A better title might be The Books of Disquiet. Each entry in this fictional diary of one Bernardo Soares represents an attempt to create a distinct biography. The Book of Disquiet (Penguin Classics) [Fernando Pessoa, RICHARD Zenith] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. The prizewinning. The Book of Disquiet: The Complete Edition [Fernando Pessoa, Jerónimo Pizarro , Margaret Jull Costa] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers.

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But having a deep, philosophical conversation with him would be like a dream. Perhapsor perhaps not, it is a difficult question. A resource against calamity indeed.

The editors have assembled the fragments in a thematic way, even though the same themes appear multiple times in the finished text. Love disturbs and wearies, action dissipates and disappoints, no one truly knows how to know, and thinking confuses everything. We almost always live outside ourselves, and life itself is a continual dispersion.

And still, somehow, I am not alone. To ask other readers questions about The Book of Disquietplease sign up. Do you suppose that that is the reason of my contentment? Distinct from Zenith, obviously, but just as potent and powerful—and the differently parsed words and sentences only serve to present Pessoa’s incomparable poetry of loneliness in a new light, equally fulgent and searing, just focussed from an alternate angle. He considered his life “an intermission with band music.

The Tropic of Spontaneity divides them.


I will let it stand as is: Just a disquist acquaintances who imagine they feel something for me and who might be sorry if a train ran over me and the funeral was on a rainy day. And Oben and uten? It is here that the novelistic aspect of this work becomes interesting. The tremor of a cherry blossom branch, the sophistication of a hydrangea, the humility of a eucalyptus tree.

Nor is it clear whether he regarded any version or part of the project as a finished work. Richard Zenith includes not only fragments Fernando Pessoa didn’t want in, but also author notes, and letters to friends concerning the book.

Still, there is always the possibility that the fiction lies in the creation of a non-fiction work by a fictitious author, narrator or character as ably assisted by the experts and editors! Pessia Buddha showed me the way.

‘The Book of Disquiet’ Is the Weirdest Autobiography Ever

Here are a few favorite passages which stand out for me from “B of D”: So perhaps this is a good segue to a question that I feel we must grapple with, which is: In an ironical world, the pain and suffering of disquieted souls often becomes a source of solace to the beings far removed from overt venturesome acknowledgment of disquiet.

But our natures are diverse, for I am not as solitary as he was. Maybe all these options at once. I make landscapes out of what I feel.

Books to give you hope: The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

View all 5 comments. We found ourselves sailing without any idea of what port we were supposed to reach.


His solitude and his dreaming are written down in my soul and will certainly come back to me in the future. According to this book, Soares was not a pessimist. Come to us, disquieted denizens, savor our world! What is the function of this book? The disquieted denizens of a world replete with disquiets, kings of solitude, ambition-less, will-less and illusion-less dreamers of reality.

Reading is life’s second biggest luxury. Company oppresses us, Despite its ritual.

No Christ died for me. This is not to suggest I am anything near his genius but simply that he writes what I remember feeling, or I remember feeling their rough, uncertain edges at my few precious moments of precision He is scared and reluctant to say hello or even shake hands with others. Fernando Pessoa was many writers in one. Whole new worlds will open up when distant planes merge onto one.

The meticulous perfection disqquiet unwritten verses makes Virgil’s precision look sloppy and Milton’s power slack.

I set them down in a torpor of feeling, like a cat in the sun, and re-read them at times with a dull, belated pang, as if remembering something I had always previously forgotten.