The French Jorge Amado - Alain-Philippe Durand Romance Notes, Volume 50, Number 2, 2010, pp. 191-202 (Article) Published by The University of ...

The French Jorge Amado
   Alain-Philippe Durand

   Romance Notes, Volume 50, Number 2, 2010, pp. 191-202 (Article)

   Published by The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Department
   of Romance Studies
   DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/rmc.2010.0012

       For additional information about this article
       https://muse.jhu.edu/article/466553/summary

[ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ]

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                    THE FRENCH JORGE AMADO

                           ALAIN-PHILIPPE DURAND
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THIS essay deals with Brazilian novelist Jorge Amado (1912-2001).
Firstly, it addresses Amado’s many connections between his work and
France and French writers. Secondly, it examines more deeply one of
these connections by focusing on the opposition between truth and fic-
tion in Amado’s Navegação de cabotagem. Apontamentos para um livro
de memórias que jamais escreverei (1992).
    Spanish and French are the only languages into which the integral-
ity of Amado’s œuvre has been translated into. In addition, Amado is
one of the very few foreign writers to have been invited to all the most
renowned cultural shows on French television: Apostrophes, Thalassa,
Ex Libris, Droits d’auteurs, Le Cercle de Minuit. He was even the
guest of honor in three television shows entirely dedicated to him: Le
Grand Echiquier, Un Siècle d’écrivains, and Etoile Palace. He was
awarded some of the most prestigious honors and awards in France,
among which two doctorates honoris causa from the University of
Paris-Sorbonne and from the University of Lyon 2 and the Legion of
Honor, in 1984. The Amados traveled all around the world but it is in
France that they sojourned most often and where they ended up buying
an apartment in Paris, quai des Célestins, in the district of the Marais.
If Amado wrote several of his novels during prolonged stays in both
London and Paris, he never talks about his experiences in the English
capital in his memoirs Navegação de cabotagem. He provides no
records either of the four months that he spent as writer in residence at
Pennsylvania State University in the early 1970s.1 On the other hand,
he does write pages and pages on his life in Paris. On many occasions,

   1
       See Moser for a recount of Amado’s stay at Penn State U.

                                           191

192                               ROMANCE NOTES

Amado has claimed his love for France and Paris in particular. For
example, in a long interview published in 1988, Amado declares to
feel very French and to feel at home in only two places: Bahia and
Paris (Assis Pacheco, 12, 14).
    Along with Ralph Schoolcraft, I have addressed the historical mutu-
al attachment and exchanges characterizing Franco-Brazilian relations.
We have also discussed the important roles played by several French
intellectuals, writers, and politicians such as Louis Aragon, Michel
Berveiller, Albert Camus, Pierre Daix, Pierre Hourcade, Frédéric Joliot-
Curie, and André Malraux in translating and promoting Amado’s works
in France, and providing him with a second home (including when
Amado was persona non grata in Brazil, exiled in Paris and then
expelled in September 1949). During that year in Paris, Amado helped
Aragon, Daix, Paul Eluard, André Kedros and Pablo Picasso, prepare
the first World Congress for Peace of April 1949. He gave articles and
interviews to communist French newspapers like L’Humanité and Les
Lettres Françaises. This weekly publication edited by Aragon published
during twenty-eight weeks on the entire back cover of each issue the
French translation of Amado’s Seara vermelha (1946). It is as well dur-
ing this first stay in Paris that the Amados met Jean-Paul Sartre and
Simone de Beauvoir with whom they maintained a long friendship and
correspondence. In 1954, Sartre published in his journal Les Temps
Modernes Amado’s Cacau (1933) followed by A morte e a morte de
Quincas Berro d’Agua (1961), with a preface by Roger Bastide.2 Sartre
and Beauvoir even visited Brazil along with the Amados in 1959.3
    The announcement of the Amados’ expulsion from France by the
Minister of the Interior, Jules Moch, generated a series of articles in the
French communist press. In a piece published on the front page of Les
Lettres Françaises in September 1949, Claude Morgan speaks in praise
of his comrade Amado: “Le monde intellectuel apprend avec stupeur
l’arrêté d’expulsion pris par le ministre de l’Intérieur contre ce fidèle
ami de notre pays et vaillant combattant de la paix qu’est le romancier
brésilien Jorge Amado, l’un des plus grands écrivains de ce temps, dont

    2
       In Navegação de cabotagem (177), Amado wrongly recalls 1950 as the year of pub-
lication of Cacau in Les Temps Modernes. It was in fact published in issues 104 and 105
in July and August 1954.
    3
       See the long account that Beauvoir writes of that trip in La Force des choses (1963)
and the one written by Zélia Gattai in Senhora Dona do Baile (1984).

THE FRENCH JORGE AMADO                                193

nous sommes fiers d’avoir publié ce chef d’œuvre: Les Chemins de la
faim” (1).4 In another paper, France d’abord, Jean Noaro is equally out-
raged but ends his article on a note of hope on September 29, 1949: “Un
jour viendra, Amado, où le peuple de France, débarrassé de ses Jules
Moch, vous fera signe et vous accueillera dans Paris libéré une seconde
fois, avec tous les honneurs et toute l’affection dus au grand écrivain, au
grand citoyen que vous êtes” (qtd. in Indiani de Oliveira, 203). Noaro
was right, but one had to wait until 1965 when André Malraux, then
Minister of Culture in the Général de Gaulle’s government, personally
requested the cancellation of Amado’s banning orders.5
     The publication in France of every one of Amado’s novels systemat-
ically generated more reviews in the press. On the one hand, analyzing
these reviews as well as the numerous television and radio shows dedi-
cated to Amado tends to underline the French public’s great interest in
the Brazilian novelist. On the other hand, it allows us to take a look at
the many French and Francophone writers who are associated with Ama-
do. To that effect, one must make the distinction between two groups of
writers.
     The first group includes authors that Amado mentions himself in
Navegação de cabotagem as his main inspiration: “Se devoro livros até
hoje, eu o devo ao pai Dumas, ao mulato Alexandre, foi ele quem me
deu o gosto de ler, o vício. [. . .] Devo a Rabelais. [. . .] Devo a Zola,
com ele desci ao fundo do poço para resgatar o miserável” (471). To that
list, one can add Honoré de Balzac, Guy de Maupassant, Aimé Césaire,
Léopold Sédar Senghor, Henri Lopes, and Georges Simenon. Among all
of these writers, Amado places Rabelais above everyone: “Rabelais est
le plus grand maître de tous. Il m’a appris la plus importante des choses.
Il m’a appris la liberté de l’écrivain. La liberté de tout dire. De ne pas
avoir de limites. De prendre la vie avec ce qu’elle a de propre et de sale”
(Un siècle d’écrivains). French critics agree since Rabelais is the name
that comes back most often in reviews of Amado’s works.6
     A second group gathers French and francophone authors that Amado
influenced, consciously or not. One may cite some of these authors and

   4
      Les Chemins de la faim is the French translation of Seara vermelha.
   5
      See Amado’s Conversations avec Alice Raillard on Malraux’s two decisive inter-
ventions on his behalf (241).
   6
      See for example Albert-Alain Bourdon (192).

194                              ROMANCE NOTES

novels that may be linked to Amado’s thematics and style: Jean-Marie
Blas de Roblès’ Là où les tigres sont chez eux (2008), Tony Cartano’s
Bocanegra (1984), Patrick Chamoiseau’s Texaco (1992), Jean-Paul
Delfino’s Corcovado (2005), René Depestre’s Alleluia pour une fem-
me jardin (1981), Conrad Détrez’s L’herbe à brûler (1978),7 Patrick
Grainville’s Colère (1992), Gilles Lapouge’s La mission des frontières
(2002), and Jean Métellus’ Les Cacos (1989). Others such as Françoise
Xénakis or the French singer and composer Georges Moustaki credit
Amado for their decision to start writing novels.
    Concerning the critics who have written on or talked about Amado’s
works, one notices in France, in some cases, an unfortunate tendency to
over-emphasize exotic and picturesque aspects, giving them more
importance than they truly have (Indiani de Oliveira, 241).8 In summary,
some critics fall into the stereotypical and do not always seem to take
Amado’s novels very seriously. A good illustration of this inclination is
Amado’s participation in the famous French television book show Apos-
trophes (for the publication of Tieta do Agreste in French translation).
This episode is also an example of the constant ambiguity that prevails
between truth and fiction in the Brazilian novelist’s books. For fifteen
years (10 January 1975 – 22 June 1990), the weekly ninety-minute
Apostrophes television show kept the same unchanging format: four to
five writers seated around a table (often chain-smoking and drinking
anything but water) and discussing in front of a live audience their most
recent novel with superstar host Bernard Pivot. Invited on the show on
March 14, 1980 Amado begins to describe Tieta, his novel’s Brazilian
protagonist. This is what Amado says: “C’est une femme de 44 ans qui
scandalise sa famille en arrivant habillée en rouge avec des jeans à l’en-
terrement de son mari. Quelques jours plus tard elle couche avec son
neveu séminariste.” At that moment, Bernard Pivot interrupts Amado
and here is the dialogue that follows:

Pivot : Mais alors est-ce qu’il y a beaucoup de femmes au Brésil comme cette Tiéta parce
que non seulement elle est belle mais enfin elle a beaucoup de fantaisie, beaucoup de
drôlerie, beaucoup de volupté. Il y en a beaucoup comme ça au Brésil ?

   7
     Conrad Détrez translated into French several of Amado’s novels.
   8
     See Seltzer Goldstein for a fascinating study of the conveyed cliché images of
Brazilian national identity through the promoting, packaging, and reception of Amado’s
novels in France and in the rest of Europe.

THE FRENCH JORGE AMADO                                       195

Amado (in a shy tone): Je pense que oui, elles sont belles les femmes. . .
Pivot (enthusiastic): Ah ! bon, vous m’emmenez là-bas ?
Daniel Boulanger (another guest): Moi aussi je peux venir?

At first, Amado seems to play along and answers: “Si vous arrivez là-
bas, ça va être la folie, ah ! mon Dieu.” But then he quickly adds, in a
mischievous tone, looking at one of the other guests, French novelist
Florence Delay: “à commencer par les femmes écrivains. Pardonnez-
moi madame je parle uniquement des femmes brésiliennes.” Everybody
laughs. It is Amado who eventually tries to return the discussion’s focus
on writing: “l’humour et la fantaisie sont des armes très puissantes. On
n’écrit jamais gratuitement, je pense que les choses racontées dans un
livre doivent servir.”
    Let’s be clear. These critics who do emphasize those exotic elements
that are often characteristic of the stereotypical French collective imagi-
nary when it comes to Brazil and its people (Carnival, beautiful sensual
women, soccer, and partying atmosphere)9 remain fervent admirers of
Amado’s works. Simply, they have a tendency to ignore the true stake
of Amado’s novels: that is, its social criticism. Once again, Roger
Bastide is prophetic when he writes in 1971: “Le Brésil est connu
comme le pays des carnavals, tapageurs, joyeux, mais cette liesse ne
doit pas nous faire oublier qu’elle n’est qu’une compensation, un
arrachement, hélas ! éphémère, à la vraie réalité brésilienne, qui est celle
d’un peuple misérable, sous-alimenté, exploité” (18).
    And this is exactly what all of Amado’s novels, the earlier serious
and committed works as well as the later witty narratives, are about.
Nevertheless, Amado’s best-selling period and his recognition by the
general public in France mainly begins in the 1960s and early 1970s
with the translation of his more humorous, sensual, and “exotic” works
such as Gabriela and Dona Flor e seus dois maridos. This explains the
French critics’ tendency to emphasize the colorful aspects of Amado’s
novels and to somewhat ignore their social implications. Finally, what is
both interesting and paradoxical with Amado is that he is one of the
writers who has changed and given a new direction to Brazilian litera-
ture; he is one of the first who became interested in recounting the daily
reality of the masses. But, at the same time, Amado himself was highly

   9
       See Tettamanzi for a list and discussion of Brazilian clichés in France (16-19).

196                         ROMANCE NOTES

influenced by French writers and many of Amado’s novels were not
written in Brazil but in Paris, France where they were immensely popu-
lar.
     Oliveira lists the broad outlines of Amado’s works’ popularity in
France and throughout the world (247). First of all, Amado uses in his
novels a language close to the working-class, full of humor and sensual-
ity. As a result, his works are closer to the people and address a larger
readership. Second, without a doubt, Amado’s political involvement
(and its reflection in his works, especially in those published during the
first half of his career) greatly contributed to his popularity abroad, and
more particularly in communist countries. On that note, the fact that
Amado’s novels were often interpreted as “realist” certainly facilitated
his popularity in the Soviet Union, a nation that has always recognized
realism as a genre. Furthermore, in 1950s and 1960s France, Amado’s
novels are a welcome alternative to the excessively abstract literary
avant-gardes, such as the Nouveau Roman (featuring authors like Alain
Robbe-Grillet, Claude Simon, Samuel Beckett or Nathalie Sarraute). It
may also be the case that in these troubled historic times in France,
escaping through Amado’s exoticism may have felt more comfortable
than facing issues such as the war in Algeria, the riots of May 1968, or
the economic crisis of 1973. At last, the ways in which Amado goes
from a simple, ordinary situation to an extraordinarily exalting one that
goes beyond reality’s limits definitely attracted and continue to attract
French readers. According to Lilia Moritz Schwarcz, “[ao misturar-se]
Jorge Amado à sua produção literária, e esfumaçado os campos que se-
param a ficção da própria realidade” (10). It is this last aspect, the pass-
ing between truth and fiction, that I shall examine in the last part of this
essay.
     Any reader of Amado will notice a profusion of characters in his
books that Paulo Tavares patiently recorded in the two volumes of
Criaturas de Jorge Amado which includes no less than 4,910 names. For
Ariane Witkowski, “il y a dans la fiction de Jorge Amado, peuplée de
héros imaginaires et de personnages bien réels, qui apparaissent parfois
sous leur nom d’état civil, une libre circulation, un mouvement de va-et-
vient constant avec le monde réel, mis en abyme dans les livres, nom-
breux, qui traitent précisément de la confusion qui peut naître entre rêve
et réalité” (60-61).
     Among all of Amado’s works, three use an autobiographical form:

THE FRENCH JORGE AMADO                                     197

Conversations avec Alice Raillard is a series of conversations that took
place between Amado and his French translator at the novelist’s home in
Salvador; O menino grapiúna (1981) and Navegação de cabotagem,
written between 1986 and 1992. Critics have a tendency to ignore Nave-
gação de cabotagem, often describing the book as a list of very uneven
and minor anecdotes that will only interest Amado’s family and rela-
tives.10 On the contrary, I shall argue that this work is more complex
than it seems, especially when it comes to analyzing its narrative struc-
ture’s ambiguity.
    As noted by Witkowski,

Navegação de cabotagem se présente comme un ouvrage sans équivalent dans l’histoire
de l’autobiographie. Il s’agit d’une succession d’annotations précédées d’un nom de lieu,
d’une date, et d’un titre qui en résume le propos, ou une partie de celui-ci. [. . .] Aucun
lien logique, ni chronologique entre ces souvenirs, consignés au fur et à mesure qu’ils se
présentent à l’esprit de l’écrivain [. . .]. On passe ainsi de New York à Salvador, de
Prague à Lisbonne, de Pékin à Rio, d’un souvenir récent à une réminiscence de la
jeunesse ou de la maturité. (63)

Let’s take a look at two examples among the book’s 617 pages (includ-
ing an index of more than 1,300 names) of how these brief entries truly
become short fiction pieces. According to Marc Augé and Jean-Paul
Colleyn, “l’enregistrement du réel reste toujours partiellement subjectif
et il renvoie à l’imaginaire du preneur d’images et à celui du récepteur”
(Augé, qtd. in Colleyn, 151) and any kind of writing implies the use of
imagination, the selection of information, the choice of narrative princi-
ples, editing, reflection, etc. (Colleyn, 147). From the moment Amado
decides to make a selection of the memories he will recount in Nave-
gação de cabotagem, how he will present them and in which order;
from the moment he decides to insert real people in his accounts, he fic-
tionnalizes (to use Augé’s expression, 108) his récit and his characters
who now become part of his readers’ collective imaginary, readers who
unlike Amado’s family and relatives do not personally know and there-
fore have no way to recognize these real characters.
     For example, in the eight-page entry entitled “Paris, 1990. O Vic-
tor Hugo” (494-501), Amado gives an exhaustive list of the restau-
rants, bookstores, businesses, and a complete description of the people

   10
        See Witkowski (62-65).

198                                 ROMANCE NOTES

(newsvendors, store owners, taxi drivers, chefs, inn-keepers, etc.) in his
Parisian neighborhood of the Marais. At first, it looks like a simple
description, a sort of acknowledgment from the author, similar to the
kind of thank you notes one may find on CD covers or in the prefaces of
academic books. Nevertheless, the entry’s title takes its full meaning at
its end. After spending the first seven pages of the entry discussing the
joy he felt living as a simple anonymous citizen among the Marais’
inhabitants, Amado ends it by recounting how on the day the famous
French daily newspaper Le Figaro had published his photo on half of a
page, he was shouted out to, in front of all clients, by the owner of the
cheese shop he visited on a regular basis:

     Ora, acontece que certa tarde penetro na queijaria lotada come sempre, coloco-me na
fila à espera de ser atendido, Madame Peron me avista, perde a continência, exclama aos
berros:
     –Alors, Monsieur Amadô, c’est pas bien, je suis fâchée avec vous. Vous êtes célèbre
et vous ne dites rien. . .
     –Quoi?
     Madame Peron aponta-me aos fregueses, todos se voltam para mim, a estudar a avis-
rara, Madame Peron está exaltada.
     –Ce Monsieur là est un écrivain fameux, vous ne le connaissez pas?
     Elogio de corpo presente me apavora, sou alérgico, sinto-me no banco dos réus, quero
afundar terra adentro. Madame Peron explica à clientela que o Le Figaro daquele dia
dedica meia página a M. Amadô, não meia coluna o que já é muito, meia página, nada
mais, nada menos. Parte para o fundo do negócio, volta com o jornal na mão, esfrega
meu retrato na cara dos presentes, está contente de saber das merdolências do freguês.
Dou-me conta do que se trata, naquela manhã Le Figaro publicara entrevista minha na
qual falei de literatura e da Bahia, das terras do cacau e de Gabriela, ao lado da entrevista
artigo de André Brincourt sobre as traduções francesas de meus livros, ele os estima.
Com o dedo Madame Peron aponta a legenda sob a foto, rejubila:
     –Vous êtes le Victor Hugo du Brésil, et vous ne dites rien, c’est pas sérieux.
Sou o Victor Hugo do Brasil, Madame Peron proclama a notícia aos quatro ventos, só
que eu não sabia. (500-501)

We are dealing in this excerpt with the fictionalization and star charac-
ters described by Marc Augé, Régis Debray, Christian Metz, and Edgar
Morin.11 But here we have a “star” author (Jorge Amado) who is called

    11
       For Augé, on television, people become “stars and ‘fictional characters’ in the
sense used by Christian Metz, and [are] compelled moreover to exist as fictional charac-
ters in order to exist as political, artistic, even scientific personalities. What matters is not
what these personalities think about their entry into fiction so much as the effect pro-

THE FRENCH JORGE AMADO                                       199

to order. Feeling betrayed, the cheese shop owner demands that Amado
immediately resume his fictitious role (that of the “star,” the Brazilian
Victor Hugo). One must restore the order in which everyone may con-
tinue to imagine the other in his own role.
    Secondly, this episode is reminiscent of Jamin’s pertinent study of
the Castle of If in Alexandre Dumas’ novel The Count of Monte Cristo
(1844), one of Amado’s favorites. Jamin argues that “La visite guidée
qui nous est aujourd’hui proposée, lorsqu’on se rend au château d’If, a
été prévue et programmée par la fiction” (179). The Castle of If is obvi-
ously very much real: it exists off the coast of Marseilles, France and
used to serve as a prison. It inspired Alexandre Dumas in the writing of
his novel. Edmond Dantès, however, is a purely literary invention. No
one by that name ever escaped from that prison or returned to visit it
years later. These events are the product of the author’s imagination. Of
course, Amado’s case is different because – unlike Edmond Dantès – the
Jorge Amado featured in the Paris cheese shop did exist. But the simple
fact that Amado the novelist had to transcribe into writing and therefore
edit and organize this anecdote (the selected dialogue format, a narrative
alternating Portuguese and French, including an effort to render oral
expression)12 several years later results in a fictionalization of the Brazil-
ian Victor Hugo.

duced by this fictional leveling on those whose access to the world outside is mainly
through television” (109). According to Morin, “the same impulse that draws the imagi-
nary to the real identifies the real with the imaginary. [. . .] Like the caliphs of Baghdad,
who dissimulated their sovereignty under a merchant’s cape, the star travels ‘incognito,’
suprême ostentation of simplicity. The mere wearing of enormous dark glasses in white
frames long permitted the population of Hollywood to recognize the stars. [. . .] The star
belongs altogether to her public” (11, 39, 46). For Debray, “In a village, you become
someone by having your picture in the paper. [. . .] In a proletarianized intelligentsia with a
mass audience, anonymity is the stigma of powerlessness, and powerlessness the punish-
ment for anonymity. [. . .] Basically, everyone is afraid that he does not really exist – since
he exists only in so far as he is recognized by others as worthy to exist. He exists only in
so far as others talk about him – or watch, quote, criticize, slander or praise him” (145-46).
    12
       The addition of the circumflex accent (Amadô) emphasizes in a humorous way the
French pronunciation of Amado’s last name. Also, most French people have a tendency
to contract the negative form when speaking: “c’est pas bien” instead of “ce n’est pas
bien.” See Paloma Amado’s preface to the second edition of Amado’s Navegação de ca-
botagem which may be read as yet another fascinating Amadian anecdote. Amado’s
daughter recounts the writing and composing of the book in the Amados’ apartment in
Paris and in a more chaotic and very funny fashion, on a cruise boat between Greece and
Turkey.

200                               ROMANCE NOTES

    Moreover, that specific article and interview of Amado in Le Figaro
was indeed published13 and I personally tracked several Parisian ac-
quaintances of the Amados mentioned in Navigação de cabotagem. Yet,
I faced two major problems: none of them were actually present that day
nor had any recollection nor were able to localize Amado’s cheese shop
when asked, and all of them were characters of Navigação de cabo-
tagem. Indeed, I had an experience similar to that of the Dumas fans
who go on pilgrimages to the Castle of If. In March 2006, thanks to the
late Zélia Gattai (Amado’s wife) I was able to establish contact with
several of the people that Amado mentions in Navegação de cabotagem:
some well-known (Tony Cartano, René Depestre, Gilles Lapouge, Jean
Métellus, Georges Moustaki, Jean d’Ormesson, Françoise Xénakis) and
others anonymous such as Gérard Moreau (the owner of Amado’s
favorite bookstore in his Marais neighborhood) and Anny-Claude Basset
(a retired Air France flight attendant, personal friend of the Amados). I
personally met with Moreau and Basset. In some ways, similar to what
happens in Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo, both came out of
the book to come get me and take me back with them into the fiction,
looking for the French Jorge Amado. Basset even volunteered to kindly
give me a two hour guided tour of Amado’s Marais neighborhood. Dur-
ing the visit, though, when I asked Basset to take me to the Amado’s
favorite cheese shop featured in the anecdote of Navegação de cabo-
tagem, she hesitated for a moment and then accepted. But after we
walked for a while around the area, she stopped in front of a pharmacy
and said that it was no longer there. And when I asked Zélia Gattai (in
writing) and Basset (during our walk) about Madame Peron, both had
no recollection of such a name.
    Interestingly, when one consults the massive index of names insert-
ed at the end of Navegação de cabotagem, it appears at first that Amado
chose to list all the people he refers to in the book. However, through a
closer examination, one discovers that unlike Albert Camus, Alexandre
Dumas, Gérard Moreau and Anny-Claude Basset, both Victor Hugo and
Madame Peron are not listed. It makes sense. In the “Paris, 1990. O Vic-

    13
       Once again, Amado’s memory fails him and he mixes two articles into one. André
Brincourt’s article was in fact published in April 1989 in Le Figaro. In it, Brincourt con-
siders Amado as the Victor Hugo from Brazil (14). In another article published in Octo-
ber 1989 in Le Figaro Littéraire, Amado talks about Bahia and his novel Yansan des
orages, the French translation of O sumiço da santa: uma história de feitiçaria (Vidal, 8).

THE FRENCH JORGE AMADO                                 201

tor Hugo” entry, we the readers are not dealing with Victor Hugo, the
French poet. We are introduced to the so-called “Brazilian Victor Hugo”
by Madame Peron, a woman that none of Amado’s closest friends or
Amado’s wife could remember; the owner of a cheese shop that “van-
ished.” One may conclude then that Amado decided not to list fictional
characters in his index and that he remained true to his long standing
desire of never writing memoirs. Until the end, he remained faithful to
fiction.

    UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

                                    WORKS CITED

Amado, Jorge. Cacau. Rio de Janeiro: Ariel, 1933.
––––––. Jubiabá. Rio de Janeiro: José Olimpio, 1935.
––––––. Terras do sem fim. São Paulo: Martins, 1943.
––––––. Seara vermelha. São Paulo: Martins, 1946.
––––––. Gabriela, cravo e canela. São Paulo: Martins, 1958.
––––––. “A morte e a morte de Quincas Berro D’Agua.” Os velhos marinheiros. São
    Paulo: Martins, 1961.
––––––. Dona Flor e seus dois maridos, história moral e de amor. São Paulo: Martins,
    1966.
––––––. Tieta do Agreste: pastora de cabras. Rio de Janeiro: Record, 1977. Trans. As
    Tiéta d’Agreste ou le retour de la fille prodigue.
––––––. O menino grapiúna. Rio de Janeiro: Record, 1981.
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