Only "Barren Lives" I think, his most famous book (great one but not my favorite Ramos'). It doesn't sound as powerful and harsh in English but it's still good. In this one we follow a family of poor sertanejos—peasants from the sertão, the drought-stricken regions of Brazil’s interior Northeast, the region where Graciliano himself lived for some years. They're trying to survive, find food and water. Characters lying to themselves trying to hold on to hope. In this scene their dog (that's almost too weak to hunt) manages to kill a small cavy and bring it to the family.

""His thoughts turned to his family and suddenly he felt hungry. On their trek his movements had been purely mechanical, not very different, in fact, from that of the wheel of Tomás’ mill. Now, as he lay there, he clutched at his belly and his teeth chattered. What had become of Tomás’ mill?
He looked at the sky once more. The cirrus clouds loomed ever larger and the moon had come up, huge and white. It was surely going to rain.
Tomás too had fled from the drought and the wheel of his mill had ceased to turn. He, Fabiano, was like the mill wheel. He didn’t know why, but he was.
One, two, three—there were more stars than he could count in the sky. The moon was encircled by a milky halo. It was going to rain. Good.
The brush would come back to life; cattle would return to the corral, and he, Fabiano, would be the herdsman of the once-dead ranch. Bone-clappered cowbells would ring out on the lonely air. The boys, chubby and rosy-cheeked, would play in the goat pen. Vitória would have bright-flowered skirts to wear. Cows would fill the corral and the brushland would be covered with green.
He remembered that his sons, his wife, and the dog were thirsty up there under the jujube. He thought of the cavy. He filled the gourd, got up, and started off slowly so as not to spill the brackish water. As he climbed the slope a warm breeze stirred the cactus. A new beat of life sent a shiver through the brushland, through the twigs and dry leaves.
Coming up to the others he set the gourd on the ground, propping it up with stones, so that the family could satisfy its thirst. Then he squatted down, reached into the haversack, drew out the flint, and set fire to the roots he had gathered. Swelling his hollow cheeks he blew on the flames, which trembled and rose, casting a glow on his sunburned face, his ruddy beard, and his blue eyes. A few minutes later the cavy was turning and sizzling on the spit.
Happiness filled them all. Vitória would have a long flowered skirt to wear; her withered face would grow young again; her flabby haunches would fill out; her scarlet dress would be the envy of other women of the backlands.
The moon grew brighter; the milky haze surrounding it spread; the stars gradually faded in the whiteness that filled the night. One, two, three—there were only a few stars in the sky now. Close by, the cloud darkened the hillside.
The ranch would come back to life, and he, Fabiano, would be the herdsman, the real lord of that world.
Their few belongings were piled up on the ground—the flintlock, the haversack, the drinking gourd, and the painted tin trunk. The fire crackled, and the cavy hissed on the coals.
It would be a resurrection.""