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Machado's wounded males (19th century Brazilian literature)

Luiz Fernando Valente



Portada





«Without his age-old defenses, man's wounds are exposed, and they are often raw»


Elizabeth Badinter, X/Y.                


For quite some time critics such as Dirce Cortes Riedel, Antônio Cândido, Maria Luísa Nunes, Earl Fitz, Roberto Reis and others have called attention, with good reason, to the modernity of Machado de Assis's fiction both in matters of literary technique and theme. According to this view Machado was not only a precursor of the modern novel, but was also far ahead of his contemporaries in his treatment of such modern questions as, for example, the concept of human (as opposed to clock) time, the instability of the self or the absurdity of human existence. Over the past twenty years, however, scholars such as Roberto Schwarz and John Gledson have demonstrated conclusively that, notwithstanding the modern elements in his work, Machado was attuned to all the crucial issues facing Brazilian society of his time. Despite appearances to the contrary, these two critical positions regarding Machado's works are far from incompatible with each other. Indeed, Machado's modernity is inseparable from the author's profound understanding of the dilemmas and contradictions faced by Brazilian society during the Second Empire and the early years of the First Republic. As Machado himself reminds us in a well-known essay, the universal and the local dimensions of literary works are intertwined, and a writer is most universal when he is most faithful to the contexts in which he practices his craft1.

There is no question that Brazil achieved political stability and material progress during the Second Empire, the setting for most of Machado's works, but an old mentality remained influential in social, economic and political matters. Although Brazil was officially a constitutional monarchy, Brazilian liberalism was, to use Schwarz's classic formulation, a misplaced ideaidéia fora do lugar»), as the failures of a progressive entrepreneur like Mauá2 and the continued dependence on slavery left no doubt. The majority of Brazilians were citizens in theory only, since property ownership and literacy requirements allowed only a few to be enfranchised. Moreover, Brazil was unable effectively to integrate most of its population into a peripheral economy geared primarily towards supplying the export sector rather than developing the domestic market. Finally, though the urban population had been growing for more than one hundred years and Rio de Janeiro had become the largest city in Latin America by the second half of the nineteenth century, Brazilian society continued to be affected by a conservative mentality that Sérgio Buarque de Holanda has attributed to Brazil's inability to discard its «rural heritage»:

«Na Monarquia eram ainda os fazendeiros escravocratas e eram filhos de fazendeiros, educados nas profissões liberais, quem monopolizava a política, elegendo-se ou fazendo eleger seus candidatos, dominando os parlamentos, os ministérios, em geral todas as posições de mando, e fundando a estabilidade das instituições nesse incontestado domínio».


(41)                


Schwarz's and Gledson's analyses give a perceptive account of Machado's incisive portrayal of the Brazilian patriarchal family as the microcosm of this rigidly hierarchical social, economic and political structure, based on a paternalistic conception of reality and resting on the two pillars of slavery on the one hand and the Emperor's moderating power on the other. As Gledson has suggested, Machado's fiction «explores the limits of the paternalism which was the official justification, not only for oligarchic control, but for the very existence of slavery itself» (7). What has not been properly emphasized, however, is that Machado's depiction of the Brazilian patriarchal family also reveals a keen sensitivity to the harmful psychological consequences that such a traditional, conservative, and strictly regulated society imposes on males, particularly, though by no means exclusively, on white males from the dominant classes. Machado detects a subtle connection between male sensibility and the system that both engenders and is engendered by the destructive and self-destructive behavior in which males often engage. Since males are the anchors and the engines of patriarchal society, a vicious cycle of mutual pollution is created. Thus, Machado forsakes a simplistic, manicheistic view of the patriarchy, one in which white men are always regarded as victimizers and never as victims, for a sophisticated social and psychological portrayal of Brazilian patriarchal society, in which men appear as vulnerable to the ills of the patriarchal order as women. Just as Machado's fiction moves beyond nineteenth-century technical and thematic parameters, Machado's trenchant representation of the patriarchal family during the Second Empire and the early years of the First Republic displays a surprisingly modern awareness of questions of masculinity.

In this paper I will address these issues by first examining two short stories, «Cantiga de esponsais» (1883) and «Missa do galo» (1894), as a preamble for a more detailed discussion of the novel Dom Casmurro (1899). Published over a period of a little more than a decade and a half, these three texts depict males struggling to come to terms with society's high expectations and inflexible norms, and haunted by a fear of failure and a sense of inadequacy. While reflecting on the complex and often painful process of constructing a male sense of selfhood, these texts offer a powerful indictment of the patriarchal system, which insidiously wounds even those who, in theory, uphold it, control it, and benefit most from it.

Although on the surface the subject of «Cantiga de esponsais» is the trials and tribulations of the artist in the throes of the creative process, the tale symbolically addresses issues of masculinity to which Machado will return in the other two texts to be considered. It tells the story of Romão Pires, the renowned conductor of the orchestra at the Carmo church, who, despite being revered by Rio society, feels unfulfilled due to his inability to author a musical piece of his own:

«Ah! se mestre Romão pudesse seria um grande compositor. Parece que há duas sortes de vocação, as que têm língua e as que a não têm. As primeiras realizamse; as últimas representam uma luta constante e estéril entre o impulso interior e a ausência de um modo de comunicação com os homens. Romão era destas. Tinha a vocação íntima da música; trazia dentro de si muitas óperas e missas, um mundo de harmonias novas e originais, que não alcançava exprimir e pôr no papel. Esta era a causa única da tristeza de mestre Romão».


(II, 387)                


The reader soon learns that the piece that Romão has struggled to complete throughout his life is an epithalamium, on which he started to work only three days after his own wedding. In keeping with Romao's inability to finish that nuptial song, the story is laden with images of sterility and impotence. The sexual overtones are too obvious to miss:

«Três dias depois de casado, mestre Romão sentiu em si alguma coisa parecida com inspiração. Ideou então o canto esponsalício, e quis compô-lo; mas a inspiração não pôde sair. Como um pássaro que acaba de ser preso, e forceja por transpor as paredes da gaiola, abaixo, acima, impaciente, aterrado, assim batia a inspiração do nosso músico, encerrada nele sem poder sair, sem achar uma porta, nada. Algumas notas chegaram a ligar-se; ele escreveu-as; obra de uma folha de papel, não mais. Teimou no dia seguinte, dez dias depois, vinte vezes durante o tempo de casado».


(II, 387-388)                


Although Romão loves his wife, the relationship remains emotionally, if not sexually, unfulfilled, as she dies young and the couple is unable to conceive a child. Since the death of his wife, Romão has shared living quarters with a black man, Pai José. Their household is characterized by a sterile atmosphere: «A casa não era rica, naturalmente; nem alegre. Não tinha o menor vestígio de mulher, velha ou moça, nem passarinhos que cantassem, nem cores vivas ou jucundas. Casa sombria e nua» (II, 387).

Returning home after a successful concert, but feeling old, dejected and ill, Romão tries once again to garner enough energy to finish the nuptial song. Sitting at the clavichord, but unable to compose, he notices through the window a newlywed couple embracing. Romão is immediately moved by a desire to complete the musical piece as his gift to the couple: «Comporei ao menos este canto que eles poderão tocar» (II, 388). The vicarious experience of tenderness, however, is not enough to free Romão from his creative impotence: «Mas a vista do casal não lhe suprira a inspiração, e as notas seguintes não soavam» (II, 389). As Romão distressedly walks away from the clavichord and tears up the sheet on which, as is always the case, he is able to write only a few notes, the young woman begins to sing a song. Ironically, the song includes the exact musical phrase that Romão had unsuccessfully attempted to write: «Nesse momento, a moça embebida no olhar do marido, começou a cantarolar à toa, inconscientemente, uma coisa nunca cantada nem sabida, na qual coisa um certo lá trazia após si uma linda frase musical, justamente a que mestre Romão procurara durante anos sem achar nunca» (II, 389-390). Overcome with sadness, Romão dies without having produced the artistic offspring that he intended as the confirmation and perpetuation of his genius, just as he was unable to father a child.

Though Romão is an accomplished conductor, he regards himself as a failure due to his inability to be a composer in his own right. Incapable of converting the «passive» (and therefore «feminine», according to the rules of patriarchal society) sensibility of the conductor into the «active» (hence «masculine») stance of the composer, Romão views himself as a less than a full artist, and, by extension, as less than a full man.

An economical writer par excellence, Machado is known for eschewing superfluous details, especially in his more mature texts. Indeed, Machado is one of those writers who, to use Lukács' classic terminology, «narrates» rather than «describes»3, that is, he never wastes words that do not advance the story. With this in mind, it is fair to assume that the mention that Romão was born near the Valongo, the site of the heinous slave market in Rio de Janeiro, abolished only in the 1860s, during José de Alencar's tenure as Minister of Justice, is a significant detail, allowing Machado to anchor the symbolism of Romão's creative impotence and sterility in concrete historical and social reality. Machado appears to be reminding us that slavery has bound Brazil to an old, decaying order inherited from its colonial past, which is incompatible with Brazil's status as a newly independent nation4. Infecting every aspect of society, slavery is a disease that has debilitated Brazil, stunted Brazil's growth and prevented Brazil from fulfilling its destiny, just as Romão has been unable fully to realize his promise as an artist and to assert himself as a complete man.

Romão's death suggests that only with the demise of the old order will the promise of renewal represented by the young couple (who, unlike Romão, can literally and figuratively make beautiful music) be realized.

Whereas Mestre Romão is pathetically disconsolate and frustrated, Nogueira, the narrator of «Missa do galo» is defensively bitter and sardonic. Nogueira wants to convince the reader of his version of «a conversation» he allegedly had with Conceição Meneses, a woman thirteen years his senior, on Christmas Eve many years before, while, as a seventeen-year-old guest of the Meneses family, he awaited the arrival of a friend who was to accompany him to midnight mass. Because Nogueira is an unreliable narrator, it is impossible to ascertain whether the narrated events happened precisely as Nogueira presents them. Nevertheless the narrator's unreliability is exactly what makes this story so compelling, for it allows Nogueira to reveal much more about himself than he intended. What should interest us, then, is not so much the accuracy of Nogueira's narration of the events as Nogueira's perception of what took place. Obviously the reader cannot be sure whether Conceição «really» attempted to seduce an unsophisticated, sexually inexperienced teenager, as the narrator wishes us to believe. Nevertheless, the reader can easily infer that the events of that night have left an indelible psychological scar on Nogueira, and have permanently colored his view of the world and his attitude towards women, as his caustic, and at times derisive characterization of Conceição indicates.

Nogueira, who is staying with the Meneses family while studying for his college entrance examination, comes from Mangaratiba, a small rural town some fifty miles west of the capital city of Rio de Janeiro. As such, Nogueira was most certainly raised according to the traditional rules of the patriarchal family, so aptly described by Sérgio Buarque de Holanda in Raízes do Brasil and Gilberto Freyre in Casa grande e senzala. It can be safely assumed, then, that Nogueira learned at an early age both to defer to the absolute authority of his father and to emulate his behavior. Likewise, Nogueira was surely taught to venerate the white women of the big house as unassailable saintly mothers and sisters, whose «honor» must be preserved at all costs, in contrast with the black women from the slave quarters, who were supposed to be readily available for sex. In both cases women were regarded as men's possessions, with few rights of their own. Transplanted to the urban environment of the Meneses household, however, Nogueira is confronted with a new set of circumstances that destabilize the safety of his patriarchal and rural heritage. For, despite the continued influence of a traditional, rural-based mentality, a distinct urban culture had developed and established itself in nineteenthcentury Brazil, as Raymundo Faoro has argued5. It is ironically significant that Nogueira is in Rio to complete his preparatory studies, for his experiences in the Meneses household are also a rite of passage into a new world. Thus, the transposition of Nogueira from a rural to an urban setting, which calls into question the values which informed his upbringing, creates a sharply-focused new lens through which Machado can examine male behavior in a patriarchal society in the process of undergoing important transformations6.

It is public knowledge that Meneses keeps a mistress, a separated white woman with whom he shamelessly spends one night a week under the pretense of attending a theatrical performance. At the same time, Meneses neglects his wife, Conceição, who, lacking economic and social options, not only has been forced to close her eyes to her husband's infidelity but also, according to the narrator, «acabou achando que era muito direito» (II, 606). On that Christmas Eve Nogueira is shocked to learn that despite being named after the Virgin Mary and called «a saint», Conceição is a sexual being, who is capable of showing an interest in men other than her husband and of awakening a young man's libido. The conversation between Nogueira and Conceição is constructed as a masterfully-orchestrated sexual dance during which Conceição gazes at Nogueira, licks her lips, closes her eyes, moves about the room and finally leans towards the young man, revealing her arms, and sexually arousing him, as the following passage clearly suggests: «Uma das [impressões] que ainda tenho frescas é que, em certa ocasião, ela, que era apenas simpática, ficou linda, ficou lindíssima» (II, 610).

Elisabeth Badinter has pointed out that patriarchal society has engendered a «mutilated man» by constructing masculinity in opposition to femininity:

«The patriarchal system gave birth to a mutilated man incapable of reconciling x and y, his paternal and maternal heritage. The construction of masculinity merged with the process of differentiation. One was recognized as a man worthy of the name once one had cut all one's ties with maternal femininity, in other words, with one's original soil. No one dreamed, then, of gluing back together the "pieces" of one's primary and secondary identities».


(121)                


This story challenges, however, such construction of masculinity by making the demarcation between stereotypical male and female sexual behavior increasingly fuzzier. As Nogueira perceives his encounter with Conceição, it is she who assumes the «masculine» role of the pursuer, whereas he plays a passive, «feminine» role. It is not necessary to determine what, if anything, «really happened» between Conceição and Nogueira. Whether we take that silent moment towards the end of the story («Chegamos a ficar por algum tempo -não posso dizer quanto- inteireamente calados» II, 611) literally or read it as a clue that the seduction was consummated is irrelevant. What is important is that, a slave to the rigid rules of his upbringing, Nogueira is twice a losei. Looking back on the events of that night,, he seems sensitive enough to be contemptuous of Meneses's behavior and to appreciate that, having been neglected by her husband, Conceição justifiably craves attention. Nevertheless, having internalized the lessons of the patriarchy about the relationship between men and women, Nogueira is not only incapable of tenderness but he also behaves as though his identity as a male is compromised because he finds himself in the unusual position of being the object of Conceiçao's sexual interest7. Realizing later that he did not behave the way a manly man was expected to, he experiences a mixture of shame and contempt for Conceição and, by extension, for women in general. Thus the story subtly demonstrates how the roots of misogyny may paradoxically lie in the reverential attitude towards women propounded by the patriarchal code. By placing women on a pedestal, such reverence obscures women's concrete social, historical and psychological situation and, therefore, denies women their status as complete, independent and equal human beings. Temporarily subverting gender roles, Machado disputes that males and females are as diametrically opposed as patriarchal society has constructed them to be, and, with enormous prescience, suggests that the supposedly universal patriarchal rules are, rather, artificial creations, that is, constructions crafted to justify male domination and to protect men's fragile sense of identity. In the end these rules harm males and females alike, misunderstanding women's sexuality, mutilating men's sensibility and denying both men and women the freedom to make their own choices.

In Dom Casmurro Machado returns to a bitter, insecure male narrator. Not surprisingly, like Nogueira, Bento Santiago is unreliable, for such narrators serve Machado's intention perfectly. Unreliability exposes the mechanisms of deception and self-deception that control the narrators' warped view of themselves and of the world around them, creating the ironic distance needed foi an effective assessment of their indi vidual actions and a sharp critique of the social environment that gene, ates them Just as it was unnecessary to decide to what extent Nogueira's narration was «accurate», it is unnecessary for the purposes of this paper to ascertain whether Bento's wife Capitu committed adultery with Bento's friend Escobar, for, as was the case with «Missa do galo», what is really at stake are the operations of the narrator's mind.

As in Machado's other mature novels, Dom Casmurro offers a subtle yet trenchant critique of the patriarchal family via both literal and symbolic elements. By the time the narrative opens Bento's father is dead, a symbolic situation that Roberto Schwarz has observed as being frequent in Machado's fiction8, and before the narrative closes Bento's son Ezequiel will also have passed away. The place of the father has been usurped by José Dias, who arrogates the role of Bento's mentor, but, as an agregado, is not a full member of the Santiago family. Finally, in addition to the feminized José Dias, the other members of the family, Bento's mother D. Glória, Uncle Cosme and Cousin Justina, live in a chronic state of widowhood.

In many respects Bento is the logical offspring of this asexual, fatherless household. With the exception of his adored mother («A verdade é que minha mãe era cândida como a primeira aurora, anterior ao primeiro pecado» I, 851), he views women as sources of evil and corruption. Throughout the narrative, Bento portrays Capitu as devious and manipulative. He also hints that Cousin Justina has a prurient interest in him: «Só então senti que os olhos de prima Justina, quando eu falava, pareciam apalparme, ouvir-me, cheirar-me, gostar-me, fazer o ofício de todos os sentidos» (I, 831). Besieged with wet dreams, Bento decides that «as visões feminis seriam de ora avante consideradas como simples encarnações dos vícios» (I, 868). Finally, he claims that Escobar's wife, Sancha, has made sexual advances towards him: «Entretanto, os olhos de Sancha não convidavam a expressões fraternais, pareciam quentes e intimativos, diziam outra coisa...» (I, 921- 922).

From as early as his adolescent games with Capitu, women appear, for the misogynist Bento, to be little more than vehicles designed for men to assert their manhood. This becomes clear in the episode where, after kissing Capitu for the first time, fifteen-year-old Bento darts back to his bedroom, where he proudly proclaims to himself:

«Sou homem» (I, 843). Significantly, no sooner has Bento made that declaration than, assuming the traditional male role, he begins to view Capitu as his possession. He suddenly becomes uncharacteristically aggressive -indeed borderline violent- and tries to coerce Capitu into giving him a second kiss. At the same time he uses terms such as obrigá-la, ameacei puxá-la, reter-lhe as mãos com força, luta, and so forth to describe his actions. Capitu, however, stands up to Bento, allowing herself to be kissed only when Bento ceases forcing himself on her: «[...] mas Capitu, antes que o pai acabasse de entrar, fez um gesto inesperado, pousou a boca na minha boca, e deu de vontade o que estava a recusar à força» (I, 847).

In The Reproduction of Motherhood Nancy Chodorow has observed that «boys in father -absent and normally father- remote families develop a sense of what it is to be masculine through identification with cultural images of masculinity» (176). Besides, as American psychologist Ruth Hartley has noted, from a very early age boys learn to define their male identity in a primarily negative manner, that is, young males are taught to conceive of masculinity in opposition to the feminine (458). Thus, in order to become real men, males are supposed to discard any characteristics that society deems as feminine or, as Robert Stoller has ironically suggested, «a man's first duty is not to be a woman» (311). This attitude generates a view of everything that is believed to be feminine as being opposed, rather than complementary to what is believed to be masculine, creating a warped value hierarchy in which the feminine is associated with weakness, inferiority and dependence, and cutting men off from what Elizabeth Badinter has called the ties with one's original soil.

Not surprisingly, Bento appears to be more at ease with his friend Escobar than with Capitu. As a matter of fact, the friendship between Bento and Escobar contains a strong homoerotic component. «Os padres gostavam de mim, os rapazes também, e Escobar mais que os rapazes e os padres» (I, 874), is Bento's commentary to Capitu about life in the seminary. A few pages later Bento refers to a day when Escobar came to visit as «o dia das boas sensações» (I, 880), describing Escobar in stereotypically «feminine» terms, and clearly in far more detail than he ever described Capita:

«Os olhos de Escobar, claros como já disse, eram dulcíssimos; assim os definiu José Dias, depois que ele saiu, e mantenho esta palavra, apesar dos quarenta anos que traz em cima de si. Nisto não houve exageração do agregado. A cara rapada mostrava uma pele alva e lisa. A testa é que era um pouco baixa, vindo a risca do cabelo quase em cima da sombrancelha esquerda; mas tinha sempre a altura necessária para não afrontar as outras feições, nem diminuir a graça delas. Realmente, era interessante de rosto, a boca fina e chocarreira, o nariz curvo e delgado».


(I, 881)                


According to Bento, Escobar returns the compliment. Commenting on D. Glória's appearance, he tells Bento the following: «Quarenta anos! Nem parece trinta; está muito moça e bonita. Também a alguém há de você sair, com esses olhos que Deus lhe deu; são exatamente os dela» (I, 897). Bento is more affectionate towards Escobar than towards Capita: «Separamo-nos com muito afeto: ele, de dentro do ônibus, ainda me disse adeus, com a mão. Conservei-me à porta, a ver se, ao longe, ainda olharia para trás, mas não olhou» (I, 881). Capita does not fail to notice it: «Viu as nossas despedidas tão rasgadas e afetuosas, e quis saber quem era que me merecia tanto» (I, 881). The close association between Escobar and Bento does not escape the attention of others at the seminary, either: «Mas a verdade é que não tenho aqui relações com ninguém, você é o primeiro e creio que já notaram; mas eu não me importo com isso» (I, 885). Even as an adult, Bento acknowledges that his heart beats faster when he is in Escobar's presence:

«A amizade existe, esteve toda nas mãos com que apertei as de Escobar, ao ouvir-lhe isto, e na total ausência de palavras com que ali assinei o pacto; estas vieram depois de atropelo, afinadas pelo coração, que batia com grande força».


(I, 912)                


There is, moreover, a great deal of physical touching between Bento and Escobar: «Fiquei tão entusiasmado com a facilidade do meu amigo, que não pude deixar de abraçá-lo. Era no pátio; outros seminaristas notaram a nossa efusão; um padre que estava com eles não gostou» (I, 899). Right after describing Sancha's alleged advances towards him, Bento caresses Escobar's arms, which function as obvious phallic symbols:

«Apalpei-lhe os braços como se fossem os de Sancha. Custa-me esta confissão, mas não posso suprimi-la; era jarretar a verdade. Não só os apalpei com essa ideia, mas ainda senti outra coisa: achei-os mais grossos e fortes do que os meus...».


(I, 922)                


Regardless of whether the adulterous relationship between Capita and Escobar was real or merely a product of Bento's paranoia, adultery represented the welcome possibility of a vicarious fulfillment of Bento's attraction to Escobar. The prospect of Bento's own adulterous relationship with Sancha can be viewed as a similar fantasy of vicarious fulfillment. It is not necessary, however, to ascertain Bento's sexual orientation because Machado is less interested in sexual identity per se than in psychological and behavioral processes. Thus it is significant that Bento claims not to have suspected Capitu's alleged infidelity until after Escobar has died, and that it is only after Escobar's death that Bento rejects his son Ezequiel, to whom previously Bento was admittedly very close, for Escobar's death is both a real and symbolic moment of crisis. Until he drowns, Escobar has stood for an abstract model of masculinity, which functions as a reference point for Bento in his struggle to define himself as an individual. Therefore, pushing Escobar out of his inner circle was out of the question for the insecure Bento even if Bento believed Escobar to be Capitu's lover. Nevertheless Bento's precarious sense of self cannot be brought into balance through the specular mediation of Escobar. Suddenly and violently deprived of the mirror image represented by Escobar, Bento is forced, in spite of himself, to confront alone his problematic relationship with others, particularly with women. Bento is obviously threatened by difference, for he takes different to be synonymous with contrary or opposite.

Unable to come to terms with difference, Bento remains psychologically and morally mutilated, permanently nostalgic for his lost connection with his mother and unable to establish a mature relationship with other women. As psychiatrist Gerald I. Fogel suggests in The Psychology of Men, Bento may be afflicted by a condition that goes beyond the confines of nineteenth-century Brazilian society:

«Masculinity is often defined in relation to and in contrast to women; as boys and men we are dependent upon, threatened by, vulnerable to, and envious of women -in far more conscious and unconscious ways than we can ordinarily bear. Not only must men struggle with the real and fantasy- distorted powers of women as objects, but also with those qualities and impulses within themselves that are perceived as womanly or womanish. Thus men's view of women becomes further twisted and confused. If women are not enough of a problem in their own right, they become so in their assigned role as the bearers or symbolic representatives of various disavowed, warded off, projected, degraded, unacceptable aspects of men».


(9)                


Ultimately Bento's undoing is his inability to relate to others who are different from himself, something that he tries to postpone indefinitely, but to which Escobar's death forces him to attend, with disastrous results.

Machado de Assis's fiction offers a compelling assessment of the tribulations of male sensibility under a patriarchal order that conceives the world in terms of oppositions and makes it difficult to incorporate difference. Unable to fulfill the rigid expectations of what a man should be and how a man should behave, many of Machado's male characters are haunted by the specter of inadequacy and impotence, a situation that inflicts painful psychological and moral wounds on them. These wounds perversely control their sense of self, and permanently distort their relationships with others, particularly with women. Although Machado's fiction is set in a society spatially and temporally removed from us, his treatment of the relationship between the sexes remains convincing, in part because, despite all the social and historical changes that have occurred since the nineteenth century, we have not managed to free ourselves from conventional views of both the feminine and the masculine. In other words, though Machado grounds his analysis in the actual historical, social and economic circumstances of Brazilian society during the Second Empire, and offers an astute and sophisticated critique of that society, the situations portrayed in his fiction are by no means limited to nineteenth-century Brazil. Indeed, Machado's fiction invites its readers, including those of us at the beginning of a new millennium, to consider the destructiveness of a patriarchal legacy based on a strict system of oppositions, which stubbornly refuses to go away. Faced with the dire consequences of the old ways of doing things, embodied in the fate of Machado's male characters, we are encouraged to realize even while acknowledging the differences between men and women, that difference does not mean antagonism, and are challenged, likewise, to contemplate a more productive reconciliation of the masculine and the feminine.






Works cited

  • ASSIS, Joaquim Maria Machado de. Obra completa, 3 vols. Rio: Aguilar, 1962.
  • BADINTER, Elizabeth. X/Y: On Masculine Identity. Trans. Lydia Davis. NY: Columbia U. Press, 1995.
  • CÂNDIDO, Antònio. «Esquema de Machado de Assis». Vários escritos. São Paulo: Duas Cidades, 1970, 13- 32.
  • CHODOROW, Nancy. The Reproduction of Motherhood. Berkeley: U. of California P., 1978.
  • FAORO, Raymundo. Machado de Assis: a pirâmide e o trapézio. 2.ª ed. São Paulo: Companhia Editora Nacional, 1976.
  • FITZ, Earl. Machado de Assis. Boston: Twayne, 1989.
  • FOGEL, Gerald I., Frederick M. Lane and Robert S. Liebert, eds. The Psychology of Men. New Haven: Yale U. P., 1986.
  • FREYRE, Gilberto. Casa grande e senzala. 28th. ed. Rio: Record, 1992.
  • GLEDSON, John. The Deceptive Realism of Machado de Assis. Liverpool: Francis Cairns, 1984.
  • HAHNER, June E. Emancipating the Female Sex: The Struggle for Women's Rights in Brazil, 1850-1940. Durham: Duke U. P., 1990.
  • HARTLEY, Ruth. «Sex Role Pressures in the Socialization of the Male Child». Psychological Reports 5 (1989): 458-468.
  • HOLANDA, Sérgio Buarque. Raízes do Brasil. 15th ed. Rio: José Olympio, 1982.
  • LUKÁCS, Georg. «Narrate or Describe». Writer & Critic and Other Essays. Ed. and trans. Arthur D. Kahn. NY: Grosset & Dunlap, 1970, 110-148.
  • NUNES, Maria Luisa. The Craft of an Absolute Winner. Westport: Greenwood, 1983.
  • REIS, Roberto. The Pearl Necklace: Toward an Archaeology of Brazilian Transition Discourse. Gainesville: U. of Florida P., 1992.
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  • ——. Um mestre na periferia do capitalismo: Machado de Assis. São Paulo: Duas Cidades, 1990.
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