
Bernardo Carvalho. Photo: Bel Pedrosa. Courtesy of Companhia Das Letras.
Bernardo Carvalho appeared on the Brazilian literary scene in 1993 with Aberração (Aberration), a collection of short stories that was followed by a steady stream of eight novels. Yes, eight novels in thirteen years. He is prolific, of course. But more than that, what astounds the reader is Carvalho’s relentless commitment to literature. His writing might very well represent the end of the line, in Brazil and abroad, of what he himself considers the declining modernist tradition. At a time when much Brazilian literature is marked by its contamination with “facts” and “reality,” Bernardo insists on the power that literature and fiction derives, first and foremost, from its uselessness. Which is of course completely paradoxical because his writing method—at least since his 2002 novel Nove Noites (Nine Nights), the book that secured his success and visibility both at home and internationally—is to travel to those places where his novels will be set: the heartland of Brazil, Mongolia, Japan, and, recently, Russia. Carvalho travels, then, not to use literature as a document, but to secure, through the allure of the word, the unfailing strength of invention. He travels in order to step outside of himself completely when beginning to write. Literature, for him, comes not from a comfort zone but rather a minefield. Frustrated writers, voracious readers, characters out of place, secrets or codes to be discovered and revealed, disappearing worlds, are only some of the recurrent tropes in his writing. This interview took place over the months of September and October, via email. I remained in California while he was first in St. Petersburg, then Moscow—where he spent a month working on his latest novel—and, lastly, São Paulo.