"If Kafka was a woman. If Rilke was a Jewish-Brazilian born in Ukraine. If Rembo was a mother, if she had lived until fifty. If Heidegger had managed to stop being German, if he had written the Book of the Earth. Why do I mention these names? To try to describe a region. Somewhere there is the region where Clarice Lispector writes. There, where the most demanding works breathe, she opens her way. Beyond comprehension, step by step, she dives trembling into the incomprehensible terrifying depth of the world, where the hypersensitive ear stretches to capture even the sound of the stars, even the imperceptible friction of people, even the silence between two heartbeats. Woman-guardian, nocturnal light of the world. She knows nothing. She didn't read the philosophers. And yet sometimes you would swear you hear them murmuring in her forests."
Elen Sixou