There is something truly brilliant in the way Gilberto Freyre constructs his works. At first, the unclassifiable character of all of them is impressive, that is, the character of a mixture, of works devoted to many, and not only to one science. From the preface, one can already notice an impressive heap of contrasting references, which instigates curiosity about how they will harmonize in the following pages. Then Gilberto Freyre begins his prose, interweaving anthropology and sociology, synthesis and reports, passing from an inventory of customs to historical events, penetrating into the innermost recesses of his characters, and all this pile up slowly forms a complex and vividly colored picture that hardly a purely sociological, anthropological or historiographical work would be able to match. It is as if he methodically changes the shade of the paint after painting several paragraphs with a single color. After many pages, when it is already possible to observe the whole, we feel before a work with historiographical precision, but painted with literary subtlety in the construction of the characters, in the minuteness of details, in the representation of the sociocultural environments that served as background for the historical period approached. It is clear that his works, constructed in this way, cannot please those who are crazy about the objectivity of facts—but these, knowing them, will never be able to interpret them.
Category: Notes
A Drastic Psychosocial Change Has Occurred in Brazil…
In recent years a drastic psychosocial change has taken place in Brazil that is bound to have long-lasting effects and that, for now, are of imponderable extent. Driven especially by politics, and contrary to what is happening in the rest of South America, the phenomenon would delight both Gilberto Freyre and José Maria Bello. Only a blind person would not notice it when analyzing it sociologically in light of the last decades. A war of values, above all, is underway, started by a spark that seemed insignificant but which generated a chain effect and whose victory now seems a mere matter of time. The dominant intelligentsia, which had established itself over decades of work, at exactly the moment when it seemed sovereign and invincible, saw a reactive movement emerge from where it never expected to see it, a movement that hit it with unforeseen violence. Today, we see it in despair, using all the powerful means at its disposal to avoid defeat; and yet these seem ineffective, only postponing an end that already seems inevitable. It will be a pity if the future cannot appreciate this moment through unbiased lines.
There Is Something Brilliant and Very Curious in Symbolism
No matter how much one speaks against the obscurity of Symbolism or, more specifically, of the Symbolist poets, the truth is that there is something brilliant and very curious about this expressive technique that seems to be hidden when, in fact, it opens up to unfathomable possibilities. In poetry, words acquire an unusual weight when evoked. A verse devoid of syntactic nexus but abundant in suggestive words will indeed have a strong effect on the mind of the reader. If one constructs “Rainy day; pain; fatigue and discouragement”, although not logically connected by an argument, the mind, upon reading such words, immediately relates them and forms an image possessing the logical link that seems to be missing. Thus, the poet manages to make them manifest themselves in individualized nuances for each reader. If, at times, obscurity can be boring, at other times it can generate very interesting and almost unlimited effects.
The Slaves of the Past
If it causes strangeness, and a legitimate strangeness, for an intelligence like Schopenhauer to cling to a philosophy conceived at thirty and spend the rest of his life supporting it, what about Freud, old and white-headed, continuing to limit human psychology to “repressed sexuality” and childhood traumas? That is the end! It seems like a lifetime wasted, a lifetime in which the spirit has not been able to contemplate higher possibilities. Or else it is evidence of an invincible pride, which sabotaged itself by strangling any and all flashes that might jeopardize the conclusions of previous years. How is it possible, or rather, how can one not laugh when imagining Freud, at the end of his life, spouting the same litany over an equally old patient? Two men, with an open coffin already waiting for them, going through childhood episodes in order to claim them as agents of current actions. It is a real pity that Voltaire lived before Freud.