Just like one can’t really write anything
critical about works on the Holocaust (something I already said when discussing
Primo Levi’s Se Questo E’ Un Uomo)
one also can’t write anything critical about a book on disability, in
particular if written by the father of a severely disabled child.
Pontiggia surely made the right decision by
writing the book as a collection of short anecdotes rather than as a normal
novel – probably the best way to lighten up something that could have run the risk
of being too intense and inaccessible, both things that needed to be avoided at
all costs. He wrote it with the light touch of a father who has been through so
much with his own child that it all seems (probably) normal to him and is also
able to often see a humorous side to the challenges that his child has to face.
Everyone who reads this book is bound to ponder
for a while about many of the issues it discusses. Unfortunately most people,
however, will forget about it after a few days.
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