sound. I now understand this story. She is the imminence in those bells, pealing so softly.
The greatness of every human being.
Silence.
Should God descend on earth one day there would be a great silence.
The silence is such, that thought no longer thinks.
Was the ending of my story as grand as you expected? Dying, Macabéa became air. Vigorous air? I cannot say. She died instantaneously. An instant is that particle of time in which the tyre of a car going at full speed touches the ground, touches it no longer, then touches it again. Etc., etc., etc. At heart, Macabéa was little better than a music box sadly out of tune.
I ask you:
— What is the weight of light?
And now — now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me?
Don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
Acknowledgements
I SHOULD like to express my gratitude to Michael Schmidt, Robyn Marsack and the staff of Carcanet Press; also to the following colleagues and friends who offered useful advice and criticism: Paul Berman, Eudinyr Fraga, Patricia Bins, Carlos Sachs, Teresa Nunes, Amelia Hutchinson and Arnold Hinchliffe; and finally to Stefanie Goodfellow for valuable material assistance, and to Nancy Stalhammer, who typed the manuscript with scrupulous care.
Giovanni Pontiero Manchester, June 1985
Afterword
Clarice Lispector died of cancer at the age of fifty-six on 9 December 1977. The Hour of the Star was published that same year and acclaimed by the critics as 'a regional allegory' of extraordinary awareness and insight. The tale of Macabéa, however, can be read at different levels and lends itself to various interpretations. The book's subtle interplay of fiction and philosophy sums up Clarice Lispector's unique talent as a writer and her lasting influence on contemporary Brazilian writing.
Shortly before she became seriously ill, Clarice Lispector began to experience an almost obsessive nostalgia for Recife in the North-eastern State of Pernambuco, where she had spent her childhood. This nostalgia resulted in a sentimental journey to renew contact with scenes and locations associated with her earliest perceptions. Back in Rio, she also began to make regular trips to the street market specializing in crafts and wares from North-eastern Brazil, that takes place every Sunday in the Sao Cristovao district of the city. It was here that the author could observe at her leisure the lowly immigrants from the North-east who came to buy and sell or simply to watch, re-enacting for a day the customs and traditions of their native region. The Sao Cristovao market evoked the sights and sounds Clarice Lispector had savoured as a child and the unmistakable physical traits of the North-easterners who gathered there provided her with mental sketches for the principal characters in The Hour of the Star.
The nucleus of the narrative centres on the misfortunes of Macabéa, a humble girl from a region plagued by drought and poverty, whose future is determined by her inexperience, her ugliness and her total anonymity. Macabéa's speech and dress betray her origins. An orphaned child from the backwoods of Alagoas, who was brought up by a forbidding aunt in Maceió before making her way to the slums of Acre Street in the heart of Rio de Janeiro's red-light district. Gauche and rachitic, Macabéa has poverty and ill-health written all over her: a creature conditioned from birth and already singled out as one of the world's inevitable losers.
Her humdrum existence can be summarized in few words: Macabéa is an appallingly bad typist, she is a virgin, and her favourite drink is Coca-Cola. She is the perfect foil for a bullying employer, a philandering boy friend, and her workmate Glória, who has all the attributes Macabéa sadly lacks.
Macabéa's abrupt exit under the front wheels of a
The greatness of every human being.
Silence.
Should God descend on earth one day there would be a great silence.
The silence is such, that thought no longer thinks.
Was the ending of my story as grand as you expected? Dying, Macabéa became air. Vigorous air? I cannot say. She died instantaneously. An instant is that particle of time in which the tyre of a car going at full speed touches the ground, touches it no longer, then touches it again. Etc., etc., etc. At heart, Macabéa was little better than a music box sadly out of tune.
I ask you:
— What is the weight of light?
And now — now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me?
Don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
Acknowledgements
I SHOULD like to express my gratitude to Michael Schmidt, Robyn Marsack and the staff of Carcanet Press; also to the following colleagues and friends who offered useful advice and criticism: Paul Berman, Eudinyr Fraga, Patricia Bins, Carlos Sachs, Teresa Nunes, Amelia Hutchinson and Arnold Hinchliffe; and finally to Stefanie Goodfellow for valuable material assistance, and to Nancy Stalhammer, who typed the manuscript with scrupulous care.
Giovanni Pontiero Manchester, June 1985
Afterword
Clarice Lispector died of cancer at the age of fifty-six on 9 December 1977. The Hour of the Star was published that same year and acclaimed by the critics as 'a regional allegory' of extraordinary awareness and insight. The tale of Macabéa, however, can be read at different levels and lends itself to various interpretations. The book's subtle interplay of fiction and philosophy sums up Clarice Lispector's unique talent as a writer and her lasting influence on contemporary Brazilian writing.
Shortly before she became seriously ill, Clarice Lispector began to experience an almost obsessive nostalgia for Recife in the North-eastern State of Pernambuco, where she had spent her childhood. This nostalgia resulted in a sentimental journey to renew contact with scenes and locations associated with her earliest perceptions. Back in Rio, she also began to make regular trips to the street market specializing in crafts and wares from North-eastern Brazil, that takes place every Sunday in the Sao Cristovao district of the city. It was here that the author could observe at her leisure the lowly immigrants from the North-east who came to buy and sell or simply to watch, re-enacting for a day the customs and traditions of their native region. The Sao Cristovao market evoked the sights and sounds Clarice Lispector had savoured as a child and the unmistakable physical traits of the North-easterners who gathered there provided her with mental sketches for the principal characters in The Hour of the Star.
The nucleus of the narrative centres on the misfortunes of Macabéa, a humble girl from a region plagued by drought and poverty, whose future is determined by her inexperience, her ugliness and her total anonymity. Macabéa's speech and dress betray her origins. An orphaned child from the backwoods of Alagoas, who was brought up by a forbidding aunt in Maceió before making her way to the slums of Acre Street in the heart of Rio de Janeiro's red-light district. Gauche and rachitic, Macabéa has poverty and ill-health written all over her: a creature conditioned from birth and already singled out as one of the world's inevitable losers.
Her humdrum existence can be summarized in few words: Macabéa is an appallingly bad typist, she is a virgin, and her favourite drink is Coca-Cola. She is the perfect foil for a bullying employer, a philandering boy friend, and her workmate Glória, who has all the attributes Macabéa sadly lacks.
Macabéa's abrupt exit under the front wheels of a
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