Flora Thomson-DeVeaux

Como traduzir Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas para o inglês com dicionários frágeis e bases de dados gigantescas

The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas and slave prisons in 19th-century Rio de Janeiro

Brás Cubas e os castigos aos escravos no Rio

Growing up in the town that became a byword for hate

Como minha cidade natal se tornou o foco da disputa política nos Estados Unidos

O professor americano James Green fala sobre sua relação com a ex-presidente do país

De como uma estagiária acompanhou ao vivo, em Genebra, a descoberta da partícula procurada há 48 anos 

Now that the last blocos have petered out, I guess we can all reset the Carnaval countdown clocks and accept that we’re midway through Lent. On the bus uptown on Ash Wednesday, I was looking for signs that some sort of air of responsibility might have descended on Rio once more. Would people be hanging their heads, squinting hungover and repentant against the sun? Would everyone still be glittery? But things looked disappointingly normal. A few more people than usual on the beach, maybe; there was still confetti in the cracks in the cobblestones despite the street sweepers’ best efforts; and I spotted one feathered hat stuck impressively high in a tree. Apart from that, business as usual. Some people on the beach, others jogging around the Lagoa, people wearing sundresses and shorts and tank tops or sweating in suits like they do any sun-drunk business day of the week.

There’s nothing quite like the solitude of being the only person on the bus wearing a costume.I’ll just fess up now – on Friday, that was me. If you happened to be an upright carioca commuter on your way to Glória that morning, you were faced with the eternal Carnaval question: how to react. Do you stare? Do you comment? Do you look into the middle distance?

After one single ball, it’s become clear that Carnaval is going to have grave, long-lasting repercussions for my life. It wasn't supposed to be this way. The plan was to come back to Rio for a fun week and then go back to studying like nothing ever happened. But now it is the next day, I’ve taken a shower, changed clothes, had breakfast, and I am still glittery. This glitter will never, ever come off. I’m going to study in Argentina and I’ll still be glittery. I’m going to do thesis research and I’ll still be glittery. I’m going to graduate from Princeton and I’ll still be glittery. I’ll have to explain why I’m glittery to prospective employers. I will be glittery at my wedding. I will be buried glittery. And all this because I’d never heard the word purpurina.