Who knew a child surrounded by illiteracy, shuffling between city and countryside, would have such an intense appetite for words that he relished pages from discarded newspapers, seized on fragments of Moliere in a guidebook and would one day create parallel worlds in which an entire nation goes blind, in which Jesus apologizes for God’s sins, in which death suddenly stops occurring? These worlds, fantastic as they are, turn out to be uncomfortably like our own.
Jose Saramago, who died in 2010, was this child, and his early efforts as a writer were greeted with criticism or silence. He then concentrated on journalism, returned in his 50s to pen novels that captured the imagination of European writers and critics and is now celebrated for political bravery and artistic originality — and crowned with the Nobel Prize for literature.
Fundação José Saramago.
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