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. 

Patria - Fernando Aramburu

In my desperate search for something to read over the last couple of months, I decided to read this widely acclaimed novel. Winner of all sorts of awards and, for me, very much in the mould of A Little Life - something so bad that it made me question the sanity of thousands of supposed intellectuals around the world. 

While I do understand that ETA caused a lot of problems to people in the Basque countries and all over Spain, the vision of the book feels excessively Manichean. Miren feels little more than a caricature from a 1950s B-movie. And while on critic wrote that this is War and Peace for our times, I think it's more like a very low calibre feuilleton (then again, I have never actually read War and Peace!). 

I unfortunately read this in translation, and the translator did a monumentally pathetic job: some  Spanish expression were translated literally, others more freely, the verbal tenses (already confusing in the original, I've been informed) were all over the place, and the whole prose was so incredibly stilted. 

Kitchen - Banana Yoshimoto

 

This is a book that I remember buying with my dad as a Christmas gift for my mom when I was a little kid. Back then, Banana Yoshimoto was becoming a literary sensation in Italy, then I forgot about her existence until a friend mentioned her a couple of weeks ago. 

Kitchen has largely stood the test of time, in particular as a result of the frank way in which it talks about loss, and the presence of the transgender Eriko Tanabe and the people who gravitate around her world. 

In many instances I was even willing to "forgive" the book's sentimental passages, but I really didn't feel the need for the ending with its melodramatic night taxi ride to deliver a portion of katsudon. 

La Solitudine dei Numeri Primi - Paolo Giordano

  

It all depends on how one approaches the book, I guess. 

Do you read it as the first work of an aspring young writer? In that case, it's full of promise, does an extremely good job of portraying aspects of the deep sorrows of the teenage years, and it is the kind of effortless read that deserves to be rewarded. 

Do you read it as one of the best books published in Italy? In that case you can't help but feel sorry for the state of Italian literature, wondering how on earth something so raw, with such a poor conclusion, and that focuses on feelings that the author (at 26) might not have experienced/understood can be received with such widespread acclaim.

The Child in Time – Ian McEwan

And this is two almost-consecutive books by McEwan. Unlike with Amsterdam, I am really quite sure The Child in Time is one of the greatest books of the last few decades. There is no point in saying that it’s beautifully written, with McEwan it can be taken for granted. But this book is one of the most touching ones I’ve ever read.

I was almost in tears during the initial supermarket scene, desperately reading to get to the happy ending of the section as soon as possible. Except that the happy ending never came. And then the changing dynamics between Stephen and Julie, with the reader unable to take sides because both of them appear to be – sadly – reasonable, and most of all because who could make a judgement in such a situation?

But Stephen ends up realizing his childhood dream and driving a train. And the actual driver figures things out before Stephen – or any reader – does, and I think that’s just poetry.