Prova de 2014: Faculdade Cásper Líbero — questões com gabarito

“ Até junho de 2011, cerca de 90 mil adolescentes cometeram atos infracionais. Destes, cerca de 30 mil cumprem medidas socioeducativas. O número, embora considerável, corresponde a 0,5% da população jovem do Brasil, que conta com 21 milhões de meninos e meninas entre 12 e 18 anos.

Os homicídios de adolescentes brasileiros cresceram vertiginosamente nas últimas décadas: 346% entre 1980 e 2010. De 1981 a 2010, mais de 176 mil foram mortos e só em 2010 o número foi de 8.686 adolescentes assassinados.”

Fonte: Congresso em foco

Estes números alarmantes nos mostram que no ano de 2010 morreram aproximadamente

Fonte: Sabesp e Inmet

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

(revistacontemporaneos.com.br. Adaptado).

“Zuleika de Souza Netto nasce em Curvelo, em 1921. No auge do sucesso de Zuzu e de sua projeção internacional, seu filho é preso. Em 1971, a estilista realiza, em Nova York, um desfile de protesto e a partir de então o luto passa a ser seu hábito. Roupa preta, véu, crucifixos, o cinto, o anjo. Por onde fosse, sempre em busca de informações sobre Stuart, também distribuía o santinho que mandou imprimir com a foto do filho.” (novo.itaucultural.org.br. Mostra sobre Zuzu Angel).

“A publicidade está intrinsecamente relacionada ao desenvolvimento do capitalismo. Criar hábitos de consumo, voltados para a expansão do mercado, predomina na publicidade mundial. No entanto, algumas empresas usam os recursos publicitários para associar seu nome a causas sociais, assumindo responsabilidades frente ao seu público, agregando valores positivos à sua imagem.” (tendencee.com.br).

A COR DA SUA PELE NÃO DEVE DETERMINAR O SEU FUTURO (Publicis Conseil, Paris, França)

A peça publicitária reproduzida alerta para a

“Bahia de Todos os Santos, 1950. Um bando de meninos abandonados incomoda a sociedade. São chamados Capitães da Areia, porque o cais é o seu quartel general. Pedro Bala, o temido líder dos Capitães da Areia, é caçado como o pior dos bandidos, mas, na verdade, não passa de um adolescente livre nas ruas.” (Blog livrespensantes).

O quadro de Cândido Portinari

“A diretora-geral da Organização Mundial de Saúde (OMS), Margaret Chan, pediu à comunidade internacional que ajude os países afetados a combater a epidemia de Ebola, a pior em quatro décadas. Em conferência de imprensa, Chan afirmou que os países da África Ocidental, os mais atingidos pela epidemia, ‘não têm meios para responderem sozinhos’ à doença. ” (globo/interior. Adaptado).

Considerando texto e imagem, pode-se afirmar que Ângelo Agostini

“Consta que o conceito de cidadão surgiu nas Cidades-Estado da Grécia Antiga. Naquele tempo, ser cidadão não era para qualquer um. Estrangeiros, escravos e mulheres não podiam fazer parte da seleta casta. E um homem livre podia perder o privilégio e se tornar escravo, bastava contrair dívidas ou ser derrotado na guerra. A liberdade era, por isso, muito valorizada e possibilitava a participação na vida pública. Envolver-se nos negócios da comunidade era imperativo e implicava deveres. Cumprir tais obrigações fomentava a virtude, gerava respeito e conferia honra aos cidadãos.” (Wood Jr. Adaptado).

“Em suas 95 Teses (1517), Lutero condenava as indulgências, pois elas forneciam aos pecadores uma falsa segurança. Para ele, o que salva o homem é somente a fé. Nos séculos XVI e XVII, aos olhos de mercadores, artesãos, soldados e camponeses, a Bíblia traduzida para uma linguagem familiar e acessível ao fiel, sem cortes e sem precisar da mediação de intérpretes, significava poder encontrar o que buscavam avidamente: um Deus vivo, fraterno e humano para com suas fraquezas.” (Silvia Patuzzi. Adaptado).