Diário do Booker (8)

Depois do sabor amargo que o desfecho de The Northern Clemency me deixou, eis um livro galvanizante, muito mais selvagem e à beira do abismo (mas, por estranho que possa parecer, também muito mais consistente) do que o épico falhado de Philip Hensher.
Não tenho agora tempo para analisar como deve ser este primeiro romance de Aravind Adiga (n. 1974), um livro tão divertido quanto cruel, simultaneamente irónico e brutal, uma prosa negra como as margens do Ganges ou os esgotos a céu aberto dos bairros de lata indianos. O que posso dizer, quando ainda tenho outros quatro finalistas pela frente, é que o Man Booker Prize não lhe assentaria nada mal.
Eis um excerto:

«Everyone knows there is a butcher’s quarter somewhere in Old Dehli, but not many have seen it. It is one of the wonders of the old city – a row of open sheds, and big buffaloes standing in each shed with their butts towards you, and their tails swatting flies away like windshield wipers, and their feet deep in immense pyramids of shit. I stood there, inhaling the smell of their bodies – it had been so long since I had smelled buffalo! The horrible city air was driven out of my lungs.
A rattling noise of wooden wheels. I saw a buffalo coming down the road, pulling a large cart behind it. There was no human sitting on this cart with a whip; the buffalo just knew on its own where to go. And it was coming down the road. I stood to the side, and as it passed me, I saw that this cart was full of the faces of dead buffaloes; faces, I say – but I should say skulls, stripped even of the skin, except for the little black bit of skin at the tip of the nose from which the nostril hairs still stuck out, like last defiant bits of the personality of the dead buffalo. The rest of the faces were gone. Even the eyes had been gouged out.
And the living buffalo walked on, without a master, drawing its load of death to the place where it knew it had to go.
I walked along with that poor animal for a while, staring at the dead, stripped faces of the buffaloes. And then the strangest thing happened, Your Excellency – I swear the buffalo that was pulling the cart turned its face to me, and said, in a voice not unlike my father’s:
‘Your brother Kishan was beaten to death. Happy?’
It was like experiencing a nightmare in the minutes before you wake up; you know it’s a dream, but you can’t wake up just yet.
‘Your aunt Luttu was raped and then beaten to death. Happy? Your grandmother Kusum was kicked to death. Happy?’
The buffalo glared at me.
‘Shame!’ it said, and then it took a big step forward and the cart passed by, full of dead skinned faces, which seemed to me at the moment the faces of my own family.»



Comentários

5 Responses to “Diário do Booker (8)”

  1. Alexandra Moura on Outubro 8th, 2008 14:52

    Já se prevê tradução para português?
    Obrigada e boas leituras,

    Alexandra Moura

  2. Ricardo on Outubro 9th, 2008 15:35

    Que escrita deliciosa. Muito bom.

  3. Bibliotecário de Babel – Diário do Booker (14) on Outubro 14th, 2008 22:55

    […] Aravind Adiga, pelo seu romance de estreia: The White Tiger. Embora não fosse o meu favorito (estava em 2.º na minha lista), acho que o prémio fica muito bem entregue, como já tinha escrito aqui. […]

  4. Vem aí o tigre | Bibliotecário de Babel on Fevereiro 20th, 2009 17:27

    […] Tigre Branco, de Aravind Adiga, vencedor do Man Booker Prize 2008, de que falei aqui, aqui e aqui, vai para as livrarias a 3 de Março, com chancela da Presença. A capa é […]

  5. O tigre branco - Aravind Adiga « Novidades Editoriais on Março 5th, 2009 0:30

    […] Tigre Branco, de Aravind Adiga, vencedor do Man Booker Prize 2008, de que falei aqui, aqui e aqui, vai para as livrarias a 3 de Março, com chancela da Presença. A capa é […]

«Tenho a suspeita de que a espécie humana - a única - está prestes a extinguir-se e que a Biblioteca perdurará: iluminada, solitária, infinita, perfeitamente imóvel, armada de volumes preciosos, inútil, incorruptível, secreta» Jorge Luis Borges