António Lobo Antunes
Autor/a de The Land at the End of the World: A Novel
Sobre l'autor
Lobo Antunes, a psychiatrist and a soldier in the Portuguese colonial wars in Angola, was born in Lisbon. "South of Nowhere", his second novel, published in 1980, became the center of controversy both because of its daring content and its novel structure. The action is very brief: it lasts only one mostra'n més night. The author tells a silent woman companion his frank impressions about his experience as a medical doctor in the war of liberation against Portuguese colonialism. In some passages, the novel makes allusion to The Lusiads and its allegorical intentions. It denounces with lucid sarcasm the failure of Portuguese colonization in Africa. (Bowker Author Biography) mostra'n menys
Sèrie
Obres de António Lobo Antunes
QUE CAVALOS SÃO AQUELES QUE FAZEM SOMBRA NO MAR? 4 exemplars
Pack "Quarto Livro de Crónicas + CD" 2 exemplars
Crónica Com Um Brinde Do Autor - eBook 1 exemplars
Tudo o Que Nos Abandona - eBook 1 exemplars
A Noite Treme - eBook 1 exemplars
Quem me assassinou para que eu seja tão doce? 1 exemplars
Quem Te Deu Licença de Morrer - eBook 1 exemplars
Que é do Seu Carro, Pai? - eBook 1 exemplars
Galhofa - eBook 1 exemplars
DA VIDA DOS MORTOS Crónicas 1 exemplars
Der Judaskuß: Roman (German Edition) 1 exemplars
Η φυσική τάξη των πραγμάτων 1 exemplars
POIS É Crónicas 1 exemplars
O Senhor Águas - eBook 1 exemplars
CHIADO_TERRASSE, Crónica 1 exemplars
PEDRO Crónica 1 exemplars
CRÓNICAS 1 exemplars
O ANJO BRANCO 1 exemplars
Deste Profundo Abismo, Senhor - eBook 1 exemplars
Vida em mim 1 exemplars
Inima inimii 1 exemplars
Nie wchodź tak szybko w tę ciemną noc 1 exemplars
Die Vögel kommen zurück Roman 1 exemplars
L'autre rive de la mer 1 exemplars
O prirodi Bogova 1 exemplars
Le Retour des caravelles (LITTERATURE ETRANGERE) 1 exemplars
De la nature des dieux (LITT. ETR.) 1 exemplars
Explication des oiseaux (Chr.Bourgois) 1 exemplars
Land At The End Of The World 1 exemplars
Os cus dos judas 1 exemplars
UM DÓ LI TÁ Crónicas 1 exemplars
Obres associades
Etiquetat
Coneixement comú
- Nom oficial
- Antunes, António Lobo
- Altres noms
- Lobo Antunes, António
- Data de naixement
- 1942-09-01 [1942]
- Gènere
- male
- Nacionalitat
- Portugal
- Lloc de naixement
- Lissabon, Portugal
- Llocs de residència
- Lissabon, Portugal
- Professions
- psychiatrist
- Premis i honors
- Austrian State Prize for European Literature (2000)
Jerusalem Prize (2005)
Prémio Camões (2007)
Latin Union International Prize (2003)
Ovidius Prize - Romania (2003)
Rosalía de Castro Prize (1999) (mostra-les totes 12)
France Culture Prize (1996)
France Culture Prize (1997)
Prémio da Associação Portuguesa de Escritores (1985)
Ovid Prize (2003)
Grand Cross of the Order of Saint James of the Sword
Premio Juan Rulfo (2008)
Membres
Ressenyes
Llistes
Premis
Potser també t'agrada
Autors associats
Estadístiques
- Obres
- 104
- També de
- 3
- Membres
- 4,045
- Popularitat
- #6,223
- Valoració
- 4.0
- Ressenyes
- 93
- ISBN
- 539
- Llengües
- 22
- Preferit
- 29
Antunes is a god of simile and metaphor. At first, they were all I noticed and I perhaps felt there to be too many, but as the novel progressed, they were the engine to his evocative and macabre prose, filling my mind with powerful imagery as I vicariously experienced the grim and futile labours in ‘the armpit of the world’. In conjunction with this, a mention must go to the translator Margaret Jill Costa (who I understand has won many awards) who has done a magnificent job in translating his exemplary prose. Earlier this year, I waxed lyrical about the writing of David Foster-Wallace, believing that he was a class part in his manipulation of language, but I have seen in only a few months that other writers with equal genius exist, Antunes being the first I’ve to encounter since making the bold claim.
An example:
Gradually, the wear and tear of war, the never-changing landscape of sand and sparse woods, the long, sad months of mist that turned the sky and the night the sepia brown of faded daguerreotypes, had transformed us into a species of apathetic insect, machines made to withstand a day-to-day existence filled with hopeless hope, afternoons spent sitting on barrel-stave chairs or on the steps of the former administration post, staring at the excessively lethargic calendars on which the months lingered with maddening slowness, while endless leap days, full of hours, swelled up around us like great bloated, putrefying bellies that kept us imprisoned with no hope of salvation. We were fish, you see, in aquariums of cloth and metal, dumb fish, simultaneously fierce and tame, trained to die without protest, to lie down without protest in those army coffins, where we would be welded in, covered with the national flag, and sent back to Europe in the hold of a ship, our dog tags over our mouths to quash even the desire to utter a rebellious scream.
I look forward to the many other offerings from this writer, a genius who may be lost in Saramago's shadow yet who very much deserves to share the light. 5/5… (més)