By Antonio Callado
About the author:
Antônio Callado (26 January 1917, Niterói, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil – 28 January 1997, Rio de Janeiro) was once a Brazilian journalist, playwright, and novelist. Born in Niterói, Rio de Janeiro, Callado studied legislations, then labored as a journalist in London for the BBC's Brazilian provider from 1941 to 1947. Callado all started writing fiction within the Nineteen Fifties. His first novel, A assunção de Salviano (The Assumption of Salviano), used to be released in 1954, and his final, O homem cordial e outras histórias (Men of Feeling and different Stories), got here out in 1993. Quarup (1967) is considered his most renowned paintings. Callado has got literary prizes that come with the Golfinho de Ouro, the Prêmio Brasília, and the Goethe Prize for fiction for Sempreviva (1981).
Sobre o livro:
A madona de cedro, segundo romance de Antonio Callado, publicado em 1957, foi passo decisivo na construção do universo ficcional do autor. Podem-se ver nele as bases da linguagem e do universo romanesco que seriam marca registrada de Callado, e que atingiriam seu auge em Quarup e Sempreviva. O romance é uma batalha psicológica dentro de Delfino, que precisa lidar com as implicações morais de seu ato: remorso, culpa, expiação. Sem perder o energy de um bom policial, o romance de Callado segue dinâmico. A volta de Adriano, a encarnação do príncipe das trevas, força Delfino a enfrentar de modo definitivo seu drama.
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Extra resources for A Madona de Cedro
How little a persons knows of himself; it’s very strange . ” “I mean . . As I was standing there I suddenly fell on my knees beside her . . ” “Oh . ” “Yes. ” The stranger sat silent, but his thin hands moved restlessly over each other. Both men were quiet for a time. “She certainly hadn’t been dead long,” the man 38 resumed. “There were many signs of that, and there was not the slightest smell in the room. But that might be because the body was so emaciated. Prob ably she had lain there a long time without food, having nothing to eat.
Prob ably she had lain there a long time without food, having nothing to eat. There was no food of any kind in the house. There was a little ash in the fireplace and a few half-burnt logs, but nothing to show what had happened before her death. “The daylight was beginning to fade, and you might think I would go away and not care to stay there in the dark with a dead person, whom I didn’t know anyway, and had no connection with. But I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want her to lie alone there in the dark, the night after her death; she’d been alone long enough already.
When I tried to handle them I had no success; I was used to other, clumsier weapons. Her marksmanship was incredible: noth ing escaped once her sharp eyes had spied it. Often I couldn’t even see her quarry. It was no wonder I called her Diana; but she had never heard the name before and didn’t know what it meant—she knew nothing, for that matter. And it’s true that she didn’t like it. But that isn’t why I stopped call ing her so. “In the evenings we cooked our food over a camp fire, and when she had covered the hot embers with a little earth and moss, as her habit was, we slept beside it.
A Madona de Cedro by Antonio Callado