Nati Due Volte – Giuseppe Pontiggia

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.

Darkness at Noon – Arthur Koestler

Another book that I just wish my students would read: because it’s beautifully written, because it’s true, because it was published during the Second World War. Luckily, my students prefer reading The Hunger Games (when they read).

Darkness at Noon was defined by my boss’s boss as “not exactly a bundle of joy”. Rarely has a definition been more fitting. But it’s not just that, it’s also a great book. Despite a fairly good awareness of the history of the purges, the novel is still surprising: the way in which the contrasts between old and new party members, and between the upper echelons and the rank and file of the party are portrayed is absolutely astounding for the insightfulness. 

The hearings make the reader want to scream for help. And the fact that even characters like Ivanov cannot be sure of their own position within the party is an eerily frightening reflection of one of the darkest pages in 20^th century history.

The Buddha of Suburbia – Hanif Kureishi

This was the first novel by Kureishi that I read, as I prepared to meet him for the literary festival I already mentioned in one of my previous posts. I already knew him as the excellent scriptwriter of My Beautiful Laundrette, and also because of the giant picture of him on the walls of King’s College London, but this novel made me discover him as one of the great writers of his generation.

The Buddha of Suburbia is a wonderful rock’n’roll bildungsroman, with Karim (the main character) finding his way as well as his identity (he is “an Englishman born and bred, almost”). I’m not quite sure how much this novel can appeal to someone not from London (my few Italian friends who read the book have mixed opinions about it), but for someone like me (divided between cultures, in love with the city, and constantly looking for new musical and literary input) this novel is simply great.

And it’s not just about Karim, the actual Buddha of Suburbia (Karim’s father) is as good a minor character as it gets, profiting financially from the mystic thirst of vacuous rich Brits – something that just makes me so very happy.