Bern, June 23, 1946
My dear sister,
You can’t imagine my joy: your letter dated the 15th and posted in the mail immediately on the 15th, arrived here on the 20th … Five days. You wrote on a Saturday and I received it the following Thursday. I recalled my Saturday and when I saw that on that boring and empty day you were writing to me, I went into ecstasy. I’m very happy that William is back and everything is fine. Your idea of suggesting to William a trip to see me, although I know it is only a threat to him, I took as a promise to me. I imagined you here and I was thinking for several minutes, and this alone gave me joy. The first thing I would do was not to leave you in Bern and go with you quickly to Paris.
The news of the death of Aunt Zina (The sister of Mania Lispector, Clarice’s mother, lived in Recife.) made me sad. I thought about her sometimes. I was perplexed as if that couldn’t happen.
Honey, I have regrets about being here instead of helping you with your work. If I were there I would help Marcia to do her homework, at least. Write me without fail with the result of the penicillin. I have great faith in it and if Mazzini said she will get better, I think she will. Write without fail. And now matter how much work you have, little darling, don’t neglect vanity, although you say this doesn’t happen … Make your hair more beautiful, my love, be well-liked. But please, believe that you will be able to produce the same amount keeping your nerves relaxed at the same time. Go to the mirror, assume your more rested and calm expression – and with that face, continue the work. You will see that you gain a new strength. This practice of looking in the mirror and making an expression, it has scientific roots. If you want to convince yourself. There is a theory of emotions which says that we are happy because we laugh. Without going any further, it is partially true. No, I didn’t buy the glasses. Since it is important, I was supposed to consult an optician who was not connected to an eyeglass store. And to this day I haven’t been; but I’ll go. I have been reading a lot, I have been going to the Public Library, I’ve been working as I can. The review by Álvaro Lins (“And his note saying that my two novels are mutilated and incomplete, that Virginia is like Joana, that the characters have no reality, that many people take Claricinha’s nebulosity as being the very essential reality of romance, that I always shine, shine too much, excessive exuberance … ” (Letter from Clarice Lispector to Fernando Sabino. Bern, 6/19/46. Cartas Perto do Coração. Record, 2001.)) depressed me, everything he says is true, whether or not caused by an enmity he has for me, whether or not a review written haphazardly. Besides what he says and it is true, he did not understand me.
But it doesn’t matter. I received a letter from Fernando Sabino, from New York, he says he doesn’t understand the silence around the book. I don’t understand either, because I think that a critic who praised a first book of an author, has almost an obligation to at least note the second one, destroying it or accepting it. Then he doesn’t need to talk about the third one, if he doesn’t want to. I would love to read a review by Antonio Cândido. Did he write one? Give your opinion, dear. In any case, I have already gotten past A. Lins’ criticism, although I take it seriously. In general, it is necessary to do like the man who beats his wife every day because there’s got to be some reason. Even though A. Lins doesn’t know why he is “giving a beating,” I accept it because one and several reasons must exist and I deserve it. – About Joseph Sztern and his wife, now you say they are in Rome. In the meantime, I had already sent the second letter, with a copy to Poland and Sweden. I think if they are in Rome, it will be easier. Surely they already looked for the Embassy. We will communicate with Mozart immediately. – I received your letter on the afternoon of the 20th, exactly the day that the mail leaves for Brazil and I missed it.
That’s why I’m writing only today, Sunday, and tomorrow morning it will be sent. Yes, my love, the months pass quickly, fortunately. The days sometimes don’t, though. Be happy, my little tiny flower, have a beautiful life, write me, write me.
Your Clarice
I received the clippings with quotes from Lucia Miguel Pereira and Alcântara Silveira.