The Hour of the Star

“The story—I determine with false free will—will have around seven characters and I’m obviously one of the more important. I, Rodrigo S. M. An old tale, this, since I don’t want to be all modern and invent trendy words to make myself look original. So that’s why I’ll try contrary to my normal habits to write a story with a beginning, middle and ‘grand finale’ followed by silence and falling rain.”

Rodrigo’s declarations about the story he’s writing capture his desire to find and convey truth through literature. At the same time, his declarative statements about Macabéa’s story foreshadow the struggles that he later encounters in the process and the questions that writing her tale raise for him.

“Anyway. It seems that I’m changing the way I write. But it so happens that I only write what I want, I’m not a professional—and I have to write about this northeastern girl or I’ll choke. She’s accusing me and the way to defend myself is to write about her. I write in bold and severe painter’s strokes. I’ll be dealing with facts as if they were the irremediable stone I spoke of earlier. Even though to get me going I want bells to peal while I guess at reality. And may angels flutter as transparent wasps around my hot head because this head wants finally to transform itself into an object-thing, it’s easier.”

Rodrigo’s deep connection with his fictional character inspires his desperation to write Macabéa’s story. He wants to bring her to life on the page because she’s an extension of some vital yet inarticulable and fearful part of himself. His esoteric language and dramatic tone capture the profundity of his connection with his work too.

“Oh I’m so afraid to start and don’t even know the girl’s name. Not to mention that the story drives me to despair because it’s too simple. What I plan to tell seems easy and accessible to everyone. But its elaboration is very difficult. Since I have to make clear something that’s almost erased and that I can hardly see. With hands with muddy hard fingers to feel for the invisible in the mud itself.”

Rodrigo struggles to begin Macabéa’s story because the project promises to unearth questions about meaning, purpose, identity, and human existence. Despite these difficulties, Rodrigo remains desperate to pen her story because he also believes in the importance of crafting a political and social commentary.

“Maybe she won’t get married? The fact is I hold a destiny in my hands yet don’t feel powerful enough to invent freely: I follow a hidden, fatal line. I have to seek a truth that is beyond me. Why should I write about a young girl whose poverty isn’t even adorned? Maybe because within her there’s a seclusion and also because in the poverty of body and spirit I touch holiness, I who want to feel the breath of my beyond. To be more than I am, since I am so little.”

Writing about Macabéa complicates Rodrigo’s understanding of himself, of his world, and of truth and meaning. He’s Macabéa’s creator, yet he fears that he doesn’t have ultimate power over her story or fate. His internal struggle captures fundamental aspects of the artist’s struggle.

“After receiving this warning she went to the bathroom to be alone because she was all shaken. She mechanically looked at herself in the mirror atop the filthy and cracked sink, full of hairs, which matched her own life so well. It seemed to her that the dark and tarnished mirror didn’t reflect any image. Could her physical existence have vanished? This illusion immediately passed and she made out her face entirely distorted by the cheap little mirror, her nose as huge as a clown’s papier-mâché nose. She looked at herself and lightly thought: so young and already rusted.”

Rodrigo uses Macabéa’s solitude in the bathroom to present an organic description of her character on the page. This moment casts Macabéa as a pitiable character who is as unattractive because she lives a life of meager circumstances and has virtually no social connections, contributing to the theme of The Effects of Poverty and Social Invisibility.

“Only I, her author, love her. I suffer for her. And I’m the only one who can say this: ‘what do you ask of me weeping that I wouldn’t give you singing’? That girl didn’t know she was what she was, just as a dog doesn’t know it’s a dog. So she didn’t feel unhappy. The only thing she wanted was to live. She didn’t know for what, she didn’t ask questions. Maybe she thought there was a little bitty glory in living.”

Rodrigo believes it’s his duty to write about Macabéa, because she’s invisible to society. His writing is a sociopolitical work that exposes the plight of people like Macabéa. By comparing her to a dog, he’s thus underscoring her socioeconomic position in society, which thematically continues to develop The Effects of Poverty and Social Invisibility.

“The not-knowing might seem awful but it’s not that bad because she knew lots of things in the way nobody teaches a dog to wag his tail or a person to feel hungry; you’re born and you just know. Just as nobody one day would teach her how to die: yet she’d surely die one day as if she’d learned the starring role by heart. For at the hour of death a person becomes a shining movie star, it’s everyone’s moment of glory and it’s when as in choral chanting you hear the whooshing shrieks.”

This passage foreshadows Macabéa’s fate at the end of the novel and clarifies the novel’s title: Macabéa will die in the novel’s final, climactic scene, but in her death she’ll metaphorically become a star.

“Every morning she turned on the radio lent by one of her roommates, Maria da Penha, turning it on as low as possible so as to not disturb the others, turning it on to Clock Radio, which broadcast ‘the right time and culture,’ and no music, just dripping in sound of falling drops—each drop a minute that passed. And especially this station used those drops of minutes to run ads—she loved ads.”

Macabéa’s attachment to her roommate’s clock radio conveys her curious spirit and desire for understanding. The radio grants her access to the world beyond her insular life. This passage establishes the radio’s significance to Macabéa and thus introduces its symbolic resonance.

“(I’m going through a little hell with this story. May the gods never make me describe a lazar because then I would break out in leprosy.) (If I’m delaying making the things happen that I already vaguely foresee, it’s because I need to take a few snapshots of the girl from Alagoas. And also because if there’s any reader for this story I’d like him to absorb this girl like a cloth soaking up water. The girl is a truth I didn’t want to know about. I don’t know whom to accuse but somebody has to have done it.)”

Rodrigo is desperate to get Macabéa’s story and character right, because he believes that they convey a societal lesson. He wants to use them to expose dark truths about society and culture.

“I ask: will she ever someday know love’s farewell? Will she ever someday know the swoonings of love? Will she take in her own way the sweet journey? I know nothing. What can you do with the truth that everyone’s a little sad and a little alone. The northeastern girl got lost in the crowd.”

Rodrigo’s questions in this passage convey his sympathy and love for Macabéa. He wants her to experience the beautiful things in life and fears that she won’t have the opportunity to do so because of the invisibility that her social station creates.

“She knew what desire was—though she didn’t know she knew. It was like this: she was starving but not for food, it was a kind of painful taste that rose from the pit of her stomach and made her nipples quiver and her arms empty without an embrace. She got all dramatic and living hurt. That’s when she grew a little nervous and Glória gave her sugared water.”

Macabéa’s relationship with Olímpico de Jesus Moreira Chaves introduces her to new realms of human experience. Although Olímpico won’t value or understand her, he teaches her about sex and desire. This is one of the few positive ways that he enriches Macabéa’s life.

“Macabéa was actually a medieval figure whereas Olímpico de Jesus thought of himself as a key player, the kind that opens any door. Macabéa simply wasn’t technical, she was just her. No, I don’t want to have sentimentality and so I’m going to get rid of the patheticness implicit in this girl. But I should note that Macabéa had never received a letter in her life and the office phone only rang for the boss and Glória. Once she asked Olímpico to call her at the office. He said:—Call to hear your crap?”

Olímpico’s contrasting character traits underscore Macabéa’s good-natured qualities. The two are foils of one another, and their relationship ultimately deepens how Rodrigo feels about Macabéa’s character and circumstances.

“When she heard it she started to cry. It was the first time she’d ever cried, she didn’t know she had so much water in her eyes. She cried, blew her nose no longer knowing what she was crying about. She wasn’t crying because of the life she led: because, never having led any other, she’d accepted that with her that was just the way things were. But I also think she was crying because, through the music, she might have guessed there were other ways of feeling, there were more delicate existences and even a certain luxury of soul.”

Macabéa’s response to the song she hears on the radio reveals her naivete about the beauty and pain of human experience. Macabéa can’t make sense of this emotional experience, but Rodrigo effectively translates her emotions in this passage, thereby reiterating his inextricable relationship to his protagonist.

“You know what I want more than anything else in the world? To be a movie star. I only go to the movies on payday. I prefer a little theater, it’s cheaper. I love movie stars. Did you know that Marilyn was all pink?—And you’re all dirt. You don’t have the face or the body to be a movie star.”

Olímpico’s cruelty in this scene captures his disdain for Macabéa’s identity. Furthermore, this exchange between the two characters conveys the symbolic significance of Olímpico’s character: He’s as indifferent and as hostile to Macabéa as society has been to her and thus represents society’s response to its most vulnerable, thematically reflecting The Effects of Poverty and Social Invisibility.

“The only nice thing he did for Macabéa was tell her he’d find her a job in the metal factory when she got fired. For her the promise was a scandal of joy (explosion) because in the metal factory she’d find her only current connection with the world: Olímpico himself. But Macabéa in general didn’t worry about her own future: having a future was a luxury. She’d heard on Clock Radio that there were seven billion people in the world. She felt lost. But with the tenancy she had to be happy she immediately consoled herself: there were seven billion people to help her.”

Macabéa’s hopeful outlook blinds her to the cruelty of life and human nature. This passage foreshadows her death at the novel’s end and her community’s careless response, thematically highlighting both The Effects of Poverty and Social Invisibility and Existential Reflections on Human Life.

“In the meantime his relationship with Macabéa had fallen into a tepid routine, not that it ever could have been described as hot. He often didn’t show up at the bus stop. But at least he was still a boyfriend. And all Macabéa thought about was the day he’d want to get engaged. And married. Later, from asking around, he learned that Glória had a father, mother and a hot meal at the same hour every day. That made her first-quality goods.”

Macabéa hopes that Olímpico will offer her a new life because as a woman she’s disregarded by society. However, Olímpico discards her for Glória, largely because Glória is more socially valuable than Macabéa.

“And then (small explosion) Macabéa stared wide. Because amidst the dirty disorder of the lowest reaches of the middle class there was nonetheless the dull comfort of people who spend all their money on food, in that neighborhood people ate a lot. Glória lived on General so-and-so street, very pleased to live on a street named after a military leader, she felt safer. In her house there was even a telephone. It might have been one of the few times that Macabéa saw that for her there was no place in the world and exactly because Glória gave her so much.”

Despite Glória’s ongoing cruelty to Macabéa, Macabéa is flattered by Glória’s invitation to spend time together because her life is largely devoid of joy and luxury. Glória thus gives her a taste of the life that Macabéa can’t ultimately access or secure for herself. Instead of resenting her coworker, however, Macabéa feels indebted to her, a response that reiterates Macabéa’s purity.

“How I’d like her to open her mouth and say:—I am alone in the world and I don’t believe in anyone, everyone lies, sometimes even when making love, I don’t think one being speaks to another, the truth only comes to me when I’m alone.”

Rodrigo wishes that Macabéa could stand up for herself and claim her own experience because he too longs to speak his mind. He’s trying to use Macabéa to expose his beliefs but discovers that she’s as reserved, passive, and immobilized as he is. This is largely because they share the same social circumstances.

“As for me, I’m tired. Maybe of the company of Macabéa, Glória, Olímpico. The doctor nauseated me with his beer. I have to interrupt this story for about three days. For the last three days, alone, without characters, I depersonalize myself and take myself off as if taking off clothes. I depersonalize myself so much that I fall asleep.”

Rodrigo’s relationship to his fictional characters underscores the significance of his relationship to writing. When he isn’t writing and thinking about his characters, he falls asleep and thus becomes estranged from reality. Without his fictional world, he ceases to exist and becomes no one.

“Madame Carlota suddenly stared:—But, little Macabéa dear, what a horrible life! May my friend Jesus take pity on you, my child! How awful! Macabéa blanched: it had never occurred to her that her life was that bad.”

Madame Carlota’s response to Macabéa’s past experiences changes Macabéa’s outlook on herself and her life. Before this scene, she hadn’t thought to see her life as difficult or bad. Madame Carlota awakens her to the truth of her condition.

“It’s something very serious and very happy: your life is going to change completely! And even more: it will change the minute you step out of this house! you’ll feel completely different. You can be sure, my little flower, that even your boyfriend will come back and ask you to marry him, he takes it all back! And your boss will tell you that he’s thought about it and isn’t going to fire you!”

Madame Carlota’s predictions about Macabéa’s future grant her a sense of hope and possibility. The generous use of exclamation points affects an excitable narrative tone, which in turn infects Macabéa’s spirit and blinds her to her tragic fate in the subsequent scene.

“Macabéa stood a little dizzy not knowing if she’d cross the street since her life had already been changed. And changed by words—we have known since Moses that the word is divine. Even for crossing the street she was already a different person. A person pregnant with the future. She felt inside her a hope more violent than any despair she had ever felt. If she was no longer herself that meant a loss that counted as a gain.”

Macabéa is transformed the moment before her death. Rodrigo’s descriptive use of language conveys how deeply Madame Carlota’s predictions have affected Macabéa. She has gained new insight and achieved a higher understanding, which ultimately prove merely preambles to her death.

“Pray for her and may everyone stop what they’re doing to breathe life into her, since Macabéa for now is adrift in chaos like the door swinging in an infinite wind. I could wrap it up by taking the easiest route, killing the infant-girl, but I want the worst thing of all: life. So let those who read me get punched in the stomach to see if it’s good. Life is a punch in the stomach.”

Thematically foregrounding Existential Reflections on Human Life, Rodrigo’s desperate tone in this passage captures his despairing outlook on life and his empathy for Macabéa. He wishes he could save her but understands that like everyone she must ultimately die, which for her implicitly may be a fate better than life, in his view.