Empty Words

by Mario Levrero, Annie McDermott (Translator)

A writer begins keeping a notebook of handwriting exercises hoping that, if he is able to improve his penmanship, he himself will also improve. What begins as a mere physical exercise is filled involuntarily with humorous reflections and tender anecdotes about living, writing, and the sense—or nonsense—of existence.

Genres: Fiction, Latin American, Writing, Latin American Literature, Contemporary, Spanish Literature, Literary Fiction

152 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1996

About the author

Jorge Mario Varlotta Levrero, más conocido como Mario Levrero fue un escritor, fotógrafo, librero, guionista de cómics, columnista, humorista, creador de crucigramas y juegos de ingenio uruguayo. En sus últimos años de vida dirigió un taller literario.

Jorge Mario Varlotta Levrero, born in Montevideo in 1940 and died there in 2004. Before becaming a cult writer and being considered as a master by many of the best writers in Latin America, Levrero first was a photographer, bookseller comics script writer, humorist, crossword author, creator of brain games. In his later years, he directed a literary workshop.

Levrero’s writing, structured around humour and unease, takes the form of a clean prose based on the psychological that has been characterized as “introspective realism”. His major work La novela luminosa was released posthumously. Another of his most remarkable novels was the involuntary trilogy, formed by the titles La ciudad, El lugar and París

Also, he authored an extensive body of literary work which includes journalistic writing (some of the best articles are to be found in Irrupciones I and Irrupciones II), short stories, novels and essays.

Levrero hated interviews and prologues, loved cinema, he was so interested in self-hypnosis, believed in telepathic phenomena, read about Zen, addicted to computers, loved science, hated being addressed in the “usted” form, could not abide solemnity in general, read detective novels even at breakfast.

Reviews

[Glenn Russell]

Uruguay, the Latin American country famous for producing strange writers - none stranger than Mario Levrero (1940-2004).

You want far out? You want peculiar? You want uncanny? A Mario Levrero novel is so strange it crosses over into the literary land of gleeful weirdness.

Gleeful weirdness. Say that three times fast while laughing and jumping up and down. My kind of writing. And Mario Levrero is definitely my kind of author.

Mario Levrero wrote over two dozen books, mostly novels. The first Levrero novel to be published in English is the book under review - Empty Words.

Mario Levrero's masterpiece, The Luminous Novel, will be translated into English this August. I can hardly wait.

The Luminous Novel - 400 pages detailing why he, Mario Levrero, could not write the novel he received a Guggenheim grant to write.

Mario Levrero possessed a boundless imagination. Critics and reviewers were forever attempting to categorize Mario's writing but he was simply too creative for any school or niche, no matter how expansive. As Mario told an interviewer: “It would be far more interesting for them if, instead of writing, I committed a murder.”

Ever since Mario published his first novel, La Ciudad (The City), at age 26, one fact has always remained consistent: everything Mario Levrero has written can be recognized instantly, his literary voice is that distinctive.

Question: What is writing for Mario Levrero? Answer: a brain teaser, a mystery, a tool for solving mystery, both a means for exploring the unconscious and a bi-product of the unconscious, a creative articulation transcending categories, a free expression of the imagination.

Turning to Empty Words, we have a narrator who embarks on a therapy to better his life: improved penmanship. "The idea, then, is that by changing the behavior observed in a person's handwriting, it may be possible to change other things about that person."

According to the narrator, we're talking change on a number of important levels: “transforming a whole plethora of bad behaviors into good ones and catapulting blissfully into a life of happiness, joy, money, and success.”

After nearly two month of practice, the narrator reinforces his initial thinking: "I have to let my inner self change and grow under the magical influence of graphology. Big writing, big me. Small writing, small me. Beautiful writing, beautiful me."

Does his personal metamorphosis go further? Oh, yes. With more practice, he reports: "I want to get in touch with myself, with the miraculous being that lives inside me and is able, among so many other extraordinary things, to fabricate interesting stories and cartoons."

Such ruminations culminate in a rousing crescendo of self-discovery: "That's the point. That's what it's all about. Reconnecting with the inner being, the being which is part, in some secret way, of the divine spark that roams tirelessly through the Universe, giving it life, keeping it going, and lending reality to what would otherwise be an empty shell."

Now, do you sense Mario Levrero might be sticking a sharp satiric needle into his narrator's fleshy backside, suggesting all this inner glory via improved handwriting might be so much bullshitski? Could be, especially since Mario provides a note on the text and a Prologue that themselves might be written with his tongue deep in his cheek.

And how does our narrator fare in his goal of improved handwriting? As he quickly discovers, his attention is forever being pulled in the direction of literature and meaning. This to say, when his focus shifts away from maintaining uniform loops and crossing all his t's while keeping his handwriting large and smooth to focusing on the content and meaning of what he's writing (a literary man just can't help himself), his penmanship reverts back to his old habit of small, cramped and a jagged mixing of print and script. Darn!

Problems assail our poor narrator from every angle. Oh, yes, to compound his difficulties, other slices are continually being added to his writer's pie - for example: his disturbing dreams, insomnia, past unsettling memories, son Ignacio's interruptions, drama revolving around a dog and then a cat, wife Alicia's list of demands, his natural inclination to philosophize.

"The fact is, we're all nothing but the crossover points of threads that stretch far beyond us, reaching from one unknown place to another. Not even this language I'm using belongs to me. I didn't invent it, and if I had it would be no use for communicating with."

So curious. Crossover points, language, communication - all abstract concepts as the narrator completes his handwriting exercise. Is it truly possible to write meaningful sentences devoid of meaning? If he was only after an improvement in penmanship, why not repeat a word or two or three containing the most challenging letters to keep large and smooth? That's exactly what I would do if I wanted to concentrate exclusively on my handwriting without letting even a trace of meaning or content enter into my composing.

"My character obliges me, and enables me, to do things one way and not another. I approach tasks with a degree of Zen; as far as I'm concerned, things should be done when they're good and ready, and their readiness is something I need to feel coming from within myself."

I see the narrator's reflection above as supercharged with meaning. Does he feel, really feel, he's ready to concentrate on improving his handwriting when his mind continually pulls him away to think about what content he's writing? Will he abandon his penmanship project once he senses inspiration for a work of fiction flooding in, where the story might even 'tell itself' while using his pen and paper as the vehicle?

And can this whole writing exercise be likened to Oulipo's constrained writing techniques with such works as Georges Perec's novel, A Void, where Perec composed an entire 300-page saga without once using the letter 'e'? Can we liken the absence of meaning and content for Mario Levrero's narrator to Georges Perec's absence of that frisky vowel?

Any novel gives a reader an opportunity to watch the mind of the novelist at work. With Empty Words, watching Mario Levrero's mind at work is the main attraction - and what an attraction it is. Besides which, reading Empty Words is fun. Special call-out to Annie McDermott for her excellent translation.


Uruguayan author Mario Levrero, 1940-2004

[julieta · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hay algo en levrero que siempre es experimentación, y a la vez no.

Su estructura siempre parte de un formato de diario, el contar el día día, contar banalidades, o cosas cotidianas. Pero siempre acaba enganchando con eso, que parece un ejercicio (que de hecho tiene ejercicios de caligrafía, lo cual es bastante gracioso, ya que lo puedes imaginar, pero no ver)

Y también me hace pensar en la búsqueda de la memoria, en lo que el dice, "Si escribo es para recordar, para despertar el alma dormida, avivar el seso y descubrir sus caminos secretos; mis narraciones son en su mayoría trozos de la memoria del alma, y no invenciones."

Le tengo a cariño a Levrero, es un escritor extraño, y a la vez cercano, sus historias no parecen historias, sino como un dejarte entrar en lo que el ve y vive, porque al final, todo el tiempo está hablando de su vida, de su oficio de escritor, y lo hace sin ninguna pudor. No se cuestiona si está bien o no el que escriba sobre lo que escribe, si tiene historia o no, y eso por alguna razón hace que me encante aún más, por su sentido del humor, por sus frustraciones, y por si día a día.

[JimZ · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a novel. It’s written as a sort of diary, and it seems at least semi-autobiographical because Levrero dedicates the novel to “Alicia, Juan Ignacio, and Pongo the dog—in other words, my family”, and these people are in the novel. Levrero married Alicia, a doctor, who already has a son Juan Ignacio. The diary opens with a prologue written on December 22, 1989 and ends with an epilogue dated September 22, 1991. In between are two sets of entries—in Levrero’s words “…‘Exercises’ is a series of short handwriting exercises, written with no other purpose than that. The other, entitled ‘The Empty Discourse’, is a single, unified text that’s more ‘literary’ in intention.”

So, to me, this is experimental writing. His premise was that by improving his cursive handwriting, he could improve other aspects of his life. Again, from his own words:
• “My graphological self-therapy begins today. This method (suggested a while ago by a crazy friend) stems from the notions— which is central to graphology — that there’s profound connection between a person’s handwriting and his or her character, and from the behavioural tenet that changes in behaviour can lead to changes on a psychological level. The idea, then, is that by changing the behaviour observed in a person’s handwriting, it may be possible to change other things about that person.”

I think his handwriting improves throughout the diary, but he has relapses where I guess he falls back on old habits. In the diary he ruminates about an impending move from one house to another, about his feelings towards his wife, his feelings towards the dog and a cat that is fed by the family, about an electrical power plant next to the new house which emits a loud humming sound which is driving him crazy. He alludes to sporadically about this past life in which he was born I believe in Montevideo Uruguay and lived there for much of this life, and then moves to Buenos Aires, and then moves to Colonia back in Uruguay. He apparently has liver disease and eczema, and has anxiety attacks and depression.

I don’t think I understand where he was going with this novel… Anyway, it was more often interesting than boring although to me it did oscillate between the two. And he talked about dreams more often than I would like — boy, when I am in conversation with another person and that person starts off by telling me “Last night, I had the weirdest dream…” I try and head for the nearest exit. I can’t stand listening to, or reading about, other people’s dreams! I think dreams are nature’s way of cleaning our mind/brain overnight so we can wake up refreshed and ready to face another day. And that’s all. I don’t want to hear about your dreams. It is nonsense.

There, I have spoken. 😐

3 solid stars. 🙂

Reviews:
• Very positive and informative review from National Public Radio (NPR): https://www.npr.org/2019/05/23/725499...
• https://entropymag.org/empty-words-ma...
• https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...

[Juan Nalerio · Rating 5 out of 5]

¿No has leído nada de Levrero? Qué lástima. El discurso vacío es una gran puerta de entrada a al universo introspectivo de Mario. A mitad de camino entre diario y ensayo, accedemos al yo interior de este gran escritor.

El protagonista de esta novela es obsesivo, maniático, depresivo, profundamente gris y pesimista. Uruguayo de pura cepa con dejos kafkianos.

La novela propone que la escritura diaria, como rutina de ejercicio, influye en la conducta del escritor. La vida es un proceso de constante cambio y esta moldeada por lo que uno deja en el papel.

En palabras del autor: “Me pongo a escribir, desde la forma, desde el propio fluir, introduciendo el problema del vacío como asunto de esa forma, con la esperanza de ir descubriendo el asunto real, enmascarado de vacío”

Entrevistado sobre esta obra, manifestó que era un libro especial ya que se había escrito sólo y y que fue rescatado en el último momento de las llamas. Que suerte que fue así.

[Nick Grammos · Rating 5 out of 5]

He really has a loveable charm this Levrero fellow, or his narrator has, though they might be the same thinly disguised version of each other. It’s best to keep one’s distance as an author from your narrator, you would hate for them to take over your life and ruin it or in this case try to improve it. Like the old saying about the best laid plans of mice and narrators sort of thing.

Our narrator is on a mission to improve himself by some near religious ritual of practicing his handwriting. Essentially that’s it. Self-improvement is something we can condone. But why does he want this? What is wrong with his life that he cannot accept who he is? Self-improvement always looks good on paper. That we always think we can be better. But that is a loaded term. What is wrong with us that we want to improve on? In religious terms, a better version or model might be Christ-like, help people, be morally considered in actions, follow the prescribed orders of the church and be what is considered good. But outside of religion, what do we improve for? Personal gain? Riches? I see myself as in a constant self-improvement by reading. I don’t read everything - I’m slack on philosophy and other ideas, and as time encroaches on me, I confine myself to worthy or bizarre books of fiction, like Levrero’s here.

This is sounding self-referencing. But then all self-improvement is that, it only references some internal perhaps inexplicable drive. And some modelled behaviour. Self-improvement through education should still be the great drive, as though human form can be augmented by engaging the mind and some other principles. But which ones? And to what end? What’s it all for? Perhaps I should become Levrero, it could be an improvement on my lot.

The other version of self-improvement is being the better version of the self, well, there’s a self-referencing trap! Which parts of the self? And do all the parts know each other well enough, or do they not speak about improving at the same pace, and some may revolt against others. Some advance, some follow, some stay behind, some sandbag against the others.

The older I get, the less I know. That should tell my younger self not to bother improving, because if you knew that you know less, you wouldn’t bother. I mean there is no point. Except that I now know what I don’t know. Which means that by some graphic representation, I will know less than now when I die. And if I managed to get onto one of those anti-aging treatments, enter the transhuman dimension, I will continue to live and know less again than the latest projection of my death.

It’s all sounding very empty, isn’t it?

But I should keep going, I’m only half way through this review.

Or as Levrero would write:

my letters are small today, I am very anxious, don’t feel well.

He hasn’t done enough. And that is the problem with self-improvement, we never do enough, never can do enough.

One thing I like about the South Americans who write and live south of the equator is the soothing effect of seasonal similarities. Here is Levrero annoyed at Christmas in Uruguay upsetting his routine of self-improvement:

this means an onslaught of social engagements, intrusions, intolerable noise and unhealthy food that’s completely unsuited to the time of year.

Of course he means winter foods for Christmas in the middle of summer. Southern Hemisphere Christmas here can be hot and roasting against a backdrop of decorated pine trees and fat men in red winter costumes, woolly hats and fake snow.

As we all know, when we go on a quest for self-improvement, we must confront the possibility that all this conscious effort will be defeated; we are no better than who we were when we started. As consciously as we try, our dreams will remind us of the place we came from. This is a very clever element of the novel. Levrero’s novel often reverts to long sequences of remembered dreams. Two meanings of the word vie like Dr Doolite’s Pushmi-Pullyu animal, with two heads moving in opposite directions. Dreams refer to our aspirations, yet, they also hold onto the past by reminding us of the unfinished business in the back of the mind. The harder we try to be something more, the more we reveal who we are to ourselves. So perhaps all this is just some psychology.

And in the end, what is the point of improved handwriting? Legibility, not calligraphy. A delightful metaphor of the writing process emerges. All the writer-narrator wants is clarity. Which looks easy on paper as a finished product, but is a hell to arrive at. Over the year the novel takes place, our narrator wastes a lot of time not improving his handwriting. Spoiler? Nah, it’s not that sort of book. Though his writing does get better. Perhaps that’s all it was really about. I’ve overthought it, fear.

[Hulyacln · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘İnsan kendisinden kopuksa ne yaşadığının önemi yok; her şey aynı ölçüde ağırlıksız; kalıcı bir iz bırakmadan geçip gidiyor.’
.
El yazısı çalışmalarıyla oto-terapi yapmaya çalışan bir adam. Küçük harflerini büyütmek istiyor, daha okunur bir yazı istiyor ama sadece bu kadar değil.
Onun asıl istediği bir düzen.
İçinde huzurlu olduğu, kendini yetkin hissettiği.
Aslında hepimiz gibi.
Rüyalarını analiz ediyor.
Çevresini izliyor, köpeği örneğin. Ailesine sonradan dahil olan kediyi..
Oradan oraya taşınıyor, hayatındaki kadın ile ilişkisini sorguluyor, bir bütün oluşturup o bütünle tamamlanmayı düşlüyor.
Bazen kaçıyor, bazen ara veriyor, bazen günlerce istediklerine odaklanabiliyor.
Bunları hep el yazısı çalışmalarından okuyoruz.
Sakin sakin, onu anlayarak..
.
Mario Levrero ile tanışıyorum, dalgasız bir denizi izlemek gibi. Kısacık bir eser ama doyurucu, diğer eserlerini merak ettiriyor. Pek çok yazarı etkilemesine şaşmamalı. Kendini tüm çıplaklığı ile anlatabilmek bunu sağlıyor,biliyorum.
Nice Levrero kitaplarına!
.
Su gibi akan çeviride Başak Güntekin yer almakta.
Kapak tasarımı ise kitap içeriği ile pek uyumlu; Aslı Sezer çalışması..

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

Empty Words is translated by Annie McDermott (c0-translator of Feebleminded) from Mario Levrero’s 1996 novel El Discurso Vario, and published by the wonderful And Other Stories.

In an illuminating translator’s note McDermott says:

"In Latin America, it's said that Chile produces poets, Argentina produces short story writers, Mexico produces novelists, and Uruguay produces 'los raros' — the strange ones. Levrero was a raro of the highest order, though he rejected that label, complaining that it meant journalists and critics were forever wanting him to do new strange things."

Empty Words is certainly an unusual novel, the sort that were it by a UK author would be a strong Goldsmiths Prize contender, and one to watch for in the Republic of Consciousness Prize.

The novel started as a form of diary, the narrator sharing Levrero’s biographical details and occupations. One strand, per the author’s own introduction, consists of a “series of short handwriting exercises, written with no other purpose than that,” although our diarist immediately suggests another purpose:

My graphological self therapy begins today. This method (suggested a while ago by a crazy friend) stems from the notion – which is central to graphology - that there’s a profound connection between a person’s hand writing and his or her character, and from the behaviourist tenet that changes in behavioue can lead to changes on a psychological level.

An example being practising continuous script “without lifting the pen” to improve my concentration and the continuity of my thoughts, which are currently all over the place.

In practice, as the narrator notes, he finds that these exercises are “becoming less calligraphical and more literary as time goes on”.

A second strand - the Empty Discourse of the title - is introduced as a “single, unified text that’s more ‘literary’ in construction,” although it starts with no real subject matter:

There’s a flow, a rhythm, a seemingly empty form; the discourse could end up addressing any topic, image or idea. This indifference makes me suspicious. I suspect there are all kinds of things - too many- lurking behind the apparent emptiness... That’s why I decided to write this, beginning with the form, with the flow itself, and introducing the problem of emptiness as its subject matter. I hope that this way I’ll gradually discover the real subject matter, which for now is disguised as emptiness..

The topics discussed are often domestic, the narrator’s relationship with his wife and teenage son, and, in rather more detail, the family dog, Pongo.

On I go, trying to write about uninteresting things, perhaps heralding a new era of boredom as a literary movement.

It is a fascinating and playful mix in McDermott’s (as always) excellent translation, literary in concept if not in content.

That said I did have a couple of reservations about the execution:

- at times (for me, the sections about the dog, as no pet fan) the narrator does indeed come perilously close to creating the era of boredom he claims to desire, although this is partially redeemed by his speculations about whether these domestic stories should be taken as having hidden meanings, or purely at face value;

- for a novel based around handwriting exercises, one might have expected more typographical innovation. Although perhaps the very lack of this is intended to be part of the fun.

Overall a 3.5 star read and I particularly look forward to the translation, forthcoming as The Luminous Novel from the same publisher and translator, of his Thomas Bernhard influenced La Novela Luminosa, publishes originally in 2005, one year after his death.

As the narrator of that novel writes of Bernhard:

“no puedo dejar de leer, me cuesta hacer una pausa, por la fuerza hipnótica de su estilo tan pero tan absolutamente chiflado"

[Derian · Rating 5 out of 5]

Levregol toca algo muy profundamente mío. Sepan comprender si al hablar de él hablo también de mí mismo: no se trata solo de él, sino de una persona leyéndolo a él. Que me atraviese de alguna forma su literatura tiene que ver, yo creo, que asemejo ciertas características de su estética y su forma de proceder, de ver el mundo, de sentirlo y experimentarlo, a las mías: escribe como si conversara consigo mismo. En esa conversación, él va conociendo rasgos suyos, aprendiendo elementos de su forma de ser y de su existencia, cosas que antes no había pensado, que solo pueden irrumpir mediante la escritura. Por ejemplo, su extraña relación con un perro; por ejemplo, la relación con su mujer Alicia (¿concubina?), con la que intenta comunicarse a pesar de los reiterados fracasos.
Uno podría pensar en sus problemas (otra vez ya abro una oración con ese impersonal “uno” de futbolista y encima comentándome a mí mismo jaja), como solemos hacer siempre los que tenemos que pagar a principio de mes el alquiler, las deudas; y en ese pensar uno podría encontrar (casi tres verbos juntos, pidan un deseo) cierta claridad para las cosas prácticas de la vida; pero también podría desarrollar ese pensamiento mediante una reflexión literaria y extender los límites de lo que antes no era considerado literario y crear así una literatura nueva: Levregol no desarrolla en El discurso vacío un “monólogo interior”, aunque este tenga características similares; hace algo parecido, corrido, fuera de foco. Es un monólogo de autoconocimiento, verdadero, que va al punto, que habla con la verdad (todo confirmado, todo cierto, diría la señora bisman), que tiene como cuestión central desentrañar los misterios de un solo y único personaje, de un narrador obsesionado consigo mismo. Si llegara a conocer tan profundamente su alma humana, alcanzaría de ese modo una proyección universal de las cuestiones esenciales de la vida. O algo así. De hecho, de otra manera pero siempre alrededor del mismo punto, es lo mismo que me gusta de Aira: un monólogo interior autoconsciente, con la diferencia de que Aira no se busca a sí mismo, él busca perderse y perder con él a los lectores. En realidad, hablamos con nosotros mismos como los locos, los que nos quieran acompañar en esta locura bienvenidos sean, hay lugar para todos! Por eso lo hacemos con sinceridad, no nos importa lo que digan, o lo matizamos con el humor, para que nos sea leve el sufrimiento de lo que digan y boludear así al resto si no nos sigue.
Me gustaría transcribirles gran parte del libro (me pasa siempre que si algo me gusta mi forma de darlo a conocer es mediante una transcripción, no una recomendación, eso es para los giles: recomendar es como mediar, y yo no soy un mediador, me gusta mantener la singularidad de cada cosa, aunque para eso necesite en definitiva mediar de alguna manera). Pero no puedo. Así que en este caso va a tener que ser (va a tener que ser, como estamos con esos verbos, papito) un pequeño extracto de una entrada que, como siempre y como suelo leer yo, que me viene en parte dada por mi formación académica, y otro poco por mis propias motivaciones e intereses, revela en cierto sentido el mecanismo de escritura de El discurso vacío:
“Yo ya había advertido hace algunos años que este tipo de escritura tiene unos efectos mágicos incontrolables, y no puedo evitar un fuerte sentimiento supersticioso de reverencia y temor, como si le estuviera robando el fuego a los dioses. Hay otras formas de escritura, llamémosle literarias, que nunca tuvieron tanta carga ‘mágica’. Era la escritura inspirada, la que hacía compulsivamente [same, amigo], la que venía predeterminada desde lo más profundo. En cambio cuando trato de tocar lo que llaman realidad, cuando mi escritura se vuelve actual y biográfica, resulta inevitable poner inconscientemente en juego esos misteriosos y muy ocultos mecanismos, los que al parecer comienzan a interactuar secretamente y a producir algunos efectos perceptibles”.

[Kimber · Rating 4 out of 5]

A man starts out a journal to work on his handwriting, this takes him deeper into his inner self and his ability to work with his unconscious. There is something about this writer that gives me chills. He has the air of genius.

[Alberto Villarreal · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mario Levrero me parece un escritor rarísimo, los dos libros que he leído de él tienen algo de experimental.
Me gustaría leerlo en un libro más –digamos– tradicional, porque todavía no entiendo muy bien lo que siento por su escritura que por momentos me parece brillante, pero también me puede resultar aburrida.

[Anni · Rating 4 out of 5]

In a deadpan Kafka-esque satire on the postmodern 'realistic' novel, the author’s alter-ego uses a hand-written diary as ‘graphological therapy’ to improve his focus and cope with writer’s block. His plan to subdue the frustration of the creative process by writing about nothing and concentrating on calligraphy instead of content fails dismally, amid his own neurotic mind-chatter and procrastination, plus myriad domestic interruptions – largely featuring the amusing antics of Pongo, the family dog.

Read for Whichbook.net

[Neil · Rating 4 out of 5]

Empty Words comes to us in UK, via Annie McDermott’s translation, from Uruguay’s Mario Levrero. Writing in Granta magazine, Juan Pablo Villalobos says, Levrero is an author who challenges the canonical idea of Latin American literature. If you really want to complete the puzzle of our tradition, you must read him. He is renowned for novels such as “Nick Carter se divierte mientras el lector es asesinado y yo agonizo” (“Nick Carter amuses himself while the reader is murdered and I expire”) and “Dejen todo en mis manos” (“Leave everything in my hands”), but most famously for “La novela luminosa” (“The luminous novel”). Empty Words is the first of his novels to be translated into English, but more are planned, and is published by And Other Stories.

In her translator’s note, McDermott writes that …it’s said that Chile produces poets, Argentina produces short-story writers, Mexico produces novelists and Uruguay produces ‘los raros’ - the strange ones. Levrero was a raros of the highest order…

And Empty Words is certainly a strange little book. Just 150 pages long, it is not difficult to read it all in a single sitting, if that’s what you want to do. An eccentric novelist decides to tackle his personal issues by embarking on a program of self-improvement. His novel approach to this is to strip all the literary stuff out of his writing and concentrate entirely on improving his handwriting. His logic is that that a person’s handwriting can be used to understand their character, so, if he can improve his handwriting, his character will automatically also improve. And so he sets himself to sit down each day and write concentrating only on the formation of the letters. He is not concerned with quality or even sense.

On I go, trying to write about uninteresting things, perhaps heralding a new era of boredom as a literary movement.

But life isn’t that simple and keeps intruding. There are problems with other members of his household, problems with his pets, health issues, general life activities such as moving house and these things firstly interrupt his flow and secondly cause him to start to write proper thoughts and thereby forget to improve his handwriting (and, by extension, himself). We end up with a whole host of anecdotes and thoughts about life and writing.

If I write it’s in order to remember, to awaken my sleeping soul, to stir up my mind and discover its secret pathways. Most of my stories are fragments of my soul’s memory, not inventions.

There are funny moments. There are philosophical moments (When you reach a certain age, you are no longer the protagonist of your own actions: all you have left are the consequences of things you’ve already done.). It is very entertaining.

I had never heard of Levrero before receiving this book as part of my subscription to And Other Stories. It has certainly whetted my appetite to read more when it becomes available in English (and you’ve got to hope a book called “Nick Carter amuses himself while the reader is murdered and I expire” is one day available to those of us who can, rather feebly, only read in English).

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a bizarrely, enjoyable treat to read.

Empty words? The Spanish title is “El discurso vacío” or The empty discourse, a discussion on seemingly nothing, one might say. In fact, the book is literally divided into two areas: exercises and discourses.

The exercises are part of the author’s attempt to use handwriting as a self-help therapy. You see he needs to find an inner calm - his world is falling apart around him.

The discourses are about the world around him. He lives with a woman, who is a doctor, and her teen son, a dog and a cat (The cat and dog are great stories) and they are moving to a larger house. Sounds like typical life challenges but for our anxious author, this is a overwhelming challenge. He just likes to read books, play video games and dream a lot. Escapism. His work, as a writer almost seems secondary. He needs the handwriting exercises to stay balanced. But can he?

What makes a discussion on “empty words” interesting? The words themself. Mario Levrero is funny, self-deprecating, and often at times, crazy. His comfort word is falling apart, or even when it seems fine, you know it won’t last.

The element of mental health is always there but his humour deals with it, although at times, there is an underlying sadness present as well.

Last week, I had never heard of this Uruguayan author, until I read Glenn’s exuberant review. Thankfully my local library had a copy and I share in the joy of reading Levrero.

A short read. His words are far from empty.

[Nathanimal · Rating 3 out of 5]

Levrero is a member of the tribe, a fellow luftmensch. This felt a lot like reading my own meandering, repetitive notebook journals. And there's something pleasant about keeping each other company in this way.

But as pleasant as that can be, it's disappointing that Levrero meandered and repeated rather than completing the experiment of improving himself by improving his handwriting. "Beautiful handwriting, beautiful me." Instead he spends most of the time complaining about being interrupted and distracted by every little noise. Levrero, I know it's too late, but allow me to introduce you to the concept of earplugs.

[Gorkem · Rating 4 out of 5]

Giriş :

Latin Amerikalılar, kendi aralarında şöyle derlermiş:
Şile'de şairler, Arjantin'den kısa öykücüler, Meksika'dan romancılar ve Uruguay'dan los aros (garip olanlar) çıkar."*

Levrero'da kesinlikle bu los aroslardan biri. Var olan ve alışagelen tüm etiketleri reddeden, eleştirmen ve gazetecilere tepkisini gösteren ve kendi özgünlüğün peşinden gitmeyi tercih eden bir yazar. (Hatta bu nedenle kendisiyle hayali bir röportaj yapıp şöyle demiş: "Edebiyatta en önemli şey mümkün olduğunca özgürce yazabilmektir")

Bu özgünlük arayışını da bir şekilde Empty Words'de göstermiş. (Boş Sözler, Nebula Kitap)

Konu
Empty Words, en basit olarak kendi varoluşunu ve değerini arayan bir adamın öyküsü. Biraz daha ayrıntı vermek gerekirse bir arkadaşının önerisi üzerine yazıbilimsel (graphological) terapi aracılığıyla insanın kendi kişiliğini keşfedebileceğini söylemesiyle başlıyor. Ve her şey burdan itibaren farklı bir kara mizah haline dönüşmeye başlıyor. Çünkü el yazısına yoğunlaşmak yerine, yazmanın büyüsüne kapılıyor.

Kitap üç bölümden oluşuyor : Egzersizler (alıştırmalar) , Boş Sözler ve Egzersizler ve bu ana karakterimizin 2 yıllık günlüğünü okuyoruz.

Sonuç:

Öncelikle söylemeliyim ki kitabı Türkçe olarak okumadım. 2019 basımı Coffee House Press kindle versiyonunu okudum. Kitabın çevirmeni Levrero üstüne okura inanılmaz derece etkili bir ön okuma sunuyor. Böylece kitabın okunma süreci ve Levrero'nun kendi tarzındaki anarşist özgünlük algısını daha bir keyifle hale getiriyor.

Empty Words, okuru aktif bir gözlemci haline getirmesi nedeniyle son zamanlarda okuduğum en özgün metinlerden biriydi. Levrero bu süreci ana karakterin yazma sürecine girdikçe var olan her şeyi detaylandırmaya çalışmasıyla kademeli olarak inanılmaz zekice yapıyor. Ciddi olarak ana karakterin yazma konusundaki repertuar gelişimine dahil oluyorsunuz ve bu da okuma deneyimini keyifli hale getiriyor. (sanıyorum benzer etki yazarın The Luminious Novel isimli kitabında daha anlaşılır kılınıyor)

Sonuç olarak, ingilizce dahi okumuş olsam da bir oturuşta rahatlıkla okunabilen ve okuma sonrasında etkisini hissettirmeye devam eden bir kitap oldu benim için. Özellikle, Mario Levrero, etki ve tarz açısından oluşturduğu özgünlük bazen Vila-Matas'ı yer yer Thomas Bernard'ı hatırlatması okuma keyfi açısından inanılmaz iyi geldi. Fakat, kitapta her ne kadar ana karakterin değişim sürecini okuyor olsak da ritmik kopukluklar yer yer okuma anını sekteyi uğratıp sıkabiliyor. Onun haricinde Levrero basit olaylardan müthiş bir felsefe çıkarıyor. (Bu kopukluk hissini kontrol etmek açısından da Türkçesini en yakın zamanda edineceğim.)

Okuyacaklara şimdiden iyi okumalar dilerim.
10/8

----------
*Annie Mcdermott, The translator's note

[Aslıhan Çelik Tufan · Rating 4 out of 5]

El yazımız da parmak izimiz gibi şahsiyetimizi ruhumuzu ele veriyor. Kahramanımız da bunun peşine düşüyor. Bazen kendi çıkmaz sokaklarına denk geliyor bazen bize şahane manzaralı bir yokuş vaadediyor.

Çok kısacık ama çok etkili bir okuma yapayım derseniz buyrunuz.

Latin Amerika edebiyatı sevenlerden iseniz koşun diyorum. Zira Latin Amerika edebiyatının alameti farikasını okumayı vaadediyor kitap bize.

Çok ısrarla tavsiye ediyorum.

Keyifli okumalar.

[Jaqueline Franco · Rating 4 out of 5]

Qué escribe Levrero que me guste tanto?
La vida, los recuerdos, de él en sí, al menos en este discurso, que como bien lo dice el título, es un discurso vacío, donde el escritor, en un ejercicio caligráfico intenta moldear y perfeccionar su escritura, sin atender a nada, sin dejarse llevar por su imaginación, rechazando esto último a toda costa.
Me gusto tanto que el escritor nos dejase ver sus inquietudes, en metáforas, sueños, y más con esa modestia suya y, su ironía...

[Jeff Bursey · Rating 4 out of 5]

Humourous, touching, inventive, well-written, and filled with unexpected things, Empty Words is the diary of a writer who sets out to improve his penmanship. The entries quickly (inevitably) move from how to write larger cursive so as to be more legible to items such as his marriage, his home, his health, the family dog and the intruder cat, writing in general, and dreams. This is a light read that also contains sad notes. Definitely worth reading.

[Santiago González · Rating 1 out of 5]

Agarrálapala, Mario

Decepcionante primera experiencia de lectura del fenómeno rioplatense Mario Levrero. Admito que puede el caber el "no sos vos, soy yo" en este caso, por varios motivos.

1) No leo obras póstumas, siempre me huelen a curro de herederos. No sé si este es el caso pero Levrero murió en el 2004 y la primera edición de este libro es del 2011. Si es así, caí en la trampa y me di cuenta demasiado tarde.

2) Gran parte de la historia que relata cuenta la relación con un perro y un gato y no hay nada que me importe menos, que me sensibilice menos, que una persona hablando de sus mascotas.

3) En muchos momentos cuenta sueños. ¡Los sueños solo le importan al que los sueña! (y a los psicólogos que facturan su pseudoanálisis)

4) Me sentí estafado por la editorial que metió un diseño de letra súpergrande y doble interlineado para llegar a las 200 páginas. Con un diseño normal no llegaba a las 80. Quedaron expuestos como ladrones sacándole la última gota al fenómeno.

5) Y finalmente, lo más importante: el libro es un extenso llanto en forma de diario de las dificultades para escribir, para sentarse a escribir, y cómo lidia con sus problemas banales - una esposa, un hijo adolescente, una mudanza. Hermano, si vas a venderme un libro ponete las pilas y contame algo interesante, no me vendas tu lástima. Estoy harto de películas sobre directores bloqueados y textos sobre escritores en blanco. Agarren la pala, estimades.

Dos cosas que para mí se salvan del incendio: el chiste de que el protagonista se propone mejorar su caligrafía con un espíritu Marie Kondo (si ordena su forma de escribir, ordena su vida) y como estamos ante una tipografía predeterminada, nunca vemos esos avances en la caligrafía. El chiste, si se propuso hacer un chiste, se agota en la segunda página. Lo otro que salvo es un parrafito en el capítulo final que dice algo así como que uno de viejo se encuentra rodeado como en una selva con todo lo que sembró en su vida, dando machetazos pero a la vez sabiendo que salir de eso es también despedirse de la vida.

Es una pena porque es un libro que me regaló una querida amiga. Si estas leyendo esta reseña, perdón, pero estas cosas pasan.

En fin, tal vez lea su novela luminosa pero si el jueguito es "mirá como me hago el que te quiero contar algo grande mientras te entretengo con estas nimiedades" lo voy a lamentar.

[Franco Cárcamo · Rating 4 out of 5]

El libro es una especie de diario y ejercicio caligráfico. Levrero se propone mejorar su letra, y para hacer eso empieza un diario donde tiene que escribir sobre nada, porque cuando escribe sobre algo y se concentra en una idea, la letra le sale fea, y si la letra le sale fea, significa que él es feo, que está mal, desequilibrado o depresivo. O al menos eso dice la grafología. Entonces, Levrero trata de arreglarse a sí mismo arreglando su letra. Intenta acordarse de sí mismo intentando acordarse de cómo se escribe una B mayúscula en manuscrita. Pero escribir sobre nada, por supuesto, es imposible, y Levrero siempre escribe sobre algo. Y esa es la gracia. Ese ir y venir de las ideas. El absurdo, la lentitud de su escritura y un humor muy serio que siempre, me parece a mí, es el mejor humor. Hace tiempo un libro no me hacía reír. Mi parte favorita es cuando llama a su propio hijo tonto, miren qué c0sa más genial.

[Alejandro Fernández Bruña · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me encantan los libros de menos de doscientas páginas, pues me puedo leer unos cuantos por semana y sentir que estoy haciendo algo en este verano eterno a lo Phineas y Ferb. Los libros largos, en cambio, se me atascan y acabo llevándolos al baño para leerlos poco a poco antes de ducharme.

Este libro saltó en mi radar por su forma de diario. En "El discurso vacío" se mezclan dos libros. Unos "Ejercicios" en donde el autor reflexiona sobre su caligrafía a través de una autoterapia grafológica, convencido de que cambiando su letra podrá modificar su carácter. Puro conductismo, pero en principio le da algunos resultados: ordenar las letras en la línea le ayuda a ordenar su vida y estar más pendiente de la relajación de ciertos músculos reduce la tensión de su cuerpo.

El otro libro es propiamente "El discurso vacío". Aunque ambos libros no están divididos sino intercalados uno con otro y ordenados cronológicamente. Levrero intenta constantemente elaborar un discurso vacío, que sea todo forma y cero contenido, pues al preocuparnos del contenido desatendemos la forma. Pero fracasará constantemente, pues el inconsciente siempre deja sus marcas en el lenguaje: siempre se nos cuela lo biográfico. En este caso bajo la forma de un perro llamado Pongo, los preparativos de una mudanza, ciertos sueños recurrentes y los problemas con su pareja.

Buen libro aunque al final se hace un poco pesado leer cómo reflexiona sobre su caligrafía.

[Nacho · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tercer libro de Levrero que leo al hilo. Siento la obligación de escribir algo de lo que me surge. A modo de comentario sobre Discurso vacío, también me refiero a los fragmentos recopilados en Irrupciones y su póstumaLa novela luminosa.
Decididamente este tipo se encuentra entre los escritores latinoamericanos más relevantes de las últimas décadas; también es otro charrúa que se inserta con tranquilidad entre los ‘raros’, como Marosa y Felisberto (¿y Lautréamont, y Laforgue?). Puesta a un lado la cuestión de la nacionalidad/regionalidad/terruñonalidad, que a fin de cuentas no es más que un ineludible fatalismo, se nos revela en sus felices obras una reflexión profunda y permanente en relación con discurso y el tiempo. Sin embargo, el humor (y el estilo, ¡Dios, el estilo!) que permean sus agudas observaciones, rescatan a Levrero de caer en la pomposidad yerma de los escritores onanistas que rumian el mismo fragmento vez y otra vez, en pos del goce propio, desentendiéndose del interés del lector. Lejos de ello, Levrero construye su yo narrativo como una figura patética del escritor fracasado, que se reconoce fracasado, para emprender sus piruetas intelectuales. En particular, en DV, Levrero ahueca su propia escritura para dejarse llevar en el ejercicio de la buena caligrafía, practicando- o al menos eso supone el lector, puesto que solo nos llega la versión mecanografiada de dicha gimnasia grafológica- las formas cursivas de la be larga y el trazo continuo, sin levantar la mano. El poder que reside en este volumen yace en ese Levrero que ensaya y juega, como niño de primer grado que quiere conformar a su maestra y alegrar a sus padres, a aprender a escribir.
En cuanto al tiempo, los tres libros poseen, a manera de marca de agua, la fecha en los que fueron escritos, a despecho del apuro, de la distracción, de la desidia, de la pereza y de la enfermedad. El corrosivo correr de los días queda en evidencia en La novela luminosa, novela que propiamente queda inconclusa, a pesar de la beca Guggenheim que se le otorga a Levrero para completarla. Como substituto, el diario que la antecede, y que conforma casi la totalidad del libro, documenta el malogrado (o no) año de trabajo bajo la beca. Las entradas hechas allí, por momentos, disciplinadas, por otros, caprichosas, le hacen frente a la imposibilidad de la escritura, a la ataxia, incluso ante el fortuito dilate del tiempo.
No se me ocurre mucho más para escribir. Debiera tomar notas mientras leo porque seguro me faltan cosas, pero eso implica un esfuerzo extra, el de tener cuaderno y lapicera a mano, el de sistematizar los comentarios, etc… Lo único que puedo decir es que voy a seguir explorando el universo de Levrero, escritor que ya ingresa a mi pequeño Olimpo personal.

[Özge · Rating 5 out of 5]

“‘Boş Sözler’in her cümlesinde, tasasız bir bilgelikle çarpan bir kalp var.” demiş Alejandro Zambra bu roman için. Bu tek cümle bile yeterli aslında bu kitaba ama ben de biraz ekleme yapacağım.

Çok farklı bir roman ‘Boş Sözler’. Kahramanımız bir yazar. Şu sıralar oldukça dağınık haldeki düşüncelerini düzenleyeceği ve daha iyi odaklanmasına yardım edeceği düşüncesiyle bir arkadaşının tavsiyesi üzerine yazıbilimsel oto-terapisine başlıyor. Buradaki ana fikir, psikolojideki davranışçı öğretiye istinaden el yazısı pratikleriyle kişide daha düzenli yazma şeklinde gözlemlenen değişimlerin onda başka şeyleri de değiştirebileceği ve düzenli hale getirebileceği inancı. Günlük biçiminde ve oto-terapi ile yazılmış bu sayfaları okudukça biz de yazarın düşünceleri arasında -kendisinin amacı tam tersi olsa da- bir gezintiye çıkıyoruz.

Yazar her ne kadar boş sözler söylemek amacıyla yola çıksa da, bu doğrultuda sadece düzgün harfler yazmaya odaklansa ve düşüncelerini görmezden gelmeye çabalasa da, günlük sayfaları ilerledikçe boş sözlerin nasıl dolu dolu altı çizilesi cümlelere evrildiğini gözlemliyoruz romanda.

Levrero’nun yazar karakteri aslında kendisinin bir yansıması. Hayatına dahil ettiği Zen felsefesi ve bilgisayar tutkusuna roman karakterinin de sahip olduğuna tanık oluyoruz kitap boyunca.

Mario Levrero’nun hayatın karamsar, umutsuz ve dağınık tarafları içinden romanına devşirdiği komik unsurları çok sevdim. Kullandığı dil de çok özenli ve akıcı. O yüzden tavsiye kere tavsiyemdir ‘Boş Sözler’.

[James Kinsley · Rating 5 out of 5]

"When you reach a certain age, you're no longer the protagonist of your own actions: all you have left are the consequences of things you've already done."

I can't tell you what I found so compelling in this account of a man jotting down a few thoughts a day as a way of improving his handwriting. But compelling it was, and certainly there's plenty that resonated with my own state of mind at present. An absolute joy.

[Paul Dembina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Quirky and odd, which is good.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book consists of journal entries of a man who is trying to do handwriting exercises and therefore not focus on the content of the entries at all. They consist of him being like “ah, omg I stopped thinking about the letters I need to focus on relaxing my arm!” then he starts talking about his dog or something and then goes ”ah! No! I started focusing on content again!” over and over. It’s very dull and repetitive because he’s trying to do this as a self improvement meditation exercise. But of course, there’s hints of more because he can’t avoid thinking while doing his supposedly mindless exercises.

Levrero is extremely frustrated by the business of life, the constant noise and chaos, and wants time to just sit and think and get his shit together. He lives with his wife and child, and I was getting the vibe that the child was the wife’s kid and that he was the newest addition to the household, but I can’t remember if that was in fact the case. Regardless, he seems constantly frustrated with family life. It’s not that he dislikes Alicia or Ignacio or the pets, but hates that life with them gives him no time to have any peace. “I’m bound by the omnipotent will of a woman who is in turn completely bound by social conventions, an activist fighting for the cause of wakefulness, a solar woman (and I’m a lunar man). I wonder how much longer I’ll put up with this way of “life” , in which the essential, profound, true, authentic questions, for which we are created– are consistently displaced, indefinitely postponed, forgotten, and sometimes even abused”(66).

I completely understand this feeling, but have issues with the last sentence. Whenever I’m in a busy season of life, like the last few weeks, I lament the fact that I have no time to work on any of my self improvement schemes or be in a healthy routine and get all the reading and exercising and time to myself I want. But doing things with friends and family just IS the essential goodness of life, and I can’t spend all my time contemplating and preparing for life rather than living it. I guess it’s different when you’re only dragged to your wife’s social events, while I am currently exhausted because I’ve been at the state fair and weddings and concerts and seeing friends from out of town. I am just glad I read this at this time, because I have caught myself thinking similarly, like “I’ve had no time to read lately and my exercise routine is out the window!” when I should be happy to be having a busy calendar. I think I said something similar in my review of Drifts by Kate Zambreno, that authors (and myself) are always yearning for a monastic existence to ponder and contemplate, but that I’ve personally found that I tend to waste those periods doing nothing bc of a lack of stimuli and most of my learning and creativity comes in busier times. (within reason—Levrero isn’t really working all that much in this time period he’s complaining about, being burned out & exhausted from shit you HAVE to do like being overworked is another matter entirely). I just felt frustrated with Levrero for his annoyance with his family. I thought he should be more loving to them, but remembered that my journals feature far more complaining than gushing and are not all that reflective of the actual characterization of those relationships.

I could also relate to the feeling of not having time to be yourself. I feel this way when I have too much going on and have no time to fold a grid or do whatever it is I spend my alone time doing. But it’s this weird dual thing where you can’t win, because when I am very busy and ~living life~ I wish I had time to work on myself, and then when I’m in my work on myself mode I’m like this is so lame I should be out in the world doing stuff and having fun. It feels like “me” is always one step away from me! “I have no excuse for this interminable postponement of my own self, except laziness, except stupidity, except negligence” (59).

The postponement of the self is also present in the idea that if you can just fix X, real life will actually begin. Like Levrero, I’m nearly always mired in a self-improvement scheme that usually goes nowhere. I always think that if I can change this one thing, everything else will be easier/better, but of course I either abandon the one thing or the goalposts shift. “Any movement toward a goal will be immediately diverted toward another goal, and so on, and the movement toward the original goal may or may not ever be resumed“ (17). Levrero is slightly kidding himself about these handwriting exercises being the key to solving all of life’s problems. “I try not to lose the slow deliberate meditative quality of my writing, because i know these daily exercises will do wonders for my health and character, transforming a whole plethora of of bad behaviors into good ones and catapulting me blissfully into a life of happiness, joy, money and success with women in and in other games of chance” (7).

Because my to-do list never ever ends, I’ve never experienced the satisfaction of being done and I have a sneaking suspicion I would feel deeply unmoored if I weren’t avoiding doing something and had absolutely nothing hanging over my head. Levrero comes to the same conclusion: “I was also distracted by the memory of a surprising discovery I made yesterday afternoon during my siesta: namely, that I find the sensation of being relaxed, especially when accompanied by a marked tranquility of mind, profoundly unpleasant. (115)”. HE’S SO RIGHT FOR THAT lol

This book is at once extremely boring and repetitive, but also made me introspect on my own relationships, and to remind myself that relationships are the most fundamental thing and that I should not be so mentally absent. I originally picked this book up because I completely changed my own handwriting over the course of about a year, though for me I did it while bored in school so I didn’t have to focus on not focusing on the content. When I need to test a pen or practice some cursive, I usually write whatever song lyrics I’m listening to or whatever words people say out loud. I’ve seriously regretted this before. I had a chalk wall when I was a teen. One day I got these chalk markers instead of regular chalk. I wrote the lyrics to the song that was playing to test them out. I did not even like that song. The stupid fucking chalk markers did not erase and I was stuck with these extremely dumb lyrics on my wall for a decade as if they were meaningful to me, and they were not, they literally just happened to be playing. ugh I still get annoyed when I think about this.

[David Huertas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Este no es un libro que engancha fácilmente, no entendía porque había invertido mi dinero en leer los apuntes de una persona que hace planas todos los días, pensaba que era uno de esos libros que las editoriales promueven mucho solo para que lo compres, pero no porque sean buenas obras. Sin embargo, a medida que avanzaba el libro, le iba cogiendo interés por saber a donde nos llevaba el autor con este texto que parece no ir a ninguna parte porque no es más que frases sueltas en un intento de mejorar la caligrafía.

Al final quede gratamente sorprendido, Levrero logra plasmar a través de un libro de planas y una especie de “diario” los sentimientos más profundos que muchas veces tenemos en nuestra cabeza y que no compartimos con nadie. Estamos acostumbrados a obras literarias con variados personajes, en lugares específicos, giros inesperados o historias sorprendentes; este no es el caso. El viaje de este libro, la aventura en este libro va hacia dentro, a la mente del protagonista, a sus miedos, inseguridades, aburrimientos y, poco a poco, nos traslada hasta su inconsciente pues incluso comparte algunos de sus sueños nocturnos. Los seres humanos buscamos constantemente viajar y acumular experiencias durante nuestra vida y desconocemos que muchas veces basta con solamente mirar hacia adentro.

[Andre Aguiar]

Tudo é um precipitar dos dias, das semanas, dos meses e dos anos, vertiginosamente, sem marcas, vazios por completo de conteúdos, rumo à morte como única certeza.

[Jesús · Rating 2 out of 5]

As a book, Levrero’s Empty Words is not a great read; however, as an experimental record of a year in the author’s life, it’s moderately interesting.

When Levrero undertakes his project to improve his handwriting, he intends it as a meditative daily practice that might allow him to focus on the literal act of writing, and thereby, so he hopes, to reveal to himself the mystery of his own hang-ups. It’s a kind of self-therapy that, as you might guess, fails miserably.

He’s a middle-aged Uruguayan man whose domestic life seems defined by his feeling “marginalized” by his wife and series of maids, and who finds a disturbingly abusive kinship with his dog Pongo. He’s not a sympathetic character, even though he perpetually seems in need of reassurance, praise, and care.

The book also is strange in that it’s so intensely focused on his handwriting, but his handwriting has been “translated” from his written script into typed script (for publication) and has again been translated from Spanish to English. Needless to say, much is lost in each process, so much in fact, that I’m not sure what one might take from the book after reading it.

[Caroline]

I don't get the enthusiasm for Levrero.

Also I note that I have also recently read Empty Sets and Empty Books. An odd confluence.