"You never know beforehand what people are capable of..." (p.302).
Written: Aug 29 '08 (Updated Aug 29 '08)
Product Rating:
Pros: Savage indictment of the human condition, unlike any other book.
Cons: Formatting and writing style will deter a wider audience.
The Bottom Line: It will appeal to all who query the meaning of the human condition, and who are not afraid to regard a mirror image at its most depraved and repulsive.
mayapan1942's Full Review: Jose Saramago - Blindness
Blindness by Jose Saramago, The Harvill Press, 306 pages, 1997, UK.
In the front flyleaf of the volume I read, there are media reviews that use words such as 'fantasy', 'thriller', 'satire', 'allegory' and even 'Divine Comedy for atheists' to describe this masterpiece. I think 'allegory' fits, as the best choice of the five, but I don't think there's much of Balzac in it. Taken as a whole, this is quite simply a horror story, unlike any other I have ever read, about societal chaos which results when most people are suddenly struck blind.
To be sure, there have been other books about the collapse of society: Earth Abides by George R. Stewart, a sci-fi novel that uses a similar device - a virus - that wipes out most of society; or, The Puppet Masters by Robert Heinlein, another sci-fi goodie that uses invasive, extraterrestrial parasites as the horrific intruder. Both well written stories, but neither can compare, not even close, to the explicit horror of Blindness.
This book stands alone, for a number of reasons. First, it is an exceptionally well-written and visceral horror story; second, it is an allegory about the human condition, one that explores, analyses, dissects, exposes, criticizes, and condemns just about everything that we consider to be good, wholesome and rational about humanity; and third, the structure and format provide a truly innovative reading experience, one which the astute reader will enjoy, despite the unrelenting and pervasive horror.
Essentially, the plot - the sequence of events - covers a relatively short period of time during which the people of a city successively succumb to sudden blindness, brought about by an unknown cause. As the condition spreads like a virus, Authority steps in, victims are quarantined, incarcerated, and imprisoned under armed guard. Food is provided for victims, but they must otherwise fend for themselves. Hence, the ruthless blind begin to exploit the weaker blind; inmates are murdered indiscriminately; bodies rot where they lie; and chaos ensues as blind groups war between each other for food, water, sexual favours and supremacy. Gradually, as the blindness spreads, the whole of society begins to mirror the situation within the various types of quarantine prisons. Hence, to assist the reader as much as himself with such a large scope, Saramago controls the narrative by concentrating upon the small group of people who were struck blind first, and details their trials and tribulations as a microcosm for the whole. That group breaks free from its prison eventually, and, after a further series of horrifying situations, reaches a measure of collective safety at the doctor's house. Throughout, the descriptions of the horrific events are so awful, so graphic, you may wonder how a person could even write about them.
Blindness is, therefore, the major allegorical feature of the novel. In the first place, it's a white blindness - that is, when struck blind, each victim sees only whiteness, not blackness. It could be compared to snow blindness, after a fashion, I guess; but that wouldn't be accurate or appropriate in the context of the story. Instead, I think Saramago uses whiteness as a counterpoint, suggesting, I think, that most of us are blind to what is truly going on around us: we see, in a sense, but we don't observe (there is a quotation to that effect on a flyleaf at the front of the book) and we have been blinded by irrational thinking since Day One, so to speak. The other major allegorical aspect is that one of the main characters - the wife of the doctor - is not blind throughout the entire narrative: she is essentially immune from the terrible affliction that affects the rest of humanity, not unlike the putative sinless state of the Virgin Mary. Women, of course, are the main life-givers; hence, this married woman represents, I think, the life-force of all women, as she guides, assists, protects, feeds and cleans all of the other blind members of her Little Community; indeed, she also kills - grotesquely murders - a blind human predator, to protect the group from him, and suffers the worst possible abuses and indignities from others, to safeguard her flock.
As to the actual text, the most obvious feature is the dense formatting without paragraphs that forces close and careful reading - a lack of white space has that effect. Curious about that format, I got a hold of another book by Saramago, The Double, and found the same. Further searching online of another book, The Stone Raft, confirmed it's a style that Saramago uses consistently. In sum, I guess you either like it, or you don't. For Blindness, that formatting is more than just style, however, because it mirrors the efforts of the blind writer who meets the Little Community late in the story, and who describes to them in great detail his method of writing about the very disaster that is unfolding - a clear, self-referential aspect to Saramago. Moreover, the book is organized into seventeen episodes, 'episodes' being an inadequate word I suppose, but there are no chapter numbers, names or headings to guide the reader (again, a feature of his other novels) and to let me know where I am, or what is coming - much like any blind person in unfamiliar territory.
To further confuse my eyes, perhaps, the author seemingly scatters commas throughout the text, like rain drops - in contrast, for example, to Cormack McCarthy's No Country For Old Men, which is almost completely devoid of them. There's a very good reason for Saramago's scattering, however. I think this novel Blindness should not simply be read: ideally, it should be spoken, about which I'll say more below, with the commas acting to provide those very necessary pauses the spoken word needs for proper breathing, voice intonation and emphasis. Lynne Truss, the celebrated grammarian author of Eats, Shoots and Leaves would, I think, applaud, as do I.
There are no names for people or places, only descriptors such as 'the wife of the doctor', 'the girls with sunglasses', 'the man with the eye-patch' and so on, a narrative device that also forces the reader to recall characteristics that easily andconclusively identify each character - much like real blind people must do daily, with touch, smell and hearing. This lack of names technique is not repeated in the other novels mentioned above, hence indicating support for my suggestion.
And now, at this point, I must diverge from other reviewers about the nature of the whole narrative: technically, this is not a stream of consciousness, because there are very few actual thoughts of any characters - the sine qua non, that indispensable condition, of any such stream. In fact, all of the main characters engage in constant conversation with each other most of the time, and, by confining traditional punctuation to hordes of commas and the occasional period (with the added help of capitalized first letters of words to indicate a change of speaker) Saramago emulates the jumbled state of people's words (and minds) as they try to survive amidst bestiality: that point at which we cease to be human, and the animal within is ascendant. Not surprisingly therefore, images of the biblical Sodom and Gomorrah may come to the mind of some.
The narrator, however, does intrude with many thoughts, asides and comments, providing a sense of an internal monologue. So: the major part of the novel is expressed as an ongoing conversation between ordinary people in desperate, apocalyptic times, and it's the type of story that 'reads' best when spoken, as already mentioned, to a willing audience, much like we used to experience, and perhaps still do, when we sit around camp fires to listen to a ghost or horror story.
Nevertheless, while the style of actual writing is unique among the books I've read, the overall construct can be compared favorably, I think, to Shelly's Frankenstein which contained three nested stories (with similar dense formatting): the narrator's, Dr Frankenstein's and the monster's. So also Conrad's Heart of Darkness which, as I recall, followed a similar construct with a similar number of stories. Saramago, however, goes further with multiple, concurrent stories, and more horrifically than others.
And finally, the narrator, who may or may not be omniscient, (and who may or may not be Saramago) makes a fetish, almost, of injecting self-referential and ironic commentary throughout (and, again, a feature of his other works). Let me give you a taste of the effect:
"...and when she suddenly saw that she was blind, an absurd expression, but so deeply rooted in the language we've been unable to avoid it," (p. 226)
"...there are things we say when we do not know how to take a good look at ourselves..." (p. 236)
"...his sphincter had given up trying to resist the internal pressure, so you can imagine the consequences..." (p. 240)
"...and while we are on the subject..." (p. 241)
"...the excrement being evacuated at this very minute by these men and women as we pass..." (p. 248)
"...he let out a cry, we are referring to the driver..." (p. 250)
The bolding is mine to illustrate how all of the above, and much more, is, implicitly or explicitly, addressing the reader, forcing you and me - pulling us in, perhaps kicking and screaming for some - to fully experience, as much as we can, the depravity, debauchery, destruction and destitution that rains upon society as it inexorably loses its eyes - and its head.
It was, I think, Steinbeck who said (I paraphrase): Everybody is filled to the top with goodness; and everybody is filled to the top with badness. When I read that, as a youth, I thought it pretty much summed up what I'd observed around me. Since then, nothing, that I have seen or read about, has changed my thinking in that regard. Saramago's novel is, therefore, the literate expression of my own point of view about the darkest side of humanity. His view of hell on earth is sickening to the core and it is meant to be so. Hence, I can understand why some would not like to read this novel. So, my advice is this: close your eyes, sit back and have a trustworthy friend read it aloud to you. And don't stop until you've heard the last word.
And when you've finished, you can then debate the arguably contrived ending, but you'd have to defend the equally contrived beginning, one that you already explicitly accepted by continuing to read or listen. I think it's better just to accept both, along with the hope that Saramago holds out.
The stunningly powerful novel of man’s will to survive against all odds, by the winner of the 1998 Nobel Prize for Literature.More at Barnes & Noble.com
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