Castelli di Rabbia - Alessandro Baricco

 

Baricco is an author that I find fairly constantly good, rarely outstanding, and sometimes just overambitious. Castelli di Rabbia is one of those books that make me err towards overambitious (and possibly, dare I say it, overrated). 

An Italian attempt at magical realism involving - among other things - trains doesn't exactly attract me. If One Hundred Years of Solitude has lost its charm for me, it's not like a more contemporary attempt at creating a similar mystique will make me like a book. 

And while some of the anecdotes and subplots might be a pleasant enough read, the most they achieved was making me want to look into the actual history of some of those events (like the construction of the Crystal Palace in London) a bit more in depth, but very little more. 

Omero, Iliade - Alessandro Baricco

 

The most significant thing about this book was finding an old copy of it in my parents' library, with a message from my mom to my grandfather - one of those wise uneducated people who studied until he was 12 before starting to work in the fields but still had time to learn the first book of the Iliad by heart. 

This book is a truly commendable effort, making Homer accessible to a wider public, retelling the story in prose, and focusing on the human dynamics (so much so that the gods are completely left out as an editorial decision). 

Compared to Christa Wolf, obviously, it pales in terms of literary significance, but in terms of bringing Greek mythology "to the Italian masses" I really think this book is second to none and, because of that, it should be applauded. 

Seta – Alessandro Baricco

A book that my wife received from one of my relatives some ten years or so – probably given to her because back then her Italian wasn’t yet absolutely faultless like it is now and/or because she had liked Novecento.

And I actually kind of liked it, which came to me as a rather big surprise. Not so much because I don’t normally like Baricco, but mostly because I’m often not too fond of the people who cite him as one of their favourite authors (unless they are 16 or less, in that case all, or at least some, is forgotten). Yes, I am an awful snob. I honestly have to admit that spending an hour reading this story (defining it a novella would be too much) was quite enjoyable. Yet, I don’t have that much to say – yes, the book was nice enough, but has the literary weight of its silkworms. 

Novecento – Alessandro Baricco

Either at some point in his career Baricco could really write, or maybe this book was actually written by his neighbour, his brother-in-law, or a random dude he bumped into one day.

Novecento is a delightful theatrical monologue. The implausible story of its main character is an endearing depiction of everyone’s desire for security and the fear of the unknown (ironic for a protagonist who has spent his entire life at sea). The piano duel with Jelly Roll Morton is a work of art, as is the idea of naming the main character Danny Boodman T.D. Lemon Novecento. Unlike the book, Tornatore’s movie – despite remaining very faithful to Baricco’s work – is just a bit too much (not the first time for the director, in my opinion).

It’s just a big shame that something so well-written wasn’t followed by anything of a remotely similar calibre.