The Experience of the Wars of the Last Century…

The experience of the wars of the last century has left such a mark on literature that it sometimes bores us to see it recounted again, since we are so far removed from it and it has long since been assimilated. The truth is, however, that it has not been assimilated at all, or at least the generations living today are not drawing on its lessons. It was to be hoped that, with so many accounts, so many examples of intellectuals thrown into prison and who took this circumstance as fuel for their own vocation, something would change in the human understanding of existence, and that at the very least a generation would emerge vaccinated against the mistakes of the recent past. But no, no… it is a myth that one generation starts from the point reached by the previous one. Today, we have to read and reread past stories as experiences that will probably return.

 

In the Middle of the Last Century…

In the middle of the last century, not a few authors reminisced nostalgically about the belle époque, lamenting a general deterioration that ranged from art to everyday life, from opportunities to customs, from quality of life to personal relationships. In most cases, the lament came from authors who had lived through the period as children, and therefore added to the context the memory of their fondest childhood memories. The next generation, born in the post-war period, who grew up listening to their parents’ stories of memorable times gone by, are today the ones who nostalgically recount the customs that have been lost, the opportunities that abounded and the environment that is gone. Curiously, the generation that is coming of age today, if it does not yet regret the golden days of yore, can already safely assume that it will only be a few years before it begins to do so, in view of the current degradation, both visible and widespread. What to say?

At Least One Lesson Can Be Learned…

At least one lesson can be learned from skeptics: clinging passionately to a belief is almost always foolish; the best thing is always serenity, in the face of doubts and certainties. To cling is often to close oneself off, adding to the belief a feeling that time amplifies, to the point where, at the slightest setback, a violent reaction is displayed. At the end, not knowledge, even if it is present, but only emotion manifests itself.

The Brazilian Today Grows Up…

The Brazilian today grows up without a shared cultural environment. He grows up not knowing, for example, what literature is. And if, by chance, he discovers it, if a miracle awakens his curiosity about it and he looks for the place where the great authors write, where the great critics are presenting and criticizing literary works, disseminating the best that has been written and is being written, he does not find it, because that place does not exist. What is good are yellowed and faded pages that can be bought second-hand. And it is very curious to note that today, even what is written about literature is not written, but talked about: the format of any literary criticism that remains, compelled by the audience, is video. Books and letters have become unpalatable. This staggering cultural failure, the cause of an even greater human failure, would never occur in a country that had at least one educated elite, because if it were truly educated, it would take it upon itself to do something for culture, to do something for the country. But no, no… the best thing now is not to instigate it at all, because the possible patron is an already existing and disgracefully distorted patron.