I am blown away by this novel. I don’t even know how to articulate just how much I loved it and exactly why it lingers with me still, but I’ll give it my best shot. There is so much I could talk about, but for the sake of word count, I’ll limit myself to two points: Lispector’s careful poeticism, and the depictions of masculinity and femininity throughout the story.

Okay, first, I think the translator’s afterword says it best; Lispector “[rearranges] conventional language to find meaning, but never to discard it completely” (80). I’ve mentioned before that I don’t believe writing has to make literal sense so long as it makes you feel something. Lispector’s prose is exactly the type of poetry I seek out—it’s rejection of conventional syntax and grammar rules render it uncanny, authentic, and thoroughly stunning. Lispector herself states, “The punctuation I employed in the book is not accidental and does not result from an ignorance of the rules of grammar” (79). Like poetry, if the language is rearranged, shaped into something new, it loses its rhythm, and sometimes its meaning. A few of my favourite lines: “I don’t know what’s inside my name” (47), “a distant relative of some pale love” (51), “all she was really good for was raining” (71). None of these quotes make literal sense, but they evoke something, yeah? 

Throughout the story, there are many moments where gender ideals are imposed on both characters and readers; eg. “he himself was a man of few words like a man ought to be” (47), “that’s a bad word for a decent girl” (41), “From her hips you could tell Glória was made for childbearing” (51). This is especially interesting when considering the novel is written by a woman. Take Macabéa and Olímpico’s dynamic for instance, in which he is constantly putting her down and ascribing to a toxic, violent masculinity; eg. “Knowing […] stuff is for queers, for men who become women” (41). Olímpico who “[has] the singsong tone and the oily phrases, just right for someone who opens his mouth and speaks demanding the rights of men” (48), yet ironically seems to know much less than Macabéa, a stranger to her own intelligence; she’s never been afforded the opportunity to employ such positive of an adjective in relation to herself. 

Lispector’s ruminations on gendered attributes (eg. “even what I’m writing somebody else could write. A male writer, that is, because a woman would make it all weepy and maudlin” [6]) through the lens of her male narrator has me reflecting on her intentions. Perhaps the narrator has a closeted desire to embrace femininity in a manner hegemonic masculinity does not allow them to; they even goes so far as to state “there is no place for me in the world of men” (12). Perhaps Macabéa is the closest the narrator feels they can get to being a woman, therefore they elect to “write out all of [themself] through her amidst frights of [their] own” (16). Or perhaps Macabéa’s depiction as pathetic, not the woman Glória is, “far too delicate to withstand the brutality of men” (65) represents Lispector’s hidden desire to be more masc, to be perceived as men are, to not fight twice as hard for the same allowances. However, in this novel, masculinity seems to act as a cage as well, especially for the narrator who wrestles with its meaning and where they fit within it. And Lispector’s comments on womanhood, “a woman is born to be a woman from the very first cry. A woman’s destiny is to be a woman” (75) emulate the confines of femininity, how these gendered ideals follow you to death, and then through rebirth: “in death she would go from virginity to womanhood” (75). It’s all so binary. And sad. 

I could go on and on, but I’m going to cut myself short here. My question this week is, what do you think Lispector was trying to say about masculinity, femininity, and gender roles?