An interesting collection of short stories that blends the surreal with the extremely mundane. In these stories objects and their lives - at times told in excruciating and pedantic detail - are expressions of a full gamut of other issues. Everything from love, loneliness, death, oppression and freedom.

Saramago's sometimes dense and evasive writing style is not for everyone. But it's often tinged with beauty and ironic humour. Standout stories for me include "The Centaur" and "Things".

I’m coming to the end, hoping that there is an mountain of unpublished or untranslated material yet to be unearthed. Saramago is sadly no more and so I always put his works to the bottom of my pile of books to read, the reward at the end, putting off the moment when I will have nothing fresh to read.
The Lives of Things is a collection of six short stories, that while not strictly in the style of Saramago in his later years (There are a good number of full stops to start with), still contain that unmistakable view of the world and the inquisitive expansive imagination, that is quintessentially his.

It is perhaps testament to Saramago’s sardonic eye that in the first of the collection, an observation into how such a simple act can reverberate across an entire nation is in fact a detailed description of someone falling off a chair, including a focused biology lesson on exactly what caused the expiration of the chairs occupant. For all the meaning of the first story I have to honestly say it didn’t captivate me as he so often does.

Embargo for me veers into the realm of blindness, that seems right, but after writing it I’m at a loss to explain why. During a petrol embargo a man’s car takes on a life of it’s own, dragging him from petrol station to petrol station. Reflux is a biting look at what can happen when someone with power puts a whim into action, and the folly that results, which for me recalled Death at Intervals.

Things was a uneasy read, that in some respects most closely resembled normal life, yet in retrospect was something between horror and science fiction. I had to re-read the ending three times before I though I understood it, then that made me think about it even more.

For me, the highlight of the collection was the Centaur. I love the Greek myths and for Saramago to evoke so poignantly the journey of the last of the horsemen was a particularly enjoyable treat at the end of the collection. Excepting The Revenge, an incredibly short yet somehow dark few pages that end the collection as if an example of the shadowy things that happen as night falls.

So all I have left is The Cave, I am going to read it, just for my fix. I’m toying vaguely, and very vaguely with the idea of buying one of his novels in Portuguese and translating it, just to keep him alive, we shall see, if not then I shall re-read my collection of his novels, so in my head Saramago will live still.
(blog review here)

Me ha cautivado el estilo repleto de contrastes de Saramago: serio en sus conclusiones, pero jocoso en el retrato de las contradicciones humanas; disgresivo hasta el juego de palabras y la divagación, pero conciso cuando toca dar un respiro al lector; amable y benévolo con sus personajes individuales, pero feroz contra la masa impersonal.

- Silla (***): a pesar de su originalidad y de su humorismo, es un relato bastante alejado de la forma equilibrada que tiene Saramago de fabular en torno a una idea. Parece más bien un ejercicio (brillantemente resuelto, la verdad sea dicha) de expansión del tiempo narrativo propio de un taller de escritura creativa que una potencial reflexión sobre la fragilidad del poder, giro más típico del autor.
- Embargo (****): el autor nos logra sumergir en el ambiente claustrofóbico de un hombre que no consigue salir de su automóvil. La monotonía del entorno espacial en el que se desenvuelve el protagonista se desvanece a favor de un retrato de la angustia creciente que nos invita a reflexionar sobre la dependencia energética. Aún así, hay reiteraciones inevitables.
- Reflujo (*****): una de las dos piezas maestras del volumen. Vuelven las grandes obsesiones de Saramago que, en este relato, se centran en la ubicuidad de la muerte que, como la vida, siempre se abre camino por mucho que se intente su acotación. Uno de los grandes logros de este relato es el control férreo del tiempo narrativo, con frecuentes elipsis que se ven interrumpidas por contados momentos de concentración en la figura del monarca.
- Cosas (*****): la otra pieza maestra. Esta fábula sobre la cosificación de la vida humana pivota sobre la pérdida de la cotidianidad con las cosas y su presencia, una transición del Zuhandensein al Vorhandensein heideggerianos en el que el ser humano se muestra más frágil que los objetos que constituyen su núcleo rutinario. Es el Saramago de sus grandes obras.
- Centauro (***): de los relatos más flojos. El exceso del tono descriptivo de relleno arruina en parte el gran lirismo de esta historia sobre la pugna entre las partes instintiva y de racional de todo ser humano. Aún así, un gran juego entre los planos mitológico y real (quizá no sean tan distintos).
- Desquite (***): un relato minimalista de gran ambigüedad y un estilo que, quizá por ese minimalismo, no llega a aflorar más allá del retrato costumbrista.

Gran Saramago.

'The Lives of Things' is a collection of six short stories originally published as 'Objecto Quase' in 1978. The epigraph by Marx marks, uninhibitedly, themes political and social which the author essentially elaborated upon in his later fiction, especially in 'The Stone Raft', 'The Cave' and the tour de force, 'Blindness'.
'The Chair' opens the book, in the stream of consciousness narration, and obliquely reflects on the political state of affairs under the Salazar regime. The subject of the fall of the chair takes the reader on a trip to imagine, understand and question the conceptual contours of this fall which, in the case, was inevitable. Still, the approach of presenting the manifestation of the rot, the behind-the-scenes work of an essential and yet seemingly inadvertent opposition set up by the too much-ness of one's proclaimed authority, is tongue in cheek to say the least.
'Reflux' and 'Things' basically construct the Oppressor-Oppressed dialectic. Yet, Saramago's expression holds the bite, early fiction as it is:

"All kings are great, by definition and birth:
any king who might wish otherwise will wish in vain...".

The surreal premise of 'Things' discloses how everyday objects like doors and stairs are up in rebellion against the authoritarian state and its comfortable and safe 'class' representatives. It is 'things', here, which question the one thing which is at grave and hopeless danger of being overrun by death: the humane in humans; what is it to be human? Do they need to care?
'Embargo', another political allegory, alludes to the fears and apprehensions instilled in human mind through control over resources which depend upon technology to get realized. Fear turns into a device of power, while authority exploits the vicious circle set in and maintained over time; the result being a nightmare situation for the vulnerable human subject.
With 'The Centaur', allegory moves away from connotations underlying the first four stories within the socio-political discourse. A parable enthused with philosophical enquiry into the being of man, the tale presents a lone-surviving centaur, banished from the realms of gods and driven out to roam endlessly on Earth. The tale is charged with existential situations, talks about the horse, the man and the centaur; characters with individual selves and also a common self (or neither of the two): "Half a man. A man."
The final story, 'Revenge' is more of an image-story, portrayed with not more than a double stroke of a narrative-brush; captivating and disturbing it is nonetheless.

While two of the stories in this book were really great, the rest were pretty meh at best.

I seldom put down a book part way...this is one of them. I have never read any other Saramago, so not sure if this is indicative of his writing, but I found it nearly unreadable. The intro compared his style to Faulkner, who I love - I didn't see it. Blech

Objecto Quase integra seis contos breves onde as personagens são, na sua maioria, “coisificadas”, ou melhor dizendo, os objectos são humanizados. Esta característica é evidente nos contos “Cadeira” e “Embargo”. Outros há em que a fantasia, o surreal, o absurdo tomam conta da história e deparamo-nos com uma “animalização” do homem. Em todos, é evidente o tom sarcástico e a crítica à sociedade capitalista, à necessidade do ser humano em possuir bens e à sua dependência.
Ao longo dos seis contos, o autor conduz-nos por caminhos diversos, e que recorrendo a situações surreais, retrata o pessimismo, a depressão, a dependência e a imperfeição do ser humano.
A escrita destes seis contos revela o poder de observação, a capacidade de esmiuçar factos, o sentido crítico e bem-humorado do autor. Os seus textos, apesar de curtos, são autênticos trabalhos literários: descrições detalhadas; metáforas espantosas; histórias criativas repletas de ironia e de intensidade.

Por exemplo, no primeiro conto, “Cadeira”, fica-se pela descrição detalhada e irónica da cadeira que foi atacada pelo bicho da madeira e que vai destruindo o interior da perna que fará cair o homem que nela se senta. Facilmente percebemos que o episódio relata a queda de Salazar. Trata-se se uma alegoria ao fim da ditadura e do sistema vigente. A cadeira representa o poder. Se esta se torna decrépita, insegura, então o poder está decadente e deve ser substituído. É notável a descrição do momento em que o homem se sentou na cadeira, se recostou e finalmente caiu. Por vezes, parece que o narrador se desvia do assunto, tecendo outras histórias, outros factos, mas se o faz é para tornar mais intensa e credível a descrição sem nunca perder o fio condutor da narrativa em curso.

Gostei de todos os contos, mas a minha preferência recai em “Coisas”, o quarto conto. Classificá-lo-ia como uma distopia. As pessoas são hierarquizadas por ordem alfabética (têm a letra desenhada na mão), de acordo com a sua posição social. Tudo é absurdo, as coisas começam a ter reacções humanas, começam a tomar consciência da sua situação: objectos (portas, jarros, marcos do correio, degraus,…) desaparecem misteriosamente, paredes e prédios desabam, relógios deixam de funcionar, sofás têm febre, pessoas ficam nuas, cidades inteiras desaparecem …
Saramago põe em destaque a paranoia individual, mas sobretudo a colectiva, ele anula toda a materialidade e põe a nu o homem para o confrontar com a sua existência, com a sociedade em que se insere e vive de acordo com o que lhe é ditado. O homem torna-se objecto perante a inoperância e tirania do poder. O conto termina com uma réstia de esperança, de mudança porque, afinal, há sempre alguém que luta pela diferença.

Nestes textos, como em toda a obra, Saramago é exímio na crítica social.

Nobel Laureate Jose Saramago is an author I can only speak lovingly of. He has such a charm and warm glow about his prose that fills my heart with each word from his pen. Sadly, he is no longer with us, but his passing has reinvigorated an interest in his publication that has brought several volumes of posthumous releases and newly translated works to help fill the void his absence has created. The Lives of Things is one such work, appearing for the first time in English and comprised of six stories previously published in 1978. These short pieces offer a unique look at his early writing, powerful in its own regard, and displays glimpses of themes he would mold and expand upon throughout his impressive career.

The dilemma with reviews is how to review a book that you really enjoy, but one that falls slightly short of the great achievements by that same author. The 3 stars I reluctantly awarded seems a slighting on this collection, but I assure you it is not so. To place 4 stars on the review would then align it in the same category as I have rated many of his other books, wholly deserving, and this collection does not quite have the same impact as, say, [b:Blindness|2526|Blindness|José Saramago|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327866409s/2526.jpg|3213039]. Also, when hearing there was a book of his short stories coming out, I was very excited, but felt a bit underwhelmed when I discovered it was such a slim volume. Basically, this is a giant self-serving disclaimer and you may now continue forth knowing this is a very high 3, or a 7.5/10.

Each story contained is very satisfying, and shows a younger author building an enviable style. It is interesting to see how he has progressed, as much of the sentence structure found here is more truncated than his later works. Also, Saramago’s signature rejection of dialogue conventions have yet to be developed at this point. Instead of the fascinating and unique way of dialogue as an unbroken sentence pulsating back and forth between interlocutors, in these stories we see Saramago using the em-dash and line breaks to flag dialogue while still avoiding calling out the speaker. His grasp on language and the sheer poetry of his words are anything but wanting however, and fans of Saramago will find many golden passages to bask in. Saramago pays strict attention to colors in many of these stories, which I need to reread his later work to see how that survived. His exciting and loving way of toiling through phrasing and circling around ideas is ever present as well, and gave me exactly what I crave most in his works. For example, the first story, The Chair, consists of a mere few seconds of time and space, which he exploits for nearly 30 pages of pure poetic investigation, elevating the breaking of a chair to epic proportions complete with Western-style showdowns between termite and wood that could rival Tombstone. 4 pages pass before he even gets on with it, choosing to examine the notion of the phrases ‘to come to bits’ and 'topple over'. I’ve always enjoyed his method of picking apart the shortcomings of language:

If they were to say the same thing, if they were to group together through affinity of structure and origin, then life would be much simpler, by means of successive reduction, down to onomatopoeia which is not simple either, and so on and so forth, probably to silence, to what we might term the general synonym or omnivalent. It is not even onomatopoeia, or cannot be formed from this articulated sound (since the human voice doe not have pure, unarticulated sounds, except perhaps in singing, and even then one would have to listen up close) formed in the throat of the person who is toppling or falling although no star, both words with heraldic echoes, which now describe anything which is about to come to pieces, therefor it did not sound right to join the parallel ending to this verb, which would settle the choice and complete the circle. Thus proving that the world is not perfect.

The world may not be perfect, but Saramago, you were damned close.

As with many of his novels, the settings of these stories feel wholly universal and timeless, attributing a fable-like mythology to the places spoken of. His satirical wit is shown to already be sharpened as he comically depicts the lives of civil servants, royalty, and the chains of command. His political parables are just as poignant today as they were in 70’s, and readers today will empathize with the man in Embargo as they watch the gas prices rise with the summer temperatures. I cannot fill up my tank now without thinking of his plight. Many of these allegorical themes will be familiar to the Saramago reader, and it is interesting to see the initial blueprints of many larger ideas and motifs in later novels. Stories like Reflux, where a walled off necropolis is constructed to remove the sight of death from a kingdom, seem to live on as the sprawling cemetery in [b:All the Names|2528|All the Names|José Saramago|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327955213s/2528.jpg|1030699], as well as the civil servant in Things. Death plays the largest role in the works of Saramago, and here too, as it is the common denominator of each story. Sometimes mocking, sometimes foreboding, but always with the aim of redemption does Saramago approach our inevitable end.

Let it be known that the story Things is worth the price of admission alone. A city begins to fall to pieces, both literally and figuratively, as the government decrees that all products must be made with lower standards of quality because there ‘was little point depriving members of the public (especially those in categories A, B, and C) of the civil right to lodge complaints; a wise decision which could only benefit the manufacturing companies.’ Hilarious right? Until man-made objects begin vanishing – entire apartment buildings disappearing into thin air sending the residents plummeting several stories to their deaths. Applying a wry satire on Government procedure, social status and abbreviations, this story is shocking and satisfying in a way that makes in seem like the best of Vonnegut crossed with P.K.D. The remainder of the stories are all worth a read still too. The probing of myth in the face of death in Minotaur and the highly ethereal Revenge will leave you craving for more of this great writer.

While this is early, unpolished Saramago, it is still of the highest caliber. I would, however, not recommend it as a starting place for new readers (except for Things), as having a bit of built-up love for the man will serve as a good pair of shocks over the few bumps and potholes. The man started strong and ended stronger, and this is a wonderful way to enjoy him in short bursts.
3.75/5