Briefly

"Pessoa, like Cavafy and Kafka, was a clerk. A loner. A nobody. With no friends, no love, no family. He gave up his life not just for his poetry, but for the poetry of the other three as well, and for other poets. Pessoa created distinct writers, each with his own character and background, his own style, his own interests, his own intent. Each idiosyncratically brilliant. He created poets who wrote in French and in English—one of them wrote sonnets described by The Times of Londonas more Shakespearean than Shakespeare. He not only created poets but gave them a champion: a prolific critic whose writings in English promoted Portuguese literature. He didn’t stop there. His creations critiqued each other. He lived in his own world of literature."

Fernando Pessoa's Book of Disquiet. On my wishlist. Above, from Rabih Alameddine's review of the book for the PEN American Center, here. Discovered thanks to Colum McCann writing for The Millions, which does a nice job of making the overwhelming business of Books of the Year a bit more digestible (one, two, sometimes three suggestions per writer in the A Year of Reading section). Read McCann's post, here.

Bonus: The perfect thing to read over a morning cup of tea: Saul Bellow on living with Ralph Ellison, in a rundown mansion in Tivoli. Includes descriptions of Ellison's writing studio, a converted ballroom, his Moroccan shoes, and his habit of watering African violets with a turkey baster. From Longform, here.