Prova de 2014: Faculdade Cásper Líbero — questões com gabarito

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

Um clássico dos documentários políticos, Corações e Mentes marcou época por suas imagens contundentes. Quem analisar as razões por trás da Guerra do Iraque reconhecerá todos os sintomas de uma doença que a produção cinematográfica assinalava com precisão. A montagem é a mais eficiente arma de Corações e Mentes para a construção de sua tese. (Cineweb. Adaptado).

“O jornal O Estado de São Paulo pode ser visto como um dos protagonistas do projeto modernizador de uma elite que achava possível efetivar a substituição do mundo da superstição pelos valores racionais do nacionalismo. A palavra escrita e, sobretudo, a impressa é um dos componentes da formação da comunidade imaginada. É certo que não tínhamos uma comunidade formada majoritariamente por leitores e nossa elite letrada, além de igualmente reduzida, era grandemente tributária dos padrões europeus.” (Valéria Guimarães.Adaptado).

“Desde quando seus antepassados foram trazidos da África, o menino negro sabe quem manda e quem obedece. O tronco e a chibata no lombo de seus antepassados surraram também sua memória e lhe ensinaram as lições que sobrevivem 125 anos depois da liberdade sem conteúdo da Lei Áurea. Esse menino descende de homens livres há mais de um século. Mas a chibata ficou lá dentro da alma, ferindo, dobrando, humilhando, criando desconfiança, ensinando artimanhas de quilombo para sobreviver.” (José de Souza Martins. Estadão).

No brilhante artigo “Dos canibais”, Montaigne demonstra ter compreendido bem o significado do canibalismo tupinambá, que horrorizava os europeus: os inimigos aprisionados são honrados como grandes guerreiros ao serem mortos e devorados, transmitindo sua coragem aos vencedores. Sorrateiramente, compara a prática com as guerras civis que estavam ocorrendo entre huguenotes e católicos franceses, e seus horrendos métodos para obter informações, castigar ou simplesmente torturar os inimigos mútuos – todos franceses. (Mércio Pereira Gomes. Adaptado).