Dulce Maria Cardoso nasceu em Trás-os-Montes, em 1964, na mesma cama onde haviam nascido a mãe e a avó. Tem pena de não se lembrar da viagem no Vera Cruz para Angola. Da infância guarda a sombra generosa de uma mangueira que existia no quintal, o mar e o espaço que lhe moldou a alma. Regressou a Portugal na ponte aérea de 1975. Licenciou-se em Direito pela Faculdade de Direito de Lisboa, escreveu argumentos para cinema, gastou tempo em inutilidades. Também escreveu contos. Tem fé, uma família, um punhado de amigos, o Blui e o Clude. Continua a escrever e a prezar inutilidades. Vive em Lisboa.
I really wanted to love this book as it is written by a Portuguese author and is set in the town I recently vacationed in. But it’s just very slow & boring and will be donated to my neighborhood little library. Nothing about the characters or the plot grabbed me-I very rarely don’t finish books but I just can’t bring myself to continue this one.
I know a book is good when I deeply understand a flawed character that makes immoral decisions. Eliete also put to words how I sometimes feel about Alzheimer’s. Much of the book read like poetry which was beautiful and impressive for a translated book.
This one was a tough one to follow. The style doesn’t punctuate for dialogue and doesn’t separate out in paragraphs much. I was hoping for thought provoking opinions about mortality and how we should be living lives that we are excited about, but it fell flat.
Thought the characters were shallow and the points lacking. This is a Portuguese published book, and not sure if the author translated to English or if a different translator might have done a poor job