By Rachel de Queiroz
About the writer (from Goodreads):
Raquel de Queiroz (November 17, 1910 – November four, 2003) used to be a Brazilian writer and journalist.
Rachel was once born on terrorist organization 1910 in Fortaleza, capital of the northeastern kingdom of Ceará. in the course of her youth, her relatives spent a number of years in Rio de Janeiro and Belém sooner than relocating again to Fortaleza.
She started her profession in journalism in 1927 below the pen identify "Rita de Queiroz". She entered nationwide highlight with the unforeseen luck of her debut novel O Quinze in 1930. She released different 3 novels prior to relocating to Rio, in 1939. She used to be additionally well known for her cronicas, brief topical newspaper pieces.
In 1964 she grew to become Brazil's consultant to the UN and in 1977 she grew to become the 1st lady author to go into the Academia Brasileira de Letras. She received the Camões Prize (1993) and the Prêmio Jabuti.
She died of middle assault in her residence in Leblon, Rio de Janeiro on four November 2003, approximately weeks sooner than her 93rd birthday.
Sobre o livro:
Rachel de Queiroz se consagrou como um dos grandes nomes na narrativa longa brasileira a partir da publicação do romance O Quinze, em 1930. A antologia de textos curtos A casa do Morro Branco, no entanto, vem provar que a autora também dominava perfeitamente a arte dos contos e crônicas. São 14 histórias na qual a autora expõe todas as características que marcaram obras renomadas como João Miguel, Caminho de pedras, As três Marias e Memorial de Maria Moura: análises literárias da existência humana, em seus aspectos políticos e pessoais. É um relançamento que dá continuidade ao resgate pela Editora José Olympio da obra de Rachel e de outros autores.
“Só conheço o lugar de vista. Como disse, tem um morro; não um grande morro alto, desses que mais parecem montanhas de verdade – e, pensando bem, são realmente montanhas”, escreve a autora na crônica que dá nome ao livro. “O de lá period antes uma colina, ou isso que nós no Nordeste chamamos de ‘alto’, ou ‘cabeço’.
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Additional info for A Casa do Morro Branco
And we stopped speaking crudely and awkwardly like greenhorns who think that you have to have the last word on everything and that speaking the truth is always permissible, which is nothing more than a way of excusing brutes and schoolteachers. That’s why we spoke in a refined kind of way, as best we could manage, for we cursed like demons, believe you me, but with enormous care and delicacy. ‘Dicky’ we said and ‘good old fellow’ and nothing about the wind which ended after us or about the floating coffin which was coming to an end with us, or the water which was without end.
I think so too,’ said the fishmonger in a monotone. ’ ‘If you frighten somebody it is usually harder to kill him, wouldn’t you say? He keeps a lookout, hears every leaf rustle, stops going into the wood where the thick branches are. ’ ‘Did you think I was? I’m not a dog. ’ ‘Yet this business has been on your mind all day long. ’ ‘I don’t understand you. I think you’re too keen to create an effect. ’ ‘The man whose warning led to what you call the murder? ’ ‘Yes, that leaves some points to be cleared up, or just one really.
For one of us – his name no longer carries any weight on this planet, it refers to nothing, though once it introduced a man who wasn’t all that fat, with red hair and two teeth missing and a faint talent for cooking – one of us, I say, now said something which we noted carefully and still recall many years afterwards, and I don’t intend to forget it today. On the contrary, I can still remember him standing up with his glass and walking up to the bulkhead and carrying the glass along and putting it on a small table as he said it, and doing so in such a way that it wasn’t quite certain whether he was putting much thought into it.