By John Updike
Within the dream-Brazil of John Updike’s imagining, virtually whatever is feasible when you are younger and in love. whilst Tristão Raposo, a black nineteen-year-old from the Rio slums, and Isabel Leme, an eighteen-year-old upper-class white lady, meet on Copacabana seashore, their flight from relations and into marriage takes them to the farthest reaches of Brazil’s phantasmagoric western frontier. Privation, violence, captivity, and reversals of fortune afflict them, but this latter-day Tristan and Iseult hold to the religion that every is the other’s destiny for all times. Spanning twenty-two years, from the sixties during the eighties, Brazil surprises with its party of ardour, loyalty, romance, and New international innocence.
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Extra resources for Brazil: A Novel
She was ﬁerce. ” He smiled ruefully. “I have long known you are your father’s daughter. Now, I’ll ask the Queen to let us ride to the Academy. ” She nodded, and watched him walk away, bowing as he passed two ladies-in-waiting who curtsied and watched his slim dark shape appreciatively. They turned, and saw Claudia. She ﬁxed them with a cold stare; they hurried away. Jared was hers. But however much he tried to hide it, she knew she had hurt him. at the corner of the cloister Jared waved back at Claudia and turned in to the archway.
53 Jared sat on the chair and leaned forward. ” he asked quietly. She paused. He saw how her hand hesitated; then she worked harder and faster. “He’ll have to. We brought him out of Incarceron to be King. ” She looked up. “It’s strange. All I cared about when this started was not marrying Caspar. And getting the better of my father. All my life I’ve plotted and planned, been obsessed with those things . ” He nodded. “Life is a series of stairs up which we climb, Claudia. You’ve read Zelon’s Philosophies.
Glancing up she tried to make out the roof, whether anyone was up there on walkways or hanging from nets, but apart from the web of one uberspider she could see nothing. Except, of course, the Eyes. They were very obvious in the darkness. Incarceron’s small red Eyes watched her at intervals, tiny starpoints of curiosity. She remembered the books of images she had seen, imagined how she must look to the curious Prison, tiny and grainy, gaz ing up from the wagon. Look at me, she thought bitterly.
Brazil: A Novel by John Updike