she deals with her own reality – issues relating to post-grad dread, an unstable mental health, and her relationship with her family (when I was reading it, felt too close for comfort).

“Sex distances me from death, thought it doesn’t bring me closer to life… My life is an accident, predicable and transgressive. It gives no ontological meaning to my existence, but rather occupies it a sentinel, where it grows strong and renders me absolute.”

On top of all that, the protagonist even tries to find ‘love’(mostly a good fuck) time to time – in the most hopeless ways/places – leaving it all to ‘chance’ (a thing which she so passionately embraces while she shoves to the side anything godly/divine). Her lack of care, and frivolous approach led to her not being able to take any of her love affairs seriously. The romantic and sexual relationships described in the novel felt superficial and disconnected, but mostly a very entertaining read. The sex felt as if both partners were objectifying each other (mostly the protagonist; but then again, we only get her perspective of it all), and a lot of it was just a repetitive stretch of pointless pleasures.

““What have you done to your face?” I ask. “Teeth whitening and two chemical peels. It really shows, doesn’t it?” She bares her teeth and smiles a horse. The end result is outstanding, paediatric white up to the canines… Conversations with my sister are a never-ending source of inspiration. I think of Paul Klee’s ‘A Tiny Tale of a Tiny Dwarf’. He probably had a sister mine. A shame I never did get that fine arts degree. I’ve got a sister as untapped as a Christmas hamper at my mother’s house.”

The character and relationship development of the sisters in the novel is brilliant. It reminds me of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag: Scriptures, and Mieko Kawakami’s Breasts and Eggs(I can’t forget the retinol-nipples – an absolute joy to have read). The familial issues/element of the novel is what’s missing in Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation. I think that it’s a brave move to write so intimately and vividly about family relationship considering Baltasar drew inspiration from her own life. This novel is undoubtably a work of art. Maybe not a masterpiece, but very close to one. Read it even for the dark/dry humour alone – it’s worth almost 200 pages of glorious writing. Short chapters too, which is brilliant for someone ( me) who tend to get distracted rather easily.

“Is it possible that the image owed its existence entirely to the musicality of the (Catalan) words? Had that felicitous, musical connection between the words ‘cortineta’ and ‘cuina’ not existed, would the author have arrived at this image at all? If so what should I prioritise? Does the image take precedence over the music, or do I do my best to maintain both? To what do I owe my contentious fidelity?” – Translator’s Notes

I probably wouldn’t have had the pleasure of reading this novel if not for translator’s notes (thank you S.Penkenvich for sharing). The essay itself is a glory of its own. Sanches compares translated literature to music, which I adore. The ‘musicality’ and ‘rhythm’ in the novel were so meticulously put in to place without losing too much in translation (if at all), which I think is extremely admirable. I don’t know if Sanches was mirroring Baltasar’s play with the punctuation (in this novel), or if it is produced from her own creative experimentation of translation – but either way I found it impressive. It creates a pleasing rhythm/movement in the novel that takes the reader through the whole thing without feeling exhausted/distracted. A very easy novel to read in one go. While S. Penkenvich listened to Serotonin by Girl in Read while reading this , my music of choice was Berlioz’s ‘Le Spectre de la Rose’.

This is one of the best creative translation/translated literature I’ve ever read (if not the best); and overall a stunning novel. I how Sanches kept the non-English words in the text. Not once did I have to stop to think about how the story would read better in Catalan. I’m so satisfied with the translation (a rare occasion as I usu. complain a little when it comes to translated novels; is this the curse of being multilingual?). I think a good translator is a ghost – seemingly without the littlest effort, entering and occupying all the literary cracks and spaces that a less experienced/less skilled one can’t.

“Perhaps translation is as much about being a careful reader and having a good ear as it is about the details that settle sand on the seabed of our memories, about the company we choose to keep, and about the place and the moment in time when we go about our craft – word by painstaking word.” – Translator’s Notes emo-bubblegums rec-to-me24 s nastya 390 375

Abandoned at 50%.. of this 140 page long book... because I just can't...
I started this book because Boulder has a long waiting list and this book reminded me why I avoid new releases in literary fiction.

Maybe sheÂ’ll let me make coffee, which she never drinks. Coffee is to her what pork is to Jews.

The best way I can describe it: this is an extremely unfunny version of Fleabag without those dramatic moments or any joke that lands. Our heroine is obsessed with suicide but I guess has too short of attention span to do it, so we get a bit of suicide quirkiness of A man called Ove. We have a ridiculous sister, a ridiculous mother, I think there's aunt (perhaps she becomes ridiculous later) and our main loser, who does what? Reads, has sex and eats her vaginal fluid when she masturbates. What is the point of this I could not tell you. But for what it's worth it's written in a basic language and the book is tiny. I never bail on books under 200 but I don't want to waste my time.

Innocent little seed, in a pee stain, on a piece of toilet paper.

Aptly said!translated under-20023 s18 comments Sara J. 114 518

Querida Eva: vaya jodida maravilla has creado.librosdel201821 s Ada461 259

Quin final més estrany, no?a-veure girls lit-catalana ...more19 s Repix Pix2,287 466

Sobrevalorado.21 s El lector de l'antifaç110 25

Sorprenent i encisador llibre a base de pinzellades de prosa poètica. Una narració crua i altament lúcida.18 s Jenny (Reading Envy)3,876 3,507

In reading this novella based on the writing Eva Baltasar started to do in therapy, then started fictionalizing, then quit therapy - I felt I wasn't reading her best work. Baltasar is known more as a poet, and she writes in Catalan.

For such a short book (128-131 pages depending on who you ask), only 75% of it is the novel, about a suicidal lesbian contemplating the meaning of life and family. Then 10% is the translator's note. Is it weird to say that was my favorite part? I was fascinated by her examples of honoring the original rhythm of Baltasar's sentences, the only requirement of the overseeing editor. SO cool. And her narrative about choosing equivalent body part names not just for meaning but context and use was fascinating!! The last 15% is self-promo on the publisher's behalf. So you can pick this up and find a pretty quick women-in-translation read, but I for one am not satisfied - I'll have to find her poetry in translation if I can.

I had a copy from the publisher through Edelweiss; it came out 20 April 2021.around-the-world ebooks europe-2021 ...more17 s mel434 54

I wanted to start with Permafrost and then continue with Boulder (shortlisted for the 2023 International Booker Prize). Even though the novels are not connected, they are just part of the same trilogy. And now IÂ’m so excited and canÂ’t wait to read Boulder.

»The world is full of unscrupulous people certified in first aid; they’re everywhere, gray and unassuming female pigeons but aggressive mothers.«

Main character is an outcast in her family. She is very direct, and in the blurb, she is described as a »no-bullshit lesbian«. She studied art but didn’t get a job right away. To escape her family and probably also herself, she goes travelling. First she goes to Scotland as an au pair and later to Brussels. Despite the many lovers along the way, she is still very lonely.

Permafrost is a layer of ice that covers her. ItÂ’s a defense mechanism, a shield that protects her from the outside world - the society. And she keeps it frozen. But there are moments when she is aware that some actions make small cracks in her permafrost.

Eva Baltasar explores two pretty opposite forces, body and desire on one side and death and suicidal tendency on the other.

Permafrost is a quick read. I loved the lyrical writing. It’s a short novel with short chapters. At times, it is funny, but it is also sad.16 s Marc PastorAuthor 16 books414

Un cop superats els meus prejudicis contra Permagel (basats en un argument que a priori no m'interessava i el comentari d'algun amic a qui no havia convençut), em rendeixo davant la força de la novel·la d'eva Baltasar.
Plena de troballes, d'imatges vívides, de comparacions enginyoses, d'una fluïdesa excepcional, Permagel t'arrossega on vol.
Si bé no s'emporta una cinquena estrella per dos motius (el fet que no tingui una història sinó que més aviat sigui una radiografia sentimental i un final abrupte que no m'ha fet el pes), he de confessar que la novel·la (o novel·leta) m'ha atrapat com poques.
Un detall: vaig decidir no llegir-la per les nits, quan tinc més temps, abans d'anar a dormir, perquè no volia perdre'm cap de les imatges amb què Baltasar rega el text (algunes més reeixides que d'altres, però d'un gran nivell en la seva majoria). 16 s Iris ? (dreamer.reads)476 994

Que difícil es el momento en el que acabas un libro y decides hablar sobre él. Que difícil es cuando ese libro en cuestión te ha dejado en shock, la mente en blanco y con una incertidumbre que debes reposar. Eso me ha pasado con Permafrost, su título ya me pareció distinto pues no conocía esa palabra pero es totalmente acertada para la novela, para su protagonista. Intentaré hablaros de ella, de lo mucho o poco que sucede en la historia con simples palabras que no logran evocar las múltiples sensaciones que te deja tras su conclusión.

Permafrost podría describirse como un monólogo de una artista que no termina nunca de encajar. Vive a base de leer biografías, no conecta con su familia, ni con sus múltiples amantes. Encuentra en ellas placer pero lo único que hacen es retrasar su objetivo: el suicidio; de eso trata este brillante libro entre cosas.

Lo que más me ha gustado es la exquisita brillantez de la pluma de Eva. ¡Qué maravillosa y qué poética suena! Leer cada capítulo me ha supuesto un extraordinario placer como lectora. Las pequeñas descripciones resultan pequeñas obras de arte que lejos de resultar aburridas enriquecen el libro. He conectado con cada palabra y he echado de menos alguna página extra para disfrutar más de la belleza de sus palabras.

Esta obra es una crítica social y cultural que la autora narra de forma irónica y directa. La dureza que nos relata te deja fría pero a la vez aviva de una manera magistral el corazón. Son demasiados los sentimientos que me han embargado al leerlo y esta reseña no le hace justicia. No me queda más que recomendárosla, leed Permafrost y leed a Eva Baltasar.
favoritos-201915 s Reggie144

No entiendo el fenómeno.15 s Estrella3

Aburridísima, no he conseguido empatizar con los personajes en ningún momento, incluso la protagonista me ha caído bastante mal porque es la típica niña pija que lo único que hace es lamentarse de unos problemas que en realidad no tiene. La lectura consiste en escuchar todo el rato el lloriqueo de una superficial que piensa en suicidarse y en acostarse con chicas porque no tiene nada mejor que hacer. No hay ningún conflicto que justifique tanto drama existencial y tanta tontería, me ponen de los nervios novelas así de vacías que además te las venden como joyas literarias.
14 s Macarena V.119 39

No hemos conectado en ningún momento, el estilo narrativo me ha parecido forzado y contradictorio, la protagonista me ha caído mal y su cinismo sentencioso me ha resultado superficial e incluso absurdo.

Así que no, este libro no es lo mío. 14 s od1_40reads239 74

Throughly enjoyed this one! Not what I was expecting at all. BaltasarÂ’s prose (and of course SanchesÂ’ translation) is hilarious, dry to the bone with razor-sharp wit.

Definitely reading Boulder next!15 s Vaso1,362 196

???? ????????? ?????????????, ?????? ??????? ????? ?? ???????????? ??????. ??? ??????, ??? ??? ????? ??? ???? ???? ?????? ??? ?? ???????????? ??? ?????????? ?????? ???, ??? ??? ??????? ??? ?? ??? ?????? ???? ??????, ????? ??? ??????? ??? ???.
??? ????? ??????? ??? ?????? ??? ?? ?????????, ??? ?? ?????????? ??? ??????, ??? ?????? ?? ?? ?????? ??? ???????? ??? ???? ???????? ???????? ???????????.
??? ??????????? ?? ??? ?? ???? ????????????? ?????...??? ????????? ?? ?????? ???? ???? ?????? ???? ??? ? ??? ??? ??????? ????? ?????. ? ????? ??? ?? ??? ?????? ???, ????? ???? ? ??? ????? ??? ??????? ????? ??? ???? - ??? ?????? ??? ??? ??? ??????, ???? ??? ????????? ?? ?? ????? ???? ???????????? ?? ???? ????. ?? ??????????, ????? ? ???????? ??? ???? ??????? ??? ????? ??? - ? ????? ???.

?? ????? ??????? ??? ????????, ? ?????????? ??? ????????? ?? ?????????? ????? - ??? ?????? ??? ??? ?????????.

??????????? ?? ? ?????? ??? ??? ?????????????? ?????? ? alter ego ???..
????????? ??? ??????????...???? ??? ???? ?? ????? ??? ?????...

3,5 ???????12 s Korcan Derinsu310 133

Permafrost, ismini bilmedi?imiz, intihar e?ilimli, lezbiyen bir anlat?c?n?n hayat hikayesi. Ayn? zamanda da bir üçlemenin ilk kitab?. Yazar, 40 ya?lar?nda olan anlat?c?s?n?n hayat?n? zamanda ileri-geri s?çramalar yaparak, k?sa bölümler halinde -bölük pörçük demek daha do?ru- aktar?yor. Bu tercih karakterin ruh haliyle çok iyi örtü?üyor. Anlat?c?m?z sadece cinsel kimli?inden ötürü de?il mizac?ndan ötürü de dünyayla uyumlu bir karakter de?il. Ba? kurmaktan, birilerine kar?? sevgi beslemekten ya da kendi deyimiyle “kimsenin mutlulu?undan ya da mutsuzlu?undan sorumlu olmak” istemiyor. Bu duru? haliyle bir sürü ac?y? ve varolu?sal sorusunu da beraberinde getiriyor. Çekti?i ac?n?n kar??s?na da ba?ta seks ve edebiyat olmak üzere hazz? koyuyor. Böylece elimizde bir yandan sorular soran, intihar? dü?ünen (buradaki intihar eyleme dönecek türden bir intihardan ziyade hayatla olan ba??n zay?fl??? gibi dü?ünülmeli) bir karakter varken di?er yandan da haz pe?inde ko?an bir karakter oluyor. Bunlar? da aç?k aç?k anlat?yor zaten anlat?c?. Özellikle cinsellikle kurdu?u ba?dan, varolu? sanc?s?na kar?? bedensel hazz? yerle?tirmekten de geri duymuyor. Arada daha derin ba?lar kuracak gibi de oluyor fakat bir noktaya gelince daima kaç?yor. Sanki kendi mutlulu?unu baltalamak istercesine bir tav?r geli?tiriyor. Fakat sonunda o da herkes gibi hayattan kaçam?yor. Do?rusu bu yakla??m? da genel olarak karakterin ta??d??? z?tl?klar? da çok gerçekçi ve etkileyici buldum. Birinci a??zdan anlat?lan bu tarz metinler herkese hitap etmeyebiliyor ya da birçok okuyucu “bana ne bundan?” diyebiliyor. Permafrost için de bunlar geçerli. Herkesi ayn? ?ekilde etkiler mi emin de?ilim ama ben -belki de çevremde benzer insanlar oldu?u için- oldukça sevdim. Üçlemenin di?er kitaplar?n? da muhakkak okuyaca??m.2024 kütüphane12 s Chris509 137

Autor del comentario:
=================================