Em um romance repleto de digressões filosóficas, o escritor se vale da posição privilegiada de Brás Cubas, como “defunto autor” ou “autor defunto”, para narrar as suas desventuras e revela as contradições da sociedade brasileira do século XIX, especialmente por meio da análise aprofundada da psicologia das personagens. ( )

Machado’s commentary on human folly is presented as the memoir of a dead man. A dead man. Some chapters are sad, but short; others are short, but sad. Some chapters, according to the narrator, are a mistake; others are unnecessary, or explanations of a previous chapter. About the most brilliant phase of his life he is determined to say nothing. He responds preemptively (but posthumously) to his critics, abandons and embraces the teachings (‘Humanitism’) of the philosopher-tramp Quincas Borba, and confirms the parable of the Athenian maniac. That Brás Cubas is an unreliable narrator is beside the point, really, since language and the mind from which it springs are not to be trusted. A brilliant book.

…this is what makes us the lords of the Earth, this ability to restore the past, to realize the fragility of our impressions and the futility of our affections. Pascal may say that man is a thinking reed, but he isn’t, he’s a thinking erratum. Each season in life is a new edition that corrects the preceding one, which will in turn be corrected again, until we reach the definitive edition, which the editor donates for free to the worms.

Three and a half stars. Very clever, I appreciated it, but I didn't enjoy it too much - I hated the main character. I'm glad I've read it, but I'm not going to reread it in the future. ( )

An interesting story told by a man who takes a rather remote perspective on his family and friends. Lots of cynicism, lots of deadpan humor. It is sometimes difficult to figure out exactly what De Assis is trying to say and this borders on the poetic. ( )

I wonder: is he as obsessed with aging and death as he appears to be? Reading this after Dom Casmurro makes me wonder. I read the translation by William Grossman made in the 1950s: the first translation of Machado de Assis into English. It takes a little getting used to and I’m not sure whether I would have preferred Jull Costa’s brand-new one. That said, I found the end a bit…deflating. I have to admit that the book--generally acknowledged as one of his masterpieces--fell a bit short for me. I enjoy reading him for his observations, especially on relationships between people, but the end just didn't impress me...sorta the same way I felt about Dom Casmurro. Not sure which of his works I will take on next, but I’m glad I have a number of books (not to mention his stories) still ahead of me. A distinctive voice, that’s for sure. ( )