Yet another case in which I disagreed deeply with the jury of Italy's biggest literary award.
I guess nothing but good should be said of dead people, so I won't speculate on the lives and merits of Trevi's departed friends. However, it felt as if this book was more about Trevi himself than a tribute to his lost friends. It's about the deep dissatisfactions of intellectual life and the small circles in which these people move, but at the end of the day it left me with very little besides the echo of the cries of an author who wants the world to validate his importance and that of his friends.
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