When I have launched this blog I did it with intention of spread Brazilian culture and culture produced by other countries around world. And then I wanna say thank you for the people from 120 countries who visit us. Thank you! Thanks to Washington Post, NYTimes, Amazon, USAToday, Paris Review, LRB, GoodReads, Time, Vogue, Esquire, Harpers, Simon and Schuster, Latimes, NPR, London Review and other sources by permission... You are the responsible by these dreams. Thank you for All!
There was no possibility of
taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless
shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was
no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so
sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out
of the question.
I was glad of it: I never
liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the
coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart
saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness
of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.
The said Eliza, John, and
Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the drawing-room: she lay
reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the
time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she had
dispensed from joining the group; saying, "She regretted to be under the
necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie,
and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good
earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive
and sprightly manner -- something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were --
she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy,
"What does Bessie say
I have done?" I asked.
"Jane, I don't like
cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a
child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you
can speak pleasantly, remain silent."
A breakfast-room adjoined
the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed
myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I
mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a
Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in
Folds of scarlet drapery
shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass,
protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals,
while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter
afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet
lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a
long and lamentable blast.
I returned to my book --
Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpress thereof I cared little for,
generally speaking; and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child
as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of the
haunts of sea-fowl; of "the solitary rocks and promontories" by them
only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern
extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape –
"Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls,
Boils round the naked, melancholy isles
Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides."
Nor could I pass unnoticed
the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova
Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and
those forlorn regions of dreary space, -- that reservoir of frost and snow,
where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters, glazed in
Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and concentre the multiplied
rigours of extreme cold." Of these death-white realms I formed an idea of
my own: shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through
children's brains, but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory
pages connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance
to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the broken boat
stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing through
bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.
Here you'll meet the best of famous authors like Truman Capote, Hemingway, Susan Sontag, Nelly Harper Lee, Colmin Toibin, Mark Twain, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tolstoy, Maupassant, O. Henry, Clarice Lispector, Rudyard Kipling, James Joyce, Kerouac, and many, many other writers. Also you will watch videos with musics of The Beatles, Paul McCartney, Sepultura, Amalia Rodrigues, Taiguara, Iron Maiden, etc. and other videos.
A fly by imagination
And life passes so quickly...
Because literature is part of our history.
The main idea of this Blog is spread the habit of reading. Literature is part of our lives. When enter in the Literature world, we read better and we improve our though and imagination. I want, with this, divide a little of my dreams. Is to give opportunity to people read and know about works produced by ancient and contemporary writers, and mainly, myself to be insert in this wonderful world of the Letters.
Graduado em Eng. Florestal pela FCAP (hoje UFRA) EM 1980. Cursei Administração no CESEP (hoje UNAMA), entre 1984-86. Ingressei na UFPA e cursei Letras, Habilitação em Língua Inglesa, graduando-me em 2009. Trabalho como Intermediador de Transações Internacionais onde o principais produtos são a madeira e seus derivados industrializados.