GIZELDA MORAIS
ENGLISH
TEXTS
 
TEXT

NOTES ABOUT THE PUBLISHED NOVELS 

JANE BRASIL (first ed. 1986) - "The loneliness, the fear and the anguish constitute the atmosphere of this dense/tense novel, centered in the Me, where the character, author of her own history, is narrating the facts that will be happening, sometimes in tone surrealist, in the search of a truth without limitations."

IBIRADIÔ (first ed. 1990) - "In this novel, the intrigue is developed in an objective double plan: the historical and the contemporary, with the presence of a cinematographer trio in the attempt to reconstruct happening of an outlandish past, from an up-to-date critical focus. There is a concert of varied voices and characters: the new and the old mixed fictionally." "This is a polemic book, of anger, of revolt and of a great love for justice and humanity."

PREPARE THE AGOGÔS (Preparem os Agogôs), first ed. 1996, Mention Honrosa in a national concourse of novel. In this novel the past and the present also interlace, the 19th century, with the slavery in Brazil, and the social problems of contemporary age. The character insistently persecutes the discovery of some truths, in the differentiated tangled interpretations that surround the human lives, when the actors of the dramas and tragedies are no more on the scene.

ACQUIT AND CONDEM (Absolvo e Condeno), first ed. 2000, Especial Mention in the prizes of Brazilian Union of Writers, 2002. This novel exhibit the conflicts of a Judge of Family Court with relationship to his work of judging but also to his relationship with a much younger woman than is the materialization of feelings that the Judge even had already forgotten. He ends up going to Japan, where he lives an unusual adventure, moments of anguish and of intense introspection.

HAPPY ADVENTURIER (Feliz Aventureiro), first ed. 2001, Especial of Jury in the prizes of Brazilian Union of Writers, 2002. A biographical novel where the author revised the adventurer life of a contemporary Argentine artist plastic through the world, his loves and his problems. 

                                                               FRAGMENTS

                                                      ACQUIT AND CONDEMN
                                                             (Begining)
As a needle crosses the flesh from one point to another, making stitches, he sees a black pen strung in his chest. He panics. He pulls it. It doesn't hurt, doesn't bleed. He is a bunch of cells without soul, without spirit. As he opens his eyes, a ray of light penetrates from a crack in the shutter. A narrow bed, a strange room, unknown scents emanating from the walls, the sheets, the pillows. He tries to get up. A fine pain runs across the back of his waist to his neck. He chokes off a scream. His head rotates under a roof seemingly steady. He feels the paralyzed body, heavy, inert, perched on the bed. 

No, he is not dead; only he doesn't recognize this place. It is not his bedroom, his room, his cabinet, the lobby of the courthouse, the room of judgments. Where is he? Fortunately also it is also not a grave. His anxious eyes, in an effort of recognition, hover on the calendar attached to the wall, July 10, 1999. A few months remain until the beginning of the year two thousand. The burden of that exact time had pushed him to this place. He sees his pen there to the side, on the white paper. It had not been strung in his chest. He had fallen asleep before writing the first word, the title of his history. He had sat down on the bed with the pen in hand. An hour of searching, smoothing the chin, pulling the hair, wouldn’t bring the word, the sense, the nucleus that could define his own life. He had paced the room until early morning, and he had tumbled into bed, exhausted. 

Now, yes, he recovers his identity. He knows who he is, knows where he is. Breathes, relaxes, tries to insert the trunk correctly on the bones of the hips. He sees an ant walking in despair, zigzagging, drowning in the thick hair of his arm. He squashes it. It came from that, of course, the discomfort, the restlessness, scratch-scratches on the back and on the arms. He recognizes a flute sound, coming from outside and from within, a sound of the ages, as ivies rising on the walls, invading everything. Did he have a commitment? Yes, he had a commitment, that’s why his alarm clock rang. He would not dress in his dark three-piece suit, press the tie, put on stockings and shine the shoes, but, anyway, it was a commitment. 

                                                                           (Translated by Maria Soledad Valle de Melo )