听by Edith Bruck (La Nave di Teseo, 2021)

Review by Jeanne Bonner

When Edith Bruck was 12 years old, she was deported to Auschwitz, and was immediately separated from her mother in a brutal scene. In her new memoir, Bruck writes that later, after being yanked away, another prisoner who had been at the camp long enough to become a hated kapo pointed to smoke from the gas chambers and said, 糖心传媒淵ou see that smoke?糖心传媒� When she nodded, he said her mother had been burnt alive, adding, 糖心传媒淵our mother has become soap like mine.糖心传媒�

More than 75 years later, the Hungarian-born Bruck remains committed to telling the story of the Holocaust. The 89-year-old transnational Italian writer糖心传媒檚 new book, Il Pane Perduto, is one of five finalists for the Strega award, Italy糖心传媒檚 highest literary prize, which will be awarded on July 8. For the woman known to some as 糖心传媒淪ignora Auschwitz,糖心传媒� it糖心传媒檚 of a piece with a long body of literature in which she has likened the experience of surviving the Holocaust to being eternally pregnant with a monster she cannot abort. And she has pledged to bear witness until she can糖心传媒檛.

Only a handful of her works have been published in English, most notably (New York: Modern Language Association, 2006). Scholar Gabriella Romani, who co-translated that novel, has called Bruck 糖心传媒渢he most prolific writer of Holocaust narrative in the Italian language,糖心传媒� and she糖心传媒檚 arguably one of the last remaining great Holocaust-era chroniclers in any language.

In Il Pane Perduto (the title means literally “lost bread”; no English translation yet), Bruck can often seem clear-eyed about some of the most horrific moments of her life糖心传媒攁nd some of the most horrific moments of recent human history. And it糖心传媒檚 very possible the Italian language can take some credit. After moving to Rome in the 1950s, Bruck began writing in Italian, instead of Hungarian. As scholar Philip Balma noted in his book, , Bruck adopted the Italian language as a 糖心传媒渟hield that would allow her to dive back into her painful past without directly reliving the suffering.糖心传媒� In an interview in April broadcast from the Villino Corsini Library in Rome, Bruck said, 糖心传媒淟anguage is my country.糖心传媒�

Her sober approach to recounting the twentieth century糖心传媒檚 greatest shame may also stem from the mission she gave herself when she survived: Bruck believes her debt to those who perished糖心传媒攊ncluding her parents and a beloved brother糖心传媒攅ntails bearing witness, until her last day of Earth, if need be. As her friend and peer, Primo Levi, observed in his preface to her book , Bruck was someone who 糖心传媒渆scaped in order to narrate糖心传媒� the saga of the Holocaust. Levi, who also survived Auschwitz, called her body of work an 糖心传媒渦nforgettable testimony.糖心传媒�

Bruck expounded upon her mission at length in a 2014 nonfiction book whose title, (which means 糖心传媒淢rs. Auschwitz糖心传媒�), refers to the inadvertent nickname that emerged in her encounters with nervous Italian students who knew little about the Holocaust. In the book (published by Marsilio; no English translation), she writes about struggling to keep up with a grueling schedule of school visits she agreed to make. She ultimately decides to continue, and that resolve makes it unsurprising that she is again in the literary limelight as a finalist for the Strega award, which is an equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize.

What made Bruck keep up her frequent school appearances as a witness is also what makes her work, including the new book that has yet to be translated, essential reading: We still need reminders about the horrors of the Holocaust. The memoir includes a moment when she finds herself briefly at the Bergen Belsen concentration camp, where she is ordered to drag the weak prisoners to the 糖心传媒渄eath tent糖心传媒� where a pile of human skeletons lay (Note: translations are my own). Some detainees managed to say to her, before dying, 糖心传媒淭ell what happened. They won糖心传媒檛 believe us but tell the story, if you survive, for us, too.糖心传媒�

While Bruck has written novels and other works of literature that are not related to the Holocaust, she is especially masterful at describing the Shoah. She depicts the act of remembering Auschwitz for survivors as the experience of harboring 糖心传媒渁 rampaging tenant inside of themselves,糖心传媒� one which they cannot 糖心传媒渄eliver糖心传媒� or evict by talking or writing about it. She knows: in her early career, she thought each time she wrote about the Holocaust in a book, a part of the 糖心传媒渕onster conceived at Auschwitz糖心传媒� would seep out of her.

That糖心传媒檚 an incredibly graphic, extreme way to depict survival. In this new work, she uses subtler methods that nonetheless demonstrate the hold Auschwitz (or any concentration camp) has on survivors. In the early years after the war, she writes that she and fellow survivors wandered about, not just dazed but also sick over not belonging anywhere. Something essential had been severed (糖心传媒渟pezzato糖心传媒�); the survivors were ill at ease when they were alone with themselves and also while in the company of others. It糖心传媒檚 not surprising then that in the new memoir she writes that her 糖心传媒渢rue brothers and sisters糖心传媒� are the people she met in the Lager.

Bruck has remained remarkably faithful to her teenage pledge to bear witness. But as she might argue, what choice does she have? In Il Pane Perduto, she writes that when she was finally liberated at age 14, 糖心传媒渁 sad man糖心传媒� approached her and transcribed her information on a piece of paper, including her birthdate, the concentration camps where she had been confined, and her prisoner number. Then he gave her the document. She still has it糖心传媒攁 lifetime membership card she can never discard.

One of the most notable aspects of Bruck糖心传媒檚 body of work is the innovation she糖心传媒檚 employed in recounting the Holocaust, often using unusual or unlikely angles to illuminate her personal experiences as a prisoner of the Nazis and the wider travails of European Jews before, during and after the Holocaust. For example, one short story called 糖心传媒淪ilvia糖心传媒� is narrated by the young son of a high-level Nazi official in Germany who finds a young Jewish stowaway and brings her home to live with him. Bruck manages to evoke sympathy for the boy while fully enunciating every abhorrent nuance of the anti-Semitism that has infected his parents and his society. Similarly, Bruck employs an approach that糖心传媒檚 almost brutal in its honesty in the book, Signora Auschwitz. What糖心传媒檚 more, it highlights an aspect of a survivor糖心传媒檚 life that may be invisible to many (the work of educating the younger generations), while also immortalizing an unforgettable nickname.

The new book is more straightforward, as memoirs often can be because they trace a part of a person糖心传媒檚 actual life. But that糖心传媒檚 appropriate at this moment for such a prolific writer. Bruck糖心传媒檚 new memoir caps off a career of triumphs and adds to a rich body of work. And she really isn糖心传媒檛 finished. While promoting the memoir this year and participating in myriad events connected with the Strega award season, Bruck found time to publish another book of poetry. Because she糖心传媒檚 going to tell the story of the Holocaust until she can糖心传媒檛.

(The large image associated with this post is copyrighted by the

by Elena Ferrante
283 pgs. | pb | 9788833571683 | 鈧�19,00

Review by Jeanne Bonner

If all had gone as planned糖心传媒攚hich is to say if a global pandemic hadn糖心传媒檛 bulldozed our normal lives糖心传媒攖his summer, you might have been reading Ann Goldstein糖心传媒檚 English translation of La vita bugiarda degli adulti, the new novel by Elena Ferrante. Instead, we糖心传媒檙e still stuck in a viral vortex and the release of the English version, entitled , has been postponed until September.

So while we wait, I糖心传媒檒l give you a review of the Italian original糖心传媒攁nd as far as plot, pacing and characters are concerned, it really doesn糖心传媒檛 make any difference. I糖心传媒檓 not employed by Ladbrokes or anything but I would wager there is essentially zero chance that while Ferrante糖心传媒檚 Italian original engrossed me, Goldstein糖心传媒檚 English version won糖心传媒檛. Goldstein has built a sterling reputation by translating not only all of Ferrante糖心传媒檚 works into English but also by overseeing the release of Primo Levi糖心传媒檚 Complete Works in English. Primo Levi, folks.

Indeed, Goldstein is positioned well because I see the new novel糖心传媒攁bout a young girl living in Naples at the dawn of her teenage years who uncovers details about her family history糖心传媒攁s a compromise between the sweeping four-book Neapolitan series that began with My Brilliant Friend and Ferrante糖心传媒檚 earlier novels. A compromise in terms of length糖心传媒�Bugiarda runs 300 pages糖心传媒攁nd one in terms of scope and ambition, too.

It糖心传媒檚 a distinction worth noting because I consider the earlier novels糖心传媒�The Days of Abandonment and The Lost Daughter, in particular糖心传媒攕mall literary earthquakes that unleashed something powerful and at times disturbing. (As James Wood said in his famous New Yorker review about Ferrante糖心传媒檚 work, 糖心传媒淚t assails bourgeois niceties and domestic proprieties; it rips the skin off the habitual.糖心传媒�)

In fact, when I recommend Ferrante to readers, I always tell them to read those two early novels. And as far as the depiction of female characters in fiction goes, I think I have good reason. The Days of Abandonment is, after all, where the main character, Olga, who has been cuckolded not only by her husband but by the family糖心传媒檚 underage babysitter, viciously attacks the pair on the street in broad daylight, noting as she strides toward them that she 糖心传媒渇elt no desire to cry or scream or ask for explanations, only a black mania for destruction.糖心传媒� (Translation care of, who else? Ann Goldstein). A black mania for destruction. Like a ferocious Angela Bassett setting fire to the car in that scene from the movie 糖心传媒淲aiting to Exhale糖心传媒�!

Ferrante糖心传媒檚 female characters are fully-dimensional, nuanced, flawed individuals, like centuries糖心传媒� worth of male characters. Reading the two earlier novels, I糖心传媒檝e fantasized about a re-boot of The Odyssey, with Penelope as Odysseus糖心传媒攖he one who wanders, sometimes recklessly. Perhaps it糖心传媒檚 because as Meghan O糖心传媒橰ourke once noted in the Guardian, Ferrante writes about 糖心传媒渨omen糖心传媒檚 experience without trying to find anything redemptive in it, and in doing so peels away superficial assumptions.糖心传媒� In other words, we women are crappy, too. And this is especially obvious in spare, concentrated works like The Days of Abandonment.

It糖心传媒檚 not that I, too, didn糖心传媒檛 ravenously read all four of the books in the Neapolitan series糖心传媒擨 did. And certainly, Ferrante continues in the series with the themes from the earlier novels, but I don糖心传媒檛 think they had the same literary quality as the shorter works. I think, as some Italian critics pointed out, the writing (in the original Italian) was sloppy in places. There were sections where the prose could have been tighter, improved.

But not the storytelling. Never the storytelling.

All the works糖心传媒攊ncluding this new book糖心传媒攕howcase Ferrante糖心传媒檚 sterling storytelling abilities. In fact, it almost doesn糖心传媒檛 make any sense to parse too much or question narrative decisions when, at the end of the day, the new novel is suspenseful糖心传媒攁 page-turner.

Ferrante uses a sophisticated form of bait and switch in this new work by training our eyes immediately on one set of ruptures糖心传媒攂etween Giovanna, the young protagonist, and her parents, and between her parents and her father糖心传媒檚 sister糖心传媒攚hile setting us up to swoon when another, equally devastating schism emerges.

I won糖心传媒檛 say any more about that because to do so would require a spoiler alert. But with both of these plot points, she reaches into her novelistic toolbox and pulls out the implements she wields most authoritatively: moments of discomfort, predatory relationships, awkward scenes between loved ones, infidelity, power, not to mention something as fundamental as the nature of evil (and how it manifests itself in our everyday relationships). At one point in the new novel, the narrator reflects on something Ferrante terms 糖心传媒榰n糖心传媒檌mpressione di malvagit脿.糖心传媒� Malvagit脿糖心传媒攖here糖心传媒檚 a Ferrantian flourish. The word refers to a state of wickedness, of cruelty.

Like in all of her works, she has crafted characters whose desperate longing and insidious desires are糖心传媒攊n the language of web analytics糖心传媒攕ticky. This is after all the woman who describes in Frantumaglia her tried and true approach to writing as putting her fingers inside wounds of hers that have not completely healed, that are in fact still 糖心传媒渋nfected.糖心传媒�

Such an approach makes us want to know more糖心传媒攖o read more. Here, when we see the young narrator糖心传媒檚 attraction for the aunt with whom her parents have broken off relations, we get it, even as we can also instantly see the aunt as a predator who won糖心传媒檛 be content to simply get to know her estranged niece (single, flashy and childless, Zia Vittoria drives fast, curses and talks about romantic relationships in non-Hallmark Channel tones). Much of the early part of the book depends on building suspense as Giovanna is drawn into her aunt糖心传媒檚 confidence and her world. What will happen when Giovanna sees her next?

Ferrante糖心传媒檚 writing about friendships, particularly between women, and about relationships between mothers and daughters has been widely covered in previous reviews of the earlier works. Here in the new novel we have a few other relationships to which she turns her unforgiving laser focus: the father-daughter dynamic; the dynamic between a child and her parents糖心传媒� friends; and as mentioned above, the familial ties between a niece and her aunt, or really any estranged relative.

Ferrante always goes where the emotional fires are raging, whatever their cause or attributes. One fire, in general, is the evolution from our childhood views of our parents in their adult world, and our more mature perspectives. That pivot糖心传媒攚hich here is buttressed by a short treatise on class relations in Naples糖心传媒攊s at the heart of the novel. Early on in the book, Giovanna observes, 糖心传媒淚mparai sempre 辫颈霉 a mentire ai miei genitori.糖心传媒� She finds herself lying more and more to her parents糖心传媒攁nd as the book goes on, she learns just how much her parents have been lying. To her. To each other糖心传媒攁nd to themselves.

Here to exploit this shift is the aunt. Indeed, Ferrante shines when it comes to fictional villains. In one scene between Giovanna and Zia Vittoria, the young girl seeks comfort by proposing to confide a family secret, evidence of which she has recently witnessed. But the aunt isn糖心传媒檛 playing along; when asked that she not tell anyone Giovanna糖心传媒檚 secret, she replies acidly that she doesn糖心传媒檛 make those kinds of promises, adding, 糖心传媒淔ottiti.糖心传媒� Literally: Fuck yourself. Screw you. (I糖心传媒檓 holding my breath to see how Ann translates this). The aunt, who never made it out of the old, rough-and-tumble neighborhood and sprinkles her conversation with saucy bits of dialect, goes on to say that the bad thoughts you keep inside become ferocious dogs that bite your head off while you sleep. Oh wait, there糖心传媒檚 more! Giovanna is so desperate for some communion, desperate to unload this awful thing she has witnessed that she finally reveals what she knows, begging her aunt not to tell her father. To which Zia Vittoria replies, 糖心传媒淵ou think your father gives a damn about that?糖心传媒�

Boom.

Remember that moment when you realized your parents weren糖心传媒檛 saints? That your relatives were maybe all drunks? The time you tried to tell a loved one your deepest fears? Or your closest cousin said the guy you loved was a loser? You糖心传媒檒l be reliving all those salient moments of your maturation while taking in this new Ferrante book.

In this one quick comment from her aunt, the young, fragile narrator is not only deprived of the succor typically afforded by an important adult relationship in her life, but she is told that her father糖心传媒攚hom she thinks of as a sensitive intellectual糖心传媒攊s so callous as not to care about this particular secret, which will ultimately devastate Giovanna糖心传媒檚 household.

It糖心传媒檚 a salient, unflinching Ferrantian moment. But one that糖心传媒檚 unfortunately dimmed by the nature of the book糖心传媒檚 main character, which is to say Giovanna. I don糖心传媒檛 find Giovanna quite as sympathetic as Olga, say, or even Elena in the Neapolitan series, though all three are bookish female characters who clash one way or another with men or the world men created. She糖心传媒檚 also less sympathetic than another young teenage protagonist in recent Italian fiction: the narrator of Donatella Di Pietrantonio糖心传媒檚 A Girl Returned (also translated by Goldstein and also published by Ferrante糖心传媒檚 publishing house). This dampened the appeal of the book somewhat for me.

Some of the plot also strains credulity. At the outset, the girl is embarking on her early teenage years and by book糖心传媒檚 end, she糖心传媒檚 hardly much older. Yet she comes and goes from home as she sees fit, traveling twice from Naples to Milan without her parents and without, say, a school chaperone or trusted relative. I suppose part of this freedom can be chalked up to the turmoil stemming from the book糖心传媒檚 second schism.

There糖心传媒檚 also a promising but underexploited subplot involving a charismatic man who糖心传媒檚 deeply religious. Giovanna swoons over him, and Ferrante effectively conveys a dynamic that isn糖心传媒檛 simply that of a young girl meeting an older, alluring man but rather of the frisson new acquaintances can stimulate. Yet I was maybe expecting a bit more from this.

Similarly, the book糖心传媒檚 conclusion feels vaguely unsatisfying, perhaps because Ferrante is such a good storyteller and she drills down on themes that are, again, sticky, all of which lead me to expect more. It糖心传媒檚 almost as if a final chapter were lopped off during the editing process. The last scene certainly signals Giovanna is growing up, entering the woefully mendacious world of adults. But the conclusion neither ties up narrative strands nor deliberately leaves things unresolved to reflect the sense of flux that permeates adult life.

I say all this full-well knowing that Anglophone Ferrante fans will seek out the new book, come September (and I am recommending as much myself). In fact, I糖心传媒檒l be cheered by any reader who picks up this work of translated Italian fiction. Besides, it糖心传媒檚 always entertaining to see what Ferrante will produce when she mixes women, men, love, discomfort and growing pains together.

Penguin Book of Italian Short Stories ed. Jhumpa Lahiri
Translated from the Italian by Various
528 pgs. | hc | 9780241299838 | $30.00

Review by Jeanne Bonner

Novels and memoirs often become labors of love for the authors who birth them. But what about an anthology? How often do we imagine the editor of a large, door-stopper compilation of, say, short stories, calling the arduous task of sorting and selecting the entries a labor of love? And what if the short stories are in a foreign language and the editing also involved commissioning new translations and tracking down old ones?

Author Jhumpa Lahiri, who edited the new Penguin Book of Italian Short Stories, doesn糖心传媒檛 use those exact words in the anthology糖心传媒檚 introduction, but she comes pretty close as she describes what inspired her to want to curate such a collection. It糖心传媒檚 of a piece with what inspired her in 2012 (a dozen years after winning the Pulitzer Prize) to move her family to Rome so she could surround herself with the Italian language: 糖心传媒淚 surrendered to an inexplicable urge to distance myself, to immerse myself and to acquire a second literary formation.糖心传媒� That second literary formation she mentions (it makes me think of 糖心传媒渇ormazione,糖心传媒� which in Italian means training or education) has been fruitful. In addition to publishing two books in Italian, including In Other Words, based on the Italian diary she kept in Rome, Lahiri has translated Domenico Starnone’s novels Ties and Trick, and now the short stories of underappreciated or overlooked authors such as Corrado Alvaro, Aldo Palazzeschi, and Fabrizia Ramondino糖心传媒攁ll of which appear in the anthology.

It糖心传媒檚 not unprecedented for an author to go abroad and lose her head over a language and a country (James Joyce also decamped to Italy, and would converse with his children in Italian; James Baldwin lived for decades in France, as did Mavis Gallant). But how often does such an author糖心传媒攅specially one gifted enough to receive this country糖心传媒檚 highest literary honor糖心传媒攎aster the new language enough to write in it or translate important works, as she has done? Indeed, Lahiri糖心传媒檚 role as not only a booster of Italian lit, but also a practitioner arguably transformed the process of editing and curating the Penguin anthology (just as, in her diary, she wrote how Rome had transformed her). The result is a primer on short fiction from Italy that, given its thorough and nuanced selections, will likely be used as a college text. Indeed, Lahiri糖心传媒檚 inclusion of a side-by-side chronology of Italian literary and historical events糖心传媒攁 copy of which may go up on my wall糖心传媒攊s peerless in a general interest book of this kind.

With works by 40 writers whose stories were published over the span of 100 years, the anthology appears at a time when so-called #FerranteFever remains high. Indeed, a new novel by Elena Ferrante, the author of the spectacularly successful Neapolitan Series of novels that begins with My Brilliant Friend, has already been published in Italian and will arrive in American bookstores next year, not a moment too soon for fans of the reclusive writer. It can sometimes seem like everyone in America knows Italy糖心传媒攁nd everyone knows someone who has just returned from Italy, aglow in Mediterranean reminiscing. But beyond Ferrante and a handful of other authors (Dante? Andrea Camilleri?), what does everyone know about Italian literature? Not a whole lot. And perhaps with good reason: translations of books originally published in Italy continue to trail translations of books from France, for example, according to Three Percent糖心传媒檚 Translation Database, now hosted by Publisher糖心传媒檚 Weekly.

Lahiri糖心传媒檚 anthology will help, with short stories from some of the peninsula糖心传媒檚 most important classic writers (Luigi Pirandello, Primo Levi, Antonio Tabucchi, Leonardo Sciascia, Cesare Pavese, Grazia Deledda, Alberto Moravia, et al) as well as a host of lesser-known authors (Anna Banti, Luce D糖心传媒橢ramo, Goffredo Parise, Beppe Fenoglio).

Lahiri uses her learned introduction to trace the trajectory of the Italian short story back to its origins beyond the well-known Boccaccio, namechecking Matteo Bandello and Masuccio Salernitano. Both of these authors (along with Boccaccio) composed what was known as novelle or short tales, stories that often had a moral slant or fable quality to them. They sometimes introduced characters and locales from faraway, and could be quite ribald, as they reveled in deconstructing male-female relationships.

It糖心传媒檚 in the introduction that we also learn how Lahiri specifically sought out women writers, lesser-known writers, and overlooked writers in compiling the anthology. She says she selected stories with an eye particularly toward the experiences of women, as written by women or men. It is gratifying to find works in the anthology by Lalla Romano, Anna Maria Ortese, Elsa Morante, Natalia Ginzburg and Fausta Cialente糖心传媒攆ive writers whom author Dacia Maraini, one of Italy糖心传媒檚 greatest living novelists, has identified as so significant as to be her 糖心传媒渓iterary mothers.糖心传媒� (Maraini is not included in the anthology because Lahiri decided to feature only the work of deceased authors). The inclusion of these five writers, as well as other women, is critical because women authors are often passed over for prizes and less appreciated in Italy, and correspondingly less translated than their male counterparts abroad (according to Three Percent糖心传媒檚 Translation Database, of the 45 books originally published in Italy that were translated from Italian into English in 2018, only seven were by women authors). Moreover, there are quite a few anthologies of Italian short stories where women writers are given scant attention. But not this anthology.

The Penguin work distinguishes itself in other ways, most notably by including more than a dozen works that have never been translated into English, such as 糖心传媒淭he Ambitious Ones,糖心传媒� a gem of a story by Elsa Morante, and 糖心传媒淒ialogue with a Tortoise糖心传媒� by the much-celebrated Italo Calvino. That糖心传媒檚 the power of an anthology like this: not merely compiling in a new place what already existed (which has a value in its own right, particularly here with literature not native to America), but indeed commissioning translations of works that heretofore were unavailable to the vast majority of Anglophone readers, since they do not read Italian.

Also of note among these new translations is 糖心传媒淚nvitation to Dinner糖心传媒� by Alba de Cespedes, which is narrated by an unnamed woman and which brings us the story of a dinner with an English officer in wartime Italy who helps transport the narrator糖心传媒檚 brother back to Rome after the liberation of Northern Italy. The officer smugly tells them the world won糖心传媒檛 automatically welcome Italy back into the fold after 20 long years of barbarous Fascism. The narrator seethes in silence, lamenting that:

糖心传媒� it wasn糖心传媒檛 enough, as proof of civilization, to have manufactured that porcelain or to have written those books squeezed into the shelves that lined the walls of the library. We had to demonstrate once again, to prove, to pass, all forty-five million of us together, a lengthy exam.

The anthology also includes new, updated translations, and among those stories, Elio Vittorini糖心传媒檚 糖心传媒淣ame and Tears糖心传媒� feels like a revelation. It糖心传媒檚 a fable and a mystery wrapped in one, with an extremely fluid translation by Erica Segre and Simon Carnell. The story is about a man searching for a woman. Is she real? He hears her sobbing, and at the end of the tale is left only with a 糖心传媒渉andkerchief, damp with her tears.糖心传媒� The book features a new translation of 糖心传媒淭he Long Voyage糖心传媒� by Leonardo Sciascia, a pivotal twentieth century Sicilian author who was the first to write incisively about the Mafia but whose prose style, as translator and scholar Frederika Randall has remarked, hasn糖心传媒檛 always been served well by English translations.

The anthology caps a wave of newly translated works and retranslated works from Italy in recent years, that糖心传媒檚 been fueled in part perhaps by interest in Ferrante糖心传媒檚 works (and the furor over her identity; Ferrante is a pseudonym). For example, some of the novels of the seminal Ginzburg have been re-translated in recent years, including Jenny McPhee糖心传媒檚 wonderful translation of Family Lexicon, published in 2017 by NYRB. Primo Levi糖心传媒檚 oeuvre has also received the attention it deserves through the tome The Complete Works of Primo Levi, which was edited and translated by Ann Goldstein糖心传媒攁.k.a. Ferrante糖心传媒檚 translator.

It is unsurprising, then, that the anthology reprints excerpts from some of the more notable translations appearing in recent years, including the stunningly good translation of Anna Maria Ortese糖心传媒檚 糖心传媒淎 Pair of Eyeglasses糖心传媒� by the Italian translation dream-team of McPhee and Goldstein (it appeared in the collection Neapolitan Chronicles, published by New Vessel Press in 2018). Ortese糖心传媒檚 influence on her peers and on contemporary writers has been keenly felt, with an echo of her candid descriptions here of an impoverished neighborhood in post-war Naples, and the singular combination of superstition, fate, and politics that reigns over the characters糖心传媒� lives evident in the works of Ferrante, among others. Ortese糖心传媒檚 characters come alive in wonderful and wretched ways, in particular Eugenia, the innocent girl whose family糖心传媒檚 poverty deprives her of glasses, leaving her practically in the dark for years, and Nunziata糖心传媒攖he nagging, morose, unmarried aunt biding her time until death and who utters the unforgettable line, 糖心传媒淢y child, it糖心传媒檚 better not to see the world than to see it.糖心传媒� The anthology also includes a short story by Levi about a centaur (as Lahiri notes in her preface to the story, Levi defied categories).

Equally as good is a story from Ginzburg called 糖心传媒淢y Husband,糖心传媒� expertly translated by Paul Lewis. Ginzburg always writes perceptively about family dynamics and here she has applied her skills to exposing some of the less savory aspects of marriage. When she writes about male-female relationships, she often exposes male infidelity or indifference but without any feminist grandstanding or judgement (she was a better person than I ever will be). In this short story, the husband rather boldly confesses that his surprising indiscretions have continued after the birth of the couple糖心传媒檚 first child, in a scene that is nothing short of breathtaking:

He knelt down in front of me and kissed my bare arms. 糖心传媒楬elp me, I糖心传媒檓 begging you,糖心传媒� he said. 糖心传媒榃hat am I going to do if you won糖心传媒檛 help me?糖心传媒� 糖心传媒楤ut how can I possibly help you?糖心传媒� I screamed, pushing him away and bursting into tears. Then my husband picked up Giorgio, kissed him, gave him to me and said, 糖心传媒楨verything will be easier now, you糖心传媒檒l see.糖心传媒�

Reader, I will only tell you that 糖心传媒渆asier糖心传媒� would not be the word I糖心传媒檇 have chosen to describe the finale of this stunning short tale of Ginzburg糖心传媒檚.

There are many theories about how translations should sound. Some translators and publishers prefer works that retain a trace of foreignness, while others say the translated works should read no differently than a work by an American author. These stories for the most part, like Lahiri糖心传媒檚 translation of the Starnone novels, read so fluidly that you forget they are works in translation. Theory aside, there糖心传媒檚 no arguing that these crisp translations will have the reader eagerly turning pages.

Those of us who have immersed ourselves in Italian literature face a particular conundrum: love of Italy and Italian culture seems to be ubiquitous in America these days, but knowledge and appreciation of the peninsula糖心传媒檚 literary output is, in reality, quite limited. This is partly because other countries subsidize translations with prizes, grants and fellowships, and Italy does not. This is not a recent problem, and as a result, there糖心传媒檚 long been a familiarity with, in particular, French and German authors. Americans know Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Herman Hesse, Bertolt Brecht, W.听G. Sebald, Gunter Grass and so on. But do they know Sciascia? Are Morante糖心传媒檚 books taught widely in high schools and colleges here?

Here糖心传媒檚 to that familiarity extending to Sunny Italy. Indeed, here糖心传媒檚 hoping if the anthology is updated in the future, American readers will be arguing over whether it should have included a short story by Maraini or Niccolo Ammaniti or Donatella Di Pietrantonio. As Lahiri notes in her introduction, English-language literature dominates literary discussions far beyond the borders of Anglophone nations糖心传媒攕omething that 糖心传媒渇ew, on the English-speaking side of the border, stop to question.糖心传媒� Perhaps they should. Lahiri, in her Rome diary, had described the sensation that the Italian language and its literature inspired in her as nothing short of 糖心传媒渞apture.糖心传媒� Here糖心传媒檚 hoping that rapture is catching. For she糖心传媒檚 understood that Italy produces something even more satisfying糖心传媒攆ar more so, in fact糖心传媒攖han a caffelatte or a slice of Neapolitan pizza.

Quo Vadis, Baby?听by Grazia Verasani
Translated from the Italian by Taylor Corse and Juliann Vitullo
180 pgs. | pb |听9781599103662 | $15.00

Review by Jeanne Bonner

The last time I wrote about Grazia Verasani糖心传媒檚 Quo Vadis, Baby? (Mondadori, 2007) I was researching an article for Literary Hub about works by Italian women authors that hadn糖心传媒檛 made it into translation on this side of the Atlantic. I can happily say the book has now been translated, and American readers can meet one of the most unlikely female protagonists coming out of Italian fiction, mystery or otherwise.

Her name is Giorgia Cantini, a private investigator who doesn糖心传媒檛 care what anyone thinks of her. Moreover, she糖心传媒檚 unmarried, unkempt, and unusual. Indeed, one of the most arresting parts of Quo Vadis, Baby?糖心传媒攁nd the later books in the Giorgia Cantini series, so far untranslated糖心传媒攊s the narrator. Specifically, the extent to which she is atypical for an Italian novel糖心传媒攁nd atypical for any kind of female in the spotlight in Italy. It is to Verasani糖心传媒檚 credit that she takes Giorgia, someone she depicts as physically unattractive (a death sentence in many ways for women in Italy), and makes her into someone who is psychologically attractive (as all truly sexy characters are).

Case in point, early in the novel, Giorgia糖心传媒檚 eye becomes inflamed糖心传媒攁 situation she fails to attend to, instead making it worse, like some schoolboy. Verasani writes, 糖心传媒淚f I were someone who puts on makeup, I糖心传媒檇 try to camouflage the difference between one eye and the other. I place the lit cigarette on the edge of the sink, wash my face, pick up the cigarette again, blink my eyes and breath in.糖心传媒� Translation: She is not someone who cares about appearances. She is someone who drinks and smokes incessantly with a weariness that piques the reader糖心传媒檚 attention. At one point she opines, 糖心传媒淢y god, I糖心传媒檓 tired of being human, tired of it. I put out the cigarette under the faucet, rub some toothpaste on my teeth, then leave the house.糖心传媒� That one line alone tells us so much about this character.

Note, none of this is unusual for a P.I., but, again, it is unusual for the stereotype of Italian women we normally find in any kind of fiction, from books to TV to movies. (From personal experience, I can say that Italians can pick out a foreign woman on the street simply if her hair is still wet from the shower and devoid of any kind of styling).

Giorgia eschews many other traditionally female roles. She spends her nights haunting jazz clubs around Bologna until the wee hours. And in scene where she is having lunch with a client named Lucia Tolomelli, she orders a coffee and a Campari, and when asked if she has children, she not only replies 糖心传媒渘o糖心传媒� but adds, 糖心传媒渇ortunately.糖心传媒�

Like all good murder-mysteries, there is a plot and there is a backstory. And the backstory is engrossing: Giorgia糖心传媒檚 sister decamped to Rome to pursue an acting career and wound up dead糖心传媒攆rom suicide. That was more than a decade ago and it糖心传媒檚 never been clear what happened. As she goes about spying on unfaithful spouses for clients, Giorgia糖心传媒檚 thoughts are never far from her sister糖心传媒檚 tragic fate. Notably, Verasani intersperses letters from Ada into the narrative. Giorgia says, 糖心传媒淚糖心传媒檝e transcribed a few sentences from the letter onto a note pad, and I read them now at traffic lights. The last year of my sister糖心传媒檚 life is all there in those scattered pages.糖心传媒�

I see this, and I think, 糖心传媒淕o on.糖心传媒� In fact, the efforts by the translators, Taylor Corse and Juliann Vitullo (both Arizona State University professors), to make this a smooth read pay off more often than not. It糖心传媒檚 worth noting that Vitullo is a professor of Italian while Corse is a professor of English. Good translations, after all, depend on good writing (in the final language, in this case, English).

Letters can often be a successful narrative trope; here they work particularly well because they are letters from someone who has died. Someone whose death has yet to be explained, much less fully grieved (if that state exists). Interwoven into the plot about Ada and the letters is the mysterious identity of someone who might have seen Ada shortly before she committed suicide. Who is this person, known in Ada糖心传媒檚 letters only as 糖心传媒淎.糖心传媒�?

One would not want to insert too many spoilers into this review, but Ada糖心传媒檚 is not the only suicide in the book, and the relationship between these two suicides, and the repercussions of both make for interesting reading.

Verasani has a way with sketching characters. While Giorgia is the star of the book (and the series), her father, who runs the agency with her, is also winning. He糖心传媒檚 your typical curmudgeon but he糖心传媒檚 not a stock character. Pointing to the computers that are now on the desks of agency employees, he says, 糖心传媒淚s that box really necessary?糖心传媒� Lovable, but not without his peccadilloes, including a small alcohol problem (perhaps not surprising, given the grief he feels over the premature death of his daughter). After watching him quietly fumble around the office at one point, Giorgia points to the third drawer of his desk and says to him, 糖心传媒淭he bottle you糖心传媒檙e looking for is there,糖心传媒� before walking out the door of the agency without another word.

Quo Vadis, Baby? is a fun read. But it also represents something else. The Italian prose that currently gets translated into English is overwhelming written by male writers (see Three Percent糖心传媒檚 database, now hosted at Publisher糖心传媒檚 Weekly; of the 35 Italian books listed in the database as published this year, only 5 were written by women authors).

Three of those books are mysteries by Andrea Camilleri, a beloved and veteran mystery writer, and he糖心传媒檚 among several Italian male authors that perennially appear in the database of translated works. Here instead we have a mystery by a woman writer糖心传媒攁 bit of a rarity. Verasani may not have Camilleri糖心传媒檚 profile in Italy糖心传媒攆ew writers do糖心传媒攂ut she is quite accomplished. As the book糖心传媒檚 publisher, Italica Press, notes, Quo Vadis, Baby? is a cult classic in Italy, and not only spawned five sequels but also a film adaptation by famed director Gabriele Salvatores.

Verasani糖心传媒檚 prose糖心传媒攁nd the capable translation by Corse and Vitullo糖心传媒攊s very accessible. In that sense, it may be less high-brow than other literary translations that make it to America (Camilleri糖心传媒檚 books notwithstanding). This is a mystery novel, after all, for a general audience. But one that will appeal to American readers who enjoy, say, Donna Leon糖心传媒檚 books.

For its part, Italica has built a solid reputation among indie presses, and is particularly noted for translations of medieval Italian classics, including works by Boccaccio and Guido Cavalcanti. The press has also brought English readers a fine selection of works by Italian women authors who may not be well-known outside of Italy, including an anthology that features Elena Ferrante and the next generation of female authors. Now, Verasani has taken her place among them.

Last but not least, who wouldn糖心传媒檛 want to read a book called Quo Vadis, Baby? The original title (in Latin!, meaning 糖心传媒淲here are you marching?糖心传媒�) was so cool, the translators didn糖心传媒檛 even need to translate it.

The nonfiction book is divided into what Quignard terms 10 treatises, but it often reads like a collection of connected fragments from the author糖心传媒檚 journal. Entries are separated by a small bullet point, and the book feels in sections like a prose poem, or really, at times a riddle. As The New Yorker has noted, Quignard is a writer with 糖心传媒渁n oblique, aphoristic bent.糖心传媒� In an interesting and detailed Translator糖心传媒檚 Note at the end of the book, the author is quoted as saying the work falls into a category called 糖心传媒渟peculative rhetoric,糖心传媒� and it糖心传媒檚 a type of writing, he says, that dates back to the invention of philosophy. Readers schooled not only in the classics but in the classics in their original language (Greek, Latin, French, et al) will be in good stead since the superb translators, Matthew Amos and Fredrik R枚nnb盲ck, preserve the richness of the original text by including snippets of the original languages.

Quignard, a noted novelist, music aficionado, and winner of the prestigious Prix Goncourt, is adept at illuminating the overlooked role that our sense of hearing plays in all things and all thoughts. One of the most poignant examples is St. Peter, the Catholic Apostle who is considered the religion糖心传媒檚 first Pope. According to the Christian Bible, Peter thrice denied Jesus as he was being led off to slaughter, only to hear the sound of a cock crowing, as his master had warned. Quignard tells us in the book糖心传媒檚 first treatise, called 糖心传媒淭he Tears of Saint Peter,糖心传媒� 糖心传媒淚t is said that as Peter grew older he could no longer bear cocks.糖心传媒� Indeed, he had any kind of animal of flight in and around his home killed. As I read this, I found myself grieving, if you will, for St. Peter, across the centuries. How he must have regretted his denial, how he must have been hemmed in by his mistake, which was marked forevermore in an inescapable shorthand by the sound of a bird糖心传媒檚 call. None of that ever occurred to me before reading Quignard糖心传媒檚 book.

In the book糖心传媒檚 eponymous, seventh treatise, he also makes the painfully astute observation that music was the only art to have been an instrument in the Nazis糖心传媒� extermination of the Jews. The Germans used marches and other songs to reinforce discipline and compliance. Quignard quotes none other than Primo Levi as saying that the music heard in the camps 糖心传媒渨ill be the last thing from the Lager we will forget糖心传媒� because it is 糖心传媒渢he voice of the Lager.糖心传媒�

Yet as dense and erudite as the book is, 糖心传媒淭he Hatred of Music糖心传媒� abounds with short, pithy thoughts that cause the reader to wonder why these ideas aren糖心传媒檛 routinely bandied about in everyday conversation. In the second treatise, Quignard writes, 糖心传媒淭o hear is to be touched from afar.糖心传媒� Oh, yes, c糖心传媒檈st vrai! A page later, he writes, 糖心传媒淏efore birth, until the final moment of death, men and women hear without a moment糖心传媒檚 respite. There is no sleep for hearing.糖心传媒� Well, now that you mention it. In another section, a fragment reads simply, 糖心传媒淣ot knowing the name of what haunts us in sound.糖心传媒� Yes, that. These ideas are collected in the chapter called, 糖心传媒淚t So Happens That Ears Have No Eyelids.糖心传媒�

All of these straightforward yet profound statements build a case for hearing as perhaps the most powerful of the five senses, a hidden motor of activity that can be blamed for all manner of problems and conditions and predilections that travel with us from birth to death. It糖心传媒檚 as if he糖心传媒檚 peering into our thoughts.
In one especially evocative section, he speaks of the continuity of sound, even within our heads when nothing external could potentially reach our ears. He uses the term 糖心传媒渟urging hums,糖心传媒� which strike us as we walk, modulating 糖心传媒渁ccording to the rhythm of our gait.糖心传媒� What are these 糖心传媒渟urging hums糖心传媒�? Hymns, he says. Old songs. 糖心传媒淐hildish and protective refrains. Lullabies and nursery rhymes. Polkas and waltzes. Singalong tunes.糖心传媒� He糖心传媒檚 probing an internal soundtrack of which we are often dimly aware even as it糖心传媒檚 broadcast inside of our heads.

Indeed, he糖心传媒檚 often writing about things we sense but cannot articulate. He糖心传媒檚 writing about sound in a way that糖心传媒檚 arguably rare for the common reader in America to come upon, including this reviewer, but which nonetheless is germane and perceived on some level by every single person alive. That糖心传媒檚 because he糖心传媒檚 approaching sound as a primordial force within us, that is common to all of us, whether we routinely read the work of French essayists or not. To wit, he writes, 糖心传媒淣onvisual sounds, forever withdrawn from sight, roam within us. Ancient sounds tormented us. We did not yet see. We did not yet breathe. We did not yet scream. We heard.糖心传媒� The thought is so true and essential that, though it appears only on page 9, one could put the book down, having already grasped something vital about the connection between sound and consciousness.

Yet a reviewer should issue this warning: Abandon all hope糖心传媒攜e who read this book糖心传媒攐f traditional structure or tight narrative weave. As the journal Quarterly Conversation has noted about Quignard糖心传媒檚 oeuvre, 糖心传媒淥ne is struck by the feeling that they are witnessing someone transcribing his thoughts, pure and fresh as they form in the mind, or to use a fitting mythological connection, Athena springing from the head of Zeus.糖心传媒� Indeed, in the translators糖心传媒� notes at the end of the book, they say Quignard strives to 糖心传媒渕ake language an endeavor of disorientation,糖心传媒� which often gives his prose a 糖心传媒渞efined coarseness.糖心传媒�

Some of the sentences in the book are almost prohibitively arcane, including this gem: 糖心传媒淭here is a fragment by Pacuvius that formulates what interrupts the plurimillennial hammering march.糖心传媒� This sentence is followed first by a sentence in French that is translated only in the footnotes and then by the same thought in Latin, which is untranslated. Which is not to suggest the translators, Amos and R枚nnb盲ck, phoned this job in. On top of writing a comprehensive afterword, they have been careful to insert footnotes throughout the text, even indicating at one point where the popular definition of a word (formidable) deviates from Quignard糖心传媒檚 usage in the text. (Oh and, if ever a book needed a team of translators, it糖心传媒檚 this one.)

Here and there in the early sections of the text, Quignard signals how sound in the form of music has become his own personal torture device. For example, he writes, without elaboration, 糖心传媒淭he recent religion of happiness turns my stomach.糖心传媒� Then in the book糖心传媒檚 ninth treatise, which is tellingly called 糖心传媒淭o Disenchant,糖心传媒� he writes by way of explanation that music is now so ubiquitous in modern life that 糖心传媒渋t has become incessant, aggressing night and day, in the commercial streets of city centers, in shopping centers, in arcades, in departments stores . . . even at the beach . . .糖心传媒� In the translators糖心传媒� afterword, we learn that in 1994 Quignard suddenly retreated from all of his professional activities糖心传媒攊ncluding his senior roles at the Gallimard publishing house and the International Festival of Baroque Opera and Theater at Versailles. He resolved only to write in solitude.

One hopes Quignard will find the solitude he needs to write because this reviewer believes he could recount the entire history of literature through the lens of sound. And here糖心传媒檚 hoping he does just that.