Riparare i Torti - Pino Cacucci

 

I hadn't read a book by Cacucci in ages. And it's lovely to see that he's still mildly obsessed with Mexico, and that he remains an excellent storyteller. 

As usual, he tells a (fictional) story of forgotten characters based on real events: the Italian sailors left stranded and uncertain in Mexico as a result of their country's entry into WWII. The story is compelling, and while most of the characters and rather dogmatically sketched (there is often little room for nuances) I found it quite easy to grow fond of a lot of them. 

Through the life of the "proper Fascist" whose identity gets stolen Cacucci shows some very justifiable sympathy for those poor idiots who were taken (or allowed themselves to be taken) for a ride by a regime based on hollow promises and misconceptions. Yet, I wish he wouldn't err so much towards the conspirational at times, because he has enough factual history on his hands to make for a really good novel without resorting to too many mysteries and subterfuges. 

Bambino - Marco Balzano

After reading Resto Qui I ultimately decided that my perplexities about its plot (and the decision to cover an excessively long time span) were trumped by the fact that I had enjoyed reading something about a (hi)story I knew nothing about. 

So, with the same spirit, I approached Bambino, because the Italian North-East and its recent past remain big mysteries to me. 

I appreciated the fact that the narrator/main character of the novel is deeply unlikeable, and his lack of politics but deep-seated hunger for power, authority, influence, violence and money are ultimately a pretty good reflection of why so many Italians were (are?!?) attracted by the Fascist regime. 

While not a great book, this for me was most definitely a good book. The biggest shame, like with Sunset Boulevard, is that I find it annoying to have a narrator telling his story after his own death is hinted at (or openly depicted) since the very beginning. 

La Gioia di Ieri - Elena Stancanelli

 

The kind of typical book that I read because I like its cover and trust its publisher. 

But one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, and publishers do need to sell books to a wider audience than me and people like me, I'm afraid. 

I was hoping for something bubbly and at times slightly unorthodox. Instead what I got was the story of an owner's love for her dog (in case, please refer to my comments to Heart of a Dog for my view on the previous dog-related book I had read) and ultimately her descent into spinsterhood (despite her possible lack of self-awareness). All in all, a bit of a waste of time, though at least not a particularly troubling one...

Cose Che Non Si Raccontano - Antonella Lattanzi

This is a book that I decided to read when I became line manager for 11 (reasonably) young women (and 1 man - who would have thought, the academic third space is ever so slightly female dominated...) and figured out I might as well read up on some of the challenges they might be facing. 

And wow, this was a tough read. I didn't even pay much attention to how well-written (or not) the book was, as its treatment of the author's medical and psychological issues was the only thing I could really focus on. 

A few chapters in, I quickly stopped mentally telling the author to be more resilient and/or get to the point, and actually came to appreciate her own openness and most of all the intellectual honesty with which she described her own physical and mental processes. 

I still don't quite know whether I "liked" the book or not, though I'd like to believe that it made me better at managing challenging conversations. 

Ferrovie del Messico - Gian Marco Griffi

 

Meh. 

Acclaimed by the hipsters-who-know as one of the greatest Italian books in recent memory, this picaresque novel made famous by word-of-mouth left me initially untouched, and ultimately bored. 

Initially untouched because the few humorous moments are separated by long pages of forced irony and self-congratulatory prose. 

Yes, you've done your research. Yes, you can write pretty well. But do you need to remind the reader (directly or indirectly) at every page?

And ultimately bored because this book just goes on and on for hundreds of pages (8+, to be precise) and that was so completely unnecessary...

Most likely the novel on Italian Fascism that had the smallest impact on me. Disappointing to say the least...

Dimmi di Te - Chiara Gamberale

 

A book that I picked only because I liked its cover (again) and because I had vaguely heard of its author because of a radio program of hers. 

While I don't dispute the personal sufferings of the author, and the complexity of raising a child as an old(er) semi-single mother, I really didn't enjoy this romanced autobiography of hers. 

At best, this book's purpose is chiefly a therapeutic exercise for Gamberale. Good for her, but it doesn't make for a great for me, and her attachment to many more or less significant figures from her high-school decades before left me quite untouched. 

At worst, this book capitalizes on the sufferings of her high-school best friend, and on the life of her young daughter. Which just doesn't sit right with me. 

Dentro il Palazzo - Carlo Cottarelli

My parents went to a book presentation by Cottarelli and enjoyed it so much that they managed to come out of it with five copies of this book. Partly they liked him because he's an engaging speaker, partly because they share enough of his political positions, partly because my mom had a bit of a crush on him, but mostly because he studied at LSE, which in my family's highly informal global university rankings sits at the very top (now, try to guess where their only child works?!?). 

As far as non-fiction books go, this is one of the best I've read. It's very well-written, and I got plenty of ideas and a lot of clarifications about the intricacies of the Italian political system. Like at the end of a good essay, the first part of the book (dealing with the Italian parliamentary system, while the second part deals with the period that saw Cottarelli appear as a viable candidate for Prime Minister) concludes with a series of recommendations that the author makes to improve Italian politics. 

Yet, I can't help but feel that this book ultimately doesn't fulfil its ambition to revitalize the interest of the population in the Italian political system. Its ideal audience is ultimately people like me and my parents, people willing to actually concentrate to understand some of the (relatively) intricate points that Cottarelli makes, and who are (reasonably) dissatisfied with the system but still acknowledge its usefulness. Those who are opposed to the status quo, or too disengaged, would most likely see in this book a clear demonstration of the fact that there are too many things that are inherently wrong, and we should just burn the house (or the Italian parliament) down. 

Due - Enrico Brizzi

 

It must be hard to have written one hugely successful book, and follow it up with a list of very uninspiring novels, and Brizzi was just trying to milk (again) the one thing that gave him fame. 

I was expecting/hoping this book would be a sequel covering Aidi and Alex's lives 30 years after their high-school years - that kind of nostalgic operation (kind of like in Trainspotting 2) I could have got behind. 

Instead, this is an immediate sequel of Jack Frusciante E' Uscito dal Gruppo and it just doesn't work for me - Aidi is boring, on a high-school exchange that I look down upon because I am a snob, in a place that I find uninspiring, and the charm of interrail travelling and backpacking like Alex has long lost its appeal for me. 

Still, I'm reasonably happy to have read this because, while this is not a good book by any measure, I liked the original one enough to bring myself to care a bit about its sequel and it was obviously an easy way to pass a day or two during the Christmas holiday. Still, Enrico Brizzi, please, move on...

The Flamethrowers - Rachel Kushner

The Mars Room is still my favourite Kushner novel to date. I possibly had too high expectations of The Flamethrowers, and while I found it a really enjoyable novel, I didn't quite think it was one of the best of the 21st century, failing short of being either a "great American novel" or a "great transnational novel". 

The parts that I found most exciting were without a doubt the American ones - in particular the ones set in Utah, between the mentions of Spiral Jetty, the discussions of the main character's artistic and photographic aspirations, and her motorcycle rides (whose epic nature reminded me of Peter Carey's A Long Way from Home). 

The Italian section, on the other hand, left me quite dissatisfied, between an overview of the situation that feels superficial, a family dynamic that I found fairly uninteresting, and the decision to cross the border into France in the one place that all readers must know (Mount Blanc - I was unimpressed). While some reviewers argue that Kushner wrote a great novel about Italian terrorism in the 1970s, I think this pales in comparison to, say, Dario Ferrari's La Ricreazione E' Finita. 

Io Khaled Vendo Uomini e Sono Innocente

 

Even months after having read this, I'm not quite sure how I feel about this book. 

On the one hand, it's obviously important to talk about the people behind the trafficking of migrants across the Mediterranean, and show their place in "the system". 

On the other hand, at times this book made me feel as if the author was herself exploiting the suffering of migrants in her book (and surprisingly, the most gruelling scenes left me relatively unmoved - perhaps because we are all getting tragically used and routinely exposed to them?) while being a bit too supportive of the narrator's own attempts to deny his own agency and importance within the people smuggling network. 

Divorare il Cielo - Paolo Giordano

 

I got this book as I had (surprisingly) loved Tasmania last year and, after all, Paolo Giordano had written one of the biggest Italian editorial successes of the 21st century. 

Instead, with Divorare il Cielo we have a very early, but very serious, contender for "worst book I've read in 2025". 

The plot is poor and jumps the shark about 25 times. The characters are either unbearable, unbelievable, or underdeveloped (in particular every woman other than the narrator), but preferably all three. Somehow, the book also made me sincerely uninterested in Apulia, which is now widely considered one of the coolest regions of Italy. 

It really felt like Giordano was trying to present himself as the Italian Franzen here, but fell way short in all things that make Franzen great, and just went way more wrong in all the things that at times make me question Franzen's actual greatness...

Donne di Tipo 1 - Roberta Casasole

 

Picked this book because of its cover. A staunch feminist colleague of mine (who has taught me a couple of valuable lessons) uses a picture by the same artist as her avatar, so I just assumed this book would have been at least insightful. 

Instead, this was without a doubt the worst book I've read this year. 

Obviously, you don't need to like a book's main character in order to like the book, but you have to find him/her at the very least remotely interesting. Instead, the book's protagonist is a selfish entitled brat with misguided ideas about her academic value. Still, I can find a way to live with that.  

What I can't live with is the constant feeling that the author finds her creation (and herself, by default?) hilarious. It's just irritating. 

Also: what kind of supposed feminist spends her time talking about how hot someone is?!?

Tutta la Vita che Resta - Roberta Recchia

 

One of the Italian books that I just have to read every now and again. Melodramatic to the ninth degree - with somehow managed crisis after somehow managed crisis and the very occasional brief interlude of something resembling calm. 

Yet, this is not the utterly unbearable A Little Life. I actually got to feel something for the characters, and in all this drama I didn't think that the author was simply riding on the readers' emotions (and their manipulation), but was actually telling a genuinely compelling story and touching on a variety of themes with skills. 

Obviously, a number of plot twists were rather predictable - ranging from the family eventually finding a way to patch things up, to the solution of the initial crime, to the disappearance of central yet ultimately expendable characters. Still, this remain a book that I enjoyed way more than what I had expected.  

I Giorni di Vetro - Nicoletta Verna

 

Once in a while, it's quite good to realize that there are contemporary Italian writers that, well, know how to write. Like so many in her generation, Verna appears to have a remarkably sombre approach to writing, but even then the story is truly a compelling one. 

The reader understands both the appeal and horror of the titular Vetro, and the deep flaws of his friend (and Redenta's father) get more and more disturbing as the pages turn. Yet, what stands out is the inspiring forms of resistance (be it to a regime, to societal norms, or to family members) that the book celebrates in what feels at times like a touching tribute to Fenoglio. 

And while the surprising spin towards the end of the book (the identity of the mysterious Diaz) is really rather expectable, the surprise in the very final pages (what happened at the ball that marked so much of Redenta and Bruno's lives) is truly surprising. 

Sono Mancato all'Affetto dei Miei Cari -Andrea Vitali

File this under "Italian book read because the title was appealing" (in this case the loose translation is "I died and left my loved ones"). Also file this under "very low expectation, and just read for harmless entertainment". 

If anything, the book did give me something more than I was expecting (which really wasn't much). It is quite well-written, and ultimately does a good job of explaining the position of everyone in this clashing family and how everyone is both in the right and in the wrong most of the time. 

Bonus points for not pretending that the narrator's death at the end was a surprise (it was in the title!) malus points for having a dead man narrating the story (for me it didn't work in Sunset Boulevard, it was unlikely that it would work here...). 
 

Le Madri Non Dormono Mai - Lorenzo Marone

 

A book that I read on my phone as I couldn't really carry anything bigger with me as I jogged for 800 km along the Camino de Santiago this summer. 

And despite being dog-tired, I did manage to finish this and a couple of other novels, but none really impressed me that much. 

Crucially, with this book, I kept on wondering whether it is better for a man to tell the story of those Italian mothers who have to raise their children in jail, or whether we should wait for - dare I say it - a woman to do that. On top of that, the depiction of poverty and crime in Naples really feels gimmicky (here, as in so many other depictions). 

Fame d'Aria - Daniele Mencarelli

 

Another book that I borrowed from my hometown's e-library chiefly because of its appealing title (loosely translatable as "hunger for air"). 

Because of the themes it deals with (a desolate father running away with a disabled child who is growing into a man, the poverty of those who have a job and because of that are not supported by the state, the drama of the daily challenges that families on the brink have to face) one can't not like the book. 

Yet, it also reads as excessively melodramatic (or perhaps excessively influenced by the well-meaning values of the Italian petit-bourgeoisie) to really leave a mark on me, or go beyond being the kind of book that one has to read every now and again. 

I Titoli di Coda di una Vita Insieme - Diego De Silva

 

A book that I only got because I was out of ideas, it was on the landing page of my library's e-library, the title was catchy (it roughly translates as "the closing credits of a life together") and the picture on the cover was nice. 

All very valid reasons when picking an unchallenging read, and unchallenging it was. Too unchallenging actually. 

Noah Baumbach couldn't make separations fully interesting in A Marriage Story, and so it's rather unsurprising that a minor Italian author didn't manage either. Yet, I really could have done without the male protagonist's return to his only summer home with all its sappy poetry. And I do realize this is a male author, but damn this separation feels oh so very one-sided, and it really looks as if De Silva went out of his way to make the reader side with the husband. 

La Quarta Versione di Giuda - Dario Ferrari

Despite being utterly fed up with detective stories, I gave this book a try because I liked La Ricreazione E' Finita so much. 

And I have to admit that Ferrari somehow managed to make me enjoy a book that is both about a murder (well, two by the end of it) and religion (there are few things I dislike as much as literary Catholic-bashing, despite being really, really, really far from being a fan of the Catholic Church). 

Perhaps it's his multiple mentions of Sciascia, or perhaps it's the fact that Ferrari's defence of the poor and oppressed doesn't feel tokenistic, but for once I am honestly glad I read an Italian crime novel (despite the fact that the citations from Borges left me rather unmoved). 

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.