Bengali Fairy Tales Get An Un-Fairy Tale Ending: Children’s Book Review (Guest Book Review by Nupur Maskara)

Once Upon the Queens has translated stories from the iconic Thakurmar Jhuli, a collection of Bengali rural folk tale stories. Written by Satabdi Das, and translated by Nadia Imam, this book deconstructs some of the original stories, to give them a feminist twist. Beautifully illustrated by Paramita Brahmachari, this is a collection that takes you back to childhood, and introduces the new generation to classics, but updated to reflect contemporary times.

Das has introduced each tale with a rhyming verse, like Dakshinaranjan Mitra Majumder did when he compiled Thakumar Jhuli in 1907. He had divided the stories in three sections, and Das has chosen a few from each section to translate in English. She concludes with a translation from Thakumar Jhuli’s sequel, Thakurdadaar Jhuli.  The sequel was for the girl who used to listen to Thakumar Jhuli stories, grew up and needed to be reminded of her place in the patriarchy.

The first story, from the ‘Dudher Sagar’ section, is called ‘The Sleeping Kingdom,’ and was similar to Sleeping Beauty originally. Das makes the princess the protagonist instead, and gives her agency as an adventurer. She reverses the reasons for sleep, switches the sleeper and the savior, and revises the roles others play in the story too.

Das has revised the famous story ‘Kalawati’ similarly. In ‘Kachanmala and Kakanmala’ Das adds shades of grey to both the titular characters, rather than keeping one as good and the other bad, like it was in the original.

‘Seven Brothers Champa’ does away with the cruelty of the original, which was about infanticide. By creating a sisterhood instead, Das shows another way for women to co-exist, rather than vying among each other for male attention.

Other famous tales Das has translated include ‘Prince Red Lotus, Prince Blue Lotus’ and ‘The Golden Stick and Silver Stick.’ Das questions why the demon, as the Other, is often defeated by deception and asks whether that is morally correct. She revises the ending to be more open.

In ‘One and a Half Finger,’ Das highlights the issue of caste, changing the protagonist’s gender to underscore the plight of the girl child. ‘Malanchamala’ originally centred the protagonist around marriage, but Das creates a new Malanchamala, who girls today are more likely to identify with.  

This collection is one that will bring parents or grandchildren closer to young ones, as they tell these stories to them at bedtime. Considering feminist retellings of tales like Cinderella have already happened, this was long overdue.

Hopefully children reared on tales like these, which are set in more egalitarian societies, will also then think that girls and boys are more equal, and can make their dreams come true. However, they must see what they read about reflected in the world around them as well, otherwise fairy tales will stay fairy tales, and they will replicate the reality they see.

Still, books like these are a step in the right direction, for only when the youth sees possibilities can they learn to think differently, rather than repeat history.

Original Text: Bengali
Translator: Nadia Imam

Illustrator: Paramita Brahmachari
Pages: 124

ISBN-13:  9788197684890

Publisher: The Antonym Collections

‘A Gentle Intoxication of Music’: Poetry Book Review (Guest Book Review by Nupur Maskara)

Italian is a musical language, and poetry in Italian would be the cherry on top. Sometimes the beauty of language gets lost in translation, as is often the case with Urdu ghazals. However, the translators of The Grace of My Home by Julio Monteiro Martins (Donald Wang and Helen Wickes) have successfully captured his vivid images and wordplay.

The Grace of My Home is the first time Martins’ poems are available as a collection in English. As the title suggests, Martins’ poetry evokes his homes – Brazil and Italy – evocatively. The book is an insight in his mind, his proclivity for wordplay, and his skill in employing poetic devices.

‘By the Grace of Words’ is one poem in this book that caught my attention. The narrator talks candidly about how he ‘used to have such a fear/of abstract nouns/’ that he ‘even felt safe/among the adjectives. Language is often a refuge for some of us, a home for our thoughts. Others who think visually, may consider images to be their sanctuary.

The poem goes on to talk about how ‘nouns would parade inside’ him, within reach of his ‘verbs.’ Towards the end, the poet talks about how there were ‘Too many subjects/without a predicate.’ Such poems translate well, as they have strong images and metaphors.

Martins’ gift for irony is clearly seen in ‘Elective Affinities,’ where he talks about how he should stop writing about friends, ‘(or writing about anything).’ That leaves out a great deal of material, which he lists – controversies, lies ‘(but there are so many…how will I remember them all?)’ This would resonate with readers, as we all have mental filters, on what we can share with which group, no matter how close we may be to a friend.

The poem touches on a common worry - friends often wonder if they are going to end up in their author friend’s book. As Nora Ephron said, ‘everything is copy.’ The poet ends by saying he ‘will give them the maximum/ of every bit of my minimum.’ What will become then of him and his art, the reader wonders.  Tennyson’s depiction of the artist’s dilemma, whether to be part of the world or write about it, that he showed in ‘The Lady of Shalott,’ comes to mind.

The next poem, ‘Melania’ paints a detailed picture of domestic life, where the actress wife is physically present but always mentally in her world of theatre, and so has no time, space, or energy for her husband. Martins’ versatility is displayed here, in this narrative poem, with its strong characterisation of both the husband and wife.

In the poem ‘Eclipsing the Taj Mahal,’ Martins wonders whether Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a monument to love rather than Noor Jahan. He contrasts himself with the king, saying that he would not build the Taj Mahal. He would see himself ‘dissolve/like a pat of butter/in the center of the pan.’ This contrarian view of love was refreshing.

Martins’ irony is seen again in the poem, as he ends with the reason why he would not erect the Taj Mahal – to protect others from the ‘crater-like feeling/left by love,’

‘To protect those who do not love/from viewing the crater, /the vertigo of seeing all the way to the very bottom.’ His unusual metaphors for love catch the reader’s attention, and make them view love in a different light.

My favourite lines were in the closing poem ‘Music,’ where Martins says ‘Beauty/had entered in me. /A gentle intoxication of music.’ That indeed, is music, and music literally enters us via our ears, so this was a skilful turn of phrase.

Martins’ circumstances – Brazil and Italy - are evident in his poems. He was born in Brazil and worked as a lawyer there. He was one of the founders of the Brazilian Green Party and also co-founded an environmental movement.

A prolific writer with a diverse range, he published nine books in Brazil – novels, short stories, and essays. He also founded a publication press and taught creative writing.

The Grace of My Home is worth a read, and reminds us of cultures other than American, which have taken over our consciousness to a great extent in recent times. Martins’ poetry may even nudge some of us (a la Jhumpa Lahiri), to learn Italian, so that we can appreciate its musicality in the original.

Original Text: Italian
Translator: Donald Wang and Helen Wickes

Pages: 134

ISBN-13: 978-8196395926

Publisher: The Antonym Collections

Author's Image Ref: https://blackbird-archive.vcu.edu/v18n2/poetry/monteiro-j/index-monteiro.shtml

From the Vault - Rashid Jahan's Short Stories

Who is the Culprit and Other Stories is a collection of five short stories written by Rashid Jahan, one of the foremost writers of the Progressive Movement in India. She wrote short stories and plays that primarily addressed issues such as social injustice and oppression, the condition of women, and the lives of marginalized people at the bottom of the social and economic hierarchy. She is regarded as one of the fiercest writers of her generation.

Rashid Jahan also contributed to the short-story collection Angaaray, which was banned and publicly burned by British authorities because of its bold attack on conservatism, hypocrisy, and colonialism. These five stories reflect her lifelong activism, feminism, and unequivocal voice against male-dominated power structures and British colonial rule.

Who is the Culprit? (Mujrim Kaun)

The story is set in British-ruled India, where people gather at a club to celebrate the farewell of Judge George Robinson, who is soon to be married and is leaving India.

The story highlights the inequality in perception, treatment, and legal judgment when similar actions are committed by those in power—the British rulers—and by ordinary Indians. George Robinson, a celebrated judge, is involved in an illicit affair with a colonel’s wife. Yet, in a dramatic turn of events, he is allowed to marry the woman, and the law conveniently makes way for him without any prosecution.

.… you could say that nobody could interpret the English laws that they had created for the slaves better than him…

… These people are emotional like animals…

In contrast, Bhola, a simple shepherd boy, falls in love with a married woman, Gujariya, and the affection between them is mutual. However, Bhola is sentenced to three years of hard labor by the court. By connecting the stories of George and Bhola, the narrative becomes a sharp satire on social and legal disparity under colonial rule.

… If there were no death sentence, there would be bloodshed and murder all day long in this barbaric country. It is our laws that have kept peace among them…

… We believe the law I the same for everyone…

At its core, Who is the Culprit? is an anti-colonial story that exposes how colonial rulers often enjoyed legal protection, privilege, and even immunity for their wrongdoing, while ordinary Indians faced harsh punishment. Colonial laws were designed primarily to protect imperial authority rather than to ensure equal justice.

Asif Jahan's Daughter-in-Law (Asif Jahaan Ki Bahu)

Asif Jahan wanted to marry her only son, Noor Al-Hasan, to Kubra’s daughter, which would please both her husband’s family and her own family back home. However, the problem was that Kubra always gave birth to sons.

… may Khuda never grant a daughter even unto our enemies…

One of the best depictions of tension and emotional intensity, marked by fear, prayer, exhaustion, and anticipation during a home birth, is presented in this story. The prolonged labour, midwifery details, and the case of retained placenta have been skillfully portrayed by the author, Rashid Jahan, who herself was a medical doctor. The details of a birth room where a mother struggles through childbirth are complete and vivid in themselves.

The story also serves as a significant reflection on the practice of betrothal before birth or infancy, which was prevalent in the past. It can further be seen as a strong critique of patriarchy, where sons were preferred above all else. In contrast, the story places the birth of a girl at its emotional center.

Her (Woh)

Her is a story of an ex-prostitute who is now diseased and a victim of social hatred, expulsion, and mistreatment. She may be suffering from syphilis, and her face is severely disfigured; she has already lost her nose and one eye, which evokes fear in those who encounter her. In fact, the author, being a medical doctor, may have come across such women in real life.

In the story, the narrator is a teacher in a girls’ school. Unlike others around her who call the woman “whore,” “evil,” “devil,” and “wretched woman,” she is open to meeting her in a more humane way. However, the silent tension created by the woman is heavy, intense, and almost palpable to the narrator.

In fact, the narrator herself has some reservations, if not contempt, which she eventually acknowledges. The woman’s repulsive appearance also makes her uncomfortable, yet she maintains a calm demeanor. The story highlights the narrator’s inner struggle between acceptance, indifference, and latent hatred for the woman. It shows how hatred can emerge even among the most educated and seemingly compassionate individuals

.… What does she think? Was she ever just like me?...

… Does she believe I think of her as nothing more than a malady?... What does she feel when she comes to me, is it pain, or is it peace?

The story may have been considered revolting at the time it was written, as the mere mention of a prostitute was a taboo, and portraying such characters in literature would have disturbed many readers. Rashid Jahan was a writer of the Progressive Movement, and this story likely drew attention to the treatment of sex workers and the prevailing social hypocrisy in the name of justice.

The Thief (Chor)

In The Thief, the narrator, a doctor, faces a moral dilemma when she comes face to face one night with a thief who had recently robbed her house but has now returned as a desperate father whose daughter needs urgent medical attention.

The God of the Poor (Ghareebon Ka Bhagwan)

The God of the Poor is another piece of progressive writing. The story highlights the fact that those who are socially and economically disadvantaged are often at the mercy of the society in which they live. No god, of any religion, can rescue or help them except people themselves. Justice begins and ends with society and its people.

Rashid Jahan left behind a body of work that represents a fierce act of defiance. We thank the publisher and the translator, Himadri Agarwal, for giving new life to these stories through translation and for bringing them back from the vault. Because history is never silent, and so are the stories.

Original Text: Urdu
Translator: Himadri Agarwal
Publisher: Chowringhee Press

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

Rashid Jahan's works in Urdu could be accessed here: https://www.rekhta.org/authors/rasheed-jahan/stories

From the Vault - Subhadra Kumari Chauhan's Short Stories

I Murdered Mine is a collection of five short stories written by Subhadra Kumari Chauhan. She was an Indian poet, short story writer, and freedom fighter during the British rule in India. She died shortly after India gained independence in 1947. These five stories have been selected from her two short story collections: Seedhe Saadhe Chitra and Bikhre Moti. Her other published short story collection is Unmadini. She is best known for her poem Jhansi Ki Rani (The Queen of Jhansi).

These five stories give us a glimpse of the range of topics Subhadra wrote about. From women’s resilience and struggle to human devotion and guilt, some of these stories were far ahead of their time in their strong portrayal of the true colors of society and its psyche.

Kailashi Nani (from Seedhe Saadhe Chitra)

In Kailashi Nani, the narrator is a girl who recalls Kailashi Nani—a woman from her maternal uncle’s village who earned her living by grazing the villagers’ cattle. The narrator and her family lived in the city, and she met Kailashi Nani only during visits to her uncle’s home in the village. She enjoyed village life, but even more, she cherished Kailashi Nani’s company, affection, and care. Though she appears to be a simple, affectionate village woman who loves children, Kailashi Nani does something that baffles the narrator and her family, transforming her into a figure of selfless loyalty. She ultimately proves her love and devotion by saving the narrator and her sister from a treacherous marriage scheme. The story serves as a reminder of a recent past when child marriage was practiced, and of how certain people leave a lasting, unforgettable impact on our lives.

Sacrifice (from Bikhre Moti)

Babu Radheshyam loses his wife, who dies after giving birth to a child. Initially, he is determined not to remarry, but he changes his mind after meeting Kuntala—an educated young woman whose family is too poor to arrange her marriage. Kuntala’s new life, largely consumed by household responsibilities, begins to affect her health. Domestic life stifles her youth, brilliance, and talent. But, how worse can this get? The ending is crushing.  

Perspective (from Bikhre Moti)

This is the story of Nirmala, a true humanist. She is kind, compassionate, and altruistic. Many learned humanists cannot go beyond the idea of thinking good; they are unable to act well when it is required. Nirmala’s husband, a learned professor, does not appear to be the opposite, given his social stature and sense of nobility. However, cynicism can take root even in the greatest minds. A good human being, in fact, can also be an extreme misogynist, sexist, and a fervent follower of patriarchy.

The clash between these two natures and two ideologies becomes evident and defining when a child widow becomes pregnant, and Nirmala wishes to shelter her for a few days.

In the absence of evidence and action, even human characters can hide behind their true beliefs. We come across this in The Perspective when people's beliefs are put to test.

Roopa (from Seedhe Saadhe Chitra)

The narrator of Roopa is a woman prison inmate. One day, a woman named Roopa is brought into the prison, sentenced for killing her own child. The narrator gets to know how Roopa is sentenced to life imprisonment for murdering her own child, a child with speech-impairment, and whether it was even a murder or something else. The title of the story collection is taken from this story.

Paapi Pet (from Bikhre Moti)

When government forces launch a crackdown on peaceful protesters with brute force, have you ever wondered what happens to the police who return after beating unarmed people, severely injuring some who could even lose their lives? And what about those who ordered the charge, or the legal system that can throw people in jail? What is greater than conscience—hunger? Do the means of survival outweigh a human's ability to decide, to distinguish right from wrong? In Paapi Pet, we get close to the lives of a policeman, a jailor named Barkatula, an inspector, and a magistrate in the aftermath of a recent lathi charge on unarmed, peaceful protesters.

We are very grateful to Sakshi Agarwal for translating these forgotten stories, staying very close to the original text and preserving their vigor. After all, old stories are, in part, a reflection of our history and collective memory.

Original Text: Hindi
Translator: Sakshi Agarwal
Publisher: Chowringhee Press
Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

Subhadra Kumari Chauhan's works in Hindi could be accessed here: https://hindi-kavita.com/HindiSubhadraKumariChauhan.php

A Dive That’s Deep, A Water That’s Translucent (Guest Book Review by Kabir Deb)

We are familiar with how power, patriarchy and possession redefine themselves every day to stay relevant. But sometimes, society becomes intimidating and forces people to adhere to them or to face the consequences of negating their existence. The consequence may come in the form of isolation, cornering and accusations. Mahua Sen’s debut work of translation The Dead Fish written by Rajkamal Choudhary in Hindi, speaks about the buoyant nature of power, gender fluidity, vulnerability and the necessity of freedom from anything that holds us back. The story equally dilutes the story with metaphors, images and a constant underplay. What goes beneath the layers of these images Choudhary builds is chaotic, dark yet tempting. The writer builds the story on the mind by keeping the body as its pedestal as both of them have to be in unison to create a balance. 

The novel has an eros but it isn’t loud. It is a hum that’s constant but continuous. The characters are flawed and, at the same time, humane. The story has a body of its own, which makes it complex in its telling such that if readers want to get attuned to it, they must attend it with sincerity. It is a chaotic novel since the timeframe of the story keeps on changing from past to present without putting a pause beforehand. It is a form of telling which many storytellers have followed in their works of art to give them a potion of life. Art is an emulation of life. What we experience turns into our work of art. The telling of this novel identifies with life and how it urges us to seek our own identity. It mirrors how most people’s behaviour and languages changes with power. But, at the same time, Choudhary also keeps in mind that, in times of discomfort, power does not help. But those who arrive with love prepare comfort for us, but it can grow only with our acceptance.

Nirmal Padmavat, a man of impressive demeanour, formidable presence, and charismatic personality, is the axis of this novel. He gets to reveal his true nature, which is strong yet vulnerable, before Kalyani, Shirin and Priya since like most women, they get to carve Nirmal’s artificial covering. But, at the same time, the writer cleverly gives us a reality check as well. He writes how the protagonist’s surrender is bolted with a price – expectations – which if not fulfilled forces him to put his pretence back on. The writer tells us that once we wear a certain personality, it limits our freedom. We get to find it in Tony Soprano, the protagonist of the David Chase created show Sopranos, who deals with mental health issues, which he cannot project before anyone else because, for the rest of the world, vulnerability is a sign of weakness. But before Jennifer Meiti, played by Lorrain Bracco, his real ‘self’ comes out effortlessly because of the latter’s affection and kindness. Nirmal sheds his veil off before Kalyani, Shirin and Priya since they look at him with a different kind of prowess in mind – one which is sensual, wholesome and liberates all of them effortlessly.

Kalyani, in this novel, is written as a glamorous, power-abiding libertine. She has necessities and a desire to be on the top of the system, which she wants to fulfil by any means possible. But she is not a parasite. She has her own way to give back whatever she takes. But she can be unkind and cruel, which most people are and it is a flaw and a weapon. Cruelty acts as a sword for women who have to stand beside womanizers. Their unkindness should not be glorified but cannot be annulled either since it is a defence mechanism against power. Her physical demeanour is not like Nirmal, but her tease and words are. The translator keeps that tease alive in her craft since everything that Nirmal does or approaches is a creation of Kalyani’s effect on his male chauvinism. Even his altered behaviour is significantly associated with his association and dissociation with Kalyani. We find this trait in Nellie LaRoy, played by Margot Robbie, in the film Babylon, who hunts down parties to figure out a place the glamour she possesses is noticed. Similarly, in the novel, Kalyani moves from one party to another, to be the centre of attention because amidst patriarchs she must use her own ways, without getting oppressed by the idea, to get her work done.

Rajkamal Choudhary gives us a backstory to Nirmal to allow us to process his hunger for power, arrogant attitude and being a contrasting figure before those he falls in love with. His past sets a tone which is bitter and hence, sweetens the actions of his present time. In the Anandi Gandhi directed film Ship of Theseus, we can relate to Maitreya, played by Neeraj Kabi, because his decision of becoming a Jain monk stemmed from the exhaustion, he felt by living around money, hateful humans and unanswered questions. His choices may not align with ours, but his philosophy cannot be discarded without putting any thought. Similarly, Nirmal’s past is full of horrifying incidents and the choices he makes after earning money and gaining power can be justified. Some may say that what he does is devilish, but the devil has always been questioning whatever is moral, godly and blindly holy. Through Nirmal Padmavat’s actions and behaviour, the writer is not searching for justifications. Rather, he is putting questions in our mind and wants us to answer them as well.

The philosophy of the novel mirrors our complex reality where we trying to accept ideas which many are hesitant to address. But the society around us creates a cage around us to restrict our attempts towards humane development. Nirmal Padmavat is effectively wild, but even in his careless attitude of what others think about him, he is reminded that as a member of the society he has to follow certain customs. The capitalism that Nirmal follows is not hardcore and quite conventional. It is the consequence of the wounds on his masculine ego. Choudhary does not address the wounded Nirmal directly. He follows the arc of several other characters to address his complex masculinity. Normally, hurt is often coined as a driving force for people to grow, which itself is patriarchal and suppresses an individual’s development automatically. Choudhary keeps the story open-ended to make the readers process the idea. For a wider audience, the translator maintains the telling by putting Choudhary’s idea in a string without stitching its ends completely.   

The story of Nirmal with Kalyani does not form the core of this text since both these characters form a medium for the writer to criticize capitalism, industrial oppression, a dreadful fear of modernity, patriarchal hullaballoo, and faith on monoamory or monogamy. Nirmal’s obsession for Kalyani is not directly related to gender. It is also related to the comfort that he found once in her presence. The latter’s libertine nature does not take Nirmal away from her story. Her experience around him has been both satisfying and discontenting. Yet, in the novel, Nirmal Padmavat is written as a seeker of companion, credibility and unequivocal validation. Both these flawed characters are drawn towards two extremities, and the writer leaves their shadows to spread for their world in-between. Choudhary does not refrain from highlighting the fact that even with love, people have certain expectations and get cornered when they are not met. In the novel, when Kalyani finds out the reason of Nirmal’s vulnerability, she leaves him without putting any effort in healing his heavy heart. Nirmal, like most men, choose to adhere to his demeanour and puts every effort to traumatize other people who Kalyani is associated with. The possessive nature of both these characters have been written with metaphors, but these images project the reality of control.

The novel’s take on queer relationship is different and not cheesy. Shirin (Nirmal’s wife) and Priya (Kalyani’s daughter) cross each other’s lives as a source to identify what they truly are. In physics, an electrical circuit’s model can be identified by the switch’s position, but its effectiveness is inferred by the battery. Similarly, the psychological proximity of Shirin and Priya is written in a complex manner, but if read with an objective lens, has certain boosters which nudge them to identify their true identity. The translator does not vent out the chaos since it is essential in a relationship, which has not been normalized by the society and has a beaming effect on people. Choudhary’s writing of queer relationship tries to have a modern structure but with the eros, he incarnates the traditional perception which is not needed, but is commendable since other than Ismat Chugtai, rarely has any Hindi or Urdu writer tried to explore the dynamics of queer relation.

Mahua Sen’s translation is sharp, tight and visceral. It has a flow that reads like an original work but, at the same time, the constant travel from past to present takes the reader away from even the passionate portions. These situations read good in regional languages since we speak them in our daily life and have its innate flow solidified in our minds. Even then, the translator does good work in keeping the images without maligning what they try to say. Rajkamal Choudhary’s Machhali Mari Hui, has been hailed as a masterpiece but controversial work of literature. An English translation of this novel was much needed since we still are not familiar with queer relationships on a very basic and regional level. The stories which come in our forefront are adhered with certain looks, lifestyle and class making them a stereotype. The Dead Fish brings us characters that are modern, belong to the upper class, but has a tone that is Indian and deals with issues which are not unfamiliar to us. A dark, erotic and questioning novel that does not dwell on the surface. It gets deep within our flesh, but can only crawl if we allow it to do so. A complex book that will have its own audience, but those who get to join its characters would enjoy something refreshing.

Original Text: Hindi
Translator: Mahua Sen
Publisher: Rupa Publications
Source: Review Copy from the Publisher
Author Photo Source: Wikipedia

Book Reviewed by Kabir Deb as a guest contributor

Also Read: https://worldtranslationsreview.blogspot.com/2023/08/a-slithering-world.html Book Review of Traces of Boots on Tongue by Rajkamal Chaudhary, Translated by Saudamini Deo

Coming Up...

 

... Depois, Cheia De Vida

Set in an unnamed Brazilian city and told through multiple narrators, Eliana Alvez Cruz's Solitaria is a novel about the modern-day realities of remains of colonial violence and class disparity, seen through the lives of a mother and daughter who work as live-in maids. Constructed almost in an episodic style, the novel blends a coming-of-age story of Mabel, who wants to break free of the vicious circle of serving the wealthy, almost like a servitude, and her mother Eunice, who accepts things as such because it provides for her family's needs and gives her a haven. But when a tragedy occurs at the Golden Plate apartment, Eunice must decide which side she wants to be on and whom she shall challenge after years of silence, acceptance, and compromise.

Split into three sections, the first part is narrated by Mabel, the second part by Eunice, and inanimate objects narrate the third part of the novel. The foreshadowing of tension at the beginning of the novel concludes in a liberating end in the final chapter of the story.

                  

                  

Mabel's mother, Eunice, works as a live-in maid for a rich family—Ms. Lúcia and Mr. Tiago, owners of a luxury condo in the Golden Plate apartment—where sneaking in only through the service door is considered normal for maids like her. Eunice has an ailing mother, so she must take her child along to work, where an unspoken order separates the private, lavish life lived by the owners from the life in a tiny room occupied by the serving maids, an order that must not be breached. In any case, Mabel must not be seen. But at one point, following a mishap, Mabel's discovered presence nearly cost Eunice her job.

With the little means she has, Eunice has always lived in fear and insecurity, forgetting herself in the grind. It seems Eunice must always make compromises, as if she owes gratitude to everyone for her being. Mabel considers this a servitude more than gratitude and wants to break free. Growing in the shadows of tiny spaces for maids, seeing, gauging, and understanding the way of their life, Mabel starts to have strong opinions—almost a grudge—for the treatment they receive; for the way they are seen and understood. Working for Ms. Lúcia's family, Eunice and Mabel also take care of their daughter. But, seeing the contrast in how they grow up, Mabel doesn't want to spend her life away like her mother. Mabel wants to be educated, free, independent, and get out of the life of servitude.

 

After Everything that happened, beyond the certainty that I didn’t want kids, something else true grew in me: I did not want to be like my mother. More like, I did not want to do what she did. This feeling was the embryo of a distancing between us, one that would need the remedy of time to heal.

Home to the rich and upper class, the Golden Plate apartment is also an abode for many caretakers and maids, but they are always considered outsiders, opportunists, submissive, and lowly. The interwoven lives of people of different classes appear to be in harmony, but a shadow of violence, injustice, and indifference is palpable—not in one event, but on multiple occasions, hidden, said, or unspoken. Not only Mabel, but João, her first love, also wants to live like other kids on the block—unrestricted, with dreams of his own—but that simply makes him a ruffian among the dwellers. Mabel doesn't want to characterize herself and doesn't want the rich to tag her as "these people." Mabel and João are characters of defiance, who want to get out of "the gilded cage." Mother-daughter relationships, father-son relationships, teenage love, adolescent pregnancy, moral dilemmas, and elusiveness have been beautifully explored in Solitaria.

I did not want to clean a house that wasn’t mine. I did not want to take a child to work in anybody else’s house. That was my story, and I did not want to repeat it with my own children. I didn’t even want children! I didn’t want another Ms. Lúcia as a boss or another Camilinha whose diapers I had to change, whom I had to feed and give my time and my love, and one day watch her make messes on purpose, with her parents’ approval, just so she could watch as I cleaned. I did not want to be away from my home for a whole week in order to make someone else’s home more cozy and comfortable.

Mãe and I stayed there, in the gilded cage of the Golden Plate Building. We were birds in a luxury habitat, but isn’t a golden cage still a cage? Every once in a while, our wings would fly us back home—our little house in the distant suburb, or some other faraway place—but we would always go back to our captivity.

The beginning of the first part connects with the start of the second part, where the narrator changes from Mabel to Eunice.

Eunice is a motherly figure who doesn't want insecurities to seep into their lives—already in crisis but moving in a fine balance, earned at whatever cost. Eunice considers the way they live in the Golden Plate building as a part of their lives—a necessary evil. Burdened with responsibilities, she doesn't want to hate her provider. But there are limits to everything, even to human tolerance and patience, before one realizes the value of everything around. Solitaria speaks to and awakens the need to break through the cocoon.

In the third part of the novel, different rooms come out as narrators. They are present to recount what they have witnessed in the lives of Eunice, Mabel, and many others like them. They also testify to the change that is essential and that forces itself out. The infusion of the COVID pandemic into the story has been wonderfully done by the author Eliana Alvez Cruz.

I think that, sometimes, when you are in a bad situation, you get used to it and don’t want to leave because it’s familiar, even though it’s bad. That was how I felt about working in Ms. Lúcia’s house.

Against the backdrop of Afro-Brazilian history, class and racial tensions, the social lives of the wealthy, the struggle between ruling and labor classes, and the modern Brazilian class structure are all subtly explored in the novel. While stories from the favelas are often told, the divide extends far beyond, deeply affecting the lives of ordinary people. At one point, the narrative warns that "the melting was about to blow…," powerfully illustrating how "money whitens" and highlighting the ongoing crisis of social and economic integration—a crisis unresolved since the Golden Law. 

The clear voice and well-built architecture of the novel keep the narrative succinct, subtle, and yet sharp. Constructed in three parts—Mabel, Eunice, and Solitárias—the novel loosely follows both an episodic and non-linear narrative; however, it keeps the story thread intact and smooth. Other than Eunice and Mabel, characters such as Sérgio, Jurandir, João Pedro, Cacau, Ms. Lúcia, Mr. Tiago, Camila, Irene, Bruninho, Ms. Imaculada, Dadá, Mr. Grenito, and Ms. Hilda have been nicely established, each serving a purposeful presence.

Since Mabel spends her formative years in those tiny rooms and shrunken spaces, the first part of the novel is constructed to reflect how spaces and objects shape or form memories of happiness, sadness, tragedy, horror, injustice, and even awkwardness. The chapters are constructed in a way that the inanimate objects and spaces—like the backyard, pool, kitchen, study, party room, stairs, windows—become essential markers in the development of the story without compromising the main narrative.

 

I know that, deep down, I wasn’t a room. I was a solitária. Exactly that. A prison, a place meant to separate these lives from the world and from the other residents. I am so small . . .

As we come toward the final chapters, we come to realize that we thrive for freedom, and we attach our hope and freedom to our dreams. The hidden, tormented, and compromised lives must break free—redemption is a necessity; so is defiance. People who have lived all their lives with disparity, injustice, and unspoken violence will fight back, will claim, will earn what they always deserved. And finally, places shape us, but we can shape the places too—not just the physical ones but the way we live, our own private space—where societal boundaries tend to break and dreams thrive, where Solitária can transform to cheia de vida. Solitária is a novel of sacrifice, courage, and redemption.

Original Text: Portuguese
Translator: Benjamin Brooks
Publisher: Astra House 

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

Author Photo:  Revista Bula

PS:

My Favorite Chapter: Little-Bathroom