Me cala la palpebra

Good Morning [finally a nice sunny morning after the windy and rainy day of yesterday], Despite the adverse weather, yesterday night has been very pleasant. I went to my *officially* last Spanish class, and our professora, who is from Buenos Aires, brought us hand-made empanadas as a gift [they are typical *pastries* similar to a small calzone filled with meat&veg or spinach&cheese ~ photo attached]. !Que deliciosas! After the class, all our class headed to the local Spanish restaurant where we drank sangria, ate all sorts of tapas and chatted a lot... in Spanish, of course. Also the waiters had been instructed to speak only in Spanish to us. During the dinner the teacher went through some food-related execercises, we took some pictures, and shared the tapas. By the end of the dinner, I was tipsy and got very chatty. My *Spanglish* got better and better. A great night! And the cool thing is that some of us, in September, will start meeting up once a week at our teacher's place to carry on, mainly with conversation. Here are my companeros: from the left, me; our teacher Patricia; Jimi from Scotland; Juan from London; Zuza from Bratislava; Amanda & Naomi from London; Ohan & Ghili from Israel.

Two Portraits

 

 

These two paintings by Stella Vine look so primitive in their technique, and yet so realistic. The gloomy Gothic aura and the expressionistic distortion of these vampire-like figures whose mouths are still dirty of blood, perfectly mirror the passional and controversial personality of Sylvia & Amy.

In the mood of changes

I have been in a fairly foul mood lately ~ being anxious for terrorism and too concerned for all the sad things happening in the world; missing my family; my Italian breakfast; the boring summery nights of my country; and the company of my old girlfriends. London is surely the perfect city for afecionados of individualism like me. But I feel also that this city has an expiry date for those who, like me, enjoy life within a sort of *community* as well. Two days ago I came back from work unusually early and I realised that I had *nothing* (worth, exciting, useful, helpful) to do. Caught by a strong sense of boredom, I decided I needed a repentine change. I started in the most classic way: with a haircut. Then, I persuaded Steve to redesign the interiors of our flat. We moved things around, and now our *alcove* looks much more roomy and bright. It was very therapeutic, and, in fact, I feel much better now in this new space [pics to follow]. Yesterday, I have also bought one of those black old fashion English home telephones, conveying a nostalgic vintage touch to our lounge. It reminds me so vividly when I dialled for the first time ever a telephone number and the surprise I experienced when my grandmum answered on the other side. This is not all. Inspired by Lindsey, I have finally started working seriously on the present Blog. Finally, we went and see a nice flat to buy in West Hampstead (a studio flat which I would rather define a small *loft*), which is a great potential rental investment. After our holiday break and if it is still available, we will think seriously about it. I am off to tidy my new space now, and sorting my clothes out for the coming holiday (one week from now). Steve cooked a great roast dinner today, and he is now watching a war film. He is going to bake some bread, again... We tried last week and we horribly failed. This evening we will relax in front of a film. Ad maiora

Book Review :: Ti prendo e ti porto via by Niccolo Ammaniti

Set in a imprecise town not far from Rome, whose name recalls some real touristy resorts on the Tirreno sea, this novel narrates two parallel stories of a boy and a man: Pietro, a quiet and imaginative boy of 12, and Graziano, the epitome of the hippy playboy. The two protagonists have no more than one initial common point: the village of Iscano Scalo.

Graziano left his hometown to satisfy his thirst for adventure, and, after years of nomadic life, decides to go back home and implement one of his latest odd fantasies: open a jeans shop and get married in the attempt to rediscover the bliss of the provincial life. He is an exuberant man, full of contradictory feelings and principles. His odd obsessions and fantasies will direct him into grotesque situations and affairs, hilarious but also pathetic.

Pietro lives with his family in Iscano Scalo, and attends the local secondary school. He is as sweet as irresolute. This lack of confidence will be the catalyst factor leading to the appalling outcome of the novel. His personality is counter posed by the brilliant and a bit arrogant persona of his best girl-friend, coming from a higher social status. Pietro has got some enemies,

too. Evil and unscrupulous schoolmates will persecute their easiest target, Pietro, arising our resentments and sympathies. They will be in fact the primary cause of Pietro's troubles. Often depicted with a caricature taste, their leader embodies the features of the classical delinquent

of the village, with a distressed background and a complex personality.

The suspense is successfully created by a regular alternated rhythm: one chapter is dedicated to Graziano, the following one to Pietro. In between, many subplots, in the form of digressions chronicling anecdotes and stories about the other residents, complete the picture of the life in Iscano Scalo. Graziano's life always runs parallel to Pietro's (dis)adventures without interweaving with him, except for a small incident. However, they BOTH enjoy the sympathy of the tolerant reader, and other indirect connections (namely, the solitary and introvert Pietro's

teacher) will bring their destinies somehow close. Shifts in time contribute to convey an achieved sense of suspension as well. The novel starts with the unexpected failure of Pietro at school, but this event is, in chronological terms, one of the last scenes of the novel. The spotlight moves then months back and focuses on Graziano's return. Another cinematographic flash back brings us some months earlier into the turbulent life of Graziano on the Adriatic Riviera.*

Ammaniti is certainly the obtrusive author, but unobtrusive narrator of the events. If he orchestrates coincidences, encounters and destinies of his creatures [the novel is told in third person], it is not, in fact, the narrator's judgmental point of view what transpires. Multiple viewpoints of the inhabitants of Iscano Scalo emerge in the novel through the skilful filter of the narrator's pen. Their voice, their beliefs and prejudices, even their inner fears and desires [direct reported thoughts are highlighted in italics in the text] are what we actually perceive. The result is an in-depth introspection rendered without spending too many descriptive words.

The novel is pervaded by a strong humour and fanciful references to the current popular Italian culture, which, together with the violent and turbulent writing and some shocking episodes, make this book an enjoyable and gripping reading with a disturbing denouement. One of the last scenes, when Pietro finds shelter in a quagmire after the bad news of his failure at school, emphasises with a powerful visual effect this moment of anguish. The real

protagonist of this book, however, is Iscano Scalo and its damned inhabitants compelled to live a frustrated, bored and senseless life. Pietro's brother dreams to escape to Alaska,Graziano tries to flee to Jamaica and Pietro promises to her friend that one day he will "take her and bring her away" (= "ti prendo e ti porto via"). Iscano Scalo can be the metonymy of the sad

condition of the trapped man, but, before acquiring this existentialist connotation, it is, firstly, the fictional mirror of a real microcosmic society.

To conclude, I quote one of my favourite Italian novelists and epistemologists of the last century, Italo Calvino:

"There are two ways to escape suffering the inferno where we live everyday:

the first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of

it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant

vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognise who and what, in

the midst of the Inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space."**

Pietro found a third solution: "he cut his life in two to get rid of it".***

* The Adriatic Riviera is known to be the favourite leisure destination of party loafers since the 60s.

** Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, London, Vintage Classics, 1999, p.165. Translation by William Weaver. (Original title: Italo Calvino, Le città invisibili).

*** Nicolo Ammaniti, Ti prendo e ti porto via, Milano, Oscar Mondadori, 1999, p.451.

Book Review :: Lo Que Está en Mi Corazón by Marcela Serrano

"Daughters of the Apocalypse"
Read in the Italian translation Quel che c’e’ nel mio cuore

In Marcela Serrano’s epic novel Lo Que Está en Mi Corazón, the stories of a distant land and a complex woman meet to create a timeless saga. The land is El Chiapas, a place of suffering that has endured the aggressions of early conquerors only to face the titanic ambitions of 20th century revolutionaries; the setting is the beautiful sanctuary of San Cristobál. The narrator, Camila, is a woman who avoided political involvement by choosing a volunteer exile, but now, after years spent in the States and a tumultuous past abroad, she decides to go back to her hometown to face her neglected origins.
The result is a powerful novel of contrast and balance that defies traditional classification as a love story, mystery or political thriller.

Politics, however, is the catalyst for many of the novel’s life-altering relationships and conflicts. The foundation of Camila’s very self is challenged by the arrival of Reina, an attractive activist and old friend of Camila’s mother from the days when they fought against Pinochet’s bloody dictatorship. Reina has come to San Cristobál to continue her revolution, and she settles with a heterogeneous collection of restless immigrants. Despite their diverse backgrounds, Reina’s companions share a remarkable force of purpose.

El Chiapas cradles Camila’s spirit as she endures a painful initiation toward a better understanding of herself. Her admiration for Reina wages war with her revulsion, as Camila tries to reconcile her feelings for the woman who so mirrors her own mother’s ideals. For example, she believes that the kind of revolution Reina advocates is not only senseless and destructive, but also anachronistic. However, memories of her strong mother will not let Camila escape from the guilt she feels over her decision to avoid politics in exchange for personal exile and a safe, ordinary life.

Above all, Serrano’s novel is a beautiful study of contrasts. As the narrator, Camila guides the reader through the colorful streets of San Cristobál, the magic power of which lies in its capacity to maintain its authenticity. She reveals marketplaces and urban dwellers with an anthropological flavor and fascination. Then, Serrano contrasts this peace with the rage and unpredictability of guerilla warfare, a potent shock to the reader. Contrast leads easily to conflict on multiple levels: natives and conquerors; revolutionaries and the military; mothers and daughters; the past and the present; memories and reality. The oppositions are at once ancestral, deeply internal, and intrusive into Camila’s existence.

The title, Lo Que Está en Mi Corazón, comes from the traditional phrase Mayan women used to conclude their tales. Camila, like a Mayan storyteller, relates her story through the communication of other narratives. In doing so, she develops a maturity that exists far from sensationalism and heroics. In Serrano’s gripping novel, insurrections, revolts, legends, and rituals merge at a point where its socio-political origins give way to a timeless myth of self-discovery.