O Sol Na Cabeça: Contos (The Sun on My Head: Stories) is the debut book from the Brazilian author, Geovani Martins. It is a collection of 13 short stories set in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro, exploring the realities of life in the areas predominantly defined by violence and poverty. Almost overnight, Martins became a literary darling and an inspiration for many of Brazil’s younger readers, particularly Black and Brown students from historically disenfranchised neighborhoods. The book was a bestseller, the film rights were quickly snapped up, translation rights were sold before the book was published (a first for a Brazilian work of fiction) and Martins received praise from icons such as the musician Caetano Veloso and João Moreira Salles, documentarian, founder of the esteemed literary magazine piauí and the Instituto Moreira Salles.
With such acclaim and hype, I was eager to read this book and I knew I would first have to experience in Portuguese. As a result, this short story collection became the first book I have read in Portuguese from cover to cover. It was… a challenging experience, given the richness of Martin’s prose, the manner in which it brings wit and poetry wrapped the glorious chaos of carioca slang (which is indeed quite different from São Paulo slang). However, it was immediately apparent the full scope of Martin’s talent: the way he so effortlessly pinballs between the funny and the tragic, the quietly heartbreaking and the deeply moving, it’s a marvel to read. This delicate balancing act has already earned Martins comparisons to Irvine Welsh, but Martins stands confidently on his own.
In the opening story, “Rolézim,” the reader is introduced to a group of young men on their way to score weed and go to the beach. It sounds simple enough, but Martin’s writing is as vivid as can be and Julia Sanches work as a translator must be applauded for how well she conveys the spirit of carioca slang:
We hit the beach with the sun full-on blazin’, babes sunnin’ themselves, tails in the air, real chill. I dashed to the ocean, pulled some mad dives, cut through waves. Water was lush. Couldn’t believe it when I came out and spotted the gang lookin’ like they just stepped in shit. Trouble was some police in the area, scopin’ us. Everybody ready to skin up, and there they be. Those beach cops are rough. Some days they lay the pressure on extra thick. To me, it’s only one of two things: either they all smoke hounds itchin’ to get high on other folks’ weed, or they pushers wanting to sell grass to gringos and playboys, or hell knows. All I know’s that when I see a cop break a sweat I get uneasy. Ain’t good, for sure. When motherfuckers finally cleared out, ’nother perrengue: nobody’s got skins. Real drag, ain’t it, menó? Bunch o’ iron lungs and no skins in sight. Worst thing is we wasted all this time just on determinin’ who’d go after the rags. Nobody wanting to ask the playboy potheads on the beach, all triflin’, acting like they hot shit. When playboys on their own, they eye you kinda scared, like you schemin’ to jump ’em. But when they with their buddies, they act like they the ones gonna come after you. Shit’s foda, effed up.
Throughout the book, Martins gives a holistic view of favela life while never shying away from how the poverty and lack of opportunity gives far too many of its inhabitants blinkered perspectives of what is possible. Some of his protagonists, such as Breno in “The Case of the Butterfly,” have a thoughtfulness that gives the reader hope he will remain bright and sensitive. Other tales, like the closer, “The Crossing,” about a young hood who impulsively kills a random addict over a perceived slight and is charged with cleanup duty, illustrate how easy it is to fall into the mire of crime. He reflects with deep melancholy:
“He remembered the dreams he dreamed as a kid, what he used to think his life would be like, back then he never thought he’d be selling drugs. He’d wanted to become a soccer player, an airplane pilot, an IT tech. Now, as he heads down the slopes and off the hill, all he can think about is how everything’s going to be so, so different.”
It would simple and reductive to compare O Sol Na Cabeça to Paulo Lins’ semi-autobiographical novel, Cidade de Deus, which would adapted into the classic film of the same name. Martin, much like Lins, was raised in the favelas of Rio (specifically Rocinha and Barreira do Vasco). In a profile for The Guardian, he speaks candidly about his upbringing, his lack of formal university education, and his hungry appetite to tell stories of those in this particular part of Brazil. He notes, “I went crazy about how every human being is a unique story and the possibilities this gave me as a writer.” Much like the characters he creates, Martins has an insatiable hunger for how a sense of place and its inhabitants intertwine and define each other. His stories are defined, to me, by a vibrant empathy that acknowledges the unpredictability of life on the fringes of society. He knows his characters may not receive their happy endings.Yet there is always that hope, that shining glimmer of possibility that a dream can be made real. If anyone can show that to be true, it’s Martins himself.
O Sol Na Cabeça is available from Faber & Faber in the UK and Macmillan Publishers in the US. The Portuguese original can be bought via the Kindle shop.
Have a great day, afternoon, evening, ‘cados!