By Maria Duran
On the 29th of October, 2025, Portuguese writer Teolinda Gersão became a second-time winner of the APE-DGLAB Romance and Novel Grand Prize. [The Unwritten Autobiography of Martha Freud], published by Porto Editora, earned her the 43rd edition of the award, organized by the Portuguese Writers Association (APE) with the support of the General Directorate of Books, Archives and Libraries (DGLAB). Recognized as an “exceptional writer,” Teolinda Gersão’s “imaginative strength in the reconstruction of the past and the narrative talent” were praised by the jury. Strongly tied to historical fact and the original letters between Martha and Sigmund Freud, Teolinda Gersão reveals a striking portrait of both personalities, bringing to light the often forgotten figure of Freud’s wife.
Born in 1940 in Coimbra, Portugal, Teolinda Gersão has crossed decades, dictatorships, revolutions and continents, both through the years and through her writing. A professor of Portuguese, Germanic Studies and Comparative Literature in Lisbon and Berlin, she completed her academic career as a tenured professor at NOVA University in Lisbon. Her researcher’s know-how is clear in several of her books, where history and memory are shown in relief.
Having published a collection of short stories and an anthology of poems as a teenager, she became once more a published writer after retirement. Now, after forty years and twenty more books, she has been translated into many languages. Her previous work, distinguished with the APE-DGLAB Grand Award, was A Casa da Cabeça de Cavalo (1995). Among the national awards her opus has received the P.E.N. Club Portuguese Award For Narrative (O Silêncio, 1981; O Cavalo de Sol, 1989; Prantos, Amores e Outros Desvarios, 2001); the Camilo Castelo Branco Great Prize for short stories, Histórias de Ver e Andar (2001), among several others, including finalist for the Asterion European Romance Award (1995). She was a writer in residence at the University of California (2004) and a recipient of the Albert Marquis Lifetime Achievement Award (2018).
Teolinda Gersão’s vividly atmospheric writing has included various novels, romances, several short story collections and anthologies. Her short story “The Red Fox Fur Coat” has been adapted by Mike Walker for the Symphony Space Theatre, the BBC and New York Public Radio. Margaret Jull Costa, Jethro Soutar and Annie McDermott have been her translators in English, including for the novels City of Ulysses, by Dalkey Archive Press (2017) and The Word Tree, Dedalus (2010). Some of her more recent works include Alice e Outras Mulheres (2020) [Alice and Other Women] and O Regresso de Júlia Mann a Paraty (2021) [The Return of Júlia Mann to Paraty].
Gersão’s writing has only grown in power, making space for the naturalistic rhythms of orality and unnervingly honest inner voices. The award ceremony for the APE-DGLAB Romance and Novel Grand Prize took place at the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, where Gersão dedicated the award “to the memory of Martha Freud, and all other great women who have been silenced until today.”
In this interview by Maria Duran for the Portuguese American Journal, conducted on the occasion of Teolinda Gersão receiving the APE-DGLAB Award for the second time, Gersão reflects on the formative journey that led her to writing, her approach to literature as an evolving and unfinished practice, and the creative process as one of continuous inquiry. She further addresses her broader intercultural literary interest and engagement with narratives that transcend national, geographical, and cultural boundaries.
Q. During the reception ceremony for the APE-DGLAD Award, your “imaginative strength in the reconstruction of the past and the narrative talent” were recognized by the jury. What would you say attracts you, and your practice, to the reconstruction of the past?
A. The knowledge of the past helps us better understand the present and avoid repeating the same mistakes again and again. And I believe Literature is a good way of saving memory and passing it to younger generations. A writer is also a witness of his or her time and society.
Q. Personal and collective memories of undervalued names and experiences are deeply rooted in your practice. Have these realities always been a source of fascination, as a writer sketching out and building narratives?
A. Yes, I think they have. Key memories are also collective, and it makes sense to review the past and correct prejudices and false ideas. Many significant figures, mainly women, were left in the shadows as irrelevant.
Q. Your writing has often given voice to women as fictional characters across a variety of time periods. Recently, some of your most recent books have focused on historical women connected to notable names, like Julia Mann and Martha Freud, whose lives and stories have long been kept in the shadows of other, better-known protagonists. Are there any other women, historical and fictional, you would be interested in writing about?
A. For the moment, I’m not thinking of any. But I had already “revisited” or reconstructed Alice Plesance Lidell, the real little girl of L. Carroll´s book. The inspiration came from seeing Carroll´s photos of naked children in the Berkeley University Library, when I was writer-in-residence there.
Q. In The Unwritten Autobiography of Martha Freud (2024), historical sources are a marked presence and an important source. What was the research process, historical and artistic, of bringing these characters (back) to life? When did the characters’ voices begin to coalesce, while writing The Unwritten Autobiography of Martha Freud or, for instance, and The Return of Julia Mann to Paraty (2021)?
A. In both cases, I based myself essentially on what the two women wrote. At the age 52, Júlia wrote a short memoir, Aus Dodos Kindheit, which we can translate as “About Dodo’s Childhood,” and it is extraordinary how, so many years later, she remembered—with every emotional, visual, and sensory detail—the seven years she lived in Paraty. She also left short stories, accounts, impressions and opinions on various subjects, as well as a large number of letters, most of them to her son Heinrich. All of this is gathered in a single volume titled Ich spreche so gern mit meinen Kindern [I Enjoy So Much Talking with My Children]. The main source for Júlia’s character was therefore what she herself left written. Of course, I also looked for additional information in other sources, but the most important material is found in the books written by her sons, which, as a Germanist, I knew in depth. I also read Freud’s work when I studied in Berlin—reading Freud was part of a Germanist’s general education.
In the case of Martha’s Autobiography, the surprise throughout the research was much greater than in Júlia’s case, because, until 2011, none of her letters had been published; only a few collections of Freud’s letters, sometimes truncated and censored, were known. The publication of the letters—both sides, as complete as possible—by the Fischer publishing house, between 2011 and 2019, was entirely new and brought a disturbing perspective on the two figures.
Q. Paraty, Lisbon, São Paulo cities and landscapes are also powerful forces in your books, as strong as human characters at times. I am reminded of the settings in Passagens (2014), and the weight of their memories, for instance, or the calling of the wilderness in the short story The Red Fox Fur Coat (The Threepenny Review, 2004). What cities (or memories of cities) have you found most compelling as a traveler, reader and writer?
A. Basically, the cities I have lived in. I was not born in Lisbon, but it is where I chose to live and the set of my novel A Cidade de Ulisses, [City of Ulisses]. I never lived in Paraty, but stayed in São Paulo for two years and the city comes in unforgettable memories in my two “heterodox diaries,” Os Guarda-Chuvas Cintilantes [Shimmering Umbrellas] and As Águas Livres [Free Waters], which perhaps is how I could also name my “poetry books.”
My third unforgettable city is Lourenço Marques, now Maputo. I stayed there for about six months in my youth, when the colonial war had already started. At the time, I always said to myself, “someday I will write about this place,” and much later I kept my promise in A Árvore das Palavras, [The Word Tree], my homage to Africa and my “thank you” for all I had learned from it.
Q. Over the years, you have published many short story collections, alongside romances. What are the different challenges (and delights) you faced when working in either format? What is the connecting thread that allows you to tie together the different pieces in a short story, or carry a romance to its best and full maturity?
A. I started with novels and was convinced I would never write short stories, but somehow they suddenly came to me. It is a different process; in a short story, you deal more with situations that are triggered and have to find a solution. There is no time for dealing with characters and atmospheres in the way novels do. But after all, short stories also challenged me and I also find pleasure in writing them.
Q. You have had a long and committed academic career in Comparative Literature and Germanic Studies, before your time as a writer. How do you think one influenced the other, or vice versa, in terms of the themes, references and favoritisms you return to, or perhaps try to evade?
A. I think a good writer is also a good reader and I always had a passion for reading and writing. But I was realistic enough to see that it would be foolish to believe I would make a living from writing in a small country where, at the time, about half of the population was illiterate. So, I went to the university and studied literature, in order to become a teacher as a breadwinning job. But in fact, I very much enjoyed teaching at the university level, with highly interested and engaged students. Nevertheless, I left the job as early as I could to become a full-time writer.
I believe that all you know in theory may influence you somehow, but honestly, as a writer, I do not care about literary theories or whatever; I just write about what fascinates me. I do it in total freedom, and in the way I think it must be written. Whether the public likes it or not is not for me an issue.
Q. As one of Portugal’s most widely recognized writers, and a voice with a place in our literary canon, your writing has been widely recognized for its “sure, clear and often subtle” language (José Riço Direitinho, Público). What kind of awareness does language itself demand in your writing? Do you keep language and its weight in mind when writing about characters who, in turn, wrote and spoke in other languages?
A. Like I said, I give myself total freedom, and the unconscious, sometimes also dreams or daydreams, take part in it. When an idea or subject attracts me so strongly that I can’t avoid writing about it, I generally let the matter mature for some time in my head and when I start writing, it is in an uncontrolled, playful way, where everything I imagine about the subject is welcome. This first stage is pure pleasure. The next one, until the end, is pure work; I slowly start seeing everything better and closer, decide what is relevant and what isn’t, and discover much I had not yet understood. This is a period of great excitement and great stress, that can go on for years, until I find (with joy and relief) it is finished, satisfies me, and I have done my best. In the process of writing, I never think about language; every word must simply be the most suitable I can find.
Q. As a polyglot immersed in more than one language, what is the experience of being translated like? What kind of similarities does it have to the editorial process?
A. It is always a pleasure to have a book, or even only a short story, translated, especially in languages I don’t know anything at all, like Arabic, Chinese, Turkish or Japanese. But even in languages I know, like German, English or French, I always leave everything to the translator, although I am always available to answer questions about the meaning of words or phrases. I’m especially grateful to my wonderful prize-winning English translator, Margaret Jull Costa, who is so well in tune with me. And would also like to mention Annie McDermott (English), María Jesus Garcia (Spanish), and Elizabeth Monteiro Rodrigues ( French).
Q. Recognition also comes from another avenue, besides literary criticism. Your books and short stories are the subject of a growing number of theses, dissertations and scientific papers. Do you find many surprises, or much self-recognition, in the analysis, connections and conclusions that appear in these studies?
A. I am pleased to find surprises, things I wasn´t aware of, and to feel how well understood and interpreted I was. It is very rare to find a paper where I think I was misunderstood or interpreted in the wrong way.
Q. Today, your works are literary and personal references for the Portuguese diaspora abroad, as well as many other communities and demographics. It is impossible to write about Portugal of the past century and the current one without speaking about diasporas and other forms of human movement. They are often to be found in your romances and short stories. What place do travel and migration hold in your practice? Do your experiences across the world, like your time as a resident writer at Berkeley and as a scholar in Germany, influence the books you write, and want to write?
A. I was privileged; I never experienced migration. In Berlin, I had earned a German scholarship and was for two years a student at Freie Universität, before I became a Lecturer in Portuguese at the Technical University for one year. In the US, I was a writer-in-residence. My stays were temporary, and I was received in Germany as a student among thousands of others, and in the US as a guest.
But I knew well how it was to be a Portuguese migrant in France or Germany (in the US, I didn´t have that opportunity), how tough it was to find some kind of underpaid work, what it meant to be a stranger who didn´t understand the foreign language and was gradually losing his own. Sometimes we met and talked. Some of them were hungry and did not have anywhere to sleep, or slept in shifts, a couple of hours in some bed. I was moved and admired their endurance in spite of great difficulties.
Q. In 2023, you celebrated 40 years of a vibrant literary career. What keeps you excited about writing? Have you discovered new things over this time, about your own interests and habits as a writer?
A. Writing is hard work, and I like to keep a routine, but I´m passive about subjects; I don´t look for them, they are the ones who come to me. After each book, I have a break and read, travel and enjoy more time with family and friends.
Q. What would you say to other writers, as advice, a warning or a recommendation?
A. I never give advice to anyone, but if a young writer insists, I ask: If you wrote a book and had no success, would you give up? If the answer is no, I say all right, if you feel you were born for this, just keep going, whatever may happen.
Q. What would you say to the readers of the Portuguese American Journal who follow your writing?
A. If they do, I’ll express my deep gratitude. And say I wish them all the best and hope they will succeed, no matter how difficult their life may be. It is difficult for everyone, writers of course included. Perhaps I might add that the American Dream is a fairy tale. Or fake news.
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Maria Duran Marques is a writer and PhD candidate in Art History from NOVA University of Lisbon, Portugal. She holds a Master’s Degree in Art History from the Lisbon School of Arts and Humanities and a course in Art Curation. Her research focuses on artistic practices by women artists in Portugal during the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries. She has presented research at the conference ‘Gothic (Revival) Spaces’ (Julius-Maximilians-Universität Würzburg, 2024), among others. Her debut poetry collection has been published by Urutau Press. Recently, her writing was nominated for the Best of the Net 2025 Award.
