Tag: literature

Very often, the best tool for literary self-promotion is criticism. And very often, such criticism ends up devolving into outright slander. The examples are endless. The author, sometimes a future author, begins his career by opposing the model he dislikes. He censures, disapproves, lists flaws, and disparages. The target, usually long gone, does not respond. And that’s the end of it. While, on the one hand, the critic ends up refining his own ideas through criticism, on the other, he cannot prevent negative feelings from arising from it. Some time later, he will wonder: was that really necessary? And it turns out that, in literature, styles, themes, and possibilities are so varied that it is very easy to dislike something when confronted with that other, intensely strong identification. Therefore, is it justified for a writer to devote himself to attacking another writer? Undoubtedly, but only when mere preference is supplanted by a sense of betrayal of the vocation.

Some might say there is no Walt Whitman, no Eliot; however, what is most evident in Brazilian poetry is that the good poets number in the dozens, and that is no small thing. Poets such as Maranhão Sobrinho, Junqueira Freire, Raul de Leoni, José Albano, and Venceslau de Queirós are rarely even mentioned in anthologies and compendiums. The tradition, for its part, has already boasted several centuries of consistency and solidity. And even though, after a superficial analysis of new and old poets, of hackneyed or imported themes, one might give in to the impulse to disparage the whole, a deeper study leaves no doubt as to the tremendous folly of doing so. Brazilian poetry is excellent; and nothing more needs to be said.

It does not take many short stories to appreciate Rubem Fonseca’s quality. And it must be somewhat irritating for those plagued by that old complex to realize that Rubem Fonseca has reached the level of the best in the genre. Less impressive than his mastery of varied narrative techniques, his creativity in plot structure, and his somewhat shocking vocabulary are the incisiveness of his themes and a style that does not shy away from speaking plainly. It is in this, above all, that the great writer stands out. Breaking away from a tradition that insinuates, that ironizes, but that fears raw and direct expression, Rubem Fonseca manages to highlight real problems laid bare by the reality of his time. In short, he is a unique writer who had the courage to put on paper what seemed essential to him.

It is incredible how much sympathy a man like Osamu Dazai inspires. Though it has been some time since I read his work, the image of that profound anguish remains. An anguish that is familiar, all too familiar, which not even the language barrier can obscure. And to recall, in this work, those recurring, unpleasant, dangerous ideas, which, once they take root in the mind, are truly to be feared… The aura that emanates from this little book needs no explanation. Nor do the reasons for the inevitable sympathy. Osamu Dazai is so human, just like us… What will endure of him is the memory of the writer who did not play games, who ennobled art through the seriousness of his motivation.