Today, I finally finished that depressing book by Raul Brandão I've been reading, Humus.

Overall, it wasn't so bad, really. It's well-written (though poorly edited) and it's clear the author has a bit of a poet's streak and a very peculiar aesthetic sense, that I found delightful. However, he writes like he loves to read his own words. It's verbose beyond reason, it speaks in circles, it's annoying. The themes are clear, it does get a little confusing at times in the way it stumbles into its old ways, backtracking, doubting its own conclusions, but the general meaninglessness of life and inevitability of death do suffuse the novel. Plot-wise, it was confusing. Admittedly, I could've paid more attention and maybe followed the events better, but also it was just all over the place. It occasionally picked up the story, as in, it kept on describing things happening, in between long rambles and prosaic lyric on life, death, dreams, and meaning.

I didn't hate it. I can say that much, at least.

I got a book from the library a few days ago. Toda a Ferida é uma Beleza, by Djaimilia de Almeida. It has some nice illustrations too. I got it because it was selected and won a prestigious national prize. I'm excited to get to it! It's very short, but it's already way too late today, or, too early, maybe.

Anyway, I wore shorts.