Another book that I read while trying to regain confidence with (and faith in) Italian literature. I honestly thought that starting with recent winners of the Premio Strega would have been a good move. After all, it's the biggest award one can win, and I'm not necessarily opposed to reading what the big publishing companies are deeming worthy of praise these days. In hindsight, it might not have been a great decision.
Spatriati is a little story of friendship (not particularly exciting), life in the province (been there, done that) and sexual transgression (which, for me, leaves a lot to be desired). To be frank, I would have probably been happy enough to read it if it was a book I had stumbled upon by chance in a second-hand bookshop, but to think that this is could be considered the high point of contemporary Italian queer literature leaves me somewhat perplexed.
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