The remarks which follow arise from the daily and simultaneous consulting of two literatures and, in a larger sense, of two cultures, Portuguese and Brazilian, both expressed in the same language, Portuguese. They also arise from an attempt to describe and define by categories which are “internal” to literature the differences which exist between the two bodies of writing under discussion. But they are equally inspired by a desire to isolate in the corpus of the texts which conventionally constitute a national literature those thematic and stylistic recurrences which may serve as starting points for an attempt at formalization.

If we return to the experiences of our youth, we perceive what had the power to awaken our curiosity and ambitions*. The non-conformism of the Surrealists was fostered by Romantic sources and every conceivable symbolism; even if in a roundabout manner, it was through them that the names of Klee and Kandinsky were first heard. The world of the marvellous, the only one decreed worthy of attention, opened out onto painting. The moderns of the group: Dali, Tanguy, Masson, received first prize for poetic adventure, but they harked back to certain selected precursors—rightly or wrongly—for the same gifts that they had themselves: Uccello, Bosch, Dürer, Blake, and Gustave Moreau. And indeed, by retaining only the unexpected, the fantastic, and (often indulgently) the scandalous, a taste was maintained for emotional shock and association, as exemplified by the sustained style of André Breton, and the more supple prose of Aragon.

For three centuries Europe has been holding forth on the advantages and disadvantages of the Chinese system of writing.

At first, judgments were positive. The abundant correspondence “à la Chine” of the missionaries inspired a number of commentaries in the early years of the 17th century and even roused the admiration of Leibnitz for a system which he considered, briefly, completely rational. At that time, the Chinese Empire was one of the most important in the world, and the number of techniques coming from the East was not negligible. But while in Europe modern science was being confirmed, China's evolution proceeded very slowly.

“Business,” wrote a professor of marketing in 1929, “is the work of the world, humanity's chiefest task.” On the doorstep of the Depression, Prof. George R. Collins was selling business, by which he meant the business economy, an economic order based on the systematic management of money. I do not intend to enter the volatile controversy between Collins and those like Aldous Huxley who accused business people of being venal and crass. Rather, I intend to trace one likely path by which many in 1929 had come to regard business as a redemptive activity and the business person as a redeemer.

“There is not, nor has there ever been, ideology,” write Deleuze and Guatter. This sybiiline aphorism is surely true: an ideology is never more than rationalizing and justifying behavior, which convinces no one but the already convinced and amuses or bores the others. It is thus a small thing in comparison with the random wandering of thought throughout history and the arbitrariness of cultures, “nurtures: “ since Nietzsche, or a certain aspect of Nietzsche, taught us to be in despair of the Truth, we can no longer impute this wandering and this arbitrariness to the distortion of who knows what natural light by ideology.

Mythology is a very ancient, but at the same time a very vital form of creative fantasy. It is a dominant feature in the spiritual culture of primitive societies, and to some extent of ancient societies; it is the principal means of giving an overall sense to the world. In a primitive culture, mythology gives body to an as yet weakly differentiated syncretic unity of unconscious creation, primitive religion and the embryonic forms of pre-scientific notions about the surrounding world. Mythology provides the soil and the raw material for early forms of religion and of poetry.