Writer Paola Ferreira Mendoza debuts in the literary world with Apenas Uma Sessão, a book that delves into the complexities of the human experience. The work brings to light profound and real accounts of a group therapy, where characters deal with moral dilemmas, family traumas and unexpected relationships. Through ten emotional chapters, Paola explores themes such as abandonment, guilt and forgiveness, creating a balance between fiction and reality, which brings the reader closer to the life stories of imperfect and vulnerable characters.
The author, born in Uruguay and living in Brazil, uses her experience as a literary translator to bring a sensitive narrative about suffering and the consequences of human choices. With characters of different ages and nationalities, Just One Session is an invitation to reflect on redemption, which can often only be found in true connections between people.
You debuted in prose with a work that mixes fiction and fragments of real stories, addressing pain, secrets and reconnection. What led you to choose the structure of a group therapy session as the guiding thread for these stories?
It was kind of accidental. First, I wrote the stories with a beginning and an end. I imagined that the protagonists were together, but I didn’t know yet if it was a gathering of friends who met up after getting old, or if they were strangers who decided to share their experiences. So I thought it would be more interesting to have a session that involved everyone and brought a single message: that through listening, each person could interpret their own response.
The characters in the book carry deep traumas and ambiguous morals, far from any idealization. What was the process of delving into these human complexities without falling into stereotypes or judgments?
I have a background in journalism and although I have not practiced it professionally, it is one of those old-fashioned ones that I end up applying even in my personal life. My duty is only to inform, not to qualify. If I did that, I would be inducing the reader to think as I see fit. And that has never been, nor will it ever be, my purpose in writing.
In “Guilt, Mystery and Forgiveness,” the exchange between an abused teenager and a recently released serial killer challenges the reader. What did you want to provoke by exploring this unexpected relationship full of gray areas?
In Guilt, Mystery and Forgiveness, which is chapter 8, the protagonist does not actually suffer abuse on this occasion, but rather mistreatment by her father. The idea came from a real conversation I had with a friend, who confessed to me that, when she was almost a teenager, she followed this case in the United Kingdom. Yes, Mr. Cameron existed. She even wrote a letter with the intention of sending it to the killer, saying that she understood the reason that led him to become a serial killer. And I thought: what if he had written back? From there, I created a fiction that showed how, surprisingly, there can be empathy even in the most extreme cases.
Vulnerability is a central point of the work, both among the characters and in the effect they have on the reader. How do you deal with the emotional exposure that these narratives require — especially knowing that they come from real stories?
It’s a kind of liberation, a relief, a feeling that gives meaning. Knowing that I’m contributing to society. It’s not a book of denunciations, but rather a space for reflection. The identities of the real protagonists are not exposed, they are protected with great responsibility in the work. I felt it was necessary to give this voice.
As a literary translator, you interact with different voices and cultures in your daily life. How has this experience influenced your writing and the creation of characters from different nationalities?
My work as a literary translator is mainly between Portuguese and Spanish. As a native Spanish speaker, I am very familiar with the cultural idioms and nuances of Latin America and Spain. This helps me to better understand the characters and adapt their voice so that the reader understands the emotional context. Translating is not just about changing words; it is about interpreting feelings, tones, pain, passions and even humor, with sensitivity. I always preserve the essence of the author and the work, but I try to make the emotion come across with the same force in the other language. When I translated my own book, I realized that in order to maintain this intensity, I had to rethink passages very carefully. I have read translations of authors like García Márquez, for example, that lost rhythm or meaning. This taught me how important it is to be immersed in both cultures in order to produce faithful and sensitive work.
The dilemmas presented in the stories show that there is often no single answer or clear path. As an author, how do you approach this lack of resolution? Is it a creative discomfort or a deliberate choice?
This is based on my belief that there is no absolute truth, something that is revealed in each story in the book. It is almost a premise of the work: to leave an invitation to reflection and to search for one’s own answer.
“Just One Session” seems to touch on wounds that, although individual, are also collective. While writing, did you at any point feel that you were also going through a process of personal healing?
Absolutely. This manuscript was a healing process, for sure. Even though I didn’t go through the experiences shown, I found my encrypted message there, while I was creating the dialogues and scenes. It was shocking.
The connection between people who don’t know each other is the core of the characters’ transformation. In your opinion, how essential can living with others — even strangers — be in the journey of redemption?
Listening is a condition that only requires presence and true surrender. When you allow yourself this space, even with a stranger, something happens, as if a dormant sensitivity awakens. And then the magic begins. Because, deep down, pain is universal, and when you don’t recognize it in yourself, you can see it in others. And this recognition, this mirroring, can be the first step towards some form of redemption.
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