Memories of the House of the Dead (Luciana Nissim Momogliano)

File under: What I'm reading

I read a very short book on the train to NYC in February by a woman who was deported with Primo Levi: Luciana Nissim Momogliano. 

It’s called Ricordi della casa dei morti. ["Memories of the house of the dead"]. A very insightful book! In the most difficult situation I can imagine, she managed to survive in the same way Primo Levi did: she was able to practice her profession – medicine – just as he worked as a chemist. But she was still starving, and she still observed atrocities. She says at one point that the head doctor in her barracks had to kill two children who were born in Auschwitz. Another semi-eyewitness account of this particular slice of the Holocaust but still not enough information for me [I'd like to read firsthand accounts of women who gave birth in the Nazi concentration camps. Do they exist?]

The book clarifies something I should have already understood: many Holocaust victims were gassed – thrown into the camera a gas – and then cremated. 

She also says when they received rations, the question was always: 'Do I keep some until tomorrow?' But she said any decision she made felt wrong -- because she was still starving.

She also was able to transfer to another concentration camp later in 1944 and that likely saved her as well. Her friend, Vanda Maestro, whom Primo Levi also wrote about, died after Luciana left for the other camp. 

I'm happy to say this is one more book from the canon I'm seeking to exhaust: books by women survivors of the Holocaust. Because women's experiences of the Shoah were different. It's something I first grasped when I read Edith Bruck's Andremo in città, and that revelation convinced me to translate the work (which, as you know, is called This Darkness Will Never End in my English translation). My life really changed once I met Edith Bruck!

Sidenote: I bought this book directly from Giuntina last summer during my visit to Florence. I had written to the editorial staff to say there were books of theirs that I couldn’t easily find so was there a bookshop onsite? There isn't but they said they would sell me the books directly so I went and happily spent more than I should have.

The author mentions that period of follia between July 1943 and September 1943 when Fascism appeared to be overthrown, only to have the Germans essentially invade Italy and re-impose Fascist rule. What a moment that must have been -- sheer joy followed by sheer terror and the anguish that descends when you realize the specter you thought you'd escape looms anew.

Nothing original to say but here I am: I'll simply have to read about World War II for the rest of my life. I'll never fully understand what our grandparents and parents lived through -- and none of mine were in combat! None of mine were Jewish, none of mine were deported or sent to a prisoner of war camp. And yet still: They lived through a period of immense sacrifice and tension, where the fate of the world hung in the balance. So I'm simply going to try to know as much about it as I can because its impact and scope shaped the world we're living in today.

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What I bought at I AM Books in Boston (2026)

Last year, I gave a talk about my translation, This Darkness Will Never End, at the Italian bookstore in Boston. It was wonderful to speak about this short story collection that I'd lovingly translated while surrounded by Italian books.

So when I visited Boston this year, I made a beeline for the store. I AM Books is in the Italian North End of the city, and it's adorable.

What I like: there are Italian books there -- which may seem quite obvious but it's important to state because it's not easy to buy Italian literature in the US at a reasonable price, or at all. There aren't that many shops that stock titles in the original language -- Rizzoli in New York is one place. And I AM Books is another.

But logically, the shop also stocks Italian books in translation (a good reason to give a talk about a translation there). Many people who pass the store won't be fluent in Italian or studying the language but may want to discover Italian literature in translation. 

As you can see, the shop also stocks magazines, and boy do I like that. If your store sells La Settimana Enigmistica or Bell'Italia, I will most likely need to buy a copy of one or both of them. And Mike bought a cooking magazine!

While remaining a solid bookstore that sells books, I AM Books also has a lot of fine gift items that a shopper might want as she visits the North End of Boston and becomes immersed in the Italian quarter. I went a little crazy last year when I was there to give the talk, and bought a cookbook plus a book for Leo about Italian hand gestures and a book by Natalia Ginzburg and... 

Last but not least, the store manager is a lovely person! She took charge of my reading, and made the shop a cozy place to talk about this book that means so much to me.

So if you're visiting Boston, consider stopping by I AM Books. And if you read or study Italian, don't just consider it -- make a point of visiting the store. You won't be sorry!

I AM Books

124 Salem Street

Boston, Mass.

iambooksboston.com 

Please Give the Gift of Reading ‘This Darkness Will Never End’

As long as I'm alive, so are they -- in my books, in my heart.

This precious thought is one of many that Edith Bruck ("my author") shared with me in July when I visited her in Rome. We were speaking about her parents, and in Italian, her words were, "Finché vivo, vivono loro ... nei miei libri, nel mio cuore."

It's a sentiment that resonates deeply with me, even though my life's story is completely different from Edith Bruck's.

I, too, will do anything to keep the memory of my parents alive. And I'm so grateful that they conveyed the importance of literature, and also that they signaled to me early in my life the critical, painful and cataclysmic moment in modern history represented by the Holocaust.

In her case, she's kept alive the memory of two souls who were cruelly persecuted and then executed by the Nazis in 1944. For more than 80 years, she's borne witness to their tragic ends.

And the least I can do, as a translator of her work, is spread the word about her work, and share in the toil in one tiny way by translating her short stories.

Publishing This Darkness Will Never End, my translation of Edith's first short story collection, has been the highlight of my year, and it's given me membership in a club I deem quite special: the group of translators of Edith's work. They are translators of work by an Italian woman author. And last but not least, they are translators of works by Holocaust survivors. 

The colorful stories in this collection unearth a lost way of life: the rituals, preoccupations and joys of devout Jews living in rural Hungary in the years leading up to World War II. There are stories about the fearsome shochet who deems meat kosher -- or maybe not! -- and stories about the desperate but occasionally hilarious ways a poor man may attempt to feed his family.

The Holocaust looms like a specter in many of the stories -- sometimes only in the background, sometimes as the engine that drives the story to its harrowing climax -- but these tales are also testaments to the power of love and the primacy of familial bonds.

Her personal story is mesmerizing. Deported as a teen by the Germans, she survived Auschwitz and eventually made her way to Italy where she quickly mastered the Italian language, which became the instrument of her deliverance. She's published fiction, nonfiction and poetry. So treasured is she in Italy, Pope Francis insisted on meeting her and the two struck up a wonderful friendship.

At 94, she continues to write, dream, remember, share.

To those of you who have read the book, my thanks always. As you contemplate gifts for Hanukkah and Christmas, will you consider giving someone you love This Darkness Will Never End? 

You can buy the book on Amazon, at Bookshop or directly from the publisher. You can also buy it at Barnes & Noble, available to order and pick up at your local store or read as an e-book.

As I told the students at Otterbein College where I was invited to speak this Fall, this darkness will never end but thanks to Edith Bruck’s persistence, it has been transformed into literature, which will light the way for generations to come. And thanks to the great fortune I have to be the translator of this book, I have met so many of you and heard your impressions of the stories in addition to the impact of Edith Bruck's life on your understanding of the world and what it means to be human. We belong to a community of readers and that's a membership card that I hold dear. How big can we make this community? Help me make it very big.

Thank you!

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Memento shrine (Italy) 2025

Christmas morning for me, if somehow instead of Santa Claus coming down the chimney it was Babbo Natale.

My memento shrine, the haul from two weeks of consuming everything I love from il Bel Paese and my ode to all of the little items I stud my daily life with, in a bid to retain a bit of Italy in my otherwise suburban American life.

It may seem like an odd habit, these memento shrines, especially since I don't shop much back here at home. And what an example of conspicuous consumption! One magazine wasn't enough -- I needed three, plus the Settimana Enigmistica, my favorite puzzle  (there are competing puzzle magazines, but this is the real McCoy, to be clear -- wink wink), and several editions of the newspaper I read in Italy, Il Corriere della Sera, (the copies are buried in the photo under the striped box containing coffee cups from Bialetti, which constitute a somewhat new obsession: buying sets of coffee cups with Italian expressions on them for our morning coffee. Once upon a time, we were arranging trysts in hotel rooms in Madrid -- true story! -- now I consider it some mark of our love that every morning our coffee cups "match" because they form a set). (These cups read "Amore mio" -- my love/my beloved -- and "Sole cose belle" -- only beautiful things).

And, of course, books. As I mentioned I was able to find a book by Edith Bruck that's out of print, a Natalia Ginzburg that I needed (because I have now accepted that I will read one or more of her books every year, not unlike the ritual re-reading of A Christmas Carol) and three books from Giuntina, which has published many books by Holocaust survivors, and which I bought directly from the publisher, a lovely turn of events for many reasons (this haul includes Tagebuch by Liana Millu, the author of Smoke Over Birkenau; this latest acquisition is the notebook she kept as she journeyed home from the concentration camps at war's end).

The photo above represents not only my own consumption but also Leo's: the pricey Ferrari shirt? It ain't mine! Ditto the pale green sweater and sweatpants from Benetton (on mega sale!).

Other items of interest:

*A baby bottle of Vin santo

*Every possible permutation of Florentine paper gifts -- wrapping paper, note cards, posters, note pads

*Cans of fancy tuna in olive oil for the chef

*Biscotti for our morning coffee (a new kind! Mike is obsessed with ones that are integrali because he thinks they are healthier)

It's actually less of a haul than in previous years. When I win the lottery -- as Mike often says -- I am going to Italy and buying everything the newsstand guy (il giornalaio) sells and every book I've ever wanted at Feltrinelli and all the biscotti in the world (which is to say at the Conad supermarket) and every kind of Florentine paper, including Florentine wallpaper if that exists. And since we're talking about the lottery, an apartment in Florence.

Curious about previous memento shrines? This one is coffee-themed:

https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2017/06/italian-trip-2017-post-12-what-i-bought.html

And the more restrained Montreal edition:

https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2019/09/montreal-memento-shrine.html

Wow, I've been at it a while:

https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2011/04/christmas-in-april-il-nostro-inviato.html

Signed,

Your Italian memento scout

What I bought at I AM Books (Boston)

I don't get to visit Italian bookstores often because well, I live in America and there aren't many Italian bookstores here (more French bookstores I would say, and I say that with envy).

So when I had a reading at I AM Books in Boston, I had to make a few purchases, including the cute little book you see here, which was a gift for the Little Italian Language Learner.

I felt like it might contain a curse or two and that ranks very high on Leo's list of things he wants to master!

Italian curses!

I also bought a cookbook for Mike, a special edition of Calvino's Invisible Cities and a Natalia Ginzburg book because I now know I need to read something by Ginzburg every year -- I need to, and I simply do. This year all kinds of new Ginzburg books, perhaps because I've accepted the full-blown obsession and place her, oddly, in some ways, next to Sciascia, Fitzgerald and Joyce, three authors I frequently re-read (I suppose I could add Dickens to the list, since I re-read A Christmas Carol every year, but I digress).

The bookstore is in Boston's North End, the traditional Italian quarter, and I have to say it has a very nice selection of Italian books (i.e., decent size), both for adults and children, plus American books and all kinds of gift items I didn't have enough time to peruse.

I AM Books

124 Salem Street

Boston, Mass.

iambooksboston.com 

What I bought at Rizzoli (Jan. 2025)

I had to travel light when a few weeks ago I visited Rizzoli, my favorite bookstore in New York City: so just two books. But the one by Donatella Di Pietrantonio? (Borgo Sud) Pinch me! -- I had actually met her that day as part of the Multipli Forti Italian literature conference organized by the Italian Cultural Institute, NYU, Fordham and Rizzoli, among other organizations.

As for Un bene al mondo, by Andrea Bajani, well, I am still limping after immersing myself in his novel, Se consideri le colpe, (stunning English translation by Elizabeth Harris, "If You Kept a Record of Sins," published by Archipelago). It's about a boy whose jet-setting mother largely abandons him to pursue a career -- and a love life away from her husband -- in Romania. I can only hope this new title by Bajani offers slightly less anguish, otherwise I won't recover.

I must admit -- having just reviewed a new Patrick Modiano novel for the Boston Globe -- that I fleetingly eyed the French section. As the Rizzoli shopping bags proudly proclaim, the bookstore carries books in Italian, English AND French!

I'm sure some visit the store because it is stunningly elegant.

Others may visit the store because it is a short block from Eataly, or because it's on a wonderfully tranquil block of Broadway that more or less deadends into Madison Square Park.

And, of course, the shop has dozens of book-adjacent gift items -- the most incredible journals, for example. (And sometimes La Settimana Enigmistica).

But I go for the foreign books, and one day, I am going to give into my urge to buy French books, too!

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The Italian trip memento group photo

How did it start? Why would you do it? Who can say? But as far back as when I lived in Allentown (at least), I've been gathering all the wonderful items I collected during my trips to Italy and snapping a photo of them.

A group photo of my souvenirs.

I even wrote about it for Catapult!

So here's this trip's memento group photo. There's not much that I do that's unique -- there are even other hair-twirlers in the world. There are certainly other pushy, petite broads around (to the Franciscan brother who tried to tell my mother that I was refreshingly outspoken when I arrived at St. Anthony's, my mother said, "She's very pushy!").

But so far I haven't met anyone else who ritually poses her purchases for a group photo after trips abroad.

(I did it when we visited Montreal, too. So foreign souvenirs occupy a special spot in my psyche).

It may stem from a habit I have that's connected with Christmas: I leave the gifts under the tree for as long as possible. That's what we did, growing up. God Bless Pat: she was not one of those mothers who was snatching the wrapping paper from your hands and socking it into a trash bag as you were  still unspooling it from the gift. Nope! You got to revel in opening the gifts and also gaze lovingly at them, day after day during your school holiday.

Similarly, I leave the Memento Shrine (TM) intact for as long as possible. It's an unusual ode to conspicuous consumption for me, not because I am virtuous but simply because I am not a shopper. I still have the lacy jacket-like shirt that I bought in a London thrift store in 1995 as well as the black-and-white scarf my sister, Denise, gave me in high school, because to replace them, I'd have to enter a shop. And not one that sells cutesy Italian paraphernalia. Which brings me back to my point.

Items of interest this trip:

*New Bialetti Moka AND coffee AND mug; I guess the Bialetti company figured they should begin roasting coffee to go with their signature stove-top coffee makers

*Spaghetti definition place mat (it says spaghetti is something you must never go without in your pantry)

*Tins of Callipo tuna

*A picture frame swathed in traditional Florentine paper (and various journals, pencils and notecards -- singlehandedly keeping the Florentine paper industry in business)

*Books, of course, including a back back back issue of Granta Italia, which I had been searching for since on Amazon it costs a zillion dollars

*And the edition of the Corriere della Sera with the headline, "Addio al governo Draghi," which I wrote about already.

I linger over these items because the time in Italy is so precious. And so different. Another Jeanne emerges when I step off the plane. Indeed, all of these purchases reflect the habits of this other person -- going about on foot, making acquisti, collecting mementos (this time: packets of sugar from the coffee bars I visited --- shhh! Don't tell Mike. For some reason, he thinks the house is full of clutter). Oh and also moments. Collecting lots of moments.

It helps that I never have to step inside a big box store. It helps that I don't have to traverse a parking lot to examine the Spaghetti place mat or obsess over the gorgeous paper goods.

Also, that when I am done, I can repair to a bench in a piazza to revel in what I've bought. La dolce vita, in a nut shell.

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What I bought at Rizzoli

While I was holed up in the scholars room at the New York Public Library, I did break out for strategic jaunts, either to walk block after block or to buy some items that I cannot easily purchase in Connecticut (or which would otherwise have to come via the mailman).

Chief among these shopping destinations was, of course, Rizzoli, the famed Italian book store that my father introduced me to years ago (not because he reads Italian but simply because he reads).

I wasn't judicious in my spending but (luckily) they didn't have everything I wanted. Indeed I saw little down side in throwing some money at a place like Rizzoli, especially since buying Italian books is good for my health, and maybe one day will be good for my wealth (though probably not, given the difficulty inherent in literary translation! Or the scant dough tied to teaching Italian).

I mainly bought books but oh the journals they have! Oh the notecards! 

So without further ado, I bought two books by Primo Levi that I'd needed to replace for a while:

Se questo è un uomo

Sistema periodico

The first one was apt since I was in New York to study Holocaust-era works at the New York Public Library.

I also bought:

Harry Potter e la camera dei segreti

I couldn't resist! Or rather, I had been resisting and decided to throw in the towel. Someday Leo and I will read it together, as we've read the English-language original.

I also bought a children's book about the Romans for Leo.

And, last but not least:

La settimana enigmistica

It's a weekly book of crosswords, puzzles, word games and cartoons. And it's by no means the only puzzle book you'll find on Italian newsstands.

If they'd had books by Natalia Ginzburg, I would have bought them since they were on my list. If they'd had Borgo Sud by Donatella Di Pietrantonio, I would have bought it. They didn't but still, to walk into a bookstore in America that sells Italian books is always a treat.

You'll find Rizzoli not far from Eataly NY so why not visit?

1133 Broadway

New York, NY

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My Montreal memento shrine

I create memento shrines when I return from Italy (or when Mike does) -- carefully-arranged piles of all the precious Italian goods I'm about to enjoy. You've probably seen them on this blog. Until now, I reserved that personal activity for one and only one place (Italy) but now Montreal is becoming one of my beloved places and as such, it's getting the shrine treatment. This one sits on my desk and I can't bear to dislodge it. Paradoxically, it means I am not actually enjoying in full the bounty I brought back. But I find just looking at the cover of the children's book "Je suis terrible" (reflecting in every way my level of French!) or glancing at the Montreal t-shirt fills me with coziness, with a sense of being sated.

To be clear, Italy remains in the top position. And yes, my house is a mess because there are probably  mini-shrines all over the place, if not to cities I love then to groupings of books, and also plant displays and mementos that escaped the shrine.

Is this where I shrug and say c'est la vie?

Libri & livres (or What I bought in Montreal)

I've fallen in love with Montreal of late for many reasons, and certainly chief among them is the possibility of buying actual Italian books and even bilingual editions of Italian books where the second language in the language pair is French! (Yes, I go to Montreal to buy Italian books, ci mancherebbe)

But I also buy books (and magazines) in pure, straight French, even though I don't speak or read the language fluently. Truth be told, narrative French (as opposed to the French of newspapers or websites or menus) outstrips my comprehension abilities.

All is not lost, though, because I came upon a solution this trip:

Graphic novels!

In this case, a short one by Julie Delporte, an emerging Montreal-based writer and cartoonist originally from France.

During these three-trips-in-three-years to Montreal, I've found that I simply still love languages, and in particular, any language that I can master a bit.

I yearn for them, and for the possibility of speaking, even if only briefly, in another language (it helps that I've let go the pretense that I must speak perfectly).

I cherish the interaction I'm able to conjure with merchants or other people I meet. Sure, they can typically speak English but speaking to them in their native tongue opens a particular door into their lives.

I certainly feel that way in Italy and when speaking Italian with Italians. Pamela Druckerman warned recently in a column for The New York Times about the dangers of the ubiquity of English everywhere in Europe (one interesting observation she makes -- Americans may begin applying to colleges in Europe that are much, much cheaper!).

I found her piece interesting and would add one word to the list of things lost in the all-English world: TONE. Italians, for example, are quickly polishing their English skills. But transferring their tone? Duplicating the cadence they use when they speak Italian? Not so easy. And I live for the tone Italians use when they speak. The exasperation one hears in the voice of the barista who's Monday-morning-quarterbacking a soccer game -- it's worth every bit of trouble one might encounter learning or maintaining one's Italian.

So when I am next in Montreal (and I hope to be there frequently in the coming years), I will be tossing around phrases like "bonne journée," without caring about being fluent or sounding good. I only care about having an insightful interaction with the Montreal French-speaking population.

And I will be buying books like this one (which I found at the lovely Drawn & Quarterly bookstore).

My souvenir shrine, or what I bought in Italy

My favorite post-Italian trip ritual (outside of crying and lamenting my exile) is to lay out my souvenir haul on a table and arrange the items for a “group photo.” Yep, a group photo of my souvenirs. It’s essentially a tiny, secular shrine to all the things I love about Italy. Probably sounds sad!

Odd thing is that in my post-trip melancholy, I find that seeing the little bits and pieces of Italy I’ve cobbled together to bring back gives me a tiny jolt. Right now, in particular, a steady bolt of vacation memory euphoria comes my way every time I catch sight of a small ceramic wine carafe decorated with an image of grapes that we bought in Vieste, in Puglia’s Gargano peninsula. Essentially my life depends in this moment on its beauty, on how lucky I feel that I persuaded Mike we could fit it into the suitcase.

Also a set of "Buongiorno" coffee cups. The “O” at the end is actually a little picture of the sun! Dying over here right now from the Mediterranean madness for quaint and picturesque.

And a beautiful picture of Florence – is it an engraving? Not sure how to describe it. And many many other things, including books, of course (Rossella Milone’s Cattiva AND a book of poetry Edith Bruck gave me as a gift and finally Sciascia’s book about the Aldo Moro kidnapping); magazines, the weekly puzzle magazine Italians are crazy for (not the only weekly puzzle book for sale at the giornalaio, if you can believe it! Not even close); a Florence coloring book of important paintings from the Uffizi (for Leo, though I can attest it will satisfy big colorers, too), plus two baby bottles of wine from Puglia (which is to say bottles of wine that are small, not baby bottles you might give to a baby) and a quartino wine carafe, like you get in a trattoria.

Putting the two wine carafes aside, the items I prize most whenever I return from Italy are inevitably made of paper. The books, the magazines, the Florentine paper. I even bought a roll of paper with the Florentine giglio to line dresser drawers and kitchen shelves. And I am not even thinking of all the little receipts and business cards and brochures I tucked into my purse and which followed me home. As they did last year; the bag of receipts from Torino is still sitting in my closet. If I were to look at them, I would find -- like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs -- a trail of the places I visited.

So there you have it – my souvenir group photo. Holding onto the trip by gazing at my shrine.

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I'm headed again to Italy. Here's how I prepare

I'm not thinking about monuments -- except the Pantheon, my favorite building in Italy -- nor am I likely to visit many museums.

I am instead, as an Italophile preparing for a trip to Italy this summer, thinking about ciambelline -- see the name of this blog! -- and where I will be eating them and how to find the largest, freshest ones at each stop along my route.

And I'm picturing myself walking the streets, almost obsessively, as a way to reclaim my adopted country. (I won't be happy unless I walk all day.) I'm thinking about window-boxes full of flowers and all of the other small workaday jewels I hope will pass before my eyes when I touch down in Italy.

I am thinking about my own private itinerary, especially in Florence: lingering under the window of our old apartment near Santa Croce in Florence; visiting Bar Simone across from the turbine plant where I worked; stopping by piazza della Repubblica because I had to thread my way under its arch and across its lovely cobblestones so many evenings on my way home when I lived in Florence; making a beeline for Costa San Giorgio and via Erta Canina and all the other hilly streets on the Oltrarno where one can get a good walk and a stunning view all at once.

Also: Mercato di Sant'Ambrogio, where I did my produce shopping, making sure to walk through Piazza dei Ciompi on the way (in the hopes the antiques market is still there). Also: any place where Italian words will be on display. So bookstores -- but also grocery stores. Plus, the sandwich shops along Via della Vigna Nuova, and the Arco di San Pierino where druggies used to prowl but now tourists consult maps on their iPhones.

I'm fantasizing about the beach towns in Puglia I'll visit for the part of the trip down South. I know that will be the most languorous leg of the trip, and I am already imagining the Pugliese wine (Nero di Troia, Aglianico, Primitivo, ecc) I'll be consuming along with bruschetta and spaghetti allo scoglio from beachside cafes as good as what you'd find in a city.

In other words, I am making a mental list of my must-sees, and more often than not they consist of tiny corners of Florence (and to a lesser extent Rome and Puglia) where I feel I can best breathe in the Italian way of life.

I'm also thinking about about what I will buy. What mementos will follow me home and insinuate themselves among my belongings, serving as little bursts of Italophilia in my daily life.

Well, I'll buy books, it goes without saying (thinking of perhaps shipping a crate home, in fact -- no joke. The literary translator's indulgence?).

Also, coffee, of course (Caffe Kimbo and other Southern Italian brands that are a bit hard to find in the States). Saffron, Italian breakfast cookies (if for no other reason than to distribute them to Starbucks for a teaching moment). Also maybe a new coffee canister. And another darling red and green "mokina" coffee maker, like this one.

And magazines of all kinds (including the political weeklies, maybe a cooking mag, and the world's most beautiful travel magazine: Bell'Italia). Plus postcards, brochures, stationery. Papery vehicles of Italian artistry, in other words (particularly vibrant in Florence where the decorative arts were much prized during the Renaissance).

I also fantasize about conversations I will have in Italian when I arrive. (Hey I'm old -- this is how I get my jollies! Too much wine and I am not jolly the next day). Conversations with friends, conversations with baristas (soccer will come up) and fruit vendors and the taxi cab driver (che casino!) and the signora waiting for the bus who's worried there might be a sciopero (labor strike).

And what I do to prepare for this onslaught of conversation and kibbitzing is listen to podcasts and watch movies and of course read Italian. Though I've found in recent years it's best, before embarking on a trip to Italy, if I consult newspapers, magazines and web sites rather than bury myself in, say, D'Annunzio. What are Italians talking about now? That's what I want to know. That's the talk soup I want to slip into once I arrive (even if it includes the name Salvini).

Here are some books I'm reading:

Lezioni di Tenebra, Helena Janeczek (who just won the Premio Strega!)
Non ora, non qui, Erri de Luca 

I'm also listening to podcasts, including this one.

Here's a movie I watched to gear up, with the amazing Italian actress Alba Rohrwacher:



Last but not least, a song from my personal, ready-get-set-Italy soundtrack (used in a film I want to see so badly, Il Nome del Figlio, with Alessandro Gassman).



Andiamo!

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What I bought in Italy -- Italian trip diary (2017)

Summary for this post? How about: What you buy in Italy when you're an Italophile, traveling mainly for the nostalgia, with the sure knowledge that the things you really want to purchase are mainly found at the supermarket, the newsstand, the bancarella of used books under the portico by the church, et al.

Or as I've said before, my favorite souvenirs are my receipts -- a trail of all the good places to eat, drink, read books and browse other wares that I found along the way. And of course, Italian receipts, like everything else in Italy, are slightly different than American receipts. (Printed on a slippery paper stock, and imprinted with the shop logo in a way that you'd like to make a t-shirt from one.)

What's in the picture? Oh the usual:

*Lots of Caffe Kimbo (which actually comes from Naples but which luckily can now be found throughout Italy (and online), yay, thank ya Jesus);
*Italian biscotti because, really, you just have to have what they have; we have not mastered the art of the Italian biscotto, when we're talking about the breakfast cookies they dip in their coffee
*Lots of copies of Bell'Italia magazine;
*Fancy schmancy chocolates from Venchy's outpost at the main Torino train station;
*A copy of Dylan Dog, the seminal Italian fantasy comic, for Il Nostro Inviato, aka Mike, who I think didn't even knew how great a gift it was;

*And, of course, a few new Moka coffee pots from the fantastic Bialetti home store in Torino because really I cannot have enough of them (I have one stashed at my mother's, one stashed at Mike's sister's house, and it's helpful to have a travel model to bring along on trips....you get the picture).

It used to be that one of the best parts of the post-trip ruminations was taking this "group picture" of acquisti (I even wrote about it for Catapult!).

Now it might just be having "someone" model items that you bought! Like a super cool Milano jacket for my super cool Leonardo (Milan is an important city for a guy named Leonardo, after all!).

My 'Italian' Christmas -- it never gets old

I will always get a thrill from seeing a mass of Italian magazines, newspapers, coffee containers, biscotti packages and other sundry items from Il Bel Paese -- especially if it's all for me!

In fact, this phenomenon of Christmas in October (or July or March) is the basis for an essay I wrote for Catapult that you can find here.

Basic summary: Mike has just returned from a whirlwind trip to Italy and now he's hauling back treats for not one Italophile, but two (hard not to love Italian things when your name is Leonardo).

I'm in magazine heaven, biscotti heaven, southern Italian coffee heaven, etc. And I have a new t-shirt! Not as good as Mike's, though, which actually features a shark plane dropping cannoli out of its cargo hold. Ahhh....Sicily!

This is really the only kind of shopping I love.

I heart Bialetti (and I've got the t-shirt to prove it)

I'd honestly like to think I am the only woman in America obsessed enough with the classic Italian Bialetti moka coffee pot that her partner bought her this t-shirt.

But even if that's not true, I get to keep the t-shirt.

So cool!

This is the logical next step when you own, no joke, nine moka coffee pots, some of which you've scattered at relatives' houses and a certain college in Southern Vermont to ensure visits go smoothly.

Of course, the t-shirt came in a cutesy little bag with the Bialetti logo from the fantastic (and new, or new to me) Bialetti shop where Il Nostro Inviato bought it.

Is it wrong to wonder what other Bialetti baubles the store might have sold (i.e., perfect little Christmas gifts for Mamma)?

Maybe. But I'm wondering just the same.

Jeanne Shops In Italy (My Top Picks)

OK, here are my favorite purchases from Italy earlier this month:

The coffee cup with the Palazzo Vecchio design. A must-have! Notice the green moka in the background. I couldn't resist. You can never have too many moka coffee pots. And besides as Leo says, "Green is our favorite color, Mommy!"

Placemats. OK, we use a lot of placemats at our house. And it's an everyday way to keep a little bit of Italy in my life.

For the little, future Mario Andretti in your life.

PLUS:
The most incredible tote bag I have ever seen! A tote bag with pithy little sayings about all the wonderful things one should do in one's life and they're all in Italian? Ding ding ding that's a gift for Ciambellina.

And as I mentioned in a previous post, I stocked up on my Elena Ferrante titles. What a twisted book cover this is, no? Well, I suppose, ci mancherebbe. Some of what she writes is a bit twisted.

What I Bought in Italy (Hint: Not Leather Goods)

Well, first and foremost, books. I bought tons of books while I was in Italy. Just ask my shoulder.

I bought two hardbacks of the remaining Elena Ferrante novels I have not read.

A book of interviews with famous Italians about the state of the country. A picture book for Leo about "Pimpa" (an Italian cartoon dog) going to Florence, and learning about Dante and Florentine history.

The Paolo Giordano novel that's gained success, in translation, in America.

But other things, too.

A brown shoulder bag with the Vespa logo. Magnets. Because you need them. For your fridge. No?

Placemats. Because they have Italian words on them. A t-shirt. (Because it has Italian words on it. Are you sensing a pattern? I bought the books for that reason, too, ahem). A sunny orange Fiat 500 t-shirt for our little driver.

I look at my haul of Italian treats, and honestly I feel a little guilty. So much consumption! But on the other hand, I was catching up. A 10-year absence from Florence is no small hiatus. And besides, after posting photos here of the gifts Mike has brought back for me from Italy for years, this is the first time I can build a "shrine" of my favorite Italian things that consists entirely of items I bought. Because I was there! There, in Italy! Me!

The real souvenirs, arguably, are the ones lining my pockets and the bottom of the suitcase. The scontrini – receipts – from all of the ciambelline, and cappuccini and books and bus tickets and magazines and snacks I bought. I know from experience that they truly remain long after the actual items have disappeared, been consumed or wear out from overuse. They're distinctive because they're different from American receipts and often of uniform size and rendering. They tell a tale of where I’ve been. (In fact, I find Italian receipts everywhere in our house.)

Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to buy the everyday things Italians buy, and which I bought when I lived in Florence. House shoes, for example. Biscotti from the supermarket – not fancy, not actually intended for Vin Santo – rather, the ones for breakfast. Or saffron. Or a type of bean called "giganti" that Mike wanted for a recipe.

Va bene, pace, maybe next time. Whenever that may be. And may it be very soon!

OK, so I have a thing for trays

This tray is part of my "Italian tray" collection. Yes, the collection has subcategories.

This tray was actually a gift for Il Nostro Inviato.

I was delighted to see an article about trays in the New York Times' Home section today. As the article says, they "corral" items that would otherwise be clutter and also convey a sense of service, if used for drinks or food.

Unlike the trays featured in the Times, my trays all come from thrift stores! Even the one from Italy!

Io mi chiamo.....

Anche se a volte mi fa rincrescere che c'è chi può viaggiare in Italia e c'è chi non può, menomale qualche regalino dal nostro inviato si fa trovare a casa nostra.

Da Babbo Natale

Ciambellina's favorite Christmas gift! A new Moka and lots of good Italian coffee.