You won't see any country (an English translation goes by "And Still the Earth")
Dystopian sci-fi novel set in São Paulo a few decades after its release in 1981. Depicts a totalitarian regime ruling a rump state (much having been sold to foreigners) long after a total environmental collapse, and focuses on the environmental theme. I might describe the worldbuilding and summarize the plot but for now I'll translate the first five paragraphs:

Mephitic. The stench comes from the corpses, thrash and excrement which pile beyond the Official Permitted Circles, past the Very Poor Encampments. I pray they don't hear me designate such regions by popular nicknames. I barely know what could happen to me. Isolation, I think.
They tried everything to eliminate this stench of death and decomposition which continually agonizes us. Did they? Nothing was achieved. The trucks, cheerfully painted in yellow and green, dump corpses, night and day. We know, because such things are always known. That's how it is.
There's no time to cremate all bodies. They pile them up and wait. Sewers open themselves to open air, unload in trolleys, on the dry riverbed. The thrash forms seventy seven hills which wave, all settled. And the sun, so violent, corrodes and rots the flesh in few hours.
The infect stench of the dead mixes to that of the impotent insecticides and the formols. Acrid, it makes the nose bleed, in afternoons of temperature inversion. It crosses the obligatory masks, dries the mouth, eyes tear up, cracks the skin. On ground level, animals die.
A pestilential atmosphere is formed which a battery of powerful fans uselessly seeks to expel. To far away from the limits of the oikumene, a word that the sociologists, idle, recovered from Antiquity, to designate the meager space in which we live. We live?

This is just the protagonist thinking as he wakes up, what follows is initially nowhere as dreary. Then he gradually moves away from his middle class neighborhood to several points of the city including the thrash.