I translated dozens of short stories into English this past year. And contrary to what I imagined, I enjoyed the time-consuming work, even though I was constantly faced with the inadequacy of translation. It was curious to laugh during the process, something that contrasts sharply with my mood when giving birth to those texts. I remember it well… After immersing myself in the creative process, the prevailing feeling was quite different. There is something indescribable that one experiences when giving birth to a work, while facing the difficulties of the task. Now, all that is in the past. I can remember it and relive it with a serene detachment, and laugh at the result of such intense distress.
Tag: literature
The Ease With Which an Author Approaches…
The ease with which an author approaches his favorite themes hides how dangerous it can be to imitate him. Reading him, everything seems very simple. But it is simple because the approach stems from an authentic inclination, and this cannot be imitated. To discover it, however, sometimes it is necessary to experiment. And even the best cannot escape this. A fine example is Machado de Assis’ Americanas. Certainly, to a friend who could see inside him, see his future works and creative potential, half a dozen verses would suffice for the jocular recommendation: “Come on, my good Joaquim! Drop this Anhangá and tacape stuff! You don’t even know what that is.” And, certainly, there would be no better advice: the author of those verses was not Machado de Assis. The hard part is that, in practice, it is only possible to say this because Machado, alone, walked the path of failure to discover himself and reveal himself to us.
An Author’s Influence Can Be Measured…
An author’s influence can be measured by how much others imitate his eccentricities. Except for Gonçalves Dias, probably no Brazilian writer ever saw a real Indian. Even so, Indianist literature became fashionable, spawning dozens of idle, almost unreadable works, because they were obviously false. All these names of plants, animals, and tribes only harmonize with Portuguese vernacular tradition when such harmony represents nothing more than the author’s inner essence. Obviously, this is an eccentricity, which suits Gonçalves Dias well because it could, itself, be called Gonçalves Dias. How many, however, did not notice this! And so, with a view of the beautiful Guanabara Bay, they spent their leisure time talking about Indians they had never seen! Fortunately, the best learned from their failed attempts, and an angel convinced them that, to make good art, it is enough to take as raw material what the eyes can see.
For the Reader, Nothing Compares…
For the reader, nothing compares to those moments when the lines he reads seem to come from within himself. Of the many sensations that literature can produce, this is perhaps the most special, since, inside or outside literature, moments of such identification are rare. And if, in life, it produces true friendships, in literature it gives rise to a similar bond. From then on, those lines will be shared among the most cherished, the author will be among the favorites, even if, to others, he seems inferior. It is a pity that, usually dead, the author will not be able to enjoy it; but if he were given the choice, there is no doubt that he would trade a sea of readers for a single connection like this.