The Passion According to G.H. by Clarice Lispector is one of those novels that leave a bizarre aftertaste. There is a feeling that the writer likes to play with readers’ imagination, making them think harder than they probably have expected. She doesn’t give too much information on the protagonist’s background; thus, there is a constant a feeling of mystery and suspense.
This novel is also well-known for its ability to evoke fear. It is really a mystery how a bare room can be so scary, how a simple picture of a woman, a man, and a dog can be puzzling, how a normal wardrobe can look so menacingly. However, if we think about all of it more, we will probably come to an agreement that there is something like the fear of a closed door here. We are not afraid of a door itself; it is a phobia of unknown. An attentive reader would probably contradict, stating that G.H. is at her own home, so there is nothing unknown for her. It is true, but only partially. The novelty lies in the fact that her expectations have nothing to do with reality.
She assumes that the room is messy, that the maid has forgotten something and left one of her belongings behind, but what she sees is a completely different picture. The room is empty and silent, but the presence of another person still lingers in the air. The protagonist is taken aback, so it takes her a few minutes to notice the picture on the wall. Somehow, that sketch triggers something deep inside her; the woman tries to remember the name of the maid, but she fails. The only thing she is sure of is that the nameless and faceless maid hates her. Quite naturally, the protagonist doesn’t take it lightly. She feels that anger rises inside, and she feels how it tears her apart. One might wonder why she cares about the maid’s opinion if she doesn’t even remember her name. Who knows, she might just hate the fact that she overlooked it and allowed that person live and sleep in her house. G.H. might hate a feeling of helplessness. In other words, that is one more riddle masterfully prepared by the author.
It is difficult to estimate how long the protagonist’s crisis lasts, but it definitely changes her. She is not the person she used to be when she entered the room. The woman opens the last door and this time it is the wardrobe. Here is a cockroach, an insect that is generally considered to be filthy. Overwhelmed by a need to protect herself, she closes the door. The insect is killed, ooze is leaking out of it, and here is when the strangest thing happens: the protagonist tastes it. Her transformation has begun.
