Letters from a Seducer

Trilogia erótica-pornográfica #3

by Hilda Hilst, John Keene (Translator), Bruno Carvalho (Contributor)

In Letters from a Seducer, Hilst describes the everyday life of Karl, a wealthy, erudite, and amoral man who seeks an answer to his incomprehension of life through sex. Karl writes and sends twenty provocative letters to Cordelia, his chaste sister. The letters' text becomes intertwined with the life of the poet Stamatius, who finds Karl's letters in the trash. It quickly dawns upon the reader that both men are in fact the same person albeit at different points of time and circumstance. This mirror play is the guiding trope for a uniquely grand work.

Genres: Fiction, Brazil, Novels, Literature, Latin American, Portuguese Literature, Erotica

116 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1991

About the author

Hilda de Almeida Prado Hilst, more widely known as Hilda Hilst (Jaú, April 21, 1930–Campinas, February 4, 2004) was a Brazilian poet, playwright and novelist, whose fiction and poetry were generally based upon delicate intimacy and often insanity and supernatural events. Particularly her late works belong to the tradition of magic realism.

In 1948 she enrolled the Law Course in Faculdade de Direito da Universidade de São Paulo(Largo São Francisco), finishing it in 1952. There she met her best friend, the writer Lygia Fagundes Telles. In 1966, Hilda moved to Casa do Sol (Sunhouse), a country seat next to Campinas, where she hosted a lot of writers and artists for several years. Living there, she dedicated all her time to literary creation.

Hilda Hilst wrote for almost fifty years, and granted the most important Brazilian literary prizes.

Reviews

[Carmo · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5*

Temas controversos numa escrita corajosa a levar-nos por labirintos que, habitualmente, fazemos por ignorar.

Último volume da trilogia erótica -pornográfica a fazer jus à afirmação de que o melhor fica para o fim. No final, não foi a linguagem obscena ou a ousadia dos actos que sobressaiu; foi sim, a solidão de quem trilhou caminhos enviesados e deles ficou cativo. As cartas lêem-se num misto de espanto e ternura, sente-se nelas o permanente desafio, as amarras ao passado e um eterno descontentamento. As palavras podem chocar-nos, mas no fim da leitura o que fica é a poesia; está lá, atrás da dor, do abandono, da incerteza e das inquietações.

E pelo meio da extravagância linguística, Hilda Hist, não perdeu a oportunidade de focar atenções na figura de Deus; não na religião A,B, ou C, nem fazendo uso da crítica, mas interrogando e questionando constantemente o Altíssimo .

[M · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ler este livro é como ser testemunha da capacidade (e coragem!) da Hilda Hilst de se embrenhar por becos escuros, tortuosos, assustadores e, muitas vezes, vis. Você vai atrás--seguindo de uma distância segura--de boca aberta. E lá vai Hilda, munida apenas de uma chama, iluminando tudo que ela encontra: sujeira, esgoto, podridão. Coisas horríveis, sem nome, coisas que a gente finge que não existem. O que ninguém quer ver. Hilda lança a luz de suas palavras sobre tudo. E quando ela passa, e você fecha a capa do livro, fica só a beleza.

[Maddie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bizarre. Sexually depraved. Dripping in obscene uses of body parts. Loved it.
(Took off a star, because the ending started to bore me…somehow)

[Adriana Scarpin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Primeiro livro que li da Hilst que não é uma obra prima absoluta, mas ainda sim é uma grande obra.

[Justin Evans · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found this a little less gripping than 'Madame D' and 'Dog Eyes.' The central section--the letters of the title--are a glorious, twisted little novella unto themselves. The writer is more or less trying to 'seduce' his sister into either i) playing along with his fantasies or ii) admitting her own perversions. So far so good.

But the frame is relatively dull: a second writer, this time one with a bit more moral fiber, reports on his life. His name is Tiu. There's comparatively little movement, and much of it seems pointless. If you really, really enjoy the pomo writer-writing-stories-in-a-story thing, you'll get more from it than I did, but compared to the Letters themselves... not so great. That said, I suspect this was a failure of execution, rather than of idea. The closing stories are truly repulsive/sexy, and there's real moral urgency to the comparison between the seducer and Tiu, of an almost Kierkegaardian intensity.

Of course, the marketing suggests that the book is just about fucking, and if that's your kind of thing, there's plenty of 'transgression' in here, some of it genuinely appalling. But what's interesting is the question of how we're to judge the relationships between pornography and art, sex and beauty, and, most importantly, immorality and love.

[jeremy · Rating 4 out of 5]

hilda hilst, brazilian novelist, poet, and playwright (and contemporary/friend of fellow writer clarice lispector), is well-deserving of a greater english audience. letters from a seducer (cartas de um sedutor) is part of a tetralogy (with the other three titles not yet available in translation) and is one of three books already rendered from the portuguese (the obscene madame d and with my dog eyes being the others).

pornographic, poetic, desirous, and often dark, letters from a seducer explores themes of sexuality, gender, incest, pleasure-seeking, and literary creation. titillating to some and undoubtedly vulgar and offensive to others, hilst's novel (divided into three parts, but mostly an epistolary work told from the male perspective) reverberates with passion and vigor. with a singular style as cerebral as it is visceral, letters from a seducer teases the edge of lust and longing (with frequent sojourns well beyond the borderlands), perhaps arousing in its reader equal parts desire and disgust.

the night is cold and there are stars out. it is acts like this, you see, that make this life what it is: sordid and immutable.

*translated from the portuguese by john keene (author, poet, and translator of the obscene madame d)

[Libbie · Rating 1 out of 5]

A literary classic translated from Brazilian Portuguese to English, Hilst tells the story of Karl, a wealthy amoral man who seeks an answer to his incomprehension of life through sex.

When reading this I am reminded that just because a book is classed as a literary classic it does not make it a good book.

Letters from a seducer explores themes of sexuality, gender, incest and literary creation. It is evident that this book was written to shock and outrage and disturb the reader, which whilst it does so somewhat successfully, there is nothing of substance here.

The book has it's amusing moments, however I am not sure whether that is a failing in the translation, a failing in the writing or whether it is genuinely mean to amuse. The plot is bare bones and honestly just boring.

Thank you to NetGalley and Pushkin press for providing an ARC copy in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.

[Ceyrone · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was bizarre in a wonderful way. Can’t help but see Helene Cixous’ theory of feminism writing, in her seminal essay The Laugh of the Medusa. Both women challenge traditional modes of expression, especially those shaped by patriarchal logic, and instead embrace a fluid, transgressive, and bodily form of writing that destabilizes fixed meaning.

[Kigekii · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ich würde hiervon wirklich die Finger lassen. Dieses Buch ist einfach nur Dark Romance im „Literatur-Gewand“.

[Karen Wellsbury · Rating 5 out of 5]

While she isn't widely read outside Brazil, Hilst's work I find dazzling. It blurs between poetry and prose, can be shocking, funny, moving, beautiful, challenging and vulgar from page to page. Nothing happens, and everything happens.
Stunning

[Kat · Rating 3 out of 5]

3 stars

**Thank you to NetGalley for this ARC in exchange for an honest review.**

Basics

Author: she/her (Brazil, Portuguese)
Genre: erotic fiction
Themes: sex, temptation, grossness of life/living
Vibes: blasphemous, hilarious, visceral

Quotes - Bizarre & Blasphemous & Grotesquely Beautiful

"What a butt! I laid my face there and sometimes half tearful, half silly, said to those stuffed meats, if I had had a little pillow like yours, Lutecia, when I was a filthy, shabby kid, I would have been a poet."

"I come thick thinking: I am a Brazilian writer, something of a macho, baby. Let's go."

"...your v*gina was a mixture of yellow star apples and loquats."

"But the phallus in the pink, in women, only in extremis."

"A woman's a** should serve as good steaks in case of an avalanche. Did you read about such people who ate their favorite frozen guyfriends or girlfriends? Do you remember that other guy, a Japanese man, who literally ate his little Dutch lover? Only there was no avalanche. He even ate her at home, and after having spent some time in the asylum when he got out (not sure why he got out) said: I was misunderstood. And how can you understand someone who literally eats someone, without either avalanche or snow?"

"Does he cut your tress with the ax or power saw? If it's the ax you are lying when you say you are not f*cking that guy."

"Reportedly Kraus protected his rim, literally dying of laughter. Do you believe it? He died. Tom wants to prove homicide...but who is going to believe that a guy died from laughing just from the threat of having his button licked?"

"Do you remember the whole Mishima story? The one who did seppuku... There were the details: he ate cabbage and thinly sliced raw chicken at dinner the night before. After he stuffed his orifices with cotton rolls so that his feces would not come out at zero hour. I have a horror of writers. The list of perverts is enormous. Rimbaud, the so-called genius: he would pluck lice off himself and throw them on the public. He urinated in people's glasses in bars...Then Proust: he tells how he stuck needles in the tiny eyes of mice. He beat the poor things. Genet: he would eat the crabs he found in his lover's crotch. Foucault: he'd go out at night, dressed completely in black leather, maybe sado, or maso, giving up and feasting on *ssholes. Mishima himself, crazy for sweaty soldiers and blood. He got off the first time he saw a picture of St. Sebastian pierced with arrows."

"And the otolaryngologist said: ma'am, there are basically three holes made for what the lady allowed to be done in her ear and there is no need to cite the three, but ears and nostrils are unfit to receive semen, do you understand?"

"But cheer up: yesterday I dreamed that I was sucking your p*ssy and you were ascending into the heavens with a harp between your thighs... Then two angels rolled me over like an o and licked me with silver tongues... Then, God himself... put a tire around my neck that looked like a collar, and was displaying a I know not what (how to name the ostentatiousness of God?), a pink and kitsch enough giant chorizo, decorated with tiny stars. I was completely shattered inside. I saw stars..."

"Think of all the innards. In the sewer of this package that is the body. Beautiful machine, say the fantasists. And then you remember the package of sh*t that is your body. Of a heap of debris. Of the foulness of being alive."

"A writer isn't a saint, my man. The thing is inventing ballsy stuff, things to turn people on, p*ssies in hand, the guys want to read something that makes them forget they're mortal and sh*t."

"I will never forget that providential prolonged and silent fart of age 14."

"He was telluric and unique. He was dreaming. He dreamt of goodbyes and shadows. He dreamt of gods. He was cruel because he had always been desperate. He encountered a human-angel. So that they might live together, on Earth, forever, he cut off his wings. The other killed himself, plunging into the waters. I am still alive today. I'm old. At night I drink a lot and look at the stars. Often, I write. Then I reconsider that one, the snowy breath, the desperation. I lie down. Austerely, I dream that I sow black beans and wings across a dark, sometimes mother-of-pearl, earth."

Pros

+ this is heinous, blasphemous, and erotic/gross and I had a blast reading it
+ HAHAHAHAHAHA for real
+ visceral, gross writing I love
+ stream of consciousness writing style DOES mostly work for me here (especially in the first part)
+ the absolute absurdist quotes made me literally laugh out loud (a woman writing a man writing to a woman (his sister/lover) about his conquests (men & women))
+ pan/bisexual opportunist lover (women & men)
+ absolutely WILD shit he's writing in these letters
+ laughing to death from protecting your butthole virginity
+ angelic orgy with God and his star-studded salami
+ some content is surprisingly modern (if you're not sleeping with the gardener who cuts wood with an ax, you're a liar)
+ another reviewer (Kev Nickells) said "you probably drift 10ft further from God every time this book makes you laugh" and I 100000% AGREE. It's blasphemous and hilarious and really, truly f*cked up

Neutral

/ Let's pour one out for the translator, John Keene, who must've had a helluva time translating this
/ Some glimmers of truly beautiful writing and hilariously dark prose but mixed with inane ramblings that don't make much sense. Mixed feelings about the writing style.

Cons

- something about "c*nt" being written so many times in so many pages makes me cringe 😬 it's definitely my American curse-word preferences because I never use it (Aussies love using it)
- Sadly, the work splits into another narrative half way through. I was SO confused. I went back to the synopsis and found this: "The letters' text becomes intertwined with the life of the poet Stamatius, who finds Karl's letters in the trash. It quickly dawns upon the reader that both men are in fact the same person albeit at different points of time and circumstance." I'm going to keep reading, but that switch up was really disorienting and almost made me DNF the book.
- The last half of the book (the 2nd and 3rd sections) is rambly, incoherent, and less incisively sharp and witty than the first part. Bummer.

Similar Recs

In Praise of the Stepmother by Mario Vargas Llosa (incest vibes in weird format) × Little Birds by Anais Nin (grossly erotic themes/tone)

TW

explicit sexual content, cheating, incest, an abundance of curse words, sex with a minor (referenced), f-slur, sexualization/fantasies about himself/his sister in their childhood, murder, disposal of a corpse, blood, cutting off body parts, farts, suicide, hanging

[rafael m.faust · Rating 3 out of 5]

''Tínhamos discussões intermináveis. Eu lhe mostrava meus textos e ele dizia: tu não tens
fôlego, meu chapa, tudo acaba muito depressa, tu não desenvolve o personagem, o
personagem fica por aí vagando, não tem espessura, não é real. Mas é só isso que eu quero
dizer, não quero contornos, não quero espessura, quero o cara leve, conciso, apressado de
si mesmo, livre de dados pessoais, o cara flutua, sim, mas é vivo, mais vivo do que se
ficasse preso por palavras, por atos, ele flutua livre, entende? Não. E ajeitava os óculos, não
e não. Achei conveniente não lhe mostrar mais os textos. Ele me encontrava e insistia: hof
hof hof, fôlego, meu chapa, fôlego, espanta as nuvenzinhas flutuantes, dá corpo às tuas
carcaças, afunda os pés no chão. Eu implorava: para com isso, para, um dia quem sabe tu
entendes. Não entendeu. Na frente de amigos, de minha mulher, de meus filhos ele
começava: hof hof hof, fôlego meu chapa. Um dia fomos à praia. Entre uma caipirinha e
outra propus-lhe nadar até a ilha. Disse um sim chocho, mas topou. No meio da travessia,
enquanto ele se afogava, eu aperfeiçoava a minha butterfly, e meu ritmo era rápido,
harmonioso, cheio de vigor. Gritei-lhe antes de vê-lo desaparecer: fôlego é isso, negão.
Estou em paz. E dedico-lhe este meu breve texto, leve, conciso, apressado de si mesmo,
livre de dados pessoais, muito mais vivo do que ele ''

[Luciana Vichino · Rating 5 out of 5]

O livro é louco, profundo, vulgar, coerente...é crítico, sutil e chocante. O tempo todo Hilda passeia e alterna entre todas as características e você nunca sabe o que vai ler no próximo capítulo.

É ácido e corajoso, como imagino que era Hilda quando escreveu este livro na época em que foi publicado.

Leitura muito gostosa e inteligente, as vezes é até poética e divertida. Vale a pena.

[Bernie Gourley · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an upcoming English translation of a 1991 novella from Brazilian author, Hilda Hilst, from what has been called her "obscene cycle." It is mostly an epistolary novella in which a man, Karl, writes his sister, Cordelia, informing her about his recent sexual adventures and attempting to coax a confession out of her about her own activities long in the past. We never see any replies from Cordelia. (And that is part of what makes the book fascinating.) The only indication of her responses that we get are Karl's references to Cordelia's comments from her last letter in his present letter. However, we can't necessarily be certain that even those occasional suggestions of dialog represent the truth.

To understand why one might have doubt, one must be aware of what else is going on in this book. There is one other narrative voice, and that is of Stamatius. Stamatius is in socio-economic terms the opposite of Karl. Karl being of the gentlemanly class -- his behavior and letters to his sister notwithstanding -- and Stamatius is a starving artist (a writer, to be precise.) The two men speak of each other, though always in deprecating terms. However, there's reason to think the two men might be one. Stamatius, while condemning Karl's sex obsession, also mostly engages in tales of his own sexual adventures as well as presenting those of others. In fact, the end of this novella is a collection of short vignettes of the nature one might see in a smutty letter magazine, only better (and sometimes poetically) written.

By the author's own description, this novella is intentionally pornographic. While the same thing is said of Hilst's The Obscene Madame D I did not find that book particularly graphic or sex-centric. This book, however, is quite graphic and if one took away references to sexual activities
nothing of substance would remain. (Not true of The Obscene Madame D.)

I found this book to be intriguing, despite the fact that it is quite sloppily arranged (presumably on purpose,) but it does present some splendid use of language (at least in this translation -- the original is in Brazilian Portuguese) and character psychology.

I'd recommend this book for readers of literary fiction who don't mind plotlessness and pornographicness.

[Nicki Markus · Rating 4 out of 5]

Unlike The Obscene Madame D, which I reviewed just a few minutes ago, I found Letters from a Seducer a much more accessible read. The opening half in particular felt reminiscent of the Marquis de Sade, so it was familiar and easy to follow the story and the characters. The second part was still interesting, but I didn't enjoy it as much as the first, although I could see the cleverness in how the author executed the work. If you are knew to this author like me, I would recommend starting with this book as the more easily read text. There were plenty of interesting thoughts and ideas in this novella, and I would certainly check out further works by Hilst in the future. I am giving this book 4.5 stars.

I received this book as a free eBook ARC via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

[Richard Rimachi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mi sorpresa del año. Lo leí por un curso de Literatura Brasileña, ni conocía a la autora, y no pensé que esta novela erótica sería tan buena, no solo porque demuestra que no toda buena literatura se encuentra en aquella que explícitamente hace crítica social y todo ello, sino que, sin obviar algunos temas de sociedad, hace que la banalidad pueda ser exquisita hasta el punto de ser más importante que una simple experiencia. Los dos hermanos protagonistas son incestuosos, y el hermano intenta convencer a su compañera a que vuelvan a tener sexo como en la juventud, pero ella ahora es más púdica y se niega. Casi todo está compuesto de cartas y los mensajes del protagonista son hilarantes, a veces excitantes o mórbidos depende de las fantasías del lector o lectora, y los cuentos que introduce como parte de sus escritos son paródicos de la literatura refinada, pero con un estilo propio al no pretender ser un juez moral con la capacidad de satirizar otros registros: todo es natural, o eso hace creer la narración de Hilda Hilst.

[Tonymess · Rating 4 out of 5]

In our “Introduction”, by Bruno Carvhalho, to “Letters from a Seducer” he explains that when this novel was first published in 1991, Brazil “had emerged from a military dictatorship (1964-1985), and writers no longer had to contend with brutal government censorship.” As a result our writer, Hilda Hirst, “was playing with the readers’ expectations”. He goes on the state that “Letters from a Seducer” is “by no means conventional” and that the “book is divided into three loosely connected parts”…


Our opening line is “How to think about pleasure wrapped up in this crap?” We are in for a tale of pleasure, not a lot of seduction, pleasure, gratification, pleasure and then some more. After a short introductory piece, explaining the “crap” we are about to consume, we have the male voice, the well off, dandy Karl writing twenty letters to his sister.

For my full review go to http://messybooker.blogspot.com.au/

[Laura Eliz · Rating 3 out of 5]

Este libro fue un poco extraño. Las temas fueron muy controversial y leer algunas de estas situaciones me hizo sentir muy incómoda. Me gustan libros extraños, pero para me este libro fue bastante raro.

[Michael Dipietro · Rating 3 out of 5]

One of those obscure experimental hyper-erotic novels ... I did make it through the whole thing but couldn't tell you what it was. Reminded me of surrealist writing, Marquis de Sade, Samuel Delany and Clarice Lispector. The stories in the latter sections were more coherent and entertaining.

[Ana Nehan · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Eulália ri gostoso. Olha para mim como se eu existisse, nada me olha como se eu existisse, me deu vontade de comer um sanduíche de linguado e Eulália de sobremesa".

[Rosa Ramôa · Rating 5 out of 5]

Muita coragem (ou ousadia?)*

[Kev Nickells · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's difficult to describe a book that's at turns baffling, vertiginous, spiteful, pornographic. It's ridden with acid wit in the sense that you probably drift 10ft further from God every time this book makes you laugh (in my case, quite a lot). What story there is ends up subjugated (to my way of reading, at least) to her vertiginy - such pacing, such turns. A litany of weird and abject characters who never quite get fleshed out but rather hover over the text like ghosts.

I read her 'with my dog eyes' previously and I imagine I mentioned her spite - I was describing this as like if Joyce was a bastard and if Joyce is a high water mark of writing in English (which he is) then I'd put Hilst squarely next to him. It's not as enjoyable as Joyce but it's doubly as pornographic. But Hilst is electrifying, her translator John Keene has done what I can only assume is a formidable job in keeping a sense of the contraction and expulsions of Hilst's language.

There's moments where this is 'standardly' experimental - insofar as it seasickly switches from prosaic tracts to dialogue, poetry - but never with a feeling of affectation; more like Hilst has just excised this fully formed like some kind of eldritch, glistening, pus-filled welt.

I suspect it's also worth noting that while this is pornographic - insofar as it describes intimate sexual acts graphically - I wouldn't describe it as erotic, except in the sense of the writerly-eros. It's distinctly not a turn-on, is my point - any sex is oddly passive or existential rather than bodily and ecstatic. In itself I wonder if this is a book, like '...dog eyes', designed to exude spite from every pore.

Formidable, astonishing, bastard awkward, amazing.

[Harrison · Rating 5 out of 5]

Very funny literary smut / “Think of all the innards. In the sewer of this package that is the body. Beautiful machine, say the fantasists. And then you remember the package of shit that is your body. Of a heap of debris. Of the foulness of being alive. The intensity of wanting to be somebody. Brilliance, originality, conversation, car, horse, video, computer, certified checks, modernity, lovers, woman, ahhhhhh! I want to be ancient, the oldest possible even, crumbling to pieces and why not toothless? There are single teeth, bright ones, in tombs, in coffins. My hard gums can chew everything very well. There are scumbags ballsacks with all their teeth. And then I am not going to eat nuts or gnaw on bones (perhaps… gnawing on bones?… yes I can get to that). (80)

[Eleonora · Rating 5 out of 5]

erudite experimental smut. 5/5

"Letters from a seducer, first published in 1991, was the third in a tetralogy of what the author deemed "brilliant pornography," or "porno-chic. These works followed a period of intense experimentation in Brazilian literature. The country had emerged from a military dictatorship (1964-1985), and writers no longer had to contend with brutal government censorship. [...] Hilda Hilst did not attempt to produce best-sellers with this series, but she was playing with the boundaries of the readers' expectations. [...] Almost every page alludes to a major author: Marx, Camus, Foucault, Genet, D.H. Lawrence, Tolstoy, Joyce, Madame de Stael, Nietzsche."
- from the intro (as quoting the actual text may be beyond Amazon inc. sensibilities)

[Helen Frost · Rating 3 out of 5]

Quite possibly one of the most bizarre books I have read in a long time. There is quite a high pornographic content which was expected and actually not too shocking apart from the almost try too hard to shock elements alluding to incest.
The main character is seemingly trying to draw his sister into his amoral thoughts and actions by writing her letters describing all kinds of sexual fantasies and actions. Part of the time I actually had no clue what was going on and my advice if you find yourself in a similar stance is to just go with the flow because the book is strangely worth it in the long run. I won’t judge anyone who doesn’t agree with that sentiment, however!

[pae (marginhermit) · Rating 4 out of 5]

On metafiction, erotica , filled with murky, messy depths of desire, intimacy and obsession.;

KARL IS MESSED UP BRO. Not a good move reading this in ereader, hence making me reading most of
weird stuff he write in public.
This man has no chill. Niente. Hilst make it sounds good though; be it he’s rambling about seduction, his surroundings, or just descending into a monologue about the human condition, it’s impossible to look away.

[bárbara]

Experiência interessante ler uma autora como Hilda Hilst em inglês, tendo lido a obra original primeiro em português e o cuidado que se teve nessa tradução, mas não posso deixar de dizer, o português expõe o indizível de uma forma muito singular, e o indizível e Hilda andam tão juntos, em determinados momento parecem ser um só.

Que língua linda o nosso português, que previlégio conhecer ela de forma tão intíma.

obrigada netgalley, por essa experiência.

[Chloe Hunte · Rating 2 out of 5]

At times funny, witty, and reflective. Mostly perverse and sometimes, just down right silly! The dual narrative was messy and then we just have a chapter of vignettes at the end… if anything the book should have opened with these and then gone into the story. Some good one liners but not a bit of me. 2.5⭐️

“They call all this bingeing desire. In nature everything eats. From the lion to the ant. Even the stars devour each other”

[Wesley Silva · Rating 3 out of 5]

Li Cartas de um sedutor no avião, voltando de uma viagem inesquecível com o meu amor. Quando terminei o livro, falei para ele o que achei: primeiro livro que leio que o começo é melhor que o fim. Engraçado, né? Um livro que começa melhor e vai piorando à medida que a leitura avança. Mais uma esquisitice de Hilda, uma mulher cheia delas.

[Carolina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Vou dizer que esse me surpreendeu, apesar de já ter lido os outros 2 da trilogia antes eu meio que já imaginava o que devia encontrar, mas ele tem uma coisa diferente, em alguns momentos odiei e segui arrastada, mas as cartas são tão ternas e tão absurdas que me afeiçoei.