é, quanto a mim, Mensonge, de Malcolm Bradbury. Através de uma leitura paródica do célebre ensaio de Barthes em que este proclama a morte do autor, Bradbury cria a biografia de um semiótico imaginário franco-búlgaro chamado Henri Mensonge.
Se quiserem passar umas boas horas de alegre, divertido e inteligente gozo, leiam-no!
Deixo-vos, em seguida, algumas linhas que o New York Times devotou a este livro:
"Generically tighter and more satisfying is the parody of ''My Strange Quest for Mensonge.'' From the French pun in its title, (mensonge means a lie, as in fib) to its re-creation of Henri Mensonge's classic of deconstruction, ''La Fornication Comme Acte Culturel'' (''Fornication as a Cultural Act''), the style, tone and timbre is so close to Derrida and Foucault as to be a kind of homage to the real achievements of post-structuralist criticism. Mensonge is presented as the ultimate deconstructive philosopher because he has taken this modern critical project to its logical conclusion. If the author has been pronounced dead and if language is a hopelessly self-enclosed system that can never indicate any thing outside itself, a dance about an absent presence, then ''Mensonge has gone further, insisting that he was never even there in the first place, has never been known to anyone, even his closest friends, that he is no one, has achieved nothing, and does not exist. In short he has claimed to be a totally absent absence.'"
Quem disse que a leitura não tem de ser divertida?
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