A Friendly Face

 It is a perfect Sunday morning and I’m heading away from the shores of Lago Maggiore. In an hour’s time, the lakeside roads will be suffocated by summer weekend traffic.  I take secondary roads, comfortably laid-back paths when time is not an issue. I’ll stop anywhere that catches my fancy.

The needles of my wristwatch mark 9.30. By now I should have been on Mount Mottarone hunting for mushrooms, hadn’t Beppe the mycologist called early to tell me that he’d woken up sick.

The road narrows and twists as it leads me through a small, deserted village – Oneda. A quick glance at the map sprawled on the passenger seat tells me that I’m approaching Lago di Comabbio and Lago di Monate, relatively obscure lakes.

The sun is blazing by the time I drive into Mercallo. Vivid frescoed figures peep at me from the dry, crumbly façades of ancient houses. The winding street opens up into a petite village piazza and opposite, the sky-blue cape of the Virgin Mary accentuated by the salmon-orange of its background building catches my eye. I pull up beneath the painting, noting the sign ‘Piazza Carlo Balconi, Patriota’.

The place is quiet, except for a small crowd of elderly men conversing in sleepy voices just outside the café-bar. The nearby florist is open too. A woman in blue jeans and black t-shirt is leaning by the battered flower display, having a smoke. She closes her eyes with every pull.

As I focus on shooting the Virgin Mary, I hear a deep voice saying, ‘There are many others worth seeing.’

I lower the camera and see that the youngest elderly gentleman has left his companions and is hobbling towards me. He’s square-faced, and has a thick mane of grey hair and a ready grin.

‘There are some good ones further up,’ he says, pointing to one of the streets.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure.  

He offers his right hand and nods. ‘Egidio,’ he says.

His grip is strong, and the palm is dry and cracked like a lizard’s skin. He walks briskly.

I follow him round a corner whose sharp shadow points towards a fresco depicting a dead Christ being mourned by female followers.

‘I’m originally from Calabria,’ says Egidio, as we walk on the shaded side of the alleyway. At every step, he is greeted by a smiling face peeping from behind shutters or curtains and saying, ‘Buongiorno’, or ‘Salve’.

‘I’ve been living here for 38 years,’ he adds, by way of explanation. ‘It’s nice. You only see old Lombard houses here, built around the traditional courtyard. No ugly high risers.’

As I hurry to keep up with him, the smooth melody of a hundred chanting voices rises through the hush. A belfry peeks from above the houses ahead.

A man, whose home flanks the church grounds, smiles and says, ‘Buongiorno Egidio!’ His face is deeply wrinkled but he looks spright.

Egidio tells him I’m interested in frescoes.

‘Please, come in,’ he says, motioning me through the gate.

I snap two frescoed well-to-do ladies relaxing by the parterre of an Italian garden.

Just across the street, we come face to face with the large, grey-white striped façade of the church, lined by dark terracotta edges. A large window, a Cyclops’ eye, stares at the village.

Egidio motions me to the terrace flanking the church and I’m enthralled by the sheet of blue water speckled by infinite reflections far below, heavily framed by wooded ridges.

‘Lago di Comabbio,’ he says with a flourish of hands. ‘The views you get here are much better than from Comabbio, but the lake inherited the name of the larger village.’

My eyes are drawn to a pool at the tip of the lake.

‘That used to be a clay quarry,’ says Egidio, following my gaze. ‘It filled up with water after it was abandoned. They made ceramics here. I myself decorate tiles as a hobby, now that I’m retired.’

The three doors of the church burst open and a flood of excited worshippers spills onto the terrace. The lethargic village comes to life with a multitude of cheerful Italian conversations, each one accented by eloquent gestures and fluid facial expressions.  

People nod to me, and some shake my hand as Egidio introduces me as a visitor from overseas. Gradually, the terrace empties as the Mercallesi trickle away to go home for Sunday lunch.

I thank Egidio and tell him he’s just made a complete stranger feel at home.

‘It was the same for me, 38 years ago,’ he says, staring vacantly. ‘When you don’t know where you’re going and what you’ll find, a friendly face makes a world of difference.’

 

The Shape of Water, by Andrea Camilleri

 

"The Shape of Water" by Andrea Camilleri is a captivating crime novel that takes readers on a thrilling journey to Vigàta, a fictional town in Sicily. The story revolves around Inspector Montalbano, a seasoned detective known for his wit and keen investigative skills. 

Camilleri's book was translated from Sicilian by Stephen Sartarelli in a simple and straightforward writing style that nonetheless conveys the sense of place and the feel of the characters effectively. In the story, Camilleri  weaves together a complex plot filled with twists and turns that keep readers guessing until the very end. The characters are well-developed and relatable, each with their unique quirks and motivations. For instance, Augello, Montalbano’s deputy is a compulsive womaniser, while the desk sergeant Catarella, who obtained his job through connections, is portrayed as an endearing simpleton.

One of the highlights of the book is the vivid and immersive descriptions of Sicilian culture and landscapes. Camilleri brings Vigàta to life, painting a picture of a vibrant and colourful region that feels authentic and enchanting, which was ultimately inspired by his hometown of Porto Empedocle. The dialogue is witty and engaging, adding depth to the characters and enhancing the overall reading experience.

"The Shape of Water" is not just a crime novel but also a commentary on society and human nature. Camilleri explores themes of corruption, power, and the complexity of relationships, providing readers with plenty of food for thought. This is the hallmark of the Italian noire genre, of whom Camilleri is an important exponent. 

"The Shape of Water" is a captivating and enjoyable read. Andrea Camilleri's skilful storytelling, coupled with his insightful observations, make this book a must-read for crime fiction lovers and anyone interested in Sicilian culture. 

Lord of the Flies - William Golding (1954)

 

William Golding's novel "Lord of the Flies" is a gripping and thought-provoking tale that explores the dark recesses of human nature. Set on a deserted island, the story follows a group of young boys stranded after a plane crash. Initially, they attempt to establish order and cooperation, electing a leader and organising their resources. However, as time passes and their situation becomes more desperate, their innate savagery begins to emerge.

Golding skillfully delves into the inherent duality of human nature, showcasing the fine line between civilization and barbarism. The boys' descent into chaos highlights the fragility of societal values and the ease with which they can crumble in the face of fear and primal instincts.

The characters in "Lord of the Flies" are vividly portrayed, each representing different aspects of humanity. Ralph symbolizes order, democracy, and the desire for rescue, while Jack embodies the allure of power, savagery, and anarchy. The tension between these two leaders serves as a constant reminder of the conflicting forces within society.

Golding's prose is simple yet evocative, effectively capturing the raw emotions and harrowing experiences of the boys. His narrative unfolds with a keen sense of suspense and mystery, drawing the reader deeper into the heart of darkness that lurks within the human soul. 

"Lord of the Flies" is a compelling and disturbing novel that forces us to confront the darker aspects of human nature. Golding's masterful storytelling and incisive observations make this book a timeless classic that continues to resonate with readers, reminding us of the delicate balance between civilisation and chaos. 

The Emancipation of Tuscany

“But if we lose them, school is no longer school. It is a hospital, which tends to the healthy and rejects the sick. It becomes just a device to strengthen the existing differences to a point of no return.”

 

Letter to a teacher, 1967, Barbiana School Pupils and Don Lorenzo Milani

 

Tuscany is one of the most visited regions of Italy. Every year, more that 6 million visitors swarm its countryside, indulging in its delights and visiting its timeless hilltop towns and historic cities.  This land has become firmly entrenched in the people’s perception as the quintessential pastoral idyll; a notion reinforced by books like Frances Mayes’ Under the Tuscan Sun, which have made readers yearn to abandon their hectic city lives elsewhere to live the Tuscan dream. The cypress-lined country roads and the hilltop farms have engaged the imaginations of artists for hundreds of years, and today, Tuscan landscape paintings are in high demand. Yet, few visitors stop to think about the creators of this pastoral haven - the countless generations of peasant families spanning many centuries. These were the people who dedicated their existences to colonising, shaping and maintaining plains, hills and mountains in order to eke out meagre existences and, in the process, sustain the lavish lifestyles of the aristocratic landowners.  

Since the late Middle Ages up to the 1960s, peasant life in Tuscany has been governed by a system called mezzadria. Seen as a great improvement over early medieval serfdom, this system enabled peasant families to be granted a podere (farm) that was part of a fattoria (a landowner’s collection of farms and lands). The farmer and his family kept half the produce from farming and animal husbandry, donating the other half to the Padrone (owner). All family members had to contribute to the Padrone’s needs by providing services such as house cleaning, and, in addition, the farmer was responsible for maintaining the land in good shape. Expenses were also shared equally between tenant farmers and landowner. Thus, the farmers assiduously took care of the land that provided sustenance for their families, and gradually, over 500 years of mezzadria, the Tuscan landscape came to look as we know it today. 

The peasant families however, were at the mercy of the Padrone’s whims. The mezzadria pact expired annually, and was tacitly renewed, unless the Padrone decided otherwise. If, for example, a family member died or a daughter was married off, the Padrone could decide not to renew the contract on the grounds of loss of manpower. Often, rich landowners employed ruthless administrators to run their properties and these would wield a lot of power over peasant families. They could easily blackmail peasants into giving them a cut of produce from their share and there was little the poor farmers could do if they wanted retain the farms. Being cast out meant the loss of the farm, hasty selling of beasts at a loss, and the uncertainty of finding another Padrone who was willing to lease one of his poderi.

The mezzadria system was abandoned in many other regions of Italy during the 1800s, but in Tuscany it was reinforced. By the mid 1950s, most peasant families in Tuscany were still under a mezzadria contract rather than working as agricultural labourers or as independent farmers. In the years following the liberation of Italy during World War II, peasants started protesting in order to attain better conditions. However, another phenomenon came to play in the 1950s. Rapid industrialisation of Italian towns meant the creation of numerous jobs, resulting in a migration of peasants towards the cities.  The population of rural communities dwindled drastically, and the land gradually fell into disrepair. Landowners changed agricultural practices, preferring to resort to the culture of single crops that could be harvested by mechanical means. Thus, the varied texture of the Tuscan countryside that had been a result of small-scale culture of many different crops began to blur out. 

During the fascist rule, landowners supported Mussolini, and this led to unfavourable laws for peasants. Thus, many peasants gave their allegiance to the Communist Party and fought as partisans against the fascists and the German occupiers during the war. Tuscany remains to this day a solid support base of Italy’s left wing parties. The tension between the farmers and landowners remained high throughout the post war years, and it was only in 1964 that a law was passed granting 58% of the produce to the farmers. However, it was already too late to stop the exodus of farmers. At the time, there was a deep class divide in Italian society. Peasants, especially those coming from mountainous areas were considered inferiors by city dwellers. The schooling system replicated the common perception that peasants were inherently ignorant. Children coming from poor families were failed repeatedly in exams until they left school humiliated and illiterate as soon as they reached working age. 

Against this dismal backdrop, a priest, Don Lorenzo Milani, ironically coming from an affluent Florentine family, championed the education of the poor peasant families. Transferred as parish priest to the dwindling mountain community of Barbiana in retribution for his radical views on social inequalities, he dedicated his whole life to educating the children of the peasants. He set up an innovative and intensive school that gave children the skills necessary to stand up in life – the gifts of language and critical thinking. He turned learning into a relevant experience for the kids and ensured that they got a chance to learn and shed their timidity. Under his tutorage, a number of pupils teamed up to write a book entitled Letter to a Teacher, denouncing the unfair selective schooling system of Italy. This book sent shock waves throughout the international educational community, and has become a beacon of modern educational studies. It is an aspect of the Tuscan legacy that is perhaps less evident than its famous wines and olive oils!

During the recent decades, Tuscany has experienced a steady return of permanent dwellers to its countryside. The new farmer-entrepreneurs are often unashamedly determined to reroute their lifestyles towards the essentials of pastoral life, equipped with a good education and an optimistic view of their future, just as Don Milani wanted his pupils to be in order to stand a fair chance in an unfair world. Tuscany’s worldwide popularity as a holiday destination has fuelled the revival of its old-time rural traditions. Its poor peasant dishes today feature in culinary TV programmes around the world – an example of creative and sustainable use of available resources. The popular agriturismo establishments enable visitors to immerse in a Tuscan living experience.  Thus, the poor farmers’ legacy of hard work and unflinching dedication to the land has today proved to be a solid bulwark against the ravages of a country hit hard by economic crises. Whereas Italian industries are struggling for survival, the traditional products of rural Tuscany are still in very high demand, creating opportunities for export.  In addition, the allure of a simple, hearty lifestyle, inspired by the poor peasants of old, ensures a steady inflow of visitors that helps fuel the region’s dynamic economy. 

Pursuing Your Personal Legend

I am by myself in the seclusion of my small home office. I have just opened my eyes after a short meditation session. Nothing fussy. Just being present in the moment; decluttering my overworked brain. I am feeling good; at peace. Jumbled thoughts had been preventing me from focusing my mind on things that matter. I can now think in a lucid way. The gentle aroma of the scented candle seems to permeate into my bones; into the deepest recesses of my being. I am aware of being part of the world - not just the physical aspect of the world, but also its soul, its essence, its vital force. The passing of a loved one has made me reassess what is truly important in life. Amongst other things, I am striving for inner peace and fortitude, by being mindful of the things that matter. I can feel the reassuring presence of my friends, even from a distance, knowing that I am in their thoughts. The time has come for me to pursue what Paola Coelho calls, in The Alchemist, my personal legend. I realised I have been distracted lately. Life seems to contrive distractions at every corner. Perhaps, I have chosen to be distracted, as a kind of mindless escapism. I hear the words of Amazing Grace playing in the background: “I once was lost, but now am found; was blind but now I see.”

Book Review: The Historian

 Elizabeth Kostova

 First published 2005 (Little, Brown and Company) 

Get ready to meet the most famous vampire of all time in a brand-new guise. Kostova’s more-than-600-page novel revolves around the myth of the 15^th century despotic and cruel ruler of Wallachia – Vlad III the Impaler – immortalised as the vampire lord Dracula.

The story is told by an American diplomat, Paul, to his young daughter (whose name is never revealed) by means of a series of letters, journals and ancient documents. The novel ties together three separate narratives - that of Paul's mentor Rossi in the 1930s, that of Paul in the 1950s, and that of the narrator herself (Paul’s daughter) in the 1970s. The narratives are based on a quest to uncover the truth about Dracula’s mystery and the possibility that he is still alive and wields great power.

Paul’s narrative is given the most prominent place.  While he is travelling across Eastern Europe, he meets Helen a dark-eyed Romanian raised in Hungary. Through Helen, Paul samples the harshness of the Soviet political system of the 1950s. Paul and Helen become embroiled in an attempt to rescue Paul's supervisor, an eminent historian, from Dracula's clutches. Their story, set in the late 1950s, takes them into the farthest-flung corners of Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria, as they unpeel layers of intrigue that have been simmering for hundreds of years.

Kostova depicts Dracula not as a blind killer, but as a scholar and librarian, whose power stems from his deep-rooted knowledge of history. He is so obsessed with the past that he lures historians into his master plan to establish his undead followers throughout the globe.

The characters in Kostova’s novel use their accumulated knowledge of previous generations in their quest for shedding light on Dracula’s mystery. They ditch their common sense and logical thinking and are reduced to stuffing their pockets with cloves of garlic, carrying silver bullets and wearing crucifixes in a bid to ward off the horrifying enemy that they have to face. For make no mistake – Dracula might by a scholar but he is cruel, vindictive and power-hungry!

The narratives in The Librarian blend spiritual as well as physical journeys. Underlying themes provide credible and solid foundations for these journeys and include a vision of a future world where Islam and Christianity coexist in constant tension. The cruel medieval world of Vlad the Impaler is also constantly juxtaposed to the modern world. As you read through the chapters of this novel, you get a sense that you’re somehow reading a 19th-century gothic novel that foreshadows the future centuries. Yet, you are always left in doubt about the veracity of the facts exposed by the main characters. The narrator’s reliability is very doubtful, as are the first-had accounts retold in letters by her father. This uncertainty creates suspense and tension, as does the anticipation of meeting the evil master himself.

It takes perseverance to get through the entirety of the story – you will need to focus less on the plot and savour the well-crafted detail that surrounds the narratives and places in order to appreciate this masterful novel to the full. 

 

Book review: A Farewell to Arms

Ernest Hemingway

First published 1929 (October issue of Scriber’s Magazine)

This summer, I revisited Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms. Although the novel is set during WWI in Italy, in its essence, it is a love story rather than a war story. Not that it is a romance novel. Far from it! Hemingway uses no flowery language or long-winded descriptions. Instead, he uses his characteristic terse staccato sentences; an almost journalistic style of writing that, though at times feels cold, seems to reflect the cold vagaries of chance that determine the fortunes of man. Reading this novel, you get a clear feeling that the divide between life and death is indeed very subtle.

The protagonist, Lieutenant Frederic Henry, is a young American who has joined the Italian ambulance corps as a volunteer. He is wounded by an exploding shell and is moved to an American hospital in Milan. While convalescing, he falls in love with a British nurse, Catherine Barkley, and after a brief love affair gets her pregnant. Catherine is very accommodating to her lover – today’s emancipated women would think of her as too servile, but obviously, in the eyes of the women of the 1920s and 30s, she would have appeared very forward or downright wanton.  Hemingway’s casual treatment of premarital sex led to the novel being banned in some parts of the United States. This might surprise the modern reader who is not aware of the context during which it was written.

It was also banned in Italy. Hemingway’s depiction of the disastrous Italian retreat during the Battle of Caporetto seemed to offend fascist ‘patriots.’ Yet, although the ineptness of Italian high command is implied, I believe that Hemingway really wanted to illustrate the futility of war; the pointless decisions taken by men in power that would mean life or death for the soldier in the field. In such chaos, being in the arms of his beloved Catherine provided the only measure of normality to Lieutenant Henry. It must also be said that there was bad blood between Hemingway and Mussolini. Hemingway interviewed the Italian dictator in 1923 while working for the Toronto Daily Star. Hemingway’s words about Mussolini were not flattering: “Mussolini is the biggest bluff in Europe. If Mussolini would have me taken out and shot tomorrow morning, I would still regard him as a bluff.”

A Farewell to Arms is infused with strong autobiographical elements. Hemingway actually served in the ambulance corps in Italy during WWI and also fell in love with a nurse who, however, did not return his love. Although the novel was written from a masculine point of view, it highlights both the cruel aspects as well as the softer side of masculinity. In the novel, the feminine element seems to bring out the better side of manhood.

The theme of death and the fragility of life are underlying themes in Hemingway’s novel. A Farewell to Arms is a pragmatic reminder of the vagaries of life and death. Hemingway implies that things do not happen because of a reason in the universe, and whether you’re directly in the line of fire is just a matter of luck... or lack of it.

Have you read A Farewell to Arms? If yes, what do you think of my review? Are there things you agree or disagree with? If you have not read it, does this review entice you to try reading it? I’d be happy to read the comments you post. And if you are interested in reading more reviews and articles, hit the subscribe button and get future posts directly into your inbox.