The Simple Art of Killing a Woman

£12.99

Patrícia Melo

Translated by Sophie Lewis
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Longlisted for the Prix Fémina 2023: Best Foreign Novel

Finalist for the 2024 Firecracker Awards for Independently Published Literature

Longlisted for the CWA Dagger for Crime Fiction in Translation 2025

From bestselling novelist Patrícia Melo comes a masterful thriller that is by turns poetic, inspiring, humorous and harrowing.

To escape an overprotective family and an abusive partner, a young lawyer accepts an assignment in the Amazonian border town of Cruzeiro do Sul. There, she meets Carla, a local prosecutor, and Marcos, the son of an indigenous woman, and learns about an epidemic of violence against women that seems beyond comprehension.

What she finds in the jungle is not only relentless oppression, but a deep longing for answers to an unsolved crime from her past. Through the ritual use of ayahuasca, she meets a chorus of warrior women on a path of revenge and recovers the painful details of her mother’s death.

The Simple Art of Killing a Woman is a psychological trip with a twist. It’s about the strength of individuals in the face of overwhelming violence, the problem of femicide in Brazil, and the haunting of a cold case.

Praise

‘Femicide in Brazil is the bleak, urgent backdrop to Patrícia Melo’s assured, profuse novel The Simple Art of Killing a Woman (translated with equal verve by Sophie Lewis).’
Catherine Taylor, The Irish Times

‘A rewarding exploration of the harsh realities faced by women, urging society towards urgent introspection.’
— The Star

‘A deeply affecting novel illuminating the costs of being a woman in a dangerous, misogynistic society.’
Kirkus Reviews

‘Melo, an accomplished noir crime novelist and screenwriter, has truly found her subject in The Simple Art of Killing a Woman. Through the lens of gender-based violence she is able to examine the inequity and corruption that undergird and reinforce it in Brazil, the country with the fifth-highest rate of femicide in the world.’
— Alejandra Oliva, Americas Quarterly

‘The eco-thriller, the courtroom drama, the clinical accounts of death, and the fables from the forest crystallize into a form of hysterical, hallucinatory realism. . . . Melo has tried something radical here. She combines feverishly poetic language and the searching intelligence of the narrator with a near-endless accounting of horror. “When a woman dies,” Melo writes, “her story must be told and retold a thousand times.” Reading, I could not turn away.’
— Ariel Ramchandani, Southwest Review

‘Heavy, bold but beautifully powerful, Patrícia Melo’s latest is an enraging and necessary indictment of femicide in Brazil. Based on actual events, the novel is part thriller, part social commentary and it situates this violence among the destruction of the Amazon rainforest and the healing potential of feminist collaborations.’
— Karla J. Strand, Ms. Magazine

‘Melo’s thoughtful first-person narrative and starkly powerful verse interwoven with reports of murdered women fluidly bears the weight of a gripping crime story and fearless social commentary.’
— Christine Tran, Booklist

‘The Simple Art of Killing a Woman is an important book. . . . Even though the topic is gaining more attention, a lot of silence remains around the issue of femicide in Brazil. That silence can be dangerous for women. As such, the novel is a defiant work.’
— Allysson Casais, Full Stop

‘Melo’s newest book, The Simple Art of Killing a Woman, is a mixed-genre account of femicide in Brazil—and how this gender-based violence intersects with indigeneity, Blackness, and socio-racial legibility. […] [It] bears bountiful witness through its repetition, not of metaphor but political statement, fact, and serious proclamation.’
— Kaitlan Bui, Public Books

‘Patrícia Melo explodes the boundaries between two worlds with energy and colour. The Simple Art of Killing a Woman vibrates with rage at femicide and glows with hallucinatory images of jaguars and Amazons.’
— Martina Läubli, NZZ – Bücher am Sonntag

‘The Simple Art of Killing a Woman is Patrícia Melo’s blackest novel to date and her best, a formal and stylistic high point in her work. The protagonist finds a way out of powerlessness into a self-determined life. ‘Literature’, says Melo, ‘is a space for resistance’, especially in dark times. It is again more necessary than ever.’
— Dagmar Kaindl, Buchkultur

The Simple Art of Killing a Woman is set in an oppressive but at the same time paradisiacal environment. Melo describes the Amazon rainforest as an intensely sensual place. Her novel is also a declaration of love for the world of the Amazonian natives.’
— Victoria Eglau, Deutschlandfunk, Köln

‘Brazil has a problem with femicides. It often takes years for a court case to be initiated and a few years longer if the victim was poor, black or indigenous. Melo makes the fates of real victims visible in her latest novel. Her determination to pursue a certain style, the freedom with which she writes confidently around generic set pieces, is evident at first glance in the variable structure of her chapters. Melo puts words into a singing rhythm, arranges them in verse so that they unfold as poems.’
Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung

‘Patrícia Melo’s novel is a powerful plea against male violence, not a diatribe but a brilliantly composed piece of literature.’
 Marcus Müntefering, Der Freitag

‘Engaging and well-written, the book is the first of the author with a female protagonist. In addressing a sad reality, Patrícia wanted to blend the plot with a little fable. The Simple Art of Killing a Woman is a work of fiction that brushes with real events.’
 Ana Clara Brant, Jornal Estado de Minas

‘This is the subject of Patrícia Melo’s great new book . . . Based on real events in Cruzeiro do Sul, the lawyer investigates cases and hears testimonies of the tragic stories of women who have been piled into oblivion and impunity . . . The most striking thing is the metamorphosis of the protagonist, rational and modern, in her experience with the old indigenous women and their ancestral myths and spells, in visions of breathtaking beauty.’
 Nelson Motta, O Globo

‘It is literature inspired by life. It is fiction constructed within the pages of a book illustrating the real events that weigh every day on the pages of newspapers and news websites. It is a woman crying out for all the others. An urgent novel that instigates and denounces.’
 Jornal do Brasil

‘With writing that is direct and at the same time strong and poetic, the author turns into literature the reality reported in newspaper headlines that are often hard to believe. From judicial and legislative issues to the first sign of violence that, out of fear, is silenced. The doubts, the feeling of guilt, the discoveries and, after so many male voices in her works, the profusion of different female characters.’
Roberta Pinheiro, Correio Braziliense

‘This thriller is also, more than anything, a horrifying survey of femicide in Brazil. . . . A merciless indictment that includes litanies of victims’ names, their killers’ professions, and descriptions of brutal ill treatment, The Simple Art of Killing a Woman is as dark, tough, direct, and angry as its title. There’s no room for doubt.’
Daniel Couvreur, Le Soir

‘Patrícia Melo has abandoned the thriller genre, in which she has excelled for more than twenty-five years, to create a book of many facets: mingling suspense, social fiction, and a drop of mystical poetry.’
Nathalie Ricci, Nice-Matin

‘Patrícia Melo has written a social thriller that is dark, brutal and intoxicating. . . . Her brand of realism, by turns raw and magical, and her fierce activist drive, leavened with humour despite the seriousness of her subject, turns these shell-shocked ‘piles of women’ into a vertiginous whirlwind from which we emerge irreversibly sobered.’
Julie Malaure, Le Point

‘In this powerful and very beautiful novel, Patrícia Melo faces the violence done to women head-on. . . . In this world suspended somewhere between dream and reality, Melo condemns the state-sanctioned massacre of Brazilian women, the fate especially reserved for indigenous people and, also, the destruction of Brazil’s forests. Her urgent and sensual style makes the novel unforgettable.’
—Aurélie Baudrier, Page des Libraires

Published: 18 April 2024
ISBN: 978-1911648758
Cover design: Sarah Schulte
Format:  B format paperback with flaps

About the author

Patrícia Melo was born in 1962 and is a highly regarded novelist, playwright and scriptwriter. She has been awarded a number of internationally renowned prizes, including the Jabuti Prize 2001, the German LiBeraturpreis 2013 and the German Crime Award 1998 and 2014, and she was shortlisted for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize and Time Magazine included her among the Fifty Latin American Leaders of the New Millenium.

About the translator

Sophie Lewis is a London-based translator and editor. Working from Portuguese and French, she has translated Natalia Borges Polesso, João Gilberto Noll, Sheyla Smanioto, Victor Heringer, Stendhal, Jules Verne, Marcel Aymé, Josephine Baker, Violette Leduc, Leïla Slimani, Noémi Lefebvre, Mona Chollet and Colette Fellous, among others. With Gitanjali Patel, she co-founded the Shadow Heroes creative language workshops enterprise.

Lewis’s translations have been shortlisted for the Scott Moncrieff and Republic of Consciousness prizes, and longlisted for the International Booker Prize. She was joint winner of the 2022 French-American Foundation prize for non-fiction translation, for her translation of anthropologist Nastassja Martin’s book In the Eye of the Wild.

The Simple Art of Killing a Woman

KILLED BY HER HUSBAND

Her skin was lovely like
a white rose petal,
but we know from the papers that, when they
fought,
he used to call her
albino gobshite.
The police suspects that
Tatiana Spitzner, 29, a lawyer,
did not commit suicide
but was thrown from a fourth-floor window
by her husband, Luís Felipe Manvailer.
Images from the security cameras show
Tatiana
being beaten in their car,
being chased through the garage
and assaulted inside the lift.
Neighbors heard her shouting for help.
They also heard the dull thud
of her body hitting the tarmac.

It was Alceu who killed Eudinéia & Heroilson who killed Iza & Wendeson who killed Regina & Marcelo who killed Soraia & Ermício who killed Silvana & Creso who killed Chirley & still more, Degmar was killed by Ádila & Ketlen was killed by Henrique & Rusyleid was killed by Tadeu & Juciele was killed by Itaan & Queila was killed by Roni & Jaqueline was killed by Sinval & Daniela was killed by Alberto & Raele was killed by Geraldo and none of these crimes, which happened seven, ten, twelve years ago, took any more than three hours of a court’s time.

Regina annoyed Wendeson, she used to break his concentration with the crap she had on the radio & Ermício found a photo of Silvana on her phone wearing a bikini & Daniela wanted to split up with Alberto & Rusyleid wanted to take a break from Tadeu & Degmar had already asked Ádila for a divorce & Iza died, actually, because she refused to channel funds into Heroilson’s cachaça. That’s what Iza was like, Heroilson told the judge—a complicated woman, difficult even. Do you know who Silvana sent that photo to, of herself in her bikini? To a colleague at her office. I let Silvana work and she did this to me, Ermício testified. In her bikini! Turn down that fucking radio, Wendeson had warned a thousand times. But who says Regina ever obeyed?

Ermício & Henrique & Heroilson were drunk at the time of their crimes. The problem, one said, was that her rudeness got too mixed up with my cachaça. That was the problem. Queila died because she got a promotion, from clerk to the clerks’ manager. She thought she was all that, her murderer said. And Sinval asked Jaqueline, in tears: did you screw that guy, Jaque? To which his victim replied: yes, I screwed him all night, Sinval, he isn’t a dickless wonder like you, he’s got a job, Sinval, he has a big dick and he’s a driver & one crucial detail: Tadeu acted in self-defense, this must be pointed out. In legitimate self-defense, Tadeu cut off Rusyleid’s head.

The conclusion I reached by my second week in court was this: we women are dying like flies. You men get hammered and kill us. Men want to fuck and kill us. Men get enraged and kill us. Men want a bit of fun and kill us. Men discover our lovers and kill us. We leave them and men kill us. Men get another lover and kill us. Men are taken down a peg and kill us. Men get home tired after work and kill us.

And, in court, everyone says the fault is ours. We women know how to provoke. We know how to make life hell, how to wreck a guy’s life. We are disloyal and vindictive—it’s our fault. We are the trigger. Really, what are we doing here, at this party, at this time, in these clothes? Really, why did we accept the drink we were offered? Worse still, why didn’t we refuse the invitation to go up to that hotel room with that brute if we didn’t want to fuck? Well, now we’ve been warned. Don’t leave the house, certainly not at night. Don’t get drunk. Don’t be independent. Don’t go this way, or that way. Don’t work. Don’t choose that skirt or that neckline. But whoever said we follow the rules? We wear miniskirts. Necklines down to our belly buttons. Shorts that barely hang on by our bum-cracks. We go too far. We go down dark alleys. We keep our pussies charged up and ready to go. We draw conclusions. We work all day. We’re independent. We have lovers. We giggle loudly. We support the household. We let it all go to shit. The strange thing is we don’t kill. It’s incredible how rarely we kill. Given the stats on how many of us are dying, we ought to be killing more often. But, due to some problem that could be glandular or could be structural, possibly ethical or possibly physical, we prefer not to kill. That’s how it is; we generally end up tossed onto waste ground, like Chirley. For defiance. We are chopped up and buried, like Ketlen, in the yard. For disobedience.

You could have filled a stadium, one of those really big ones, with the fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers and daughters and sons and cousins and friends who came to the courthouse to grieve the deaths of these women. In the hot sun, amid the storms, I saw them arrive in groups, all as crushed as the people from Txupira’s village. I was miserable for them. I took photos of a few. Rusyleid’s mother was as pretty as her murdered daughter. “Do you want to see my girl?” she asked, and showed me Rusyleid smiling in a 3 x 4 photo that had grown so worn it had the velvety texture of old paper money. This is Rusyleid: lighthearted, hard-working, a good girl, never in trouble with anyone, I don’t understand why they killed my little girl. Silvana’s son, Cauã, who was six months old when she died, already knew how to read and write, his grandmother told me. “Since he started going to school, he’s been calling me his mother. I think it’s because of the other children. He wants to have a mother, too.” I thought of taking these photos back to show my boss. To show her the sweet little face of Cauã who still cries and misses his mother. But dead women’s children have no value in Denise’s book of statistics. So I stuck them into my notebook where the dead women were piling higher everyday. The women from the court cases as well as those I fished from the papers. Already my notebook was overflowing with murdered women and I still had another week of work to go.

During that time, there were two longer hearings with white defendants and their own private defense teams. Both were acquitted. Dalton and Reinaldo got away with it. One was a businessman, the other a dentist. One rich, the other a millionaire—they walked free. When I mentioned this to the state’s defending counsel, he said: “That’s standard for crimes in Brazil these days. We’re just putting Black people and the poor away for longer and longer.”

The dentist murderer had injured his right arm with the knife he’d used to kill his wife. Before he appeared in front of the judge with his eye-wateringly expensive lawyers, there was some complication with his condition and he ended up losing his arm. The jury decided for that reason and that alone, he’d already been punished enough. A dentist without a right arm is like a singer without a voice. A storyteller without a tongue. A footballer without a foot. The homicidal dentist left his trial by the front door, smiling, with his new lover hanging off his bionic arm.

The other defendant, despite being found guilty by the jury, enjoyed a similar fate. Given that he was responsible for the distribution of chilled drinks across the state and a major patron of the city’s cultural life, a first-time offender and a good father, the judge gave him a one-year prison sentence. One year! But with probation granted on the spot, this murderer also left by the front door.

In nine of the fourteen cases, the victims knew their executioners. Six were killed by their husbands, two by their boyfriends, one by a neighbor. Some had already filed formal complaints. This too was part of my work: to evaluate the statistics. Only Raele, the clerk, didn’t know her attacker.

“You seem surprised,” Carla later remarked. “Type ‘killed by’ into Google and see what you get.”

Later, I tried it.

“Killed by”:
Killed by her boyfriend
Killed by her husband
Killed by her ex
Killed by her partner
Killed by her father
Killed by her father-in-law . . .

The problem with discovering this kind of thing is that you get addicted. Every day I’d type in “killed by” and get that tide of blood head-on. It doesn’t matter where you are or what social class you belong to and it doesn’t matter what you do for a living. It’s dangerous being a woman.

BookBlast, 24 October 2025: The Simple Art of Killing A Woman Review

The CWA, 16 April 2025: Dagger for Crime Fiction in Translation

The Guardian, 27 September 2024: From beer to books: 16 subscription services to save you time and money

Public Books, 19 June 2024: Modes of Witness: On The Singularity and The Simple Art of Killing a Women

30 May, Winner of the Héroïne Madame Figaro Award 2024 for best foreign novel

Print Magazine, 29 May: 23 of the Best Book Covers of May

Foreword Reviews, Indy Finalist in General Adult Fiction

Finalist for the 2024 Firecracker awards for Independently Published Literature 

Catherine Taylor in The Irish Times, 31 March 2024: Fiction in translation: from a masterpiece of postwar guilt to femicide in Brazil

Full Stop, 13 March 2024: The Simple Art of Killing a Woman, translated by Sophie Lewis, Review by Allysson Casais

Latin American Literature Today, March 2024: Translation Previews and New Releases From The Simple Art of Killing a Woman, translated by Sophie Lewis

The Star, 3rd February 2024: Literary clarion call against femicide epidemic 

Americas Quarterly, 23 January 2024: A Brazilian Noir Writer Investigates Her Biggest Crime Yet

Southwest Review, 23 January 2024: Her Story Must Be Told

The Mary Sue, 7th December 2023: Ending Your ‘Books Read’ List on a Strong Note

Ms. Magazine, 4 December 2023: Reads for the Rest of Us

Kirkus Reviews, 22 September 2023: The Simple Art of Killing a Woman

Portuguese edition

US edition 

Arabic edition

 

Editor Notes from Commissioning Editor Susie Nicklin

I would much rather not be writing this blog.

Ostensibly, it is to mark the publication of a book entitled The Simple Art of Killing A Woman, by Patrícia Melo, translated by Sophie Lewis. Published in Brazil, the USA, Germany, France (where it was longlisted for the prestigious Prix Fémina), Italy and in Arabic, it’s a page-turner, a thriller about the murder of a young indigenous woman in the west of Brazil. The protagonist is a lawyer who has escaped a relationship in Rio which has descended into physical abuse.

Threaded throughout the book are statistics on femicide. In 2022, around 48,800 women and girls worldwide (that we know of) were killed by their intimate partners or other family members (Source: unwomen.org). And this is the backdrop of the story, both in the protagonist’s own life and in the country at large.

Although it is a gripping read, it is also a serious and sombre attempt to understand this epidemic of violence against women. Catherine Taylor reviewed it for the Irish Times and Melo has received a raft of endorsements including the German LiBeratur Prize and a shortlisting for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize.

By design rather than coincidence, our final novel for 2024 is also about male violence against women; this time it’s a translation from French, entitled My Favourite in English, a prize-winning novel by Swiss writer Sarah Jollien-Fardel set in Lausanne and in a sparsely-populated valley in the Valais mountains. Both these authors live in Switzerland, and their talents as novelists are a testament to their ability to make art out of survivors’ stories.

I only wish it weren’t so. But I do urge you to read The Simple Art of Killing a Woman, with its striking neon pink cover design by Sarah Schulte and its powerful plot.

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