Ana Paula Maia on queasiness, prose style, and cows. Translated by Carolina Orloff.
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Ana Paula – thank you so much to speaking to me. I love Of Cattle and Men, your short novel recently translated into English by Zoë Perry. But I found myself at times nauseous as I read it – not just in confronting the cruelty of meat production (although, for my sins, I eat meat, and have a constant attendant, nauseous shame), but with the same kind of nausea with which I read J.M. Coetzee’s Life and Times of Michael K – something akin, for me, to nausea at existence that I think is fundamental to Sartre’s La nausée. I think a book that induces nausea is a good book. Do you agree? And do you think that’s something Of Cattle and Men does?
I agree with you when you say that if a book induces nausea, then it is a good book. To pull the reader into a story is not an easy task. After pulling them in, you need to provoke them, seduce them.
Of Cattle and Men aims to represent simple daily life in a place that, at least in appearance, no one would want to get to know better, a place no one wants to walk into. Yet, it is here that this story, guided by an intriguing character, who only shows us his work and his lifestyle, in addition to his moral convictions, gradually draws us in, making us want to find out more.
Your prose, as I receive it in Zoë Perry’s translation, is powerful for its spareness. It’s the kind of prose that, despite straightforward clarity, demands careful reading, lest one misses a significant event that occurs in just one passing clause of a matter-of-fact sentence. I love this. Could you talk a little about what you see as your “style”?
For a few years now, I have been trying to write in a style that is more economical and more direct. And there’s a reason for that: the characters. My characters are direct and objective. They live lives free of subterfuge, without much choice, focusing just on what needs to be done. A construction of drawn-out reflexions filled with digressions would be out of place in a story where these characters are the centre. The text gains form and content as I get to know my characters better. It is they, through the way they live, think and behave, who give shape to the text and to the story being told.
You also have an extraordinary ability to move seamlessly between perspectives. We’re reading third-person-present prose but, in any given moment, we are absolutely and undeniably reading from a particular character’s perspective, often finding said perspective suddenly shifted. How do you manage to juggle all this narrative perspective, in such a slim book?
I believe that the intimate connection I have with the characters allows me to do that. For me, the characters are the main elements of a story. I need to know them well. The entire narrative perspective of the story, even if it changes from first person to third person, follows a coherence in style and point of view.
In my books, I do fluctuate between perspectives. It is a way of widening the understanding of a story, of the characters, without there being a drastic movement in the plot.
Would you say that Of Cattle and Men is allegorical?
Yes.
Would you say that Of Cattle and Men is brutalist?
Yes. And I think the brutalism of the book lies in the raw construction of the characters. Their fears, their intentions and their actions are apparent. There is no coating, no glossing that can hide who they really are. You understand who they are and what they are capable of.
You’ve spoken elsewhere about how cinema inspires your writing. There’s something very filmic about Of Cattle and Men. Are there particular films that have shaped the landscape and characters of the book (and maybe even its structure)?
Cinema is a huge influence on my writing. However, Of Cattle and Men does not have a direct reference to a particular film. Aesthetically speaking, I very much enjoy Westerns, like those with John Wayne or those directed by Sergio Leone. But I also like darker references – the films by Mario Bava, or that feeling of estrangement you get in the Coen brothers’ films.
I’m interested in how your books explore gender. Your work feels so inherently feminist, but your characters are mostly men – and, of course, these things aren’t mutually exclusive. Could you speak a little about your approach to gender as a writer?
That is quite peculiar. My characters are almost always men, and men are always the main characters. Edgar Wilson, the protagonist in Of Cattle and Men, is present in almost all the books I’ve written. It is hard to explain why I’ve chosen to do this, because I don’t really know the reason. I just write and let the story flow.
Of Cattle and Men was originally published in Brazil before Bolsonaro came to power. In the UK, we receive it in translation after Lula’s return to the presidency. Could I please ask you to talk about that, in any way you’d like?
Honestly, I find that neither of those presidents maintain any relationship with the story. I think the relations that unfold in Of Cattle and Men, in a rural environment, among common men, have to do with certain patterns of human behaviour, which can be replicated in different places around the world.
Finally, what, really, is the difference between a cow and a human?
Cows are more sensitive and more affectionate.
Ana Paula Maia is Brazilian author and scriptwriter born in Nova Iguaçu, Brazil, in 1977. She has published several novels, including O habitante das falhas subterráneas (2003), De gados e homens (2013), and the trilogy A saga dos brudos, comprising Entre rinhas de cachorros e porcos abatidos (2009), O trabalho sujo dos outros (2009) and Carvão animal (2011). Her novel A guerra dos bastardos (2007) won praise in Germany as one of the best detective novels in translation. As a scriptwriter she has worked on a wide range of projects for television, cinema and theatre. Maia won the São Paulo de Literatura Prize for Best Novel of the Year in 2018 for her novel Assim na Terra como embaixo da Terra, and in 2019 for Enterre Seus Mortos.
Carolina Orloff is an experienced translator and researcher in Latin American literature, with a vast list of publications. In 2016, after obtaining her PhD, she co-founded Charco Press where she acts as editorial director. She is also the co-translator of Jorge Consiglio’s Fate and Ariana Harwicz’s Die, My Love, longlisted for the Booker International Prize. Charco Press has received many awards and nominations including the British Book Award (2019, 2020), and two shortlistings for the Booker International in just five years. In 2018, Carolina was named Emerging Publisher of the Year by the Saltire Society.
Interview by Will Forrester, Editor.
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