This is a book that I found so bad I actually
had to write to its author. After a couple of years I feel a bit sorry for her
and the angry letter that she received, but I really don’t think she should
have discussed something she didn’t know: the life of an Italian boy as a
student in the university where I work (and where I studied) and later as a
Ph.D. candidate at Stanford.
She talks about this genius, able to
revolutionize the world of economics as we know it, and how he is only able to
study because of the support he receives from the (unaware) parents of another
friend. Sure, that might happen in the humanities, but if you are hailed as the
next Paul Krugman by the time you are 22, I’m pretty sure Stanford (or another
token world-class university) will find a way to keep you afloat for the length
of your Ph.D.
In my letter I told the author of this work of
offensive banality that it was the sort of lie that her generation can tell
itself when it tries to justify and rationalize the fact that some of the
brightest young intellects of the country have left for good (“sure, they’re
gone, but luckily we were able to help them leaving in the first place” whereas
many are leaving, without their help, from the awfulness that their generation
has created). They talk about an Italian brain drain. I don’t consider myself a
brain, I consider myself a hard-worker who wanted to leave the country and its
people. I managed to get a fair bit of funding for my Ph.D., but, before that,
I washed dishes and scrubbed pots 6 nights a week for 3 years to pay for my BA.
And a book like this is just an insult to me and those like me (although it is
bound to be a great read for most of my parents’ generation – luckily not for
my mother and father).
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