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Declare Books Supposing The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis

Original Title:	O Ano da Morte de Ricardo Reis
ISBN:	1860465021 (ISBN13: 9781860465024)
Edition Language:	English
Literary Awards:	Independent Foreign Fiction Prize (1993), Prémio D. Diniz da Fundação da Casa de Mateus (1984), Premio Grinzane Cavour Nominee for Narrativa Straniera (1987)

The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis Paperback | Pages: 384 pages

Interpretation During Books The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis

The world's threats are universal like the sun but Ricardo Reis takes shelter under his own shadow.

Back in Lisbon after sixteen years practicing medicine in Brazil, Ricardo Reis wanders the rain-sodden streets. He longs for the unattainably aristocratic Marcenda, but it is Lydia, the hotel chamber maid who makes and shares his bed. His old friend, the poet Fernando Pessoa, returns to see him, still wearing the suit he was buried in six weeks earlier. It is 1936, the clouds of Fascism are gathering ominously above them, so they talk; a wonderful, rambling discourse on art, truth, poetry, philosophy, destiny and love.

Details Based On Books The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis

Title	:	The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis
Author	:	José Saramago
Book Format	:	Paperback
Book Edition	:	First Edition
Pages	:	Pages: 384 pages
Published	:	September 17th 1998 by Vintage Classics (first published 1984)
Categories	:	Fiction. Cultural. Portugal. European Literature. Portuguese Literature

Rating Based On Books The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis

Ratings: 4.02 From 7423 Users | 543 Reviews

Column Based On Books The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis

This book blends magical realism, historical fiction, and literary fiction. The title character, Ricardo Reis, a doctor and poet, returns to Lisbon, Portugal, after living in Brazil for sixteen years. He stays at a hotel, encounters two women, is questioned by local authorities, and is visited by the spirit of recently deceased poet Fernando Pessoa, an historic figure. The year is 1935 to 1936, and the backdrop is the rise of the fascist movement in Europe. This is a philosophical novel, filled

Truth to tell, I was expecting to fall in love with the guy (I mean Ricardo Reis) but no, eventually I have turned myself against such a male prototype. Sadly, this man appears to have nothing else to do, he sleeps, eats, strolls, and composes poetry line by line with much effort, agonizing over rhyme and meter. When I just recall that It all started so nicely, almost softly adorning a picture of an interesting novel hero...≪ A grizzled fellow, skin and bones [] resumes his existence on terra

Saramago is strong in all the usual novelistic ways of well-developed characters, detailed places and eras, but also frequently employs some "high concept" premise ("everyone in the city temporarily goes blind", for example).In this case, the title character returns to Lisbon after a lengthy expatriation in Brazil on hearing of the death of his old friend, the poet Fernando Pessoa. What he discovers on arrival is that everyone has a nine-month period of their afterlife (analogous to their

This book deserves 4 stars, the extra star is because to understand the book, I had to first read The book of disquiet and then spend days reading up on the history of Portugal to get the context of the book. And I've emerged so much richer for having read it.

The only difference between life and death is that the living still have time, but the time to say that one word, to make that one gesture, is running out for them. What gesture, what word, I don't know, a man dies from not having said it, from not having made it, that is what he dies of, not from sickness, and that is why, when dead, he finds it so difficult to accept death. My dear Fernando Pessoa, you're reading things upside down. My dear Ricardo Reis, I can no longer read. Improbable on two



"The color of the sky as far as I can see is coal grey. Lift my head from the pillow and then fall again. With a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather. A quiver in my lips as if I might cry. Well by the force of will my lungs are filled and so I breathe. Lately it seems this big bed is where I never leave." -Natalie MerchantCervantes's masterpiece may be the first and last great novel. But Saramago, with this installment, gets close to it.So many words and not an unnecessary one.