Interview by Yomi Folaranmi Portrait by Uendel Galter Translated by Johnny Lorenz

YF How did the process of writing Saving the Fire (2026) differ from writing Crooked Plow (2019)? What are the connections between the two novels, and what new territory did you want the second novel to explore?

IV The two novels are part of my Trilogy of the Land. While each is an independent work of fiction, there are family ties that connect characters across the novels. There exists, too, a shared struggle that binds the characters to the earth beneath their feet. I understood early on that the story would unfold as a trilogy. When I began writing the first book, Crooked Plow, I was motivated by a poetic idea, by a form of affection: I wanted to document the love that farmers feel for the land, a love I’ve witnessed over the years. I came to realise that this strong attachment was deeper than mere sentiment; it was crucial to their very existence. I began thinking about this idea more broadly, how our lives depend on the earth we tread, the land we inhabit.

YF Which literary, cultural or personal influences have most shaped your fiction? What is the significance of your lyrical, perhaps even rhapsodic style? How has your background in Ethnic and African Studies influenced your literary style and the stories you choose to tell?

IV Literature explores the subjective dimension of human experience. It is a narrative art. In its formal structure, in its musicality, it creates a space for the lyrical, even the rhapsodic. My academic studies inform my sociological approach to the world around me. I’m interested in the individual character, but always in terms of how that character relates to the larger collective. Ideally, readers who come to know my work through its translation will learn something about Brazilian history while also engaging in a powerful aesthetic experience. 

YF What does your writing process look like, particularly when developing characters, structure and a strong sense of place?

IV Before sitting down to write, I spend a lot of time with an idea for a character. Little by little, to understand her better, I try to understand her environment. It’s not enough to “see”. Writers must perceive; they must be keen observers. This is necessary for the creative process.

YF What has it been like to see your work translated for international readers, and how has translation changed the way you understand your own writing?

IV It’s a curious situation because often, as writers, we assume that we are writing about things of interest to the people immediately around us, the people who easily comprehend the formative experiences that have shaped us. As I’ve followed the various translations of my work, I’ve been able to understand the technical aspect of my craft with new eyes; I am now more aware of its strengths and its imperfections.

YF You have been described as a magical realist. I think perhaps you’re doing something more complex, something more directly spiritual and deliberately ambiguous. Do you identify with that label?

IV Gabriel García Márquez was once asked if his work was magical realism. He replied that what he wrote was realism, and that one needed to know Latin America to understand this. I think I write from an anthropological perspective; that is to say, my work is a kind of ontological realism. I approach the world of my characters as something with ontological validity, not as a collection of exotic beliefs. The reader, too, must engage with this perspective and unlock new ways of seeing in order to comprehend.

YF Both novels explore racial inequality, class, land and the legacies of slavery in Brazil. What can fiction reveal about these political realities, especially their influence on family life?

IV Human beings are political beings; the characters in novels are human, and so their lives are necessarily endowed with this political dimension. Fiction is a space of freedom: where new forms and aesthetic projects can be presented, where time itself can be manipulated, and where time suddenly begins to spiral. Academic writing is formal, replete with rules to follow, lacking in diverse subjectivities. Besides the political dimension of the novel, there is the affective dimension, an essential aspect of our human experience, something fiction is capable of reproducing.

YF You frequently switch narrative voices and perspectives. How do you decide who gets to tell the story, and what does this technique allow you to achieve?

IV No narrator is absolutely reliable. This is true in fiction as well as in life. Memory, history: are these not constructed as collages of fragments? To give voice to different characters is to come to know other perspectives, to make history more inclusive, and to challenge the reader to bring unity to what seems scattered. This active engagement by the reader is fundamental, or else reading becomes a passive experience.

YF Domestic gender politics are central to both novels. Could you elaborate on the importance of this perspective, especially as a male writer?

IV Again, literature is a space of freedom. Perhaps the most precious attribute of the creative process is that it asks you to shift your perspective. Everything that might flourish in my imagination has its seed in lived experience. I’m thinking about the importance of women throughout my life. My novels question the colonial order, a system that was created, planned and executed by men. If my objective is to retell history in a coherent way, it’s necessary to bring to the forefront those figures who have been historically marginalised. .