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I feel guilty I have been paying more attention to my other two blogs lately (actually for a long time), the Wooden Box, and No Coração da Floresta (in Portuguese)…

Here´s a link to Since Polonius Only Cared to Advise Laertes, a post I wrote for Women´s Day http://lucianalhullier.wordpress.com/2013/03/08/since-polonius-only-cared-to-advise-laertes/

and a link to Face It, Little Red http://lucianalhullier.wordpress.com/2013/06/05/face-it-little-red/ , a poem included in the Fairy Tales Series.

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New Post at The Wooden Box, for Women´s Day : http://lucianalhullier.wordpress.com/2013/03/08/since-polonius-only-cared-to-advise-laertes/

Eu Voto na Bruxa

 

 

 

“ – Já comemos tudo o que havia em casa, só nos resta meio pão, e com ele acaba a ração. É necessário que as crianças se vão embora; desta vez, porém, os conduziremos mais para o embrenhado da floresta, a fim de que não encontrem o caminho para voltar. Não nos resta outra solução.”  ( Joãozinho e Margarida, Contos e Lendas dos Irmãos Grimm, 1962)

Com essas palavras, a madrasta sela o destino de Hansel e Gretel, ou João e Maria ( ou Margarida, em algumas traduções). Com a escassez de alimentos até para si, os pais decidem abandonar os filhos na floresta, mesmo sabendo dos perigos que lá se escondem.  A solução parte da madrasta (mãe nas versões coletadas pelos Grimm e depois modificada para madrasta pelos próprios), mas o desconforto inicial com a situação de pobreza é do pai, que recorre à esposa para que lhe diga o que fazer. Na primeira tentativa as crianças acham o caminho de volta seguindo uma rota de pedriscos traçada por Joãozinho. Na segunda isso não acontece, pois o menino usa pedaços do pão que teria como alimento para aquele dia para traçar uma nova rota, e as migalhas do pão acabam sendo comidas pelos pássaros.

Com fome e assustadas, as crianças deparam-se com uma casa diferente, toda feita de guloseimas. Imediatamente começam a comer os pedaços da casa e são surpreendidos por uma simpática velhinha, que os acolhe e os convida a permanecer com ela. Passado o primeiro dia, a atitude da velha muda, e faz de Maria sua escrava e de João seu prisioneiro, para que engorde e possa virar seu jantar.  As crianças conseguem ludibriar e matar a bruxa queimada no forno, pegar seus tesouros, fugir, achar o caminho de volta e viver com o pai, pois a madrasta havia morrido. Ao chegarem em casa com os tesouros, todos os problemas acabam e vivem felizes para sempre.

Crianças embrenhadas na floresta não são novidade nos contos populares. Chapeuzinho Vermelho tomou o caminho da floresta. Entretanto, a diferença principal entre Chapeuzinho Vermelho e João e Maria, é a de que Chapeuzinho entra na floresta porque quer e João e Maria lá são abandonados pelos próprios pais.

A negligência paterna é dolorosa, mas a negligência materna é devastadora. A mãe é o alimento, inicialmente concreto e mais tarde simbólico, dos filhos. O olhar da mãe para o filho é o que o empurra adiante ou o puxa para trás. Usando de simbolismo, quando uma mãe se nega a alimentar os filhos em detrimento de suas próprias vontades e os abandona à própria sorte, a bruxa da floresta os recebe e os põe à prova.

A bruxa de João e Maria é a típica bruxa de histórias infantis. De aparência castigada e desleixada, no princípio fingindo ser boazinha como uma avozinha, mas revelando-se cruel e sem piedade logo em seguida, essa velha antropófaga herdou muito de sua ancestral Baba Yaga, personagem característica do folclore eslavo, mas que tem suas origens nas divindades pagãs.

Baba Yaga é às vezes vilã, e às vezes uma fonte de esperança; há histórias nas quais ela ajuda as pessoas em suas buscas e há outras em que ela as captura e ameaça comê-las. Buscar seu auxílio é geralmente muito arriscado. No entanto, os que conseguem sobreviver ao encontro saem transformados.  

Entre o abandono dos pais e as provações da Baba Yaga dos Irmãos Grimm, as crianças vão tentando sobreviver, usando de meios que aprenderam com os próprios adultos, como a mentira e o roubo. A bruxa finge que não vê (na história ela é cega) e vai deixando que eles encontrem um meio de resolver seu problema. Ironicamente, a bruxa cega foi o único adulto que os “enxergou”, que reconheceu sua presença, com eles interagiu e colocou-lhes limites. Ao estilo de bruxa, mas enfim…

A relevância dessa história nos dias de hoje se encontra no que ela simboliza: adultos incapazes de cuidar de si mesmos (não no aspecto financeiro, mas emocional) que decidem ter filhos e depois os abandonam emocionalmente, pois simplesmente não conseguem dar o que não possuem.  Ou seja, a exemplo dos pais de João e Maria, se não conseguem dar conta de sua vida adulta, se não conseguem ser pai/mãe de si mesmos (se não há “alimento” para eles próprios) não há maneira que consigam fazê-lo para outras pessoas. E o resultado é que as crianças são abandonadas em suas florestas escuras interiores sem saber como trilhá-las, na iminência de encontrarem-se com feras e bruxas, ou seja, com medos, dúvidas e com a auto-destruição. Exigir de uma criança que dê conta de sua própria caminhada sem ensinar-lhe os melhores caminhos e os truques para se proteger é condená-la a acreditar que não há nada de errado em uma casa feita só de doces, e que essa casa está lá só esperando para ser devorada por ela. A criança faminta emocionalmente se joga em tudo que possa saciar sua fome, em tudo que possa compensar o que ela não recebeu. Não interessando a quem as coisas pertençam, a criança faminta as quer para ela, e considera uma injustiça não ter tudo o que quer.

Não existem pais e mães perfeitos. Mas devem existir pais e mães interessados em seus filhos. Devem existir homens e mulheres que exerçam sua vontade ao não querer ter filhos, e não ao tê-los e depois não ampará-los. O mundo está cheio de “pobres crianças ricas”, com tudo o que o dinheiro pode comprar e ajudar a saciar, mas que mendigam por um momento de atenção da mãe ou do pai. Não falo aqui de pais e mães que trabalham mas que mesmo assim têm um momento para os filhos, pois os mesmos são e sempre serão suas pessoas mais queridas. Falo, principalmente, de quem não vê em seus filhos sua grande prioridade na vida, de quem os usa como instrumentos de suas vontades, como propaganda de sua suposta felicidade familiar, comprada no supermercado e exposta nas fotografias.

Uma sociedade formada de Joãos e Marias é uma sociedade doente, estressada, consumidora de pílulas mágicas e de prazeres vazios. É uma sociedade que põe toda a culpa na bruxa.

 

 

 

 

 

Two Ways

“Two Ways” is my most recent Storybird for ages 4-6

http://storybird.com/books/two-ways/

Hope you enjoy it!

On Girls and Books

Almost a year ago I was invited to talk about vampires in Literature in an event called “Psychoanalysis and Theater” held by the Psychology School on campus. When the organizer called me she said: we´d like you to speak a little about the Twilight phenomenon among teenagers, especially girls between ages 13 and 20.

We had a great discussion on whether Twilight was really about vampires or it was a love and coming of age story, and vampires were the selling trend. I believe the latter, although a lot of people are concerned about their children reading “those kind of books”, either because of the vampires or because it is not “high literature”.

Quite recently, in another discussion about Literature, a woman whose work I admire, said she had given The Second Sex, by Simone de Beauvoir to her daughter, as a gift for her 13^th birthday.

I´m sure she did that out of great love, given the person she is, and maybe her daughter enjoyed it more that her mother wishes her to be a free woman, than the reading itself. I don´t know, but it certainly got me thinking. The Second Sex was a great book for me, and I wish my daughter reads it one day, but I don´t think that giving it to her in her teens will make that happen. Maybe if I hide it from her then, she might be interested.

What should thirteen-year-old girls be reading, if that´s anybody´s business, other than their own? Should we really be “concerned” about what they´re reading? Should we try to intervene and provide them with liberating texts that might help shape the women they  come to be (in our vain imagination)?  Right now, my answer would be NO.

People choose to read certain books for many reasons, all of them having to do with whom they are as individuals. We need stories to take inner journeys, and depending on what´s inside each one of us, the stories will change. It might even be something temporary: a certain genre that helps us find some answers to immediate questions. Of course, we don´t realize it when we choose to read the stories. It happens naturally, if we have the opportunity to choose, that is to say, if books are available and within reach.

Should we recommend books to teenage girls? Yes, if they allow us to. If we´re able to see them as individuals full of life (and hormones), and not as empty canvases. If we´re able to establish a dialogue with them, where we should listen more than talk, then, yes, book recommendations might happen. Both ways.

I´m not very concerned about choosing the correct book to give my or anybody else´s girls as I am about listening to what they have to say, and about helping them look at their lives as their own doing. I want to help them become inquisitive, open-minded individuals.

And then they´ll be able to make their own choices.

Maybe the best thing we can do for our daughters – at any age- regarding books, is to let them read whatever they want to. There´s no experience more liberating than choosing a book with our own hands and savoring it by ourselves in a very special place. Allowing our girls to do that is to set them free. It´s love.

Independence Day

Today is Independence Day in Brazil. It´s a long story, and it´s in  History books and websites.

Just wanted to share a photo of President Dilma Roussef with her daughter and grandson during Independence parade in Brasilia. (source ZH online )

This is the most beautiful picture I´ve seen of a Brazilian president. Ever. It fills me with hope.

 

To Father, with Love

This past week I watched True Grit, the recent one, not the one with John Wayne.  A movie with that title has to be watched.

For the people who haven´t watched it, it´s the story of 14-year old Mattie Ross, who wants to avenge her father´s death by capturing his murderer, Tom Chaney. For that she hires a man with “true grit” , U.S. marshal Reuben, Rooster, Cogburn , and is also helped by a Texas ranger called LaBoeuf. I don´t mean  to spoil it, but Mattie is the one with true grit herself, and she ends up inspiring the men who were there to help her in the first place.

It´s not easy to lose a father, but I´m glad that, like Mattie Ross, I was left with enough to face life. I´m glad I had a father who was able to leave me love and courage by his example.  Although I was angry at death for taking him away, I was also thankful at life for having given me him as a father.

Some women are not so lucky, and it´s absolutely not their fault. Some men are not meant to be fathers. That´s all. They´ll hide when most needed, they´ll act as spoiled kings, they´ll beat up their children, they´ll kill them, in their rage.  The news are  full of them. From the man who threw his five year old daughter, alive, from the 6^th floor to the one who shot his 18 year-old daughter to death to get the insurance money, there´s a whole list of abusers and killers.

Since today is Father´s Day here in this corner of the world, I´d like to say to all fathers with daughters who happen to stop by that you don´t need to be super heroes. You don´t need to be perfect, rich or handsome. You don´t even need to be young and successful.  But you need to be good enough. You need to be loving enough, and you need to be brave enough.

The best inheritance a girl can get from her dad is, after all, true grit.

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New post at the Wooden Box: Coins

http://lucianalhullier.wordpress.com/

The Old House We Were Born Into

“ Who said I moved? It doesn´t matter it was demolished: we still live live in the old house we were born into” ( Quem disse que me mudei? Não importa que a tenham demolido, a gente continua morando na velha casa em que nasceu) – Mario Quintana

What real meaning does a house have in our lives? And what is this house Quintana talks about? Is it the womb? Our parents or what we recall of our childhood? In the last few months I´ve been asking myself this question: why am I moving?

Some months ago, my significant other and I decided to make some improvements to the country house. We wanted to build an extension with three other bedrooms to accommodate guests. And then we realized that it is actually a summer house, and that Summer is really short here in the south of the south. We love that house a lot but…it´s a summer house. It´ll stay as is.

Many things have changed in our lives in the last few years, so we thought that it was time to take another step. Change the city apartment for a city house. Now, we both are not the kind of people who rush into decisions, but that one was taken quickly. I felt excited but still uncomfortable: what is going on with me?

After a lot of thinking, listening, observing, I finally have a clue. This house is actually part of a process that has been going on for some time now, and that could be translated more or less as a reunion with myself. Of course, my husband has his reasons, too. And the kids loved the idea, but for me, it´s that. It´s a part of my soul that is taking form. A fireplace, a backyard, a garden, a hammock, animals.

My beautiful aunt Arminda and I, at three years old, in my house´s backyard, with one of the many turtles my brothers and I had. We also had a couple of chickens and ducks in a small hennery at the back, a cat, a dog, a parrot, and a frog.

Same people “a few” years later. The turtle was not present the moment we took the picture, but I bet it is still alive. 🙂

On Stereotypes et al

Many years ago, when we were living in the U.S., my husband and I were invited to a dinner party in a friend´s friend´s apartment. Upon our arrival, after being introduced to the group as “the couple from Brazil I said were coming tonight”, and my husband engaging in conversation with a guy he had met before, the host´s father turns to me and asks, loudly: “Oh, you´re from Brazil! When are you guys going to stop cutting those trees down there?”.  Now, that´s a bully, and I´ve never been afraid of bullies, so I answered, calmly: “When you guys stop buying the wood”.

I´m not going to get into details right now about what my thoughts on the Amazon Rainforest are, and how things really work there, but if I could go back in time I wouldn´t have answered anything, I´d just have said something really vague and ignored the guy. Not because I don´t believe in what I said –  I do believe that one who has a mahogany table or guitar should not (hypocritically) publicly declare their concern about deforestation – but because it really doesn´t help when we try to find someone else to blame on the problems of the world.  And it´s usually the foreigner, or the immigrant, or the minority, or the one who simply looks different than us.

I felt bad after answering that because I knew it was that man who had a problem and I ended up offending  and putting the blame on everybody, just like he did. The moment I said “you guys”, I bought into the same stereotype he used to intimidate me. I was no different.

Stereotypes are representations of fear. The fear we have of what we don´t know.  The fear we have of leaving our comfort zone and giving other people a chance. The fear we have of finding out that we are not the greatest thing on the universe, after all.

As psychoanalyst Diana Corso says: “no consistent human relationship survives in the aesthetically tacky scenario of romanticism” , and I happen to think that stereotypes are a part of that. With the Romantic movement came a strong nationalism and, consequently, the idea of the “exotic” .  The “others” have only two alternatives: they´re either the friendly, subservient sidekick or the criminal. We´ve been thinking like that since the 19^th century. It´s about time we changed.

Many of my fellow Brazilians foster the idea that we are misunderstood by the world(very romantic). That “they” (the “others”) believe we only think of soccer and Carnival. Well, taking into account the millions of reals spent in soccer stadiums and Carnival parades, I can´t blame “them” for believing it. But of course, it´s not that. We wouldn´t have done what we did in the last decades if it were so. The problem is the romantic idea that we need to have an image to the world that makes us look good. We keep alternating between the friendly sidekick and the criminal, trapped into a fruitless search for identity that prevents us from maturely deal with our problems. We love to believe the idea that we are not prejudiced, but then we see the world through the lens of stereotypes, just the way we complain the world sees us.

Many people I know think that Americans don´t know anything about Brazil, all British people are distant, cold and extremely formal, all Mexicans are dramatic, all Argentinians are cocky, all French people are romantic etc. Stereotypes that do nothing but draw a circle of fire around ourselves. And in terms of domestic affairs, there´s also the classic “I´m not racist, but…” .

Prejudice, racism and stereotypes all fall into the same category: what we do when we´re afraid. Maybe if we were less afraid of each other, and more realistic about human nature, and nature as a whole, we would be able to evolve into a new way of thinking. We would be able to leave the Romantic Ideal behind with all its preconceptions, fantasies, and impossible to meet expectations, and start a new period of more acceptance. Putting aside some regional, physical, and cultural variations, we´re all the same after all.