[In the following essay, de Tejada traces the changing images of blacks and black culture in contemporary novels by Brazilian and Afro-Brazilian writers.]

Over the past twenty years, Afro-Brazilians have been experiencing significant changes in their country parallel to the beginning of a democratic society, and a new vision of the world that is reevaluating historically and culturally what it means to be Black. This is manifested in several cultural movements, such as “Olodum” in the city of Salvador, and through the legalization of African religions—Candomblé in the Northeast and Umbanda in São Paulo.¹ On the other hand, contemporary Brazilian narrative, written by white and Afro-Brazilian authors, is engaged in the process of rewriting their literary traditions and images of Blacks in order to create a multicultural national identity. In contrast to previous ideologies that encouraged the assimilation of minorities into the dominant white mentality, the Brazilian society of the mid-seventies progressively accepts Blacks as a genuine and separate culture that has contributed to the present identity of the country. This process is what Brookshaw defines as real “mesticismo”.

This study is about how the process of African cultural reaffirmation in the Northeast has changed the representation of black culture in contemporary novels, either by white and Afro-Brazilian writers. In contrast to previous social and literary constructions that, following the dominance of white values, had concealed and misinterpreted the African heritage of Brazil as something evil or exotic, the new trend presents less racial conflicts, uses African themes more explicitly than before, breaks the stereotype of the sexual symbol of the black woman and describes the spiritual force of the Afro-Brazilian religion as a way of liberation.

I will limit my study to the area of Bahia where old slavery paradigms have recently begun to be questioned towards a more multicultural society that, closer to that of the southern areas, accepts the discourse of the difference, or the so-called minorities. The persistence of a more conservative mentality in the Northeast of Brazil may explain the limited presence of male and female writers from Bahia—either white or black—in the national literature.² Considering that the cultural changes undergone by Bahian society since the end of the dictatorship have facilitated the surge of Black awareness and its integration into the national identity, I intend to show how these changes are reflected in the image of blacks and/or women in selected contemporary narrative. Both Blacks and women have usually been associated in literature as an inferior element of the society. I will especially focus on two contemporary women writers, who are committed to change one of the most popular stereotypes in Afro-Brazilian literature since colonial times: the sexual symbol of the black woman. They also discuss other important themes related to the definition of what it means to be Black in Bahian society since the mid-seventies. Among the still limited fiction that deals with the “Africanidade” in contemporary prose fiction I have selected O Jogo de Ifá (Ifa's game, 1980) by Sônia Coutinho and Mulher no Espelho (Woman between Mirrors, 1983) by Helena Parente Cunha.

In order to better understand the multicultural and re-africanization processes that affect contemporary Brazilian society and literature, especially in Bahia, it is necessary to provide a historical background of the image that the Afro-Brazilians have had in literature since the fifteenth century. To provide such a complex summary, I will rely on diverse Anglo-American scholars who, for the last thirty years, have contributed with significant, although still not sufficient, studies about the image of Afro-Brazilians in canonical Brazilian literature until the late sixties.³ There are not many critical studies that cover recent narratives, and very few that mention the contribution of black women writers, such as Maria Firmina dos Reis (1825-1917) and Carolina Maria de Jesus (1914-1977). The negative image blacks and women had until recently explains the limited presence of both of them in anthologies and critical studies. This is the reason why most of the information that follows comes from male white writers or black writers who identify themselves with the European ideology.

The stereotype of the Afro-Brazilian in the European mentality and in literature has been manifested in different ways since colonial times, especially in regard to the definition of him as primitive. The mistreatment and misinterpretation of Afro-Brazilians are repeated throughout Brazilian literature because this behaviour comes from a system founded on slavery which is based in fixed and unchangeable forms, ideas and structures. Until the beginning of the first abolitionist movements, Blacks were a symbol of the Devil according to the maniquean European ideology that equated white with purity and black with evil. This dichotomy between Christian white humanity and black pagan bestiality created several negative black figures in popular imagination, both by white and black writers, who tried to follow the mainstream paradigm and values. In regard to the race of the famous Baroque poet Gregório de Matos (Bahia, 1623-1696), David Haberly comments that: “He was particularly disquieted by the colony's freedmen and mulattoes, sure that the Portuguese-born aristocracy gave far too much liberty and far too many privileges to beings he considered subhuman, even simian” (12). However, de Matos had a contradictory opinion about women of color towards whom he was very affectionate to the extent that they became an excuse to discuss his interpretation of Platonic beauty.⁴ Through his writings, de Matto created the most popular non-white stereotype in Brazilian literature that centuries later would become a national daydream for racial democracy in Freyre's and Amado's texts: the sensual “mulata” of the tropics.

The ambivalence towards the symbolism of blackness and Afro-Brazilians that existed during the colony persisted in the nineteenth century, even though other minorities, such as the Indians, were better understood through the European ideology of the Noble Savage. That is the case of José de Alencar (1829-1877) who constructed a national discourse that reinforced the image of the Indian as a mythical and exotic hero—Iracema (1857), O Guarani (1865). However, according to Zilá Bernd, Alencar constructed his national identity discourse on the dominance of European values which explains why Afro-Brazilians were still absent from history.

During the last thirty years of the nineteenth century readers can find opposite literary representations of Blacks. Negative and positive stereotypes were applied in the increasingly frequent characterization of Africans in response to the contradictory opinions of abolitionists and people who supported slavery. In abolitionist literature, for example, the counterpart of the bad slave was the faithful slave. Among the most significant books is the first abolitionist novel, Úrsula (1859) by Maria Firmina dos Reis who, in contrast to other perceptions of blackness at that time, presented a positive definition that tied blacks to Africa instead of to a white soul. In her opinion, Blacks were not animals, and in fact many among them were able to express noble feelings in spite of the miserable life they had. The figure of the good slave that was developed by abolitionist writers, however, was presented negatively after the abolition in 1888, because he came to represent “the eternal slave incapable of contributing positively to the development of the nation” (Brookshaw, 8). The only good freed slave was the one who assimilated the white culture. This was especially easy on mulattoes and light-color skin people. On the other hand, Brookshaw explains that the negative stereotype that existed prior to the abolition, the subversive slave and the “feiticeiro,” remain as negative as before until becoming a positive literary figure in Jorge Amado's novels (8).

Despite the social changes brought by the abolitionist movements since 1870, mulatto and black writers, like Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis (1839-1908) and João Cruz de Sousa (1861-1898), did not feel comfortable about openly assuming, defending, and portraying their ethnicity in literature since they represent “the complex personality of a colonized race” in search of social recognition (Brookshaw, 11). Brookshaw explains that their writing follows more the white mentality than that of their ethnic origins: “In his struggle for social acceptance, he may not deny the negative stereotype of the violent savage, but wish to prove himself an exception by sublimating himself in white culture, that is, being more white mentally than the white man” (11). This white mentality of the pro-abolitionist is also exemplified by, among others, writers such as Joaquim Manuel de Macedo (1820-1882), Aluisio Azevedo (1857-1913) and Herculano Inglês de Sousa (1853-1918). In the writing of these authors Blacks are usually presented as secondary characters, stereotyped through the image of the faithful slave, “mucama” or the bad “feiticeiro” and strongly influenced by Positivism and Naturalism ideologies.⁵ Only with few exceptions are Afro-Brazilians the main character, as Azevedo's Raimundo. However, Raimundo's success comes from his conforming to the white mentality and paradigms of his society.

Giorgio Marotti explains that the hypocrisy of the white mentality is especially manifested in the creation of two stereotypical literary figures who are more marginalized than the bad or the good slave. That is the “mucama,” the companion of the white young lady, and the “mãe preta,” the Black nanny, the nursemaid. These two good characters are compared to the bad female character: the sensual mulata, who becomes a sexual object in the minds of both white and black male writers. That is the case of Rita Bahiana in O Cortiço (A Brazilian Tenement, 1890) by Aluisio Azevedo or Gabriela en Gabriela, Cravo e Canela (Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon, 1958) by Jorge Amado, among others. The ultimate bad character is, however, the “pai-de-santo,” the sorcerer, and his female counterpart, the “mãe-de-santo,” considered as a sorceress by the white ideology.

It wasn't until the 1920's and 1930's that a new nationalist movement incorporated Black culture into society, in the Northeast through the Candomblé where the presence of slaves had been strongest, and in the South through the political party of “Frente Negra Brasileira” which stimulated the emergence of an educated black middle class. Their prime concern was to encourage the “negrification” of Brazilian esthetics through the rejection of the whitening ideology imposed upon them. That meant that whites had to abandon their stereotype vision of blacks. However, as is manifested in the literature of the 30's-50's, the Modernism, the interest of writers in African culture responds to artistic reasons more than humanitarian. The authors still continue the white mentality of their predecessors which is manifested in their characterization of Blacks as sexual symbol or as something exotic and almost strange to Brazil.⁶ However, as Marotti points out, “there is an awareness that the Black race is a reality with which they will have to come to terms” (247).

Jorge Amado can be considered one of the most famous Bahian writers who has fought since the 30's to give Blacks from Bahia the dignity they deserve as human beings. In his narrative there is a recurrent discourse of hope for change that in the majority of his novels is represented by an idealized Afro-Brazilian culture, mainly the “mulata” and the “pai-do-santo,” the dance, and the music.⁷ However, it is not until the late 70's when Bahian society and literature fully accept Afro-Brazilian culture as an active element of their identity presenting both characters as citizens.⁸ According to Brookshaw, the novels of contemporary Black writers are as varied in their motivations as those of white writers. Nevertheless, the common element of such writers must be tied in their position as members of a race which has not yet been able to free itself from a whole range of colonial ideas, largely because Brazil's supposedly less conflictive race relations still depend upon the maintenance of such complexes (Brookshaw, 251-252). Also, their writing does not always coincide with tendencies towards Afro-Brazilian cultural nationalism, and it is whites who tend to cultivate the popular rather than Afro-Brazilians themselves. An exception is, Deoscoredes dos Santos, the only black prose writer of the seventies to use Afro-Brazilian cultural themes. Brookshaw suggests that this is due to his Bahian origins.

Despite Amado's defense of Afro-Bahians, his female characters continue the pattern of the sensual, vital mulatto woman developed by Gregório de Mattos in the seventeenth century.⁹ Amado's characterization also shows a limited perspective of what Blacks can offer to the Brazilian society: a sexually liberated individual who, through dance and sense of humor, can enjoy life more than whites. Most of his characters are still poor, and when Amado creates a Black intellectual protagonist such as Pedro Archanjo in Tenda dos Milagres (Tent of miracles, 1969), this character is not an alternative for the people of his race because he fails to change the social values and concept of Negritude of his contemporaries. Through this character Amado shows how conservative and traditional Bahian society is, and proves that hope for change is still to come.

One manifestation of this change is a new trend in Brazilian literature written by white and black female Bahian writers who have broken the stereotype of the sensual mulata without betraying her racial and cultural heritage. O Jogo de Ifá (Ifá's Game, 1980) by Sônia Coutinho and Mulher no Espelho (Woman between Mirrors, 1983) by Helena Parente Cunha are located in the capital city of Bahia, Salvador. In contrast to previous writers, Coutinho and Cunha present mulatto women and men as an active element of their society through their intellectual jobs—journalism and literature—and the spiritual contribution of Candomblé. These African religions are not a hope for change, but a viable alternative for white and black individuals who cannot find solutions to their problems within the traditional Western values of Salvador. This new black awareness coincides with the fact that the Afro-Brazilian religions do not have to be hidden anymore, because, as the anthropologist Leni Silverstein shows in her research, it is now considered an integral element of Bahia's society since 1976. On the other hand, the declaration of Pelourinho, the old slaves quarters of downtown Salvador, as part of the world's cultural heritage by UNESCO is a recognition of the intellectual integration of Afro-Brazilians into Brazil's national identity. This international awareness has encouraged the city of Salvador to support the reconstruction of the Black dominated neighborhood of Pelourinho.

Cunha's Woman between Mirrors (1983) brings race into presence in an effort to question the representation of Black women inside Bahian society and historical discourse. The autobiographical narrative of a nameless female protagonist fulfills this goal. This text exemplifies what Sonia Saldívar-Hull calls “women on the border” (183). In her essay, “Wrestling Your Ally: Stein, Racism and Feminist Critical Practice,” she discusses the necessity of integrating issues of race and class with gender issues “to avoid echoing the patriarchal, capitalistic exclusionary agenda” used by feminist critics and writers who have not been able “to deal adequately with differences of women on the periphery of the power structure” (182).

The text recounts the liberating process of a mulatto woman who, after being dominated by white European female models, finally embraces her African origins, even though the color of her skin does not reveal it. In contrast to the idealized, sensual, marginal female figures of Amado's novels, Cunha creates an intelligent and educated mulatto character who questions the white boundaries of the identity she was given through the values of her upper-middle class family. In order to achieve this goal, the character does not instinctively join the popular Black culture, as Gabriela does in Gabriela, Clove and Cinammon, but she decides to reevaluate the elements of her Afro-Brazilian identity. Using her ability to write fiction and testimonial texts, this mulatto woman rewrites the story of her life as a freed person who had a white “soul.” Her criticism is directly addressed to her mulatto family who rejected her African origins for social conventions. Through her autobiographical writing and interpretation of Bahian social values, Cunha's character becomes, then, an active mulatto citizen of her society who, not only integrates her past within her present situation, but describes the struggle of the blackening process.

By remembering her relationship with her black nanny and the more natural and liberating education received from her, the protagonist slowly subverts her present situation. She also actively participates in the Carnaval and the ritual of the Candomblé—always forbidden by her father—, which helps to bring her Afro-Brazilian background into presence, providing the spiritual force she needs to abandon her all-white-male exile. Her husband's and sons' leaving the familial house, her visit to the Afro-Brazilian, working-class neighborhood of Pelourinho, her relationship with three different lovers—a black samba dancer among others—, the publication of her short stories—which her father always tried to repress—and her longing for Africa and African mythologies all constitute examples of the radical changes she undergoes. At the end of the autobiographical account, the voids in the protagonist's childhood and adolescent years during the 50's are finally filled with a more liberating environment two decades later. It is then that she can fully assume her Afro-Brazilian heritage.

The participation in Candomblé is especially relevant to the process of the protagonist's reafricanization or encounter with the homeland because participants are empowered by different Yoruba deities, who are supposed to deliver a special force, called “axé”, capable of changing one's everyday life. Also, women play a special role in these religious ceremonies where the “mãe-de-santo” is the prominent figure that controls the ceremony. The Candomblé rituals have maintained their structure and values almost intact since they were introduced in Brazil by Yoruba slaves.¹⁰ Only in the Candomblé ceremonies, especially through the power of the water deity, Yemanjá, does the protagonist of Woman between Mirrors experience the sense of community all exiles—either women or Afro-Brazilians—long for. After several participations in Candomblé ceremonies and streetwalking through Pelourinho, the protagonist can speak in her text about topics she was not allowed to address as a white traditional woman. Among them are her sexuality and the history of slavery in Bahia that still permeates the present time. However, she does not embody the Afro-Brazilian culture without being critical of it, especially about the touristic presentation of Pelourinho, which promotes the visitors colonial attitude.

Although the flexibility and ambiguity of the Yoruba culture in regard to gender roles makes Afro-Brazilian culture an alternative for the protagonist's personal crisis, that might not be the case for other individuals, as she discovers on her visits to Pelourinho. She then realizes that social class also plays an important role in one's definition of Blackness to the point that it can constitute another form of exile within one's own racial territory. Her initial sense of freedom is quickly transformed into a sense of another exile when she confronts the class differences among Afro-Brazilians:

Who am I, standing here, on a seamy street in the right-light district, in the middle of a stunningly sunny mid-afternoon, a radio blaring out rock music? Who am I, that I don't have the courage to go in the stinking bar and order those empty glasses to be filled? Who am I, eyes to the ground, ashamed of myself? What business did I have bargain here, all curiosity, special and safe, just taking in the local color? I keep on my way, always on down toward the Whipping Post. Seeing nothing else at all, unless it's the jagged and smooth rocks under my slow feet.

(107)

This inner struggle, motivated by the contradictions between her white upbringing and her recent African awareness, reveals to the protagonist a way of moving beyond the traditional definitions of blackness and whiteness imposed by her family, her social class and her racial group. Once she discovers the social barriers that separate her from other Afro-Brazilians, the protagonist realizes the multiple boundaries that shape any individual's life and discovers the possibilities to create a new space for herself:

But where is my place? In the living rooms with crystal chandeliers, Sevres statuettes, Portuguese silverware, Chinese porcelain vases, pure silk curtains, authentic colonial furniture, little tables with collections of antique pressing irons? Or as the night unfolds, inside the more powerful space, marked by the sound of drums and the metallic ring of agogôs?

I fit within many situations, I overflow in many directions. The light from off the crystal chandelliers fills my head with prisms, wraps my words in cellophane. Primitive rhythm slips off my ancient bonds, releases me from earlier prisons. Little by little, I've been untying a knot, loosening a noose, unmeshing a net, finally there is nothing to tie me down. My limitless liberated body rushes out in unimaginable rivers, hurtless over barriers I'd never even known were there.

(109)

After being exiled to the boundaries of the mainstream, due to her light-color skin, Cunha's protagonist finally (re)covers what she believes to be her own space by incorporating all those elements of her Afro-Brazilian identity that her father had struggled to repress: “In learning to know my lands and my seas, I'm beginning to feel a strong drive to leave these walls behind, get out on the streets, discover places I've never been” (89).

The positive representation of strong Afro-Brazilians and women in Women between Mirrors reflects the progressive changes undergone by the Bahian patriarchal society during the 70's and 80's, among them the interest of mulattoes to be considered as Blacks. This ideology that tries to undercut the whitening intentions proposed by Gilberto Freyre with his project of “racial democracy” is manifested in the protagonist's desire to express her pride to be Black, and her shame of not being able to show it on her skin: “I've no pride or shame unless it's pride in my tanned skin, my curly hair. And the shame of not knowing the color of my great-great-grandfather's skin. The wind out of Africa blows through the coconut palms and my curly hair and the pages of my book” (121). Her progressive blackening mentality explains her interest in relating herself to pretos, Afro-Brazilians of a much darker skin who are easily recognized as such, like her nanny. Therefore, every time she has an encounter with them and with their religion, the protagonist feels closer to a different identity, which she highlights by frequently repeating the leitmotif, “I know where I am.” This new, plural identity is a personal choice that reveals her conscious decision to become more Afro-Brazilian than the color of her skin shows: “My fate. My choice. The good-looking black man, son of Xangô. My choice. My fate. My fate to belong to his fate” (128).

Her commitment to assume her Black identity is repeated once more in her text by negating the exclusive divine intervention of the African Gods and, therefore, she presents herself as a more powerful person than previous literary characters whose destinies were determined by social values of the masters or by the African Gods. Cunha's protagonist is living in a time when the individual is freer to choose her or his destiny beyond social determinism. On the other hand, the mulatta protagonist of Cunha's text does not always rely on Afro-Brazilian traditions, such as the “jogo de búzios” that predicts the destiny. For her, destiny is her ability to make decisions. Thus, she breaks the stereotypical representation of Blacks and mulattoes as a homogeneous group, and tries to get away from the traditional magical, mysterious and evil image they evoked in the old paradigms of her society. Instead, her personal attitude is crucial to initiate any political change and, therefore, her integration as a full mulatto citizen: “The powerful gods can't change my fate. I'm not the young black girl, all in white, flower in her hair, scent of lavender. The powerful gods can't change my destiny. The road I take. My choice” (128). The text significantly ends when the protagonist refuses to open the door to one of her sons who became involved in a fight in order to “clean” his mother's honor. By letting him be shot by the police, the woman breaks with her traditional past and chooses to live incorporating her new Afro-Brazilian identity. It is then that she is able to break the mirror that has been projecting a stereotypical white image of her.

In Ifa's Game, written by Sônia Coutinho a year before Cunha's text, Afro-Brazilian culture plays a similar role, because it is directly related to the protagonist's search for identity. The game of adivination that gives name to the text is a homage to Ifá's divine origins and a call to understand his teachings in order to achieve a harmonious world. According to Coutinho's, this harmony will come after the rupture of old traditions, that is, the male oriented society of Salvador that envisions women and Afro-Brazilians as a mysterious Other that needs to be silenced. This idea is frequently presented in the text through the analogy between traditional images of man and woman, slavery and negative images of Black in Salvador's society during the 50-60's.

In order to subvert this order, the author creates a white androgynous character called Renato-Renata, a journalist who returns to Salvador after a series of professional and emotional failures in Rio de Janeiro. The story is narrated in two historical periods: the late 50's and ten years later when the protagonist returns to Salvador. The idea of going back to one's hometown—including the encounter with parents, their values and Afro-Brazilian culture—is similar to that presented in Woman between Mirrors because the historical discourse that describes the past of Salvador is connected in both texts to the main character's personal self-discovery. Reencounter with the past is a medium to achieve change. Once again, change is not an arbitrary decision of the gods, but a conscious decision of the main character. Instead of simply following the result of the game, thus leaving his life contingent on magical forces, Renato decides to become involved in the history of the community through writing.

In contrast to the folkloric role of African traditions in previous literary works, their function in these two latter works is to transform the traditional values in Salvador by recovering and defending the Black heritage of Brazil's history. This is especially manifested in the closing of Coutinho's text through the male perspective of the white character who crosses the racial, gender and social boundaries of his racial group to participate and become aware of African traditions. Only then he can rewrite Bahia's history: “With them—and with me—the book is being written” (107).

The reading of these two texts are exemplary of a literary and socio-cultural movement that is still in process. One manifestation is the 1995 celebrations of the heritage of the Republic of Palmares, founded by run-away slaves at the end of the sixteenth century. According to Joel Rufino dos Santos, president of the Palmares Foundation, a group dedicated to winning land titles for descendants of escaped slaves, “Black Brazilians are trying to win back their history, their historical heritage.” This effort is also supported by other contemporary writers. Although the readings of Coutinho and Cunha are not sufficient to conclude my study with definite interpretations, I would like to suggest some comments that could lead to further investigation of this topic. First, the Brazilian prose fiction of the 80's shows the efforts of several writers to reconstruct a national identity that, through the questioning of established values, moves towards the interrelation of contradicting forces, another manifestation of the hybridization that has been characteristic of Brazilians. The goal of these writers of the 80's is to give voice to the Other—whether women, Blacks, working class, the discourse of the Northeast—to create a collective identity that better represents the multicultural image of Brazil. Second, the ethical characterization of Afro-Brazilian culture presented by Cunha and Coutinho is one example of a definition of Blackness based on a positive literary and cultural space. Both white and black writers make it their own by injecting it with meanings relevant to their present socio-cultural situation, and present it to their readers as their personal contribution to the creation of a pluralistic national identity. Finally, although some Bahian women writers have played a significant role in changing the image minorities have in their society, their efforts are also paralleled by other writers, such as Jõao Ubaldo Ribeiro, Maria Helena Farelli and Marilene Felinto. All of them continue the challenge of transforming Brazilian cultural stereotypes by opening a more liberating and inclusive literary tradition. Hopefully, the changes will last longer than they took to be built.

Notes

1. Greenfield shows how these two groups have increased in the city of Porto Alegre during the last fifty years, and mentions the study of Reginaldo Prandi (1991) to explain a parallel case in São Paulo, where Umbanda and Spiritists have been the catalyst in the religious transformation and ‘re-africanization’ of urban Brazil. In 1973, Alceu Maynard Araûjo had showed his concern about the disappearance of African traditions and festivities in his book, Cultura Popular Brasileira, published before the re-africanization process.

2. The city of Salvador de Bahia was economically important up to 1880 when its only economical source of sugar cane production was surpassed by the production of beet sugar in Europe and the return of economic stability in North America and the Caribbean. At that time, coffee exportations in the southern regions of Brazil were also superior than those of sugar in Bahia. All these elements contributed to the long-term depression of the Northeastern sugar economy that started in the mid-nineteenth century. Despite some of the traditional planters became increasingly interested in emancipation, this abolitionist ideology, however, was not only due to humanitarian concerns, but to the ideas of modernization held by a small elite from Bahia. As a matter of fact, Bahia can be described as a very conservative region dominated for European patriarchal values as it has been presented in its prose until very recently. The majority of the white and black novelists come from the more intellectual society of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro.

3. I will especially mention the analysis of Raymond Sayers (1956), David Haberly (1983), David Brookshaw (1986) and Giorgio Marotti (1987).

4. Gregório wrote of Bahia:

   What are her favorite geegaws? … Nigras
   And what other goods to suit her needs? … Half-breeds
   But which are her best-loved beaux? … Mulattoes

   (Haberly, 12)

5. Raymond Sayers' interpretation of Machado de Assis proves Brookshaw opinions about the social pressure put upon the Afro-Brazilian writer and, to some extent, Sayers himself reflects his own white mentality—that of the USA during the 50's—through his justification of Machado de Assis's black concealment. Sayers believes that Machado de Assis was one of the urban writers that incorporated more black characters in his writing than any other writer at that time. He goes on saying that the reason why he could not select blacks as the main characters is because “the negro could never determine his own conduct or fix his own position in society; he was not a free agent, and therefore he could not be made a subject for satire” (204).

6. The Modernist movement presented a new image for Afro-Brazilians, and certainly a little more powerful, than the one they had previously, especially considering that it represented a literary ideology that aimed to show Brazil's independence from European mentality and aesthetic paradigms. Macunaíma (1928) written by the paulista Mário de Andrade, became the symbol of the new Brazilian identity that intended to present a multiracial Brazil. Although the name of this text is Indian, the racial ethnicity of the protagonist is Black. Far from being the traditional hero, Macunaíma represents the anti-hero who does not conform himself to the European values and behaviour and, instead, turns to African magic—macumba—to defeat his enemy—an Italian immigrant who is called the people eater. This is one of the first literary examples in which African religion and feiticeiros are not presented as the Devil, but as the saviours of the Brazilian identity. Despite the accurate textual representation of the religious ceremony, Mário de Andrade maintains some of the stereotypes attributed to Afro-Brazilians by displacing the macumba from São Paulo, where the novel takes place, to the red-light area of Rio de Janeiro. The novel also ends in a very absurd way which makes the reader question about the role of Afro-Brazilians.

7. It is also important to consider that Amado was writing under the shadow of the Modernist movement of the 20's and 30's. In the case of the Northeast of Brazil, it generated a unique narrative that, like Amado, dealt with problems specifically related to that area, and written by natives of the region. Their regionalism was seen as limited by their elitist counterparts of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro and, therefore, alienated by them as their Other. As a reaction to the quite elitist Modernist movement of São Paulo, the Northeast responded with the Regionalist movement, founded in Recife in 1926 under the guidance of the anthropologist Gilberto Freyre. He believed in the concept of “miscegenation” as a solution for the inequalities suffered by Afro-Brazilians. Its literary manifestation was the narrative of the Northeast, a tradition of novels initiated by Euclides da Cunha and his Os Sertões (Rebellion in the Backlands, 1902) and followed by Rachel de Queirós, Graciliano Ramos, José Lins do Rego and Jorge Amado, among others.

8. Marotti mentions few examples of what he considers new Afro-Brazilian narrative—often written in the white dominated regions of Rio Grande do Sul. Among them, he selects Adonias Filho (As Tres Velhas, The Old Women, 1975) and Érico Veríssimo (O Continente, 1949). He also discusses Carolina Maria de Jesus's writing as a unique example of a brave Black woman who managed to entered the white world. However, Marotti seems to contradict himself with previous comments where he stated that the stereotypical characterization of Blacks came from their “white” ambitions.

9. In an interview given to a Spanish newspaper in October 1994, Amado admitted Gregório de Matos's, as well as Alencar and Macedo's, influence in his writing whom he considered the fathers of Brazilian, and especially, Bahian narrative.

10. In Samba in the Night: Spiritism in Brazil, David Hess reports his experiences with several African religions during his trips field in 1983, 1984 to 1986 and 1988. In his book Hess explains the differences that exist among Umbanda, Spiritism and Candomblé, this latter originally from the city of Bahia. According to Hess,

    Spiritism tends to focus on books and study, and Spiritists connect their healing practices (such as the laying on of hands or passes) with evangelization. Umbanda is more pragmatic; it focuses on the practicalities of giving advice to clients or clearing their bodies of evil energies and spirits. Candomblé, in contrast, is much more of a religion, and its rituals focus more on paying homage to the orixás. I would almost call the form of the ceremony “worship,” except that “worship” is a very Western term.

    (44)

    Hess's concern about Westernizing the Candomblé ceremonies through the use of language reflects his awareness and acknowledgment of the African dominance in Bahian religions in contrast with Spiritism and Umbanda. Although he does not present a fixed image of Africa in Candomblé, he considers that Brazil has maintained “at least some African traditions in a ‘purer’ form than they exist in present-day Africa” (45), especially if one considers the strong Catholic presence in the city which is manifested in the 365 churches that exist in Salvador, one for each day of the year according to popular belief. Yet, Salvador de Bahia is less known for its Catholic churches or its Portuguese colonial architecture than for its status as the capital of African culture in Brazil, an element than any visitor can experience in this city. Hess also mentions the tensions between Nigerians and Brazilians in regard to the African traditions. The formers accused the Brazilians of corrupting the original traditions which, on the other hand, had dramatically changed over the centuries according to the Brazilians.

Works Cited

Araujo, Alceu Maynard. Cultura Popular Brasileira. São Paulo: Edições Melhoramentos, 1973.

Bernd, Zilá. “The Construction and Deconstruction of Identity in Brazilian Literature.” Amaryll Chanady. Latin American Identity and Constructions of Difference. Minneapolis: University of Minessota Press, 1994.

Brookshaw, David. Race and Color in Brazilian Literature. Metuchen & London: Scarecrow Press, 1986.

Chamberlain, Bobby J. Jorge Amado. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1990.

Coutinho, Afrânio. An Introduction to Literature in Brazil. Trans. Gregory Rabassa. New York and London: Columbia University Press, 1969.

Coutinho, Sonia. O Jogo de Ifá. São Paulo: Atica; Salvador: Fundação Cultural do Estado de Bahia, 1980.

Cunha, Helena Parente. Woman between Mirrors. Fred Ellison and Naomi Lindstrom, trans. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1989.

Farelli, Maria Helena. A Peleja de Xangô com a Diaba sem Rabo. Rio de Janeiro: Antonio Carlos Fernandes, editor, 1983.

Felinto, Marilene. As Mulheres de Tijucopapo. Rio de Janeiro: Editora 34, 1992.

Greenfield, Sydney. “The Return of Dr. Fritz: Spiritist Healing and Patronage Networks in Urban Industrial Brazil.” Social Science and Medicine 24 (12): 1987. 1095-1108.

Haberly, David T. Three Sad Races: Racial Identity and National Consciousness in Brazilian Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983.

Hess, David. Samba in the Night: Spiritism in Brazil. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994.

Hulet, Claude L. Brazilian Literature. Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1974.

Kennedy, James. “Political Liberalization, Black Consciousness, and Recent Afro-Brazilian Literature.” Phylon 47 (3): 1986. 199-209.

Lafuente, Fernando, ed. Jorge Amado. Semana de Autor. Madrid: Ediciones de Cultura Hispánica, 1991.

Lima, Oliveira. Aspectos da Litteratura Colonial Brazileira. Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, 1896.

Marotti, Giorgio. Black Characters in the Brazilian Novel. Trans. Maria O. Marotti and Larry Lawton. Los Angeles: Center for Afro-American Studies, University of California, 1987.

Prandi, Reginaldo. Os Candombles de São Paulo: a Velha Magia na Metropole Nova. São Paulo: Editora Hucitec, Editora de Universidade de São Paulo, 1991.

Quinlan, Susan Canty. The Female Voice in Contemporary Brazilian Narrative. New York: Peter Lang, 1991.

Reis, Maria Firmina dos. Úrsula. Rio de Janeiro: Presença, 1988.

Sayers Raymond S. The Negro in Brazilian Literature. New York: Hispanic Institute in the United States, 1956.

Silverstein, Leni. “The Celebration of Our Lord of the Good End: Changing State, Church, and Afro-Brazilian Relations in Bahia” in The Brazilian Puzzle. Culture on the Borderlands of the Western World. Ed by David J. Hess and Roberto A. DaMatta. columbia U Press, NY, 1995. 134-151.

Winant, Howard. “Rethinking Race in Brazil.” Journal of Latin American Studies 24 (1): 1992. 173-192.