By Raduan Nassar
'Yes, bastard, you're the only I love'
A pair of enthusiasts - a tender lady journalist and an older guy who owns an remoted farm within the Brazilian outback - spend the evening jointly. day after today they continue to spoil one another. Amid vitriolic insults, cruelty and warring egos, their sexual experience becomes a savage energy video game. This extreme, erotic cult novel by means of one in every of Brazil's so much notorious modernist writers explores alienation, the will to dominate and the desire to be ruled.
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Additional info for A Cup of Rage (Penguin Modern Classics)
I was thinking I’d shower ﬁrst,” he says. ” In the shower he opens the retractable skylight; steam rises like smoke. He imagines he can use his washcloth to send sig nals, messages, up the canyon. Covered with the creepy crawl of the emergency room, he scrubs himself, washing off the night. There are a couple of electrodes still attached. The BandAid on his hand slides off and is sucked down the drain. He is trying to put it behind him, and yet it plays in his head—the lights, the people, the pickling disinfectant smell, the God boy coming down.
She stops swimming, pulls off the goggles, and looks up. To the woman down below, he is simply the man up above, staring. Accidentally he touches the glass. It is cool. He presses his cheek, his nose, his mouth to the glass. He takes a deep breath and exhales long and slow, fogging the glass, and for a moment everything, even the swimmer, is gone. He is standing at the glass waiting for his life to begin. ” Cecelia the housekeeper asks. ” “You’re just standing there, staring. I’ve been here ﬁfteen minutes and you haven’t moved.
The contrast sloshed through him like cold radioactive jelly. His mind was strange. He remembered the ambulance door opening, the feeling of relief that he’d made it there. And then the almost simultaneous rush up from his gut, the sensa tion of bringing up everything, vomiting up himself, so that in the end he was entirely raw, inside out, exposed. The nurse had wiped the vomit off his mouth with a paper towel; that was nice. If she’d said his name, if she’d smiled at him, if she’d had a damp washcloth, if she’d been a little more gentle, it would have been perfect.
A Cup of Rage (Penguin Modern Classics) by Raduan Nassar