There seems to be a series of necessary decisions in each individual life, which take place in the biography either for good or ill. In the first case, everything seems to flow so naturally that the decision sometimes goes unnoticed, as if it were an inevitable outcome and not really a decision. However, if neglected, life goes on carrying a pending issue, which gets progressively worse, gradually concentrating more and more tensions, until there comes a moment when it is impossible to hide it, impossible to bear it, and the whole of life seems to converge and press for that previous decision to be made, which now takes effect with a delay, and brings with it, along with great relief, the feeling that a lot of time has been lost.
In Literature, It Is After Having Invested…
In literature, it is after having invested hours and hours of effort over many years that one reaches the ideal level of commitment. Before that, one is driven more by a motivation that, however great or small, if it ceases, will interrupt the development of the vocation. After this stage, the writer is always faced with a monstrous work that has already been completed. There is no turning back, what is done is done, and what is needed is simply to carry on.
There Is a Positive Change…
There is a positive change when one learns to value past experiences without simultaneously feeling the desire to relive them. It could be said that doing so is something like stimulating and appreciating memory, while at the same time blocking out nostalgia. The resulting feeling has no name, but it gives thanks for the experience by putting it in its place. And from this come valuable lessons, the main one perhaps being the notion that there is time for everything to happen. One learns by living, and learning is the recognition that what has been lived has had its place.
The World Leader in Homicides
It seems impossible for contemporary Brazilian literature not to have the tragic notes and gravity that it has historically lacked, now that the country has established itself as the world leader in homicides. To do otherwise would be a death knell for Brazilian literature. If, relatively speaking, Brazil was spared great tragedies in the past, reality is now imposing itself in the form of a humanitarian scandal, so violent that the writer can only consciously ignore it. And to ignore it, of course, would be to betray his profession.