Italian Books by Women We Want To See in Eng.

I've written a piece for the Website Literary Hub called "10 Italian Books by Women We'd like To See in English." That's the kind of story that writes itself since there are so many wonderful Italian books that for many reasons have not made it over into English (in some cases published decades ago and winning Italy's top literary prizes.

Here's the intro to the piece, subtitled, "Reading Beyond Ferrante":

As more attention is paid to literature in translation, more tools emerge to aid us in trying to bring new (and in some cases, old) foreign works to an English-speaking audience.

Sometimes, however, those tools tell us things we don’t want to know. To wit, the wonderful database of translated works maintained by Chad Post of Three Percent shows us who is being translated – and by process of elimination, who is not.

My interest, of course, is: what Italian language books are being translated? And when I scan the names in the excel spreadsheets one can so handily download from Three Percent’s Web site, I see men’s names in line after line of the entries for Italian books translated and published.

Of course there are exceptions – and I don’t only mean Elena Ferrante. Europa, for example, has also published two works by Viola Di Grado in recent years (the second of which, Hollow Heart, translated by Antony Shugaar, was shortlisted for the PEN translation prize this year).

But it’s clear that the vast majority of Italian authors breaking through to English-language audiences are still men. The usual suspects, including Andrea Camilleri (the noted suspense writer) but also Umberto Eco and Antonio Tabucchi -- usual but also deserving suspects. Indeed, in trying to compile this list, I consulted Italian lists of ‘best books of the year’, plugging in 2012, 2013, etc., and found these lists were almost inevitably dominated by men (no wonder many in Italy don’t believe Ferrante is a woman – ahem).

Here, instead, are some of the women authors we’d like to see translated. The list is a mix of recent titles along with some galling omissions of writers who won a Strega – the Italian equivalent of a Pulitzer Prize – and have yet to see their works translated into English, in some cases decades later.
To read the rest, including the specific books by Lalla Romano, Erica Barbiani and Ubah Cristina Ali Farah that need to be translated, go here.

How I re-decorate

I print some new quality photos, I put them in frames, and I enjoy. That's how I re-decorate the house.

My zillions of mementos have already been arranged (and I don't really shop). So new sunny photos are all I need.

'Bits' journal (March-April excerpt)

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm obsessed with what poet and FSU professor David Kirby calls the 'bits' journal. The little observations one makes, the asides, the day-to-day activities one jots down, just because. I've begun posting excerpts of mine here. But what I really want to do is collect OTHER writers' 'bits' journals. Who's in?

*
April 1, 2016

Leo and I make quiche together. And yesterday as we stirred the bacon together with wooden kitchen spoons, he says, “It’s like a little hand touching the bacon.” Yes, a wooden “hand” held by an actual hand (that happens to be the world’s cutest hand).

March 22, 2016

On days I stay home with Leo, every minute of every hour someone wants to talk to me. And that’s what makes it so hard. It’s what makes going to work much easier. The moment you begin your journey towards work, someone stops talking to you, stops waiting for your reaction, stops asking you the same question over and over. Someone stops trying to seize every moment of your attention, every breath you take.

March 17, 2016

From one of Leo’s children’s books: “Where do months and years go when they’re gone?”

My quick-hit guide to Florence

The wonderful, exciting, taking-over-the-world writer Alexander Chee put out a call on Facebook for tips on Florence. I was happy to oblige and emailed him some suggestions.

And then I thought, well, I may know some other people shipping off to Florence for their summer holidays. So here are some ideas for how to spend your gorgeous Florence days....

Restaurants

From my first blog post during my trip last year at this time, click here for some ideas on where to eat, including my first visit to Trattoria Cammillo.

From a few years ago (in some ways Florence never changes so these restaurants are still open and still good, even if the post is from a while back), you can find a guide here to eating in Florence. I visited many of these restaurants last year and remained impressed and full (Ignore the Italian and just go to the middle of the post where the list of restaurants is).

ALSO: There are essentially three branches of Cibreo (the expensive version, the less expensive version and the club version that gives you access to a buffet plus a performance -- I've never been to any of it but Cibreo is quite well known so worth a try)

Museums

You know the biggies (the Uffizi and L'Accademia) so let me mention Museo del Novecento (for modern art). I'm personally really interested in 20th century Italian art (Futurism, i Macchaioli, Italian impressionism), and you may want a break after all being submerged in Medieval and Renaissance frescoes.

Produce Markets:

Go to the Sant-Ambrogio Market, slightly off the beaten path, in a neighborhood behind Santa Croce. That said, San Lorenzo was recently renovated and now has some great restaurants so also worth a visit but in a very touristy, crowded part of the city.

There's also usually a weekly flower market on Fridays in Piazza della Repubblica that's visually interesting even if you have no interest in buying flowers.

Neighborhoods (and WALKS):

Don't miss San Niccolo on the other side of the Arno (and of course, Sant'Ambrogio).

In fact the best walks are on the other side of the Arno. You can do the requisite walk up to San Miniato or you could walk to Forte Belvedere, strolling up a road called Costa San Giorgio (which you access just off the Ponte Vecchio). Walks along Via dell'Erta Canina (nearby) are also lovely. They'll help you work off your Florentine diet!

Shopping
I don't care for leather goods so I can't give advice. My interests are household items (placemats, new Mokas, coffee canisters) paper goods, some clothing and of course, BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS. So, respectively, I visit the supermarkets and the casalinga shops (literally 'housewife'), Il Papiro, Barone near Piazza Beccaria (which had expanded when I went last year) and any of the Feltrinelli branches (including a fantastic one in the Santa Maria Novella train station -- peruse books while you wait for a train? Don't mind if I do!).

Field trips:

Lucca. In case you haven't been, it's a walled Tuscan city where you can even ride your bike on the ramparts of the wall. Also, there's tower in the center of the city with a tree growing on top. Plus some of the best food in Tuscany.

Local blog

Elena is a marketing expert who keeps the best blog (http://www.ioamofirenze.it/) on what to do in Florence. She no longer updates the English version regularly (http://lovingflorence.blogspot.com/)

but I'll include the Web address because there are some great links to restaurants and other attractions that are still up-to-date.

Buonviaggio!

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What Donna Leon gets right about Italian men

I've been urged to read one of Donna Leon's detective series books. And maybe I will. But in the meantime, I've picked up a book of her travel essays.

She's capable of some pretty fine insights. Here's what she has to say about Italian men:

"Most interchanges between a man and a woman here [in Italy], whether they take place between a woman and her lover or between a woman and the man who sells her cheese and prosciutto, are charged by some mutual recognition of, at however wild and improbable a distance, sexual possibility.

"This might st first sound like the ravings of frustration, the wild imaginings of a sex-starved spinster, but any woman who has lived here has surely often been aware of the sexual charge that fills the air at the most seemingly innocuous exchange with an Italian man."

Yes! Ecco! Ding ding ding!

That's it. 

Leon has nailed it.

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A Girl's Gotta Eat (Tutto)

(I'm re-posting entries from May of 2015, when I went back to my Italy.)

Is it wrong to say I didn't eat everything I wanted to eat in Italy? That I left wanting more? I suppose who doesn't?

(I also left with an ungodly number of books and yet I still wanted to buy more!)

Of course, I had a mental list of the things I had to eat. And topping that list:

A ciambella or ciambellina.

Not just any ciambellina. A fresh one. An airy one. An obscenely large one, or just simply, a very good one. With just the right amount of sugar crystals dusting the top.

There’s a reason it’s the name of this damn blog. These donutesque delights (above left) are the best pastries you can possibly put in your mouth. Especially if you like something that’s uncomplicated and pure. And honestly I would say that’s the essence of Italian cooking: not fussy, not overloaded with a thousand ingredients or dependent on some tricky sauce or filling. Just the genuine article.

I also ate a lot of savory foods, too, of course. Here's a partial list:

Pici al granchio (see photo; pici is a type of thick spaghetti often found in Siena and granchio, well, just ask Leo. It's crab); Fiori di zucca fritti; prosciutto crudo; paccheri sul coniglio (photo at top); a selection of cheeses one evening as a second (which included a lovely gorgonzola, of course, that when spread on a piece of crusty Italian bread became a snack worthy of the Medici), crostini with chicken fat and carmellized onions, and so on.

Oh and gelato. Nocciola, of course, the only gusto worth my time (even if the others are pretty good, hazelnut ice cream? You kidding me? Bring another coppetta over here, right quick please!)

And I could have eaten a lot more. I didn't get around to having anything with cinghiale -- wild boar -- which amounts to a felony in some parts of Tuscany. I also didn't have suppli (or arancini) in Rome, which produces a pretty good fried rice ball, if you ask me.

I also didn't have a Conca D'Oro, or enough red wine or fettunta with pomodorini or spaghetti alla carbonara or spezzatino (stew).

But I guess that will have to be for the next time.

Buon appetito!

Re-posting -- Why We All Love Italy

I'm re-posting entries from May of 2015, when I went back to my beloved Italy.

It rarely fails. Tell someone I used to live in Italy and the swooning commences.

And these days, right after the person I’m talking to swoons, he or she launches into tales about upcoming or recently-completed trips to Italy.
Americans are in love with Italy. And understandably so. It’s a country of such exquisite beauty – not hidden, not at certain times of the year or limited to one particular feature or area – that you’d have to be somewhat immune to human charms in general to resist.

As it turns out, we can map some of the reasons we all love Italy.

1. The country is actually organized.
Hard to believe, right? You tried ordering a coffee at a caffe in Italy during peak morning hours and felt as though you were at the running of the bulls. Or worse, you rented a car in Italy. Yikes!

But it’s organized around public transportation, and divided, for the traveler at least, into two neat spheres of interest: country and city. To be sure, Italians themselves often live in drab, modern apartment blocks in the suburbs. But visitors are able to move fairly quickly and easily on the public transport system between stunning cities and the gorgeous Italian countryside to take in the best in urban and rural life.

2. Rituals remain at the center of Italian life.
Italian life is still dictated by rituals, and delightfully so. There’s a time of the day, week, year or season to do something.

And many Italian rituals are ours for the taking. You can do your own evening passeggiata, strolling past shop windows and stopping to admire the view or chat with someone. You can browse the flower stalls at the market or order un’etto of prosciutto crudo (but don’t slice it too thin, please). You can learn when to order a cappuccino and when to limit yourself to an espresso.

Italians. The people who not only invented the phrase buon appetito, but also a specific corresponding response: grazie, altrettanto!


3. What a visual culture it is!
It’s a visual culture. They understood #travelpics and click-bait long before the Internet arrived. My recent trip to Florence and Rome left me astounded by the gorgeous flowers tucked into every crevice. Gelsomina spilling over the walls of the city, geraniums hanging in flower pots, and quite a few other plants I can’t even identify. I, too, have house plants and tend flowers on a veranda. But they look nothing like this.

And don’t get me started on shop windows. The Italians are geniuses at arranging shop windows (along with the prices, thank you very much). So well-organized are Italian shop windows that they lure even someone like me, a confirmed non-shopper, into all kinds of stores.

They still live life outdoors -- unlike most Americans.

4. Italians are born communicators -- and remain so.
During my visit, my Italian friends expressed the same concerns I have about our digital culture, and the cult of the devices we have in our pockets, or really in front of our faces all day and all night. But, I can see, even in just the short while I touched down in Italy, that if given the chance, Italians would still prefer to talk to people face to face. Why else would the Italian coffee bar exist? They can make coffee at home.

And thank God they don't because there's nothing more entertaining than watching them as they kvetch with the barista over the partita or politics!

The Nostalgia Package Tour (Florence edition)

I'm re-posting entries from May of 2015, when I went back to my beloved Italy.

You can retrace the steps of Dante when you visit Florence, visiting his parish church, for example, where he spied Beatrice for the first time.

Me? I’m retracing MY steps as I walk through the streets of Florence. Steps I first took so many years ago. Nostalgia comes so naturally to me that while in Rome earlier this week, I stumbled into a tiny piazza and stumbled back nearly 20 years to a weekend getaway to the Eternal City – my first with Il Nostro Inviato (also known as Someone). I looked up at the street sign – Piazza San Pantaleo – and my mind, photographic for things like street names and addresses and the dates that important moments happened – recalled instantly that we had stayed maybe two nights at a small pensione on the piazza.

My days in Florence are filled with what I call controlli. I’m monitoring the streets, the crowds of tourists, the number of restaurants (and gelaterie – there are so many now!), the exact locations of shops (the clothing shop Gerard has moved, ladies and gentlemen. So has Patrizia Pepe’s boutique), the routes of buses I used to take (you catch the No. 23 bus now in front of the station, not on the side) and so on.

I’m also monitoring what people say. As in, I'm eavesdropping. I’m swooning over the constant flow of Italian language in my ear. Finally, I’m once again surrounded by Italian, a scenario I find so inspiring, so fundamentally pleasing I wonder if they should prescribe it as therapy? Perhaps it would only work for me. Jeanne’s Therapy. But I suppose other people could get a prescription for French Therapy? Or Spanish Therapy?

(This is hardly a new discovery since I’ve long known that quite simply, I get my jollies hearing and speaking Italian. Spanish, too.)

Of course it helps to know what the Italians are saying when you eavesdrop. But not only. It helps if you can follow the peaks and valleys of the sing-song Florentine accent, through which the natives express a constant, often hilarious litany of slights, recriminations and general observations that there’s nothing that can be done about whatever problem is under discussion but oh what a mess things have become!

The Florentine patois seems perfectly attuned to bursts of desperation, expressed through comments like, “Dio buono, ragazzi!” (Good God!) and complaints of any kind, though mainly of the most pedestrian nature (a signora told me yesterday that she had been waiting 30 minutes for the No. 4 bus. I don’t belittle her complaint – the No. 4 bus jilted me, as well, because I wasn’t standing in the exact right spot).

And of course there are controlli of the most personal kind. My old apartment now has mosquito screens on the windows that I can see from the street. (I should say: Apartment No. 3 in Florence…I haven’t visited #1 or #2 yet. I did see #4. It’s a medieval tower in the center of the centro storico. So not much has changed, although they have cleaned up l’Arco di San Pierino where the Antico Noe sandwich shop is located. Exactly where did all the heroin addicts go?).

Today, the day stretches before me, and it promises to bring hundreds of small discoveries. I may even do something new (Museo Stibbert, anyone? Apparently the grounds of the museum constitute a gorgeous park, a stone’s throw from the center of Florence).

All I know is I’ve paid for the Nostalgia Package Tour. The “This Is Your Life” Full Immersion Tour. And the “Brush Up On Your Florentine Dialect” Tour.

Also the “Can I Really Be This Lucky?” tour. The answer to that last one is a resounding yes.

Re-posting -- Returning to Italy a year ago

I'm re-posting entries from May of 2015, when I went back to my beloved Italy after a hiatus of eight years.

It’s noon on May 13, 2015 and apparently I’m about to touch down in Rome.

I’m sitting in my seat on the airplane and I see it. I see IT.

It’s Italy. It’s Italy.

My Italy. Just beyond the green and red Alitalia logo on the wing of the airplane is a country called Italy.

Wait—applause! Everyone is so glad we landed safely that they give the pilot a hand. Benvenuti! The Italian guy next to me has already donned his sunglasses. You can never be too cautious.

Am I ready?

To be honest, I’m a bit nervous. Will Italy and I still be in love?

Well, before we can even figure out whether we want to resume our love affair, there’s a slight delay in disembarking. You see, you can’t take the plane all the way up to the airport. You just can’t. You have to take a shuttle bus. Which isn’t here yet. Obviously.

Once inside the airport, it’s the usual major airport hysteria combined with a particular brand of Italian caos. But my suitcase arrives, the hotel pickup shuttle is there waiting for me, and we’re off.

And within a few minutes, gazing out at the city from the back of the taxi, I have that feeling again. I get it every time I see Rome. I don’t know how else to express it other than, “Oh right, Rome is so beautiful, so masterful, so all-encompassingly majestic that swooning is inevitable.”

It’s almost as though I forget or the human brain, my human brain, simply cannot spend all of its time computing how fantastic a place like Rome is. Each time I visit, I remember why it’s the Eternal City. Eternally enchanting. Eternally beguiling. Eternally mine (and yours) – if only I can find the time to catch a plane and get here.

Because when I do, I see vistas like the one in the photo above. Small, little splashes of Italy to brighten not just your day, but your life.

The journal I keep in my car

I glance at my car diary and am entranced by the snippets of thoughts I find there. The gushing emotion. If I’ve bothered to record a thought in this diary, it’s an urgent one. Often scrawled while the car is moving, and the handwriting attests to it. I love the juxtaposition of thoughts and I think, Transcribe as is and submit it (as if someone would publish it -- ha ha!). 

It's a snapshot of my life as seen through the lens of one particular document, my car journal.

Absolutely obsessed with idea of publishing an excerpt of my diary. Such egotism! I guess it’s just I find inspiration in it (if I’m able to find an excuse). Would others?

Without further ado, here are recent excerpts of the journal I keep in my car:

Oct 9 2015

“Last night, a terrible fight,” the redux.

Except it was yesterday afternoon, not last night. Isn’t, then, the problem me?

For the short story “Westshire”: The two trees growing outside the window. At first, they are distinct plants flanking either side of the window in the front bedroom, a perfect frame for the panes of glass. Later, he sees they need to be trimmed. The leaves of the two trees are beginning to converge. At the end, when the two trees have blurred into a mass of foliage obscuring the front window and casting the room into permanent shade, he’s given up the idea of trimming them. It’s no use now.

Oct 10, 2015

For my next Bennington assignment: how do I write a novel like Teju Cole? (As if)

Add to the reading list: “To Have and To Have Not” and “Death in the Afternoon.”

Also, add to your other diary: teaching Leo to sing “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” after watching the clip of the old James Cagney film. Parenthood at its best – 'Here is something I love and now you love it, too.'

Oct 12, 2015

The babysitter calls me at work and I hear his voice down the phone line, tiny, bewildered, “Mommy.” Then again, “Mommy.”

Oct. 30, 2015

I think I’m losing my fingerprints.

Nov 11, 2015

Listening to “Casta Diva” on the stereo. Oh Maria Callas…

I think he senses my distraction. I think of the pat on my back (self-administered), ‘Look at me, not as addicted to digital devices as other parents.’ But what of it? I’m still distracted, constantly, thinking mainly about my writing, and he senses it, even if he cannot possibly guess at the cause.

In my own version of “Casta Diva,” she says, “My life is a fuckin’ opera. One long opera.”

Nov 20, 2015

Another night of only five hours of sleep, and my mind is so alive. Skipping from thought to thought. Tired, yes, but alive, and thinking.

Nov. 28, 2015

When do I start writing about Atlanta?

“Spaghetti Junction”

“Suburban Chinatown”

Then I remember something Mike said about Leo. “Lui’s bravo.” [Lui  is bravo] Atlanta – where our world was born (or re-born).

Dec 4, 2015

Obsessed with Adele’s song “Hello.” Watching her performance on Jimmy Fallon over and over. And it’s revived another dormant obsession. That New York is the center of the world. A sense of missing out. A sense of being outside the action. Or simply just, I miss New York.

Dec 6, 2015

Still listening to Adele’s “Hello.” What happens when you get ‘beyond sorry’? When ‘sorry’ doesn’t even begin to atone for what’s been done?

Dec. 11, 2015

He’s sucking his fingers. Worrisome, but still better than if he were twirling his hair.

Dec 15, 2015

My interest in foreign worlds completely intoxicates me sometimes. Listening right now to the BBC World Service on WABE and thinking about Italy, and more graduate school studies, and Irene Chias’s book. Troppo.

Dec. 16, 2015

Driving to HLN, recovering from a cold, I see visions of a young priest on a class trip to Italy (a la St Anthony’s chorus trip). He seems lost, emotional, secretive, having a crisis…having an affair? He’s seen spending a lot of time with one young female student…but it’s not as it seems.

No date

A fire in the mind, no question. An unabashed embrace of my intellectual passions. A life of letters in the making (I hope, I hope).

Bookshelf fetish

Very excited that I could actually snap this picture and use it for a story I wrote for HLN (a division of CNN). I just look at the picture and I swoon. It's my idea of cozy.

You can read the story here (it's about indie bookstores making a comeback. Woot!)

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Yay! My new Italian books arrived!

Couldn't resist! Okay, so no, he's not up to reading Nadia Terranova's Gli Anni al Contrario, or really much of anything in Italian. But we do read Italian books together! Books with Pimpa exploring Firenze alongside Dante (delightful) and books about the Riace bronzes and books about a boy named Leonardo who loves the beach and has a lot of questions. Buona lettura a tutti!
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Dialogue in search of a story

Overheard:

“She has a psychological problem. She still pays her bills with checks. Who does that?"

(Said by a man at the Albany airport last year who spoke in a mix of English and Italian dialect, punctuating his Italian with phrases in English like “I don't know” or “yeah,” and punctuating his Italian with the words perche’, cazzo, mai!) 

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Houses of Atlanta

In Cabbagetown.

I love taking photos of houses. And Atlanta offers a smorgasbord because the housing stock can sometimes change block to block or neighborhood to neighborhood. This is a project in search of a real photographer. I imagine an exhibit where the walls would be covered with photos of houses in Atlanta, as distinct as people's faces.

In Grant Park.

In Home Park.

What I'm Reading (March-April)

Third installment here of what I am reading. Not just the official book list but all the books I peruse throughout the month.

So that includes what I am reading as I study for my MFA in Writing from Bennington College and the other books that tickle my fancy.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I want to record life exactly as it happens, and in the case of one's reading life, that means taking into account not just the books you read from start to finish but books you skim, books you pick up to read for a few minutes while waiting for something else to happen, stuff you consult in the course of research, books you cadge from the Little Libraries in your neighborhood (does anyone else do this? Atlanta, and especially my neighborhood in Atlanta, is full of these joyous little wooden structures that look like mailboxes or better yet miniatures of the houses behind them) etc.

So here we go for March/early April:.... 30 days in the life of Jeanne reading (books only).

Books read for Bennington coursework:

Viola Di Grado, Hollow Heart

Marie Howe, In the Kingdom of Ordinary Time (poetry)

Muriel Spark, Public Image

Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me (still reading)

Junot Diaz, Drown

Books read (in parts) for Bennington lecture research:

Giorgio Bassani, Il Giardino dei Finzi-Contini

Natalia Ginzburg, Lessico Famigliare

Books read for fun!:

Under the Sun: The Letters of Bruce Chatwin

Ongoing Italian novel consumption:

*Donatella Di Pietrantonio, Bella Mia

*Nadia Terranova, Gli Anni al Contrario

These last two books I've read only in part!

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Reading Bruce Chatwin

It was bound to happen -- sooner or later, I would begin reading Bruce Chatwin's travel books.

I've long been interested by "In Patagonia," which I still haven't read, so when I stumbled on a book of Chatwin's letters at my local library in Atlanta, I decided it was time to begin my journey in Chatwin country.

And what a journey. He sounds like an incredible charming person who could also be incredibly difficult, incredibly enigmatic, incredibly pedantic, incredibly myopic about his work and what he needed to do it well.

So an overachiever, probably. An overachiever who seemed to travel constantly. He and his wife lived largely separate, and his letters alight from all corners of the Earth, from Patagonia (of course) to Italy to Australia, India, and on and on.

Notably, excerpted letters from other people contained in several footnotes alert us that he was a blabbermouth! Or at least, that's how some people viewed him.

What's more, an unexpected feature of the volume of letters is a running commentary by his wife, giving the behind-the-scenes on various situations, debacles, fantasies and love affairs (yes, love affairs) embroiling Bruce at any given moment.

I often think about the nature of genius in one specific way: does it require a self-devotion so steady that the person naturally repels most other people in his orbit?

The answer seems to be yes. But what of it? A book of letters written by a traveling man or essays about journeys constitute mini-vacations for me. As I read, I'm sitting each night on the futon I've covered with a Mexican blanket in my drafty home in relatively staid Atlanta but for a moment I'm walking along the Thames or interviewing a man in the Amazon or crossing a bridge in a bright African nation.

Not bad for a book I took out of the library on Ponce.

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When work + travel = life (for HLN)

I like to write about travel whenever I can. And sometimes work and pleasure combine. 

Here's a story (click on 'story') I wrote for HLN, a division of CNN, about a new kind of travel company that organizes long overseas excursions for so-called "digital nomads" who can work from anywhere. 

"Think of it as co-working meets Club Med."

Wow!

"The Business of Living"

Apparently that's the name of the Italian writer Cesare Pavese's published diaries.

The Business of Living. Or in Italian: Il Mestiere di Vivere.

File under: Books I want to read.

(With my thanks to the Writer's Chronicle, where the book appeared in the bibliography of an article about translation).

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"Elena Ferrante’s real identity? I don’t really care" - My piece for Asymptote Blog

Click the link to read it:

Elena Ferrante’s real identity? I don’t really care - Asymptote Blog: 'Right, because it’s the work that matters, no?'

What we're drinking (South. Italian reds, chiaro)

Nero d'avola and Neprica (which is a blend of grapes mainly grown in Southern Italy, including Negroamaro and Primitivo).

Cin-cin!

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Mommy

Sometimes Leo says "Mommy" and it's not because he is telling me something or calling my name.

He just says it, like you might say 'well' or 'wow' or 'so.'

"Mommy."

As if he says it when he can't think of anything to say or when he simply wants to reflect on how full our lives are he says "Mommy."

What I'm reading (February 2016)

Okay, so I'm going to keep going, at least for now, with recording what I am actually reading. Not just the official book list but all the books I peruse throughout the month.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I want to record life exactly as it happens, and in the case of one's reading life, that means taking into account not just the books you read from start to finish but books you skim, books you pick up to read for a few minutes while waiting for something else to happen, stuff you consult in the course of research, books you cadge from the Little Libraries in your neighborhood (does anyone else do this? Atlanta, and especially my neighborhood in Atlanta, is full of these joyous little wooden structures that look like mailboxes or better yet miniatures of the houses behind them) etc.

So here we go for February/early March:.... 30 days in the life of Jeanne reading (books only).

Books read for Bennington:
Antonya Nelson, Female Trouble

Jhumpa Lahiri, In Other Words

J.L. Carr, A Month in the Country

Books read for lecture research (still Bennington):

Giorgio Bassani, Il Giardino dei Finzi-Contini

Jhumpa Lahiri, “Diario,” diary excerpt published in the Italian literary magazine, Nuovi Argomenti (Fall 2015 issue) 

Other books read but not finished:

Viola Di Grado, Hollow Heart
Muriel Spark, Public Image

Books I purely perused and nothing more:

Fabio Volo, E' Tutto Vita

Neil LaBute, Seconds of Pleasure (stories) [From a LITTLE LIBRARY] 

Books I need to pick up again and finish:

Jane Austen, Emma

How good is homemade fried calamari?

Oh pretty good.

 Babbo sa cucinare bene!

 Buon appetito!

I heart pizza?

Made with love, of course, by Il Nostro Inviato, a.k.a Mike.

NYC Translation event -- Wish I were there!

An amazing translation event is planned for tomorrow in New York.

A conversation with the translators of Elena Ferrante and Roberto Bolano (Ann Goldstein and Natasha Wimmer, respectively).

Hosted by Asymptote Journal, a journal of literary translation, which recently quite generously published an essay of mine on its blog (read it here). The event is in honor of its 5th anniversary.

Oh I wish I could go!

If you can, lucky you. Click here for the details.

-30-

Why blog? Here's why

I often wonder why I keep this blog when I could just continue to practice my religion of Italian studies fetishism privately.

I could continue to write in my journals (plural -- the one in my car, the one for fiction, for nonfiction, et al).

I could post curiosities to Facebook and Twitter, and leave it at that.

But as Anna Clark so eloquently puts it on her blog, it's to "practice the public art of writing and reflection."

When someone expresses it that way, it sounds so lovely, so noble.

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Two reasons I love Italian newspapers

They always have an interesting take on American politics. To wit, the political cartoon about Hillary Clinton showing the Statue of Liberty blow-drying her hair.

In the case of La Repubblica, the newspapers are so colorful! And often covering intellectual topics that betray a deep interest in other cultures. Here they're writing about Spain under Franco, with some harrowing pictures to boot.

Bassani on his characters (Nuovi Argomenti)

"Basically, in my novel, every character worth considering is a manifestation of my own personal feelings."

“Nel mio romanzo, insomma, ogni personaggio degno di questo nome e’ una forma del mio sentimento.”

This statement comes from an interview Italian author Giorgio Bassani (The Garden of the Finzi-Continis) gave to the Italian Cultural Institute of New York, and which was published last year by Nuovi Argomenti.

Bassani is talking in the interview about what portion of the indelible characters he created in the novel, Il Giardino dei Finzi-Contini, are real. But if there is an easy answer, he eschews it.

"What's true?" He asks. "Did these characters actually exist?"

He continues, "I could talk on and on until tomorrow morning about how the shorts Micol is wearing really belong to a young woman I saw one day who made a big impression on me when I was a boy. Or the sweaty face of Malnate, which really belongs to a friend of mine who isn't called Malnate but rather Vincenzo Cicognani, who lives in Lugo. His face sweats when he argues, and he's also very tall."

At the risk of being repetitive, Bassani summarizes his thoughts in this way: "Basically, in my novel, every character worth considering is a manifestation of my own personal feelings." (Original Italian above)

To wit, he says, "The main characters are manifestations of feelings of the person who wrote the novel, which is to say, more or less Micol is me, Professor Ermanno is me, Rovigatti is me, the father, it's me."

In the Italian, Bassani has a novel way of putting it -- he actually uses French to express himself: "Sono tutte forme del sentimento di chi ha scritto questo romanzo, cioe’ effettivamente Micol c’est moi, il professor Ermanno c’est moi il ciabattino Rovigatti c’est moi, mio padre sono io."

***
Here's the original Italian which I transcribed from Nuovi Argomenti:

"Cosa c’e’ di vero? Questi personaggi sono effettivamente esistiti?"

(BREAK)

“Potrei trattenermi fino a domani mattina a dire che gli shorts di Micol appartengono a quella tale signorina che io ho visto un giorno e mi ha colpito quando ero ragazzo, oppure che la faccia sudata di Malnate appartiene veramente ad un mio amico che non si chiama Malnate, ma che si chiama Vincenzo Cicognani, il quale sta a Lugo, ha la faccia sudata quando discute ed e’ anche molto alto.”

(BREAK)

"Quindi da un lato, ognuno di questi personaggi ha un rapporto col vero oggettivo – e molti si sono offesi per questo – pero' da un altro lato sono tutte forme del sentimento di chi ha scritto questo romanzo, cioe’ effettivamente Micol c’est moi, il professor Ermanno c’est moi il ciabattino Rovigatti c’est moi, mio padre sono io."

(BREAK)

“Nel mio romanzo, insomma, ogni personaggio degno di questo nome e’ una forma del mio sentimento.”

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Louise Attaque - Du Nord Au Sud

Lost entry from my car journal -- Here and there

Oct 12, 2015

From the journal I keep in my car 

The babysitter calls me at work today and I hear his voice down the phone line, tiny, bewildered, “Mommy.” Then again, “Mommy.”

As if that were a whole sentence (and it is, I suppose).

Nothing's wrong.

It's just that I'm here and he's there.

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What I'm reading (literary schizophrenia)

I want to record life exactly as it happens. But that's not easy.

I mean, these days, you would need, in any given moment, to write down what you're thinking, what you're doing, the texts you're writing, the emails you're sending, the stories you're scrolling through online.

In fact, your reading life is probably like your real life. Mine is. I'm reading some books start to finish. Others I'm re-reading. Still others I'm skimming, almost like a few pages or a chapter packs the punch of a quick pick-me-up. 'Oh! I needed that dose of Hemingway.'

Okay, so here's 30 days in the life of Jeanne reading (books only).

Books read for Bennington:

Raymond Carver, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

Denis Johnson, Incognito Lounge (poetry)

Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son

Antonya Nelson, Female Trouble

Other books read:

David Gates, Jernigan

Alice McDermott, Charming Bill (re-read parts)
Antonio Tabucchi, Viaggi e altri viaggi (re-reading parts)

Also reading (for book reviews):

Viola Di Grado, Hollow Heart

Reading excerpts of:

Jhumpa Lahiri, In Other Words

Started reading, then stopped:

Ben Lerner, 10:04

Books I've started to read and plan to finish:
Jane Austen, Emma

Anche tu, Jhumpa? (Jhumpa Lahiri loves Italy)

Jhumpa Lahiri has somehow read my thoughts – and my diary. Yikes! 

She doesn’t just love Italy. She lurves it. Like me. The Pulitzer Prize winning author has taken the almost unprecedented step of ceasing to write in English, the language of the works that catapulted her to success, and instead has begun a new literary career in Italian. She does so because, as she’s admitted in many interviews, she’s become obsessed with Italian, and feels almost ill whenever she must be away from Italy.

O, guarda, Jhumpa, anch’io. Me, too. I’ve already confessed as much in an essay published last year on Catapult. I think crying over Italy after you drop your son off at daycare qualifies as some kind of illness. Who knew I had such august company?

Today’s the official launch day for her new memoir, In Other Words, written in English and Italian (or rather I should say, written in Italian, her Italian, and then translated into English). I don’t have my copy yet but I’m reading an excerpt of it in the Italian literary magazine Nuovi Argomenti, and that’s just fine with me. I’m not sure I really need to read the English version, right?

Nonetheless, certain words from Ann Goldstein’s translation stand out. In The New Yorker excerpt of the work, Lahiri says she “felt a sense of rapture” in Rome. Yep, rapture, check.

Here’s what she’s in for the rest of her life:

When I returned briefly to Rome last year, I quickly realized I had paid for the Nostalgia Tour. 

I spent five days retracing my steps. I stumbled into a tiny piazza and stumbled back nearly 20 years to a weekend getaway to the Eternal City – my first with my partner. I looked up at the street sign – Piazza San Pantaleo – and my mind, photographic for things like street names and addresses and the dates important moments happened – recalled instantly that we had stayed maybe two nights at a small pensione on the piazza. Two nights or a lifetime.

I revisited old stomping grounds like Campo dei Fiori and the Pantheon, taking the temperature of the city. Eavesdropping on conversations, watching the interactions between the barista and the regulars at the coffee bar. Listening along with the taxi driver to the Juventus game on the radio, and returning his smile in the rear view mirror as he pumped his fist over the key goal. Looking in the shop windows, including the pharmacy, hoping to find the house shoes I used to wear when I lived in Italy. 

Observing with a loving glance Italian children, shouting out commands and observations to their mothers while they lick gelato and haul their heavy backpacks home from school (“Oh! Mamma! Vieni qui!”)

Then returning from Italy and your mind is already bifurcated, split down the middle between Italian and English. Forever translating. Get used to it (she probably already has).

She’ll forever be tethered to Italy. Wishing she was “there” while failing to make the most of her time “here.” A creative tension, to be sure, but one full of heartache.

Rapture, indeed, Jhumpa. We’re in for it.

Fall arrives 'via FedEx' (Lost diary entry)

From my diary:

Sept. 24, 2014 

Nothing comes gradually anymore. I say this as fall appears to have arrived in Atlanta via FedEx, rather than snail mail.

From my Bennington journal

Nostalgia is a kind of fictionalization. We're often nostalgic for things that never happened.

(Mark Wunderlich lecture)

                                                            ****

If you've ever cried while reading a book, it was probably because of a period.

All creative writing is about silence.

(Mark Slouka on the use of silence in writing)