Under the Volcano - Malcolm Lowry

 

One of those books that I read because I felt I had to. 

Also, one of those books that with hindsight I don't know if I really had to read. 

Dysfunctional couples, self-destructive machos, impotent lovers and rivers of alcohol in exotic settings. Hemingway also had them all. And Hemingway also had me when I was a teenager. I'm now much older, and feel like I have no time for this (despite the fact that, speaking of time, a lot of mine went into reading Under the Volcano). 

Riparare i Torti - Pino Cacucci

 

I hadn't read a book by Cacucci in ages. And it's lovely to see that he's still mildly obsessed with Mexico, and that he remains an excellent storyteller. 

As usual, he tells a (fictional) story of forgotten characters based on real events: the Italian sailors left stranded and uncertain in Mexico as a result of their country's entry into WWII. The story is compelling, and while most of the characters and rather dogmatically sketched (there is often little room for nuances) I found it quite easy to grow fond of a lot of them. 

Through the life of the "proper Fascist" whose identity gets stolen Cacucci shows some very justifiable sympathy for those poor idiots who were taken (or allowed themselves to be taken) for a ride by a regime based on hollow promises and misconceptions. Yet, I wish he wouldn't err so much towards the conspirational at times, because he has enough factual history on his hands to make for a really good novel without resorting to too many mysteries and subterfuges. 

The Night Watchman - Louise Erdrich

 

I read this book after hearing two close friends talk about Native American languages and their preservation (or lack thereof). It was truly significant to hear them talk about the communities they are part of and the challenges they face. So I decided I should read something by one of their great (mainstream) story-tellers. 

The Night Watchman was a beautiful read, mixing capitalized History with non-capitalized family histories. I honestly loved reading about these characters and their attempts to stop their economic decline, physical disappearance, and the dispersal of people and traditions. 

Also, discovering the figure of Senator Watkins, someone simultaneously able to contribute to the end of the dark McCarthy era and to the demise of thousands of Native American people, was eerily fascinating (and scary). 

What remains after reading this book is the beauty of these people, the parallels between so many of their small problems and the small problems I am exposed to, the uniqueness of the governmental campaigns and policies they have been subject to for centuries, and the profound admiration I felt for so many of the characters, whether they were night watchmen, ghosts (spirits?) or amateur boxers. 

La Gioia di Ieri - Elena Stancanelli

 

The kind of typical book that I read because I like its cover and trust its publisher. 

But one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, and publishers do need to sell books to a wider audience than me and people like me, I'm afraid. 

I was hoping for something bubbly and at times slightly unorthodox. Instead what I got was the story of an owner's love for her dog (if needed, please refer to my comments to Heart of a Dog for my views on the previous dog-related book I had read) and ultimately her descent into spinsterhood (despite her possible lack of self-awareness). All in all, a bit of a waste of time, though at least not a particularly troubling one...

Beautiful World, Where Are You - Sally Rooney

 

And the last of the Sally Rooney novels that I've read lately (and, actually, the last Sally Rooney novel I hadn't read). In my very own rankings, it sits as a comfortable second, but the gap between this and Intermezzo is significant. 

I greatly enjoyed the e-mail exchanges between Alice and Eileen that alternate with the narrative chapters, but I found it odd that, while the written communication between the two of them felt so real, the dialogues in the other chapters (and the overall dynamics of the four main characters) felt somewhat unnatural. Or maybe my experience of dysfunctional relationships is too limited for me to understand these people's interactions. 

Also, I somehow kept on picturing Felix as the bold "heavy" from Anora. 

Normal People - Sally Rooney

And this is the third book of Sally Rooney that I've read, and probably the one that I liked the least (though in all honesty I was most likely put off by the mention of the "Netflix series inspired by this book" on the cover). 

Problem 1: the decision to only look at particular episodes in the characters' lives and jump ahead in time feels overdone (I find it cheap in general, though at least Rooney does it better than Michael Cunningham in his latest book)

Problem 2: the 50 Shades of Grey turn left me indifferent to say the least

Problem 3: Marianne comes across as a bit too desperate and devoid of agency by the end of the novel, which I found a bit too much of a downer

Conversations with Friends - Sally Rooney

And this is the second book book by Sally Rooney that I read. 

I suspect my impressions of it were influenced by sky-high expectations after having read Intermezzo and by the fact that I read Conversations with Friends at a time in which we were beginning to gut out a house, living with an army of burly builders working around us, and sleeping in blankets covered in dust. 

Still, I was somewhat underwhelmed by this book. While I still recognised Rooney's ability to explore social relations and write a good book with something somewhere between a very simple plot and no plot at all, I ultimately couldn't bring myself to be interested in the lives of these characters, be them young artsy types trying to find their way into the world, or middle-aged rich people who are a bit bored and/or a bit dysfunctional. 

Intermezzo - Sally Rooney

 

I just wanted to see what the fuss was all about. And, wow, turns out the fuss was about a truly excellent book. 

Having never read anything by Rooney, I didn't quite know what to expect, and was truly carried away by her ability to make the reader care for (while not necessarily like) what happened to all the broken and flawed characters in this book. 

It wasn't enough to tempt me to learn how to play chess (luckily, most likely!) or return to Ireland (my one visit to Dublin remains rather underwhelming, though I really should visit the rest of the country), but it was enough for me to binge on all the other Rooney novels so far (which, good as they might be, in my opinion pale in comparison to Intermezzo). 

Due - Enrico Brizzi

 

It must be hard to have written one hugely successful book, and follow it up with a list of very uninspiring novels, and Brizzi was just trying to milk (again) the one thing that gave him fame. 

I was expecting/hoping this book would be a sequel covering Aidi and Alex's lives 30 years after their high-school years - that kind of nostalgic operation (kind of like in Trainspotting 2) I could have got behind. 

Instead, this is an immediate sequel to Jack Frusciante E' Uscito dal Gruppo and it just doesn't work for me - Aidi is boring, on a high-school exchange that I look down upon because I am a snob, in a place that I find uninspiring, and the charm of interrail travelling and backpacking like Alex does has long lost its appeal for me. 

Still, I'm reasonably happy to have read this because, while this is not a good book by any measure, I liked the original one enough to bring myself to care a bit about its sequel and it was obviously an easy way to pass a day or two during the Christmas holidays. Still, Enrico Brizzi, please, move on...

Resto Qui - Marco Balzano

 

For me, this book was too ambitious. It had plenty of poignant ideas and events to cover: the rise of Fascism and its impact in a German-speaking part of Italy, a pleasant enough love story between people with different approaches to life and levels of education, the decision to submerge a village before WWII to make room for a damn, a hydroelectric power plant, and an artificial lake, and the final completion of the project well after the end of the war and the collapse of the regime. 

Yet, by trying to do all of it in a short novel, the author doesn't really do justice to any of those things: the condemnation of Fascism and its linguistic policies feels little more than a mild tirade, I didn't really care about the individual characters, and I was quite willing to chalk the creation of the artificial lake to "ah, that's progress, it had to happen"...

Divorare il Cielo - Paolo Giordano

 

I got this book as I had (surprisingly) loved Tasmania last year and, after all, Paolo Giordano had written one of the biggest Italian editorial successes of the 21st century. 

Instead, with Divorare il Cielo we have a very early, but very serious, contender for "worst book I've read in 2025". 

The plot is poor and jumps the shark about 25 times. The characters are either unbearable, unbelievable, or underdeveloped (in particular every woman other than the narrator), but preferably all three. Somehow, the book also made me sincerely uninterested in Apulia, which is now widely considered one of the coolest regions of Italy. 

It really felt like Giordano was trying to present himself as the Italian Franzen here, but fell way short in all things that make Franzen great, and just went way more wrong in all the things that at times make me question Franzen's actual greatness...

Tutta la Vita che Resta - Roberta Recchia

 

One of the Italian books that I just have to read every now and again. Melodramatic to the ninth degree - with somehow managed crisis after somehow managed crisis and the very occasional brief interlude of something resembling peace. 

Yet, this is not the utterly unbearable A Little Life. I actually got to feel something for the characters, and in all this drama I didn't think that the author was simply riding on the readers' emotions (and their manipulation), but was actually telling a genuinely compelling story and touching on a variety of themes with skills. 

Obviously, a number of plot twists were rather predictable - ranging from the family eventually finding a way to patch things up, to the solution of the initial crime, to the disappearance of central yet ultimately expendable characters. Still, this remains a book that I enjoyed way more than what I had expected.  

Lucy by the Sea - Elizabeth Strout

 

I feel like I have written this before, but while I very much love the writing of Elizabeth Strout and the atmosphere that she is able to create with her books, all of them - perhaps with the exception of the ones about Olive Kitteridge - blur into one. Lucy by the Sea was a clear demonstration of that, as I remembered having read My Name Is Lucy Barton, but in spite of its title I couldn't for the life of me recall who Lucy Barton actually was...

I have yet to find a book whose handling of the recent pandemic I find compelling, perhaps because it's something that we have all lived through. On the plus side, at least this book was a clear upgrade compared to the rather miserable Day by Michael Cunningham. 

What I did like about this book, though, was the narrative arch of William (Lucy's husband). I must confess I was rather ticked off by the brave "knight in shining armour" (who at the same time has the foresight of "the stoic man of science"), but in the last few chapters it was really interesting to see his own daughters discuss with Lucy the probable selfish reasons behind some of his actions, and Lucy recognizing them - perhaps having known that was the case all along, and reclaiming her own agency.  

The Regeneration Trilogy - Pat Barker

 

What an absolute work of art! And to think that Pat Barker studied history (what I teach...) at the university where I work, and I actually had to discover her because my auntie told my mom about her. In my defence, she did graduate a few decades before my arrival at least...

The Regeneration Trilogy is possibly the best WWI book(s) I have ever read. Barker has a truly unique way of describing, through her characters, the ugly beauty of war, how it plays with the minds of soldiers who can never leave war behind and are often attracted to it for various reasons even when given a chance to leave. 

Her ability to weave real history and fiction together in an inextricable mix is also remarkable, and the last few chapters of The Ghost Road are an agony to read, as the reader clearly knows how things are going to end for Billy Prior, the beautifully troubled and scarred main fictional character of the trilogy. 

I Titoli di Coda di una Vita Insieme - Diego De Silva

 

A book that I only got because I was out of ideas, it was on the landing page of my library's e-library, the title was catchy (it roughly translates as "the closing credits of a life together") and the picture on the cover was nice. 

All very valid reasons when picking an unchallenging read, and unchallenging it was. Too unchallenging actually. 

Noah Baumbach couldn't make separations fully interesting in A Marriage Story, and so it's rather unsurprising that a minor Italian author didn't manage either. Yet, I really could have done without the male protagonist's return to his only summer home with all its sappy poetry. And I do realize this is a male author, but damn this separation feels oh so very one-sided, and it really looks as if De Silva went out of his way to make the reader side with the husband. 

Something to Tell You - Hanif Kureishi

 

Like most of Kureishi's books, this was a pleasant read, in particular as it felt like an indirect reflection on his pretty unique life and relationships. 

Yet, the autobiographical and self-referential tones are also one of the book's main weaknesses, as I read it shortly after reading his short-story collection Midnight All Day, which already contained a number of the stories and plotlines developed in this book. 

All in all, though, this was one of the best recent works by Kureishi that I read as it gave me a sense of peace for characters - and authors - finally being at peace with themselves and with their own idiosyncrasies. 

Kitchen - Banana Yoshimoto

 

This is a book that I remember buying with my dad as a Christmas gift for my mom when I was a little kid. Back then, Banana Yoshimoto was becoming a literary sensation in Italy, then I forgot about her existence until a friend mentioned her a couple of weeks ago. 

Kitchen has largely stood the test of time, in particular as a result of the frank way in which it talks about loss, and the presence of the transgender Eriko Tanabe and the people who gravitate around her world. 

In many instances I was even willing to "forgive" the book's sentimental passages, but I really didn't feel the need for the ending with its melodramatic night taxi ride to deliver a portion of katsudon. 

Strong Motion - Jonathan Franzen

 

While I didn't like this book as much as The Corrections (hell, at times I think I won't ever like another 21st century American book as much as I liked The Corrections...) I was really surprised by how much I enjoyed Strong Motion and by the fact that it's not held in higher regard by critics. 

When compared to other books by Franzen, I feel that Strong Motion does religion better than Crossroads, environment better than Freedom, and historical digging better than Purity.  

At times the prose felt a bit too underdeveloped, but two passages that I felt stole the show were the initial confrontation between Reneé and reverend Stites and the crash course in the (economic) history of the United States by Louis's father. This is possibly a relatively raw and juvenile work, but really one that - in my humble opinion - deserves more attention. 

Half of a Yellow Sun - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

 

I almost feel guilty to say that I didn't particularly like this book, considering the kind of reaction that it generated worldwide. Interestingly, the few negative opinions that I found online came from Nigerian readers. 

While I obviously agree with the main premises (Igbo people telling the stories of the impact of the Biafran War on their communities, and the fact that the world should remember the suffering it caused), I think the book ultimately lacks depth, chiefly because of how stereotypical so many characters looked. 

We have the armchair academic revolutionary (who oddly enough never talks about other revolutions - in the 1960s! - or about his academic interests), the well-meaning but out place white man, the houseboy who gets educated and reaches new heights (despite some very serious lows), a couple of cartoonish depiction of Western journalists, etc. 

The worst is the absolute perfection of Olanna, which I found rather tedious. I really wish we heard more from her twin, who to me was by far the most interesting character of the story. 

On top of that, while the context of the story was quite clearly the 1960s, I felt that the interpersonal dynamics between the main characters were much more current (in particular considering the fact that I suspect Nigeria didn't quite experience the sexual revolution of the 1960s in the same way as the Western world). 

Portrait in Sepia - Isabel Allende

 

Damn, how Allende bores me. Then again, she's sold millions of copies worldwide, has plenty of admirers and, when the ebook offer is limited (and at Southwark we're really down to a handful of potentially readable titles for me), beggars can't be choosers. 

I guess the overarching positive is that, by setting this story in the 19th century, she couldn't remind the readers of the importance of Salvador Allende, the dark years of the Pinochet dictatorship etc. 

What she could do though, was cover her novel with the standard romantic patina, the usual empowered rich heroines who defy odds (real or imaginary) to carve their own path, and the habitual love triangles and tangles. 

It's probably quite telling that the part of this story that I enjoyed the most was actually the one set in San Francisco and the interplay between immigrants of various races there - her always identical takes on Chile and its idiosyncrasies just leave me profoundly unmoved.