... 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 

Long Live the City, Long Live Nata Da

It's been a while since Monotosh, the narrator of The Ruffian, moved out of the city in which he grew up. He has arrived at his old neighborhood once again – Galiff Street, Bagbazar, and the surrounding areas in Calcutta. While strolling through his neighborhood, as he reminisces about the changes that have taken place since he left, he accidentally meets old Nata da – a famous rogue of his time. Not Monotosh, but Nata da is our unruly protagonist.

Monotosh accepts that he is a failed writer, yet he wants to record the life and times of Nata da, who has lived long enough to see it all. What follows is a sweeping account of Nata's life, told by himself in multiple sittings.

Source: https://www.theantonymmag.com/the-ruffian/

Monotosh notices that the old streets have changed, and so have the houses. New structures have risen in place of warehouses and depots, the brothels have been demolished, and the luminaries that once marked the city are either dead or forgotten. Smells, sounds, and sights have changed, and in it, the house he grew up in has been crushed. But Nata hasn't forgotten them, because he lived through that time — it has been etched into him and remains stuck in his still-intact memory. We come to know: a city can forget a man, but a man never forgets his city.

 

"I fucking embody pleasure. Haven't you seen legends behind trucks saying, 'In dreams, you get pleasure, for peace, you head to the cremation ground!' All bullshit! I've always found pleasure, wherever I went. I found it in jail when they booked me for being a mole, when I was beating up people, when I was beaten. Khagen the madman used to sing a song, 'Happy from weeping, farting, illness, and shitting…'"

Nata da lives in a Lebutala slum. He recounts his beginnings, his family, and most importantly, how he began as a rogue — a man wielding power in the locality. However, Nata's life is incomplete without the people he lived with; therefore, the story branches out to include multiple characters who shaped and marked Nata's life.

Nata and his friend Manik had to find a trade for themselves. They couldn't live like ordinary kids; they had to grow up early and find their own way. Such was the time when boys like them, from different localities, would claim territories, and any chance of earning a few bucks would be contested, giving rise to disagreements, disputes, fights, and rivalry. Nata da fared well in all of those and made a name for himself. Even political parties needed rogues — the likes of Nata da.

The world seen and lived by Nata da is so detailed and intricate that you'll be transported to the era. He was in his prime youth when ruffians ruled the city. It was the 1960s and ’70s, when Kolkata became a center stage for political changes and tension, especially during the rise of the Naxalites. And Nata is a witness to those societal and political changes, as well as to wars. Whether through allegiance, getting favors, helping with bombs, or a runaway case, Nata's life was not only touched by these events but was also colored by them.

Like mentioned earlier, Nata is made up of the people of his time: Jui, Joba, Panchi Mashi, Nepal Roy, Shato da, Chhanu da, Abhoy da, Gopal-the-Goat, doctors, Khagen, Khendi, Manik, the theatre manager — all these characters and many others shaped Nata's life. Once we finish the novel and reflect, we feel the extraordinary life he lived. What if it had been different? Should we be sad for Nata? Maybe not.

Nata da, who once held strong authority in Lebutala and its surroundings, recounts how he slowly vanished and lost his vigor and valor. He just faded away — Nata, who wielded soda bottles in fights, was involved in the illicit business of selling movie tickets on the black market, lived inside a brothel and even managed it, made bombs, taught people how to make bombs, and provided protection to thugs. It was a burgeoning era of thieves, gamblers, extortionists, and pop culture. But Nata tried to stop being a small-time rogue and to settle into a real profession, though it never worked out for long. 

Ruffians meted out justice in the locality. They earned names for themselves, owned it, held it, to the extent that local celebrations were named after them. Such was the time! And Nata was one of them.

 

Three or four years back, they were erecting the pandal when I went and met the boys bossing around and I told them, 'Do it well. Any problem, let me know.' One of the boys asked me, 'Who the fuck are you?' Well, this sort of bullshit makes me really sad, but such is life.

 

"Ah, wasn't Kolkata a dear place back then! Three movie shows at 3 pm, 6 pm, and 9 pm. Rickshaws would wait up near theaters close to midnight to take people home. Trouble broke out first in 1965 during the war with Pakistan. When they declared the blackouts, the streetlights were covered in black cloths after blackouts were declared. Night shows were stopped…"

 

Nata is old, jovial, and carefree. He is happy with what he has become, carrying no guilt, no grudge, and no great ambitions now. He reminisces about different times, as his memory takes him. His memory lane holds the statues of time.

The style in which this book has been written is playful. The author doesn’t let the narrative deviate. What Nata da calls digressions and meanderings are meaningful. Nata da’s narrative is sometimes dramatic, sometimes a way to understand the social, political, and even psychological fabric. We see how human relations thrive in places, especially among the downtrodden. We see how human relations take shape. The intricate details of the brothel and the world inside have been portrayed excellently.

"Human beings are fucking strange! Tell you what, I live only to watch their damn kind…"

The Ruffian has become strong and true by using a casual style and language. Nata da is one of the most memorable characters to have been written recently, or in the past few years, decades, or maybe ever. You’ll find an old friend, or a forgotten dweller of your city, someone who’s seen it change and lived it in different ways at different times — the life and times of Nata da, a famous mastaan. You’ll never forget Nata da, and you’ll never forget this novel — a reflection on a city that transcends time.

Lastly, great thanks to the translator for such a superb work!

 

Original Text: Bengali
Translator: Kathakali Jana
Publisher: The Antonym Collections  

Imprint: Moving Words

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

What if the Righteous Fails? What becomes of the Dreams?

The Old Man and the Sea, Moby-Dick, Life of Pi – these are some of the novels you might have read. Man vs Nature and Man vs Wild tales have always entertained, excited and inspired us. In Venom, things have gotten far worse though – the confrontation is more headlong, real and inescapable. 

A ten-year-old boy from Praeknamdang (a fictional village that appears in Sangsuk's work), with an atrophied right arm, dreams of becoming a shadow puppeteer. During the day, he takes his beloved oxen (whom he has even named) to the grazing field. He mimics the performances of shadow puppeteers and performs for his friends – he is able to recite numerous songs, poems, and gags from different shadow plays by heart.

But who can hold grudge against this boy?

Claiming a spiritual connection to the Patron Goddess of Praeknamdang, Song Waad holds considerable sway in the village. He has captured lands, ponds, and people fear or revere him. But the boy and his family are quite the contrary; they think he's a conman or treat him with indifference. Song Waad harbors hatred toward the boy and his family, especially after an event, and even calls the boy "Gimp."

The boy with the bad arm headed towards the big trees that lined the pond on the shrine side. Like an invitation, the fresh, moist air from the water and surrounding trees wafted over to him. He felt as though he were being drawn into a sanctuary of calm the nearer he went. The only sounds came from the wind brushing through the trees, from the bamboo creaking as its culms rubbed together, or from the hiss of rustling leaves. On the ground, dry leaves from that same bamboo lay scattered; beside them, there was nothing but the remains of a tamarind tree, about two armspans in girth, lying fallen and bare and rotting among the brown foliage. The boy sat down on the base of that dead tree and regarded the shrine for a while.

Away from this silent feud, and less concerned with the rich imagination and aspirations of the unnamed village boy, a snake lurks in the field.

The struggle in the story begins when the two entities – the boy and the king cobra – confront each other, yet are unable to kill one another: one, not with its venom; the other, not with his tiny grip. The snake coils around the boy, who can barely keep the reptile’s head away from his body – its fangs pausing a hair’s breadth from sinking into his throat. The story moves as the boy, bearing the weight and clutch of the snake takes a journey back to his village to get help. The raw description of the setting makes thing palpable.

The curious stories of confrontation and revenge involving snakes told to the boy, the vivid descriptions of the snake’s body and movements, the boy’s inner thoughts as the two forces struggle to outdo each other, and the evocative portrayal of the environment all contribute to the story’s simple and classic style of story-telling.

The giant snake was exceedingly close to him. He’d never imagined his face and a snake’s would ever be within such an intimate distance. There had been no portents: not in waking life, not in a dream. Where was its heart? Why couldn’t he feel its heartbeat at all? What colour might its venom be? White like milk or yellow like amber?

The other characters in the story – the boy's father, mother, Grannie Pluppleung, the midwife, and Luang Paw Tien – are either mentioned in passing or make only brief appearances. Since this is a short novella, the characters aren’t fully developed, yet their presence still carries weight.

The story centers on the snake and its host, who refuses to give in. But for how long? Will there be a close shave with life-and-death situation? Seems to be, but how? Well, you’ll have to read the book to find out.

Innocence, superstition, love, aspiration, a slice of village life, and the cost of hope – these are some of the key elements of the story. Not to mention, the passing moments of time and vivid physical descriptions are rendered so well that the story remains gripping until the very end. As we wait for the boy to escape the clutches of death, we become both engaged and unsettled by this tale of innocence, struggle, and absence. The ending is dramatic, tragic, beautiful, yet dark. What if the righteous fails? What becomes of the dreams? I was left with these questions. Yours might be different.

To sum up: Venom is a short but engaging read.

Mui Poopoksakul has done a fantastic job translating.

Original Text: Thai
Translator: Mui Poopoksakul
Publisher: Deep Vellum https://store.deepvellum.org/products/venom

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher