Published for the first time in November 2017, the debut novel by Susana Amaro Velho was given a new lease of life this past September. Indeed, “The Last Lines of These Hands” underwent a process of revision, renewal, and restructuring, while maintaining “the essence of the narrative.” The author assured us, confessing that she always knew “it was a story to which I would return; I just didn’t know when.” Requests from readers combined with a “more emotional” aspect, and the story of Alice and the silent legacy she left to her daughter, Teresa, took shape again to remind us that “there is an entire life that precedes parenthood, an identity that transforms (or disappears?) when the role of father or mother overrides everything else.”
“I needed to reconnect with that core, be in those spaces, give substance and voice to a narrative that, in essence, had changed my path and opened up a new range of possibilities since before its 2017 publication, I had never considered writing to be read; it was a very solitary act,” Susana Amaro Velho told Notícias ao Minuto.
“The Last Lines of These Hands” originated from a real story, although, as the author recalled, “reality and fiction [always intersect], even if we say they don’t, or that inspiration from reality isn’t expressed.”
“Mario Vargas Llosa said that ‘narrative creation is about transforming our demons into themes’ and when confronted with the tragedy of the death of my best friend’s mother, I sought to find the truth in pain, the beauty in sadness, to understand what it means to be perpetually on the brink of abysses,” she clarified.
The work begins with the disappearance and subsequent death of Alice, who decided to end her own life—a life marked by regrets, hidden pains, and forbidden loves. However, Alice never truly leaves the narrative, guiding Teresa through the ghosts of the past via letters whose descriptions seem to run parallel to the experiences known by her daughter. “Even though never mentioned,” depression is also a central character in the plot, but Susana Amaro Velho “didn’t want the book to be read solely through that lens.”
“Alice’s story is complex, and it was important that the reader approach it without the pathology filter,” she said.
The author even admitted that Alice died of a broken heart, though “not necessarily in a literal sense.” “I believe that emotional pain can have profound physical effects. Science speaks of ‘broken heart syndrome,’ a real phenomenon in which extreme emotional stress affects the heart muscle; in Alice’s case, what ‘kills’ her is the prolongation of that state: the loss of the ability to feel and reconnect with life. It’s an inner death reflected in a tired body and an existence without direction, which is, essentially, a metaphor for the collapse of everything that sustained her,” she elaborated.
Indeed, the book highlights not only the fact that we never truly know someone but also that there is a distance—a lifetime—separating parents and children. Although the narrative is “in a certain way, primarily about that, about the before and after of being children or parents,” Susana Amaro Velho admitted that “few readers notice” this particularity.
“I’m interested in the idea that there is an entire life before parenthood, an identity that transforms (or disappears?) when the role of parent supersedes everything else. We often forget that our parents existed before us, that they had desires, failures, losses, and even choices we never got to know. Alice lives precisely in that limbo, and her daughter, in turn, tries to reconstruct an image of the mother she never got to know. That distance is inevitable but also necessary, as it is within that space that our autonomy is inscribed. The love between parents and children is dressed in partial versions,” she argued.
The motifs of loss, mourning, and absence are equally central elements of the narrative. Citing Rosa Montero, who “says that authors have ghosts that they revisit in their narratives often without realizing it,” the writer detailed that these universal themes “allow exposure of the characters’ vulnerability and resilience, while they create tension and movement.”
I have realized that I have yet to write a book where I don’t kill a character, in this case, the protagonist, absent throughout the narrative and (de)constructed over time. Therefore, I continue chasing my ghosts: mourning, abandonment, loss, the transformation of human relationships, the impact of absence on family structures, often precarious. […] We pick up a thread and unravel the yarn, as they naturally connect to deep zones of the human condition, and it is in these spaces of absence that we retrieve time, memory, and trauma
Susana Amaro Velho further stated that while constructing Alice, she imagined her “sitting on a sofa, surrounded by undated written papers, conflicts and disinterests, clinging to a certain fragility and at the same time arrogance, because she is someone who does not let herself be tamed, who does not conform to the role imposed on women, but who cannot fight against it.” Alice was, therefore, always “the most solid character in the novel, even if she was a cloud.”
“I knew that she would be someone wrapped in mist, romantic and given to dramas, tantrums that were calls, seeking refuge in a non-space because she didn’t know where she was whole. […] I would say that writing the letters, where I also had more room to play with words and use a more poetic language that I adore, and the times they traverse, was what gave me the most pleasure in this book,” she reflected.
Despite the evident themes, the writer emphasized that the work—and, consequently, literature—”should not be propagandistic, nor fulfill the purpose of a single message.” In that sense, she views it “as a space of freedom and reflection, as all art should be.”
“The book does not seek a lesson, but rather to open breaches, provoke discomfort, allow each reader to find their own mirror. I believe that the driving force of literature is this: ambiguity, the possibility for each person to read the same text and come out different,” she said.
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If you are suffering from a mental illness, having self-destructive thoughts, or simply need to talk to someone, you should consult a psychiatrist, psychologist, or general practitioner. You can also contact one of these entities (all these contacts assure anonymity to both the caller and the responder):
Lisbon City Council’s Psychosocial Support
800 916 800 (24h/day)
SOS Voz Amiga – Emotional support and suicide prevention line
800 100 441 (between 3:30 PM and 12:30 AM, toll-free)
213 544 545 – 912 802 669 – 963 524 660 (between 4 PM and 12 AM)
Friendly Conversation (between 3 PM and 10 PM)
808 237 327 (between 3 PM and 10 PM, toll-free) | 210 027 159
Student SOS – Emotional support and suicide prevention line
239 484 020 – 915246060 – 969554545 (between 8 PM and 1 AM)
Hope Phone
222 080 707 (between 8 PM and 11 PM)
Friendship Phone
228 323 535 | 222 080 707 (between 4 PM and 11 PM)
SNS 24 Psychological Counseling – At SNS24, contact is handled by health professionals
808 24 24 24, then select option 4 (24h/day)
National Suicide Prevention and Psychological Support Line (24h/day)
1411
