Até lá (e ainda vai funcionando o contador "R.E.P." iniciado por mim há mais de 1 ano no meu hibernado blogue Data) vamo-nos deliciando com as primeiras linhas do original (tal como fiz no Porque há 1 ano):
«Around the grave in the rundown cemetery were a few of his former advertising colleagues from New York, who recalled his energy and originality and told his daughter, Nancy, what a pleasure it had been to work with him. There were also people who'd driven up from Starfish Beach, the residential retirement village at the Jersey Shore where he'd been living since Thanksgiving of 2001-the elderly to whom only recently he'd been giving art classes. And there were his two sons, Randy and Lonny, middle-aged men from his turbulent first marriage, very much their mother's children, who as a consequence knew little of him that was praiseworthy and much that was beastly and who were present out of duty and nothing more. His older brother, Howie, and his sister-in-law were there, having flown in from California the night before, and there was one of his three ex-wives, the middle one, Nancy's mother, Phoebe, a tall, very thin whitehaired woman whose right arm hung limply at her side. When asked by Nancy if she wanted to say anything, Phoebe shyly shook her head but then went ahead to speak in a soft voice, her speech faintly slurred. "It's just so hard to believe. I keep thinking of him swimming the bay-that's all. I just keep seeing him swimming the bay." And then Nancy, who had made her father's funeral arrangements and placed the phone calls to those who'd showed up so that the mourners wouldn't consist of just her mother, herself, and his brother and sister-in-law. There was only one person whose presence hadn't to do with having been invited, a heavyset woman with a pleasant round face and dyed red hair who had simply appeared at the cemetery and introduced herself as Maureen, the private duty nurse who had looked after him following his heart surgery years back. Howie remembered her and went up to kiss her cheek.»
Philip Roth, Everyman (Houghton Mifflin)
Das 26 obras de ficção escritas e publicadas pelo Mestre Philip Roth – saga que começou em 1959 com Goodbye, Columbus and Five Short Stories, estando prevista para Outubro a publicação da 27.ª, com o título de Exit Ghost –, estão disponíveis em português de Portugal apenas 9 (NOVE), sendo que o perturbado Alexander Portnoy é o único representante de 31 anos de obra publicada entre 1959 e 1990 – por ordem cronológica da publicação original:
- O Complexo de Portnoy (Bertrand, 1994) – Portnoy's Complaint, 1969.
- Traições (Bertrand, 1991) – Deception, 1990.
- Teatro de Sabbath (Dom Quixote, 2000) – Sabbath's Theater, 1995.
- Pastoral Americana (Dom Quixote, 1999) – American Pastoral, 1997.
- Casei com um Comunista (Dom Quixote, 2001) – I Married a Communist, 1998.
- A Mancha Humana (Dom Quixote, 2004) – The Human Stain, 2000.
- O Animal Moribundo (Dom Quixote, 2006) – The Dying Animal, 2001.
- A Conspiração contra a América (Dom Quixote, 2005) – The Plot Against America, 2004.
- Todo-o-Mundo (Dom Quixote, 2007) – Everyman, 2006.