Questões: Faculdade Cásper Líbero — com gabarito

Sobre o poema “A tela contemplada”, presente em Claro Enigma, de Carlos Drummond de Andrade, reproduzido acima, é correto afirmar:

The Brazilian Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis is, to English-language readers, perhaps the most obscure of world literature’s great short-story writers. Producing work between 1869 and 1908, Machado wrote nine novels and more than 200 hundred stories, more than 60 of the latter appearing after 1880. This date marks the point at which Machado metamorphosed from a writer of romantic trifles into a master of psychological realism, seemingly overnight. The Brazilian poet and critic Augusto Meyer compared the shift to the one between Herman Melville’s earlier works and Moby-Dick.

The evolutionary leap is unquestionable, although the precise reasons for it are unclear. Indeed, many uncertainties surround the biography of Machado, who was an intensely private person. Perhaps it’s no surprise that such a man should create a body of work that prizes the puzzle above the certainty. Meyer called ambiguity Machado’s most prominent theme and the translators Jake Schmitt and Lorie Ishimatsu agree, seeing it as being “in part the result of his subjective, relativistic world view, in which truth and reality, which are never absolutes, can only be approximated; no character relationships are stable, no issues are clear-cut, and the nature of everything is tenuous.” Machado writes with pleasurable clarity – he worked as a journalist for a time – but the straightforwardness of his stories is a camouflage for less obvious, more troubling cargo.

(...)

Machado’s most recent English translator, John Gledson, says the difficulty of translating him is capturing the right balance of distance, understanding and sympathy. Trapdoors to the unexpected open constantly in his work, from the sadism of “The Hidden Cause”, or the bleak violence of “Father versus Mother”, to the subtle play of what Michael Wood terms his “quiet, complicated humour”. Reading him prompts thoughts of so many different writers that he can only be unique. Poe’s chilling shadow falls across “The Hidden Cause” and “The Fortune-Teller”. “The Alienist” glitters with Swiftian satire. Machado’s shrewd, even devious work with the point of view of his narrators positions him alongside Henry James. Numerous stories anticipate the moral ambiguity of Chekhov’s mature work, in particular “A Singular Occurrence”. Machado’s literary mapping of Rio reaches back to the St Petersburg of Gogol and Dostoevsky, and anticipates the Dublin of Joyce. Finally, some of his more obviously strange works (nearly all of it is strange to some degree, which is part of its brilliance) evoke Borges and Kafka. Given all this, it’s little wonder that writer and critic Kevin Jackson would feel confident enough to claim that Machado “invented literary modernity, sui generis”.

(...)

At its most pessimistic, as at the conclusion of “Dona Paula”, all pleasure lies in a past that proves impossible to meaningfully access.

This conception of a hollow, unreal present tied to a genuine but obliterated past finds a binary in Machado’s interest in the duality of the self, and the exploration of characters whose outer and inner personae differ radically. In “The Diplomat” this idea is expressed through the description of a man’s unexpressed passion for a friend’s daughter. In “A Famous Man” a hugely successful composer of polkas is wracked by his inability to compose ‘serious’ music. But it is in an earlier treatment of this theme, 1882’s “The Mirror”, that Machado captures the phenomenon most memorably. Alone in a desolate plantation house, Jacobina, a sub-lieutenant in the National Guard, finds his reflection growing dimmer and less distinct. The only way to bring it back into focus, and thus cling to reality, is to spend a period several hours each day standing before the mirror in his uniform. Jacobina steps out of this strange, haunting story to take his place alongside Chekhov’s Dmitri Gurov and Joyce’s Gabriel Conroy, men whose fatally divided selves leave them trapped in a limbo between their public and private personae. Just as the characters belong together, so do their creators; writing about Machado in 2002 Michael Wood complained, “Everyone who reads him thinks he is a master, but who reads him, and who has heard of him?” Not nearly so many as he deserves.

Source:POWER, Chris,The Guardian, Books Blog, Posted by Chris Power on Friday 1 March 2013 15.28 GMT http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/mar/01/survey-short-story-machado (Adapted) Access November, 2014

The Brazilian Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis is, to English-language readers, perhaps the most obscure of world literature’s great short-story writers. Producing work between 1869 and 1908, Machado wrote nine novels and more than 200 hundred stories, more than 60 of the latter appearing after 1880. This date marks the point at which Machado metamorphosed from a writer of romantic trifles into a master of psychological realism, seemingly overnight. The Brazilian poet and critic Augusto Meyer compared the shift to the one between Herman Melville’s earlier works and Moby-Dick.

The evolutionary leap is unquestionable, although the precise reasons for it are unclear. Indeed, many uncertainties surround the biography of Machado, who was an intensely private person. Perhaps it’s no surprise that such a man should create a body of work that prizes the puzzle above the certainty. Meyer called ambiguity Machado’s most prominent theme and the translators Jake Schmitt and Lorie Ishimatsu agree, seeing it as being “in part the result of his subjective, relativistic world view, in which truth and reality, which are never absolutes, can only be approximated; no character relationships are stable, no issues are clear-cut, and the nature of everything is tenuous.” Machado writes with pleasurable clarity – he worked as a journalist for a time – but the straightforwardness of his stories is a camouflage for less obvious, more troubling cargo.

(...)

Machado’s most recent English translator, John Gledson, says the difficulty of translating him is capturing the right balance of distance, understanding and sympathy. Trapdoors to the unexpected open constantly in his work, from the sadism of “The Hidden Cause”, or the bleak violence of “Father versus Mother”, to the subtle play of what Michael Wood terms his “quiet, complicated humour”. Reading him prompts thoughts of so many different writers that he can only be unique. Poe’s chilling shadow falls across “The Hidden Cause” and “The Fortune-Teller”. “The Alienist” glitters with Swiftian satire. Machado’s shrewd, even devious work with the point of view of his narrators positions him alongside Henry James. Numerous stories anticipate the moral ambiguity of Chekhov’s mature work, in particular “A Singular Occurrence”. Machado’s literary mapping of Rio reaches back to the St Petersburg of Gogol and Dostoevsky, and anticipates the Dublin of Joyce. Finally, some of his more obviously strange works (nearly all of it is strange to some degree, which is part of its brilliance) evoke Borges and Kafka. Given all this, it’s little wonder that writer and critic Kevin Jackson would feel confident enough to claim that Machado “invented literary modernity, sui generis”.

(...)

At its most pessimistic, as at the conclusion of “Dona Paula”, all pleasure lies in a past that proves impossible to meaningfully access.

This conception of a hollow, unreal present tied to a genuine but obliterated past finds a binary in Machado’s interest in the duality of the self, and the exploration of characters whose outer and inner personae differ radically. In “The Diplomat” this idea is expressed through the description of a man’s unexpressed passion for a friend’s daughter. In “A Famous Man” a hugely successful composer of polkas is wracked by his inability to compose ‘serious’ music. But it is in an earlier treatment of this theme, 1882’s “The Mirror”, that Machado captures the phenomenon most memorably. Alone in a desolate plantation house, Jacobina, a sub-lieutenant in the National Guard, finds his reflection growing dimmer and less distinct. The only way to bring it back into focus, and thus cling to reality, is to spend a period several hours each day standing before the mirror in his uniform. Jacobina steps out of this strange, haunting story to take his place alongside Chekhov’s Dmitri Gurov and Joyce’s Gabriel Conroy, men whose fatally divided selves leave them trapped in a limbo between their public and private personae. Just as the characters belong together, so do their creators; writing about Machado in 2002 Michael Wood complained, “Everyone who reads him thinks he is a master, but who reads him, and who has heard of him?” Not nearly so many as he deserves.

Source:POWER, Chris,The Guardian, Books Blog, Posted by Chris Power on Friday 1 March 2013 15.28 GMT http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/mar/01/survey-short-story-machado (Adapted) Access November, 2014

The Brazilian Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis is, to English-language readers, perhaps the most obscure of world literature’s great short-story writers. Producing work between 1869 and 1908, Machado wrote nine novels and more than 200 hundred stories, more than 60 of the latter appearing after 1880. This date marks the point at which Machado metamorphosed from a writer of romantic trifles into a master of psychological realism, seemingly overnight. The Brazilian poet and critic Augusto Meyer compared the shift to the one between Herman Melville’s earlier works and Moby-Dick.

The evolutionary leap is unquestionable, although the precise reasons for it are unclear. Indeed, many uncertainties surround the biography of Machado, who was an intensely private person. Perhaps it’s no surprise that such a man should create a body of work that prizes the puzzle above the certainty. Meyer called ambiguity Machado’s most prominent theme and the translators Jake Schmitt and Lorie Ishimatsu agree, seeing it as being “in part the result of his subjective, relativistic world view, in which truth and reality, which are never absolutes, can only be approximated; no character relationships are stable, no issues are clear-cut, and the nature of everything is tenuous.” Machado writes with pleasurable clarity – he worked as a journalist for a time – but the straightforwardness of his stories is a camouflage for less obvious, more troubling cargo.

(...)

Machado’s most recent English translator, John Gledson, says the difficulty of translating him is capturing the right balance of distance, understanding and sympathy. Trapdoors to the unexpected open constantly in his work, from the sadism of “The Hidden Cause”, or the bleak violence of “Father versus Mother”, to the subtle play of what Michael Wood terms his “quiet, complicated humour”. Reading him prompts thoughts of so many different writers that he can only be unique. Poe’s chilling shadow falls across “The Hidden Cause” and “The Fortune-Teller”. “The Alienist” glitters with Swiftian satire. Machado’s shrewd, even devious work with the point of view of his narrators positions him alongside Henry James. Numerous stories anticipate the moral ambiguity of Chekhov’s mature work, in particular “A Singular Occurrence”. Machado’s literary mapping of Rio reaches back to the St Petersburg of Gogol and Dostoevsky, and anticipates the Dublin of Joyce. Finally, some of his more obviously strange works (nearly all of it is strange to some degree, which is part of its brilliance) evoke Borges and Kafka. Given all this, it’s little wonder that writer and critic Kevin Jackson would feel confident enough to claim that Machado “invented literary modernity, sui generis”.

(...)

At its most pessimistic, as at the conclusion of “Dona Paula”, all pleasure lies in a past that proves impossible to meaningfully access.

This conception of a hollow, unreal present tied to a genuine but obliterated past finds a binary in Machado’s interest in the duality of the self, and the exploration of characters whose outer and inner personae differ radically. In “The Diplomat” this idea is expressed through the description of a man’s unexpressed passion for a friend’s daughter. In “A Famous Man” a hugely successful composer of polkas is wracked by his inability to compose ‘serious’ music. But it is in an earlier treatment of this theme, 1882’s “The Mirror”, that Machado captures the phenomenon most memorably. Alone in a desolate plantation house, Jacobina, a sub-lieutenant in the National Guard, finds his reflection growing dimmer and less distinct. The only way to bring it back into focus, and thus cling to reality, is to spend a period several hours each day standing before the mirror in his uniform. Jacobina steps out of this strange, haunting story to take his place alongside Chekhov’s Dmitri Gurov and Joyce’s Gabriel Conroy, men whose fatally divided selves leave them trapped in a limbo between their public and private personae. Just as the characters belong together, so do their creators; writing about Machado in 2002 Michael Wood complained, “Everyone who reads him thinks he is a master, but who reads him, and who has heard of him?” Not nearly so many as he deserves.

Source:POWER, Chris,The Guardian, Books Blog, Posted by Chris Power on Friday 1 March 2013 15.28 GMT http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/mar/01/survey-short-story-machado (Adapted) Access November, 2014

The Brazilian Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis is, to English-language readers, perhaps the most obscure of world literature’s great short-story writers. Producing work between 1869 and 1908, Machado wrote nine novels and more than 200 hundred stories, more than 60 of the latter appearing after 1880. This date marks the point at which Machado metamorphosed from a writer of romantic trifles into a master of psychological realism, seemingly overnight. The Brazilian poet and critic Augusto Meyer compared the shift to the one between Herman Melville’s earlier works and Moby-Dick.

The evolutionary leap is unquestionable, although the precise reasons for it are unclear. Indeed, many uncertainties surround the biography of Machado, who was an intensely private person. Perhaps it’s no surprise that such a man should create a body of work that prizes the puzzle above the certainty. Meyer called ambiguity Machado’s most prominent theme and the translators Jake Schmitt and Lorie Ishimatsu agree, seeing it as being “in part the result of his subjective, relativistic world view, in which truth and reality, which are never absolutes, can only be approximated; no character relationships are stable, no issues are clear-cut, and the nature of everything is tenuous.” Machado writes with pleasurable clarity – he worked as a journalist for a time – but the straightforwardness of his stories is a camouflage for less obvious, more troubling cargo.

(...)

Machado’s most recent English translator, John Gledson, says the difficulty of translating him is capturing the right balance of distance, understanding and sympathy. Trapdoors to the unexpected open constantly in his work, from the sadism of “The Hidden Cause”, or the bleak violence of “Father versus Mother”, to the subtle play of what Michael Wood terms his “quiet, complicated humour”. Reading him prompts thoughts of so many different writers that he can only be unique. Poe’s chilling shadow falls across “The Hidden Cause” and “The Fortune-Teller”. “The Alienist” glitters with Swiftian satire. Machado’s shrewd, even devious work with the point of view of his narrators positions him alongside Henry James. Numerous stories anticipate the moral ambiguity of Chekhov’s mature work, in particular “A Singular Occurrence”. Machado’s literary mapping of Rio reaches back to the St Petersburg of Gogol and Dostoevsky, and anticipates the Dublin of Joyce. Finally, some of his more obviously strange works (nearly all of it is strange to some degree, which is part of its brilliance) evoke Borges and Kafka. Given all this, it’s little wonder that writer and critic Kevin Jackson would feel confident enough to claim that Machado “invented literary modernity, sui generis”.

(...)

At its most pessimistic, as at the conclusion of “Dona Paula”, all pleasure lies in a past that proves impossible to meaningfully access.

This conception of a hollow, unreal present tied to a genuine but obliterated past finds a binary in Machado’s interest in the duality of the self, and the exploration of characters whose outer and inner personae differ radically. In “The Diplomat” this idea is expressed through the description of a man’s unexpressed passion for a friend’s daughter. In “A Famous Man” a hugely successful composer of polkas is wracked by his inability to compose ‘serious’ music. But it is in an earlier treatment of this theme, 1882’s “The Mirror”, that Machado captures the phenomenon most memorably. Alone in a desolate plantation house, Jacobina, a sub-lieutenant in the National Guard, finds his reflection growing dimmer and less distinct. The only way to bring it back into focus, and thus cling to reality, is to spend a period several hours each day standing before the mirror in his uniform. Jacobina steps out of this strange, haunting story to take his place alongside Chekhov’s Dmitri Gurov and Joyce’s Gabriel Conroy, men whose fatally divided selves leave them trapped in a limbo between their public and private personae. Just as the characters belong together, so do their creators; writing about Machado in 2002 Michael Wood complained, “Everyone who reads him thinks he is a master, but who reads him, and who has heard of him?” Not nearly so many as he deserves.

Source:POWER, Chris,The Guardian, Books Blog, Posted by Chris Power on Friday 1 March 2013 15.28 GMT http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/mar/01/survey-short-story-machado (Adapted) Access November, 2014

The Brazilian Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis is, to English-language readers, perhaps the most obscure of world literature’s great short-story writers. Producing work between 1869 and 1908, Machado wrote nine novels and more than 200 hundred stories, more than 60 of the latter appearing after 1880. This date marks the point at which Machado metamorphosed from a writer of romantic trifles into a master of psychological realism, seemingly overnight. The Brazilian poet and critic Augusto Meyer compared the shift to the one between Herman Melville’s earlier works and Moby-Dick.

The evolutionary leap is unquestionable, although the precise reasons for it are unclear. Indeed, many uncertainties surround the biography of Machado, who was an intensely private person. Perhaps it’s no surprise that such a man should create a body of work that prizes the puzzle above the certainty. Meyer called ambiguity Machado’s most prominent theme and the translators Jake Schmitt and Lorie Ishimatsu agree, seeing it as being “in part the result of his subjective, relativistic world view, in which truth and reality, which are never absolutes, can only be approximated; no character relationships are stable, no issues are clear-cut, and the nature of everything is tenuous.” Machado writes with pleasurable clarity – he worked as a journalist for a time – but the straightforwardness of his stories is a camouflage for less obvious, more troubling cargo.

(...)

Machado’s most recent English translator, John Gledson, says the difficulty of translating him is capturing the right balance of distance, understanding and sympathy. Trapdoors to the unexpected open constantly in his work, from the sadism of “The Hidden Cause”, or the bleak violence of “Father versus Mother”, to the subtle play of what Michael Wood terms his “quiet, complicated humour”. Reading him prompts thoughts of so many different writers that he can only be unique. Poe’s chilling shadow falls across “The Hidden Cause” and “The Fortune-Teller”. “The Alienist” glitters with Swiftian satire. Machado’s shrewd, even devious work with the point of view of his narrators positions him alongside Henry James. Numerous stories anticipate the moral ambiguity of Chekhov’s mature work, in particular “A Singular Occurrence”. Machado’s literary mapping of Rio reaches back to the St Petersburg of Gogol and Dostoevsky, and anticipates the Dublin of Joyce. Finally, some of his more obviously strange works (nearly all of it is strange to some degree, which is part of its brilliance) evoke Borges and Kafka. Given all this, it’s little wonder that writer and critic Kevin Jackson would feel confident enough to claim that Machado “invented literary modernity, sui generis”.

(...)

At its most pessimistic, as at the conclusion of “Dona Paula”, all pleasure lies in a past that proves impossible to meaningfully access.

This conception of a hollow, unreal present tied to a genuine but obliterated past finds a binary in Machado’s interest in the duality of the self, and the exploration of characters whose outer and inner personae differ radically. In “The Diplomat” this idea is expressed through the description of a man’s unexpressed passion for a friend’s daughter. In “A Famous Man” a hugely successful composer of polkas is wracked by his inability to compose ‘serious’ music. But it is in an earlier treatment of this theme, 1882’s “The Mirror”, that Machado captures the phenomenon most memorably. Alone in a desolate plantation house, Jacobina, a sub-lieutenant in the National Guard, finds his reflection growing dimmer and less distinct. The only way to bring it back into focus, and thus cling to reality, is to spend a period several hours each day standing before the mirror in his uniform. Jacobina steps out of this strange, haunting story to take his place alongside Chekhov’s Dmitri Gurov and Joyce’s Gabriel Conroy, men whose fatally divided selves leave them trapped in a limbo between their public and private personae. Just as the characters belong together, so do their creators; writing about Machado in 2002 Michael Wood complained, “Everyone who reads him thinks he is a master, but who reads him, and who has heard of him?” Not nearly so many as he deserves.

Source:POWER, Chris,The Guardian, Books Blog, Posted by Chris Power on Friday 1 March 2013 15.28 GMT http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/mar/01/survey-short-story-machado (Adapted) Access November, 2014

Analise atentamente a tira da cartunista Laerte reproduzida a seguir.

O conteúdo da tira

O documentário O dia que durou 21 anos, dirigido por Camilo Tavares, busca retratar como o governo dos EUA patrocinou e apoiou o golpe militar no Brasil em 1964. Em entrevista ao site IHU On-Line, datada de 22 de abril de 2013, o diretor do filme afirmou: “Nos textos vemos que a ditadura estava fora de controle no sentido da tortura e da violação aos direitos humanos, mas os EUA mantinham o ‘silêncio dourado’ - expressão original do telegrama!”.

Diante da afirmação do diretor e do que mostra o documentário, pode-se afirmar que:

Observe atentamente a imagem a seguir.

Arte do grafiteiro Thiago Mundano em apoio aos catadores adorna carroça: “Agente ambiental trabalhando. Não buzine”. | Fonte: https://goo.gl/9ooqdJ | Acesso em 07/11/2017.

A reportagem “Reciclagem ainda engatinha em São Paulo e Rio”, publicada pela revista Veja em 21 de junho de 2012, informa que na capital paulista, apenas 1,3% do lixo é reciclado. “Nos Estados Unidos, esse índice é superior a 30%. Na Alemanha, chega a 67%. Segundo dados da própria prefeitura, 20% do lixo que vai para os aterros poderia ser reciclado. E pior: 60% do que é separado pelo cidadão em casa acaba indo parar nos aterros e misturado ao lixo comum”. Considerando as informações da imagem e da matéria publicada pela revista Veja, pode-se afirmar:

Read the following interview to answer question.

INTRODUCTION: Thinking about Social Violence in Brazil

    Recently, drug traffickers based in Rio de Janeiro’s favelas have attacked government buildings, bombed buses, and successfully ordered widespread business closings. Over the past decade, murder rates have averaged 50 per 100,000, in line with the most violent U.S. cities, and overall rates may actually be even higher as a result of increasing rates of disappearances. In poor districts, murder rates can exceed 150 per 100,000 inhabitants. Indeed, riding this wave of criminal and police violence, human rights abuse has increased in Brazil since its transition to democracy two decades ago.

Read the following interview to answer question.

INTRODUCTION: Thinking about Social Violence in Brazil

    Recently, drug traffickers based in Rio de Janeiro’s favelas have attacked government buildings, bombed buses, and successfully ordered widespread business closings. Over the past decade, murder rates have averaged 50 per 100,000, in line with the most violent U.S. cities, and overall rates may actually be even higher as a result of increasing rates of disappearances. In poor districts, murder rates can exceed 150 per 100,000 inhabitants. Indeed, riding this wave of criminal and police violence, human rights abuse has increased in Brazil since its transition to democracy two decades ago.

    For more than 40 years, Muhammad Yunus, the Bangladeshi founder of the Grameen Bank and recipient of the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize, has been asserting that the most powerful way to eradicate poverty is to unleash the untapped entrepreneurial capacity of people everywhere. “Poverty is not created by poor people,” he says. “It’s created by the system we built. Poor people are like a bonsai tree. You take the best seed from the tallest tree in the forest, but if you put it in a flower pot to grow, it grows only a meter high. There’s nothing wrong with the seed. The problem is the size of the pot. Society doesn’t give poor people the space to grow as tall as everybody else. This is the crux of the matter.”

    Yunus has recently written a new book, “A World of Three Zeros: The New Economics of Zero Poverty, Zero Unemployment, and Zero Net Carbon Emissions,” in which he argues that capitalism is in crisis and remains moored in a flawed conception of human motivation. He proposes a far more robust role in the economy for “social businesses,” which he defines as “non-dividend” companies “dedicated to solving human problems.”

    At 77, Yunus shows no signs of slowing down. He reports on an astonishing array of work he has been involved in — supporting and codeveloping social businesses (often in partnership with large corporations) in Bangladesh, Brazil, Colombia, France, Haiti, India, Japan, Uganda and numerous other countries.

    “We need to abandon our unquestioning faith in the power of personal-profit-centered markets to solve all problems and confess that the problems of inequality are not going to be solved by the natural working of the economy as it is currently structured,” Yunus writes.

    “This is not a comfortable situation for anyone, including those who are on top of the social heap at any given time. Do the wealthy and powerful … like having to avert their eyes from the homeless and hungry people they pass on the street? Do they enjoy using the tools of the state — including its police powers and other forms of coercion — to suppress the inevitable protests mounted by those on the bottom? Do they really want their own children and grandchildren to inherit this kind of world?”

    For more than 40 years, Muhammad Yunus, the Bangladeshi founder of the Grameen Bank and recipient of the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize, has been asserting that the most powerful way to eradicate poverty is to unleash the untapped entrepreneurial capacity of people everywhere. “Poverty is not created by poor people,” he says. “It’s created by the system we built. Poor people are like a bonsai tree. You take the best seed from the tallest tree in the forest, but if you put it in a flower pot to grow, it grows only a meter high. There’s nothing wrong with the seed. The problem is the size of the pot. Society doesn’t give poor people the space to grow as tall as everybody else. This is the crux of the matter.”

    Yunus has recently written a new book, “A World of Three Zeros: The New Economics of Zero Poverty, Zero Unemployment, and Zero Net Carbon Emissions,” in which he argues that capitalism is in crisis and remains moored in a flawed conception of human motivation. He proposes a far more robust role in the economy for “social businesses,” which he defines as “non-dividend” companies “dedicated to solving human problems.”

    At 77, Yunus shows no signs of slowing down. He reports on an astonishing array of work he has been involved in — supporting and codeveloping social businesses (often in partnership with large corporations) in Bangladesh, Brazil, Colombia, France, Haiti, India, Japan, Uganda and numerous other countries.

    “We need to abandon our unquestioning faith in the power of personal-profit-centered markets to solve all problems and confess that the problems of inequality are not going to be solved by the natural working of the economy as it is currently structured,” Yunus writes.

    “This is not a comfortable situation for anyone, including those who are on top of the social heap at any given time. Do the wealthy and powerful … like having to avert their eyes from the homeless and hungry people they pass on the street? Do they enjoy using the tools of the state — including its police powers and other forms of coercion — to suppress the inevitable protests mounted by those on the bottom? Do they really want their own children and grandchildren to inherit this kind of world?”