I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like The Hour of the Star. It’s not just the story itself that feels different, it’s the way it’s told. Half the time I forgot about the plot because Rodrigo, the narrator, keeps interrupting to talk about writing, about poverty, about whether he even has the right to tell Macabea’s story. It almost felt like I was watching someone wrestle with their own conscience while trying to write a novel.
And then there’s Macabea.
She was just so weird, like she doesn’t demand anything of the world. She doesn’t question her poverty. She doesn’t question Olimpico when he insults her. She doesn’t even seem fully aware that her life is small and fragile. She just… exists. Eating hot dogs. Listening to the radio. It made me uncomfortable because we’re generally used to protagonists who fight back or at least reflect deeply on their suffering. I guess at this point in the course i should’ve expected something like this.
At first, I found that frustrating. I kept waiting for her to have a moment of realization or rebellion. But that moment never comes. And maybe that’s the point. Not everyone gets a dramatic awakening. Some people move through life without ever being told they matter.
The fortune teller scene honestly broke me. For the first time, someone speaks to Macabea as if she has a future. She leaves glowing, believing she will marry a rich foreign man and finally be happy. That tiny spark of hope feels almost cruel in hindsight. Because right after that, she’s hit by a car.
And suddenly, that’s her “hour of the star.” The moment she becomes visible is the moment she dies.
Coming from a third world country that’s very poor, I couldn’t stop thinking about how society works like that. How many people live unnoticed until something tragic makes others pause? Lispector doesn’t give Macabea transformation, redemption, or even awareness. She gives her attention only in death. It’s devastating in a quiet way.
I also keep thinking about Rodrigo. Is he honoring her story, or exploiting it? He constantly reminds us that she’s insignificant, and yet he’s the one who decides to write about her. It made me wonder whether telling someone’s story is an act of compassion or control.
Discussion Question:
Do you think Macabea’s lack of self-awareness protects her from suffering, or does it make her even more tragic?