DOM Casmurro

When a novelist writes from the perspective of an omniscient narrator, it at least creates the illusion that we're hearing a full and fair version of events. But it is a peculiarity of first person narrative that some of the very best and some of the very worst novels which use the technique leave us wondering what the story might sound like from the perspective of a different character. We all assume that Sam Spade and Phil Marlowe are reliable sources on the events they relate, but even if we trust Ishmael, don't we wonder what Ahab's version of the great novel Moby Dick might be ? And when it comes to a dreadful novel like Barbara Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible, one of the most noticeable flaws of the novel is that the villain of the piece is unfairly vilified and we're left wishing he had a voice. Several authors have actually used this idea as a starting point, and in novels like Wide Sargasso Sea, Jack Maggs, and Wicked, have given us alternate versions of classic stories from the perspective of a different character (N.B., yes I'm aware that the source novels for these three are not all told in the first person). These derivative novels are not necessarily effective, Wicked is the only one I'd recommend, but they do reflect a general recognition that, as in real life, even in a fictional story, the narrative of a participant must be suspect, and that our reliance on that narrator may leave us with mistaken impressions. This concept resides deep within our culture: what, after all, is the New Testament but God's recognition that Man has his own side of the story ?In Dom Casmurro (which translates roughly as "Lord Taciturn"), the aged narrator, Bento Santiago (or Bentinho), relates the story of his romance with Capitolina (known as Capitu), his childhood neighbor and sweetheart, in 1850's Brazil. For love of this girl he schemes his way out of seminary and the priesthood, despite his mother's vow that if God would make her child healthy she would see that he became a priest.Though the breaking of this vow is troubling, and Bentinho seeks to rationalize it away, the memoir seems essentially to be a love story. Bentinho and Capitu marry. He has a successful law practice. He's devoted to his mother throughout her life and remains great friends with Escobar, whom he met while attending seminary. After considerable effort, Capitu bears a son and the loving couple's lives seem complete. But gradually certain comments and asides begin to intimate that all is not as it appears.A darkness begins to cloud the previously sunny story. Bentinho reveals a jealous side to his character; at times insanely jealous. He hints that his story is building towards a tragedy. Finally, he even starts to openly identify with Othello. As this transformation proceeds, the reader begins to question the reliability of Bentinho's narration. In particular, thinking back on his descriptions of Capitu we become suspicious of his m

European students of literature usually concentrate on writers from their own continent, with occasional nods across the Atlantic to North America. Americans have a somewhat more respectful attitude to Europe, but that's all. Neither take the rest of the world all that seriously and that's a big mistake. Among the national literatures most consistently ignored, none has more to offer than Brazil's. Four writers stand out to my mind----J.M. Machado de Assis, Jorge Amado, João Guimaraes Rosa, and Euclides da Cunha---but there are many others. Of these four writers, three have written great books that reveal aspects of Brazilian history, society and culture in rich detail. The fourth, Machado de Assis, (1839-1908) the writer under review here, is much more a universal author. You will not learn very much about 19th century Brazil from his works. Of course, a little bit of knowledge will stick to your brain---slaves, Emperor, eyes on European trends, tropical climate---but it's amazing how little atmosphere or description there is. Machado de Assis never wanted to be a realist; he is very far from writers like Balzac or Zola. DOM CASMURRO is divided into 148 chapters. Obviously in a book of 277 pages, each chapter cannot be very long. Machado de Assis uses his chapter titles as part of his work, sources of humor, direction, and irony. The novel is arranged as a memoir written by an embittered man in his sixties about the period of his life from roughly ages 15 to 30. When you begin reading, you think that the theme is "coming of age in Brazil" as the author describes his early romantic attachment to the girl next door and his struggle to avoid the seminary and a priestly future. His family members emerge as complex, interesting and somewhat amusing characters. Machado de Assis is strong on irony, whimsy, and a kind of self-deprecating humor. He also likes creating or using aphorisms and epigrams, of which the novel is full. Slowly he weaves an amazing, complicated story of jealousy and bitterness. Though initially it seemed clear to me that Bento, the main character, was justified in his jealousy of his best friend, the author never takes sides. He allows Bento to write that his wife had betrayed him, but Capitú, the wife, never admits it. On reviewing all the evidence, I have to admit that everything is seen only from Bento's point of view. According to your nature, you will decide yourself on finishing this subtle and well-written classic that deserves a place alongside the best that Europe and America have to offer.

Machado de Assis is probably one of the most underrated authors literature departments around the US-and other countries-have (not) encountered. He is an absolute requirement for anyone who wishes to consider him/herself well-read. Called "Othello of the Southern Cross" by Helen Caldwell (who wrote the excellent The Brazilian Othello of Machado de Assis-A Study of Dom Casmurro, Berkeley:University of California Press, 1960) this narrative is, among other things, about a man's weakness and fear before the possibility of living life fully (see chapter called 'Are you Scared?). There is a fascinating element of vicariousness- the way Bento Santiago (Saint and Iago, as Caldwell cleverly points out) projects his guilt, sexuality, desires and ambition upon Capitu, and Escobar... For those who missed the point (reader from NY- give it another try) I recommend a different approach, a different translation, or perhaps a course in Portuguese...(why not? Discover a rich and abundant culture!) This is true art.

If you think of it, for the first three quarters of this superb novel nothing happens. In fact the one thing that could happen, doesn't. Yet paced with the sure cadence of a machine gun, short chapter after perfectly sized short chapter, a tension is built up that turns this reconstruction of the narrator's thoughts and feelings of long ago into a page turner. Even descriptions are refracted through the narrator's thoughts. For instance the beauty of his wife's arms, is conveyed without a single detail, all we are presented with are the narrator's feelings towards other men who admire these arms at a ball. When in the last sixty pages the events catch up, we experience withdrawal symptoms, for a new world closer to our own is entered, signaling that the, as it turns out Shakesperean, end is near. This novel exists at many levels. At the deepest level it is about faith, whether directed at a divinity or at another human being. It is about the frailty of such faith, w! hether in the face of reason or of convenience and compromise. Whatever the details, such faith inevitably leads to its own concepts of right and wrong, of virtue and sin. These concepts take deep root in the faithful person's mind, and ultimately dictate his actions.The simplicity and precision of Machado's style is well captured in this translation. His sense of humor is marvelous, his sense of proportion, so essential to a great work of art, is extraordinary.

When I first read this book, back in 1987, I was about to marry the girl who had lived next door ever since I was 10. I instantly knew the book would be a lifelong favorite because of the wonderful, simple, and short descriptions of childhood love in one of the early chapters. The question of unfaithfulness Machado created in my mind was only a scholarly one, it did not touch me as emotionally as the passages of childhood love, simply because it was unconceivable that such a thing would happen to us. I was convinced of Capitu's innocence and appreciated it enormously that Machado does not provide us with a clear-cut verdict. Now, 10 years later, I have reread the book because my Capitu is gone and all I have left are questions so similar to Dom Casmurro's that it is frightening. The book has a completely new meaning to me, and Capitu's guilt is screaming at me from virtually every page. I now even more appreciate it that Machado does not provide us with the truth, because such, apparently, is life. This is a book to read slowly, let it soak in gently into your soul during a couple of days if not weeks, and when done, have your love read it, and then talk about it for weeks. It also is a book to keep and read again years later. A new, different version of you will probably find rather different things in it. Both translations, in 1987 I read a Dutch translation, and recently an English one, manage to make clear that Machado had a way with words that is very intriguing. Sometimes so much is said with so few simple words. The real book is written between the lines.