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Conversations in Sicily
Conversations in Sicily holds a special place in the annals of literature.
It stands as a modern classic not only for its powerful thematic resonance as one of the great novels of Italian anti-fascism but also as a trailblazer for its style, which blends literary modernism with the pre-modern fable in a prose of lyric beauty. Comparing Vittorini's work to Picasso's, Italo Calvino described Conversations as "the book-Guernica."
The novel begins at a time in the narrator's life when nothing seems to matter; whether he is reading newspaper posters blaring of wartime massacres, lying in bed with his wife or girlfriend, or flipping through the pages of a dictionary it is all the same to him―until he embarks on a journey back to Sicily, the home he has not seen in some fifteen years. In traveling through the Sicilian countryside and in variously hilarious and tragic conversations with its people―his indomitable mother in particular―he reconnects with his roots and rediscovers some basic human values.
In the introduction Hemingway wrote for the American debut of Conversations (published as In Sicily by New Directions in 1949) he remarked: "I care very much about Vittorini's ability to bring rain with him when he comes, if the earth is dry and that is what you need." More recently, American critic Donald Heiney wrote that in this one book, Vittorini "like Rabelais and Cervantes...adds a new artistic dimension to the history of literature."
It stands as a modern classic not only for its powerful thematic resonance as one of the great novels of Italian anti-fascism but also as a trailblazer for its style, which blends literary modernism with the pre-modern fable in a prose of lyric beauty. Comparing Vittorini's work to Picasso's, Italo Calvino described Conversations as "the book-Guernica."
The novel begins at a time in the narrator's life when nothing seems to matter; whether he is reading newspaper posters blaring of wartime massacres, lying in bed with his wife or girlfriend, or flipping through the pages of a dictionary it is all the same to him―until he embarks on a journey back to Sicily, the home he has not seen in some fifteen years. In traveling through the Sicilian countryside and in variously hilarious and tragic conversations with its people―his indomitable mother in particular―he reconnects with his roots and rediscovers some basic human values.
In the introduction Hemingway wrote for the American debut of Conversations (published as In Sicily by New Directions in 1949) he remarked: "I care very much about Vittorini's ability to bring rain with him when he comes, if the earth is dry and that is what you need." More recently, American critic Donald Heiney wrote that in this one book, Vittorini "like Rabelais and Cervantes...adds a new artistic dimension to the history of literature."
202 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1941
About the author
Elio Vittorini
94 books80 followersElio Vittorini (July 23, 1908 - February 12, 1966) was an Italian writer and novelist. He was a contemporary of Cesare Pavese and an influential voice in the modernist school of novel writing. His best-known work is the anti-fascist novel Conversations in Sicily, for which he was jailed when it was published in 1941. The first U.S. edition of the novel, published in 1949, included an introduction from Ernest Hemingway, whose style influenced Vittorini and that novel in particular.
Vittorini was born in Syracuse, Sicily, and throughout his childhood moved around Sicily with his father, a railroad worker. Several times he ran away from home, culminating in his leaving Sicily for good in 1924. For a brief period, he found employment as a construction worker in the Julian March, after which he moved to Florence to work as a type corrector (a line of work he abandoned in 1934 due to lead poisoning). Around 1927 his work began to be published in literary journals. In many cases, separate editions of his novels and short stories from this period, such as The Red Carnation were not published until after World War II, due to fascist censorship. In 1937, he was expelled from the Fascist Party for writing in support of the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War.
In 1939 he moved once again, this time to Milan. An anthology of American literature which he edited was, once more, delayed by censorship. Remaining an outspoken critic of Mussolini's regime, Vittorini was arrested and jailed in 1942. He joined the Italian Communist Party and began taking an active role in the Resistance, which provided the basis for his 1945 novel Men and not Men. Also in 1945, he briefly became the editor of the Italian Communist daily L'Unità.
After the war, Vittorini chiefly concentrated on his work as editor, helping publish work by young Italians such as Calvino and Fenoglio. His last major published work of fiction during his lifetime was 1956's Erica and her Sisters. The news of the events of the Hungarian Uprising deeply shook his convictions in Communism and made him decide to largely abandon writing, leaving unfinished work which was to be published in unedited form posthumously. For the remainder of his life, Vittorini continued in his post as an editor. He also ran a candidate on a PSI list. He died in Milan in 1966.
Vittorini was born in Syracuse, Sicily, and throughout his childhood moved around Sicily with his father, a railroad worker. Several times he ran away from home, culminating in his leaving Sicily for good in 1924. For a brief period, he found employment as a construction worker in the Julian March, after which he moved to Florence to work as a type corrector (a line of work he abandoned in 1934 due to lead poisoning). Around 1927 his work began to be published in literary journals. In many cases, separate editions of his novels and short stories from this period, such as The Red Carnation were not published until after World War II, due to fascist censorship. In 1937, he was expelled from the Fascist Party for writing in support of the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War.
In 1939 he moved once again, this time to Milan. An anthology of American literature which he edited was, once more, delayed by censorship. Remaining an outspoken critic of Mussolini's regime, Vittorini was arrested and jailed in 1942. He joined the Italian Communist Party and began taking an active role in the Resistance, which provided the basis for his 1945 novel Men and not Men. Also in 1945, he briefly became the editor of the Italian Communist daily L'Unità.
After the war, Vittorini chiefly concentrated on his work as editor, helping publish work by young Italians such as Calvino and Fenoglio. His last major published work of fiction during his lifetime was 1956's Erica and her Sisters. The news of the events of the Hungarian Uprising deeply shook his convictions in Communism and made him decide to largely abandon writing, leaving unfinished work which was to be published in unedited form posthumously. For the remainder of his life, Vittorini continued in his post as an editor. He also ran a candidate on a PSI list. He died in Milan in 1966.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 217 reviews
June 22, 2024
I don't normally read forewords and introductions before starting a book but in this case I did. No reason why, just thought I would for once. And was pleased to learn that both Hemingway and Calvino highly praised this work. So that got the positive vibes going before actually cracking on with the novel itself. And for the most part, It didn't disappoint. Now it's clear why both thought Conversations in Sicily was the business, as not only is it a mighty reminder of the power of modernism, it also serves as a lesson that you don't need fancy show-off Intellectual style prose to pull off an effective novel. The balance of pacing and tone of voice have been so well rendered here that it's possible to not be aware of either.
Elio Vittorini was an Italian communist, and his novel is, within the constraints of the censorship of the period, explicitly political. But the political side is in this instance also a personal one, and the spinning of time brings in his ironies. Vittorini's narrator Silvestro decides on a whim to take a cheap weekend return ticket on the train down from Milan, where he lives and works, to revisit his native Sicily and the mother he has not seen for 15 years. He bumps into various characters on his trip, including two being called whiskers and without whiskers, others being a knife grinder, and a soldier, with each traveller reminding Silvestro in different ways about the character of the land he has left, its customs, and strong rooted beliefs. After travelling through the mountains, and arriving at his mother's village, he takes the walk up the steep steps to her home with a birthday card. And it's here, once the dialogue of mother and son kicks in, where Vittorini really shines. The return to a house unchanged since boyhood creates a dreamlike reality. A merging of his child and adult selves.
Here a conversation bounces back and forth similar to that of a play, and enlarges the present with the past and the past with the present, giving the reader an experience that is vividly new, yet familiar. The dialogue heavy scenes constitute the disaffected heart of the book, and it is very hard to give any adequate sense of their power, rendered in lucid, supple lines of almost Homeric simplicity by Vittorini. This is a novel of knowledge and experience, memory and place, dealing with the loss of the past, and the attempts to recover it through words. Oh, and then there is the wine, bread, oil, herrings, chicory, snails, and melons. It was all making me rather peckish.
Overall I found the narrative both moving and amusing, and picked up on a few little interesting details that I must have missed reading it the first time round.
August 20, 2021
This was written and published during the fascist era and therefore had to get by the stringent punitive censorship of the time. The irony is the book owes its form and much of its beauty to the imperative of eluding censorship. It wouldn't have been written in this form if not for censorship. A rare case of censorship doing the artist a massive favour. Compelling him to innovate and mask meaning with artful subtlety.
Because of the hugely overshadowing Nazi death camps history has turned into little more than a footnote what Mussolini did in Abyssinia in 1935. When, among other Italian atrocities, the Italian air force sprayed native villages with mustard gas. This book's starting point is probably the deep shame and disgust any decent human being would feel at this cowardly act done in the name of his country. It begins with the line, "That winter I was in the grip of abstract furies. I won't be more specific."
The narrator, on the spur of the moment, decides to visit his mother in Sicily who he hasn't seen for fourteen years. Elio Vittorini has a musical ear and his prose is incantatory with its beautiful refined repetitive rhythms. The journey undertaken by the narrator is as much a journey back in time as through space. His conversations like a dialogue with the deepest part of his being as well as with the land of his birth.
Unfortunately for me the beautiful mysterious spell it was casting fizzled out a bit in the last third when the narrator gets drunk and overly maudlin and then has a conversation with his dead brother. Nevertheless, a magical innovative book which artfully not only overcomes the obstacle of censorship but uses censorship as a kind of forge in which to craft the work.
Because of the hugely overshadowing Nazi death camps history has turned into little more than a footnote what Mussolini did in Abyssinia in 1935. When, among other Italian atrocities, the Italian air force sprayed native villages with mustard gas. This book's starting point is probably the deep shame and disgust any decent human being would feel at this cowardly act done in the name of his country. It begins with the line, "That winter I was in the grip of abstract furies. I won't be more specific."
The narrator, on the spur of the moment, decides to visit his mother in Sicily who he hasn't seen for fourteen years. Elio Vittorini has a musical ear and his prose is incantatory with its beautiful refined repetitive rhythms. The journey undertaken by the narrator is as much a journey back in time as through space. His conversations like a dialogue with the deepest part of his being as well as with the land of his birth.
Unfortunately for me the beautiful mysterious spell it was casting fizzled out a bit in the last third when the narrator gets drunk and overly maudlin and then has a conversation with his dead brother. Nevertheless, a magical innovative book which artfully not only overcomes the obstacle of censorship but uses censorship as a kind of forge in which to craft the work.
January 18, 2019
Sicily was once like Papua New Guinea in this sense: Until the early part of the last century there existed—may still exist—within its mountainous interior, an enigmatic ancient culture. This Sicilian culture is rife with superstition, fear of the Evil Eye, and penetrated only superficially by Catholicism. In this sense it reminds me of the primitive villages written about by Carlo Levi in his Christ Stopped at Eboli, but the eerie sense of diconnection from the rest of the world goes even further here. This is one of the most transporting books I have ever read. Every ten pages or so resolve themselves in little narrative paradoxes reminiscent of Zen koans. It's not hard to see why Ernest Hemingway, who contributes a brief introduction, was attracted to its bleak, almost magical economy. Moreover, it has filled out the Sicilian landscape for me that I was already in part familiar with from the work of Leonardo Sciascia and Giovanni Verga. One of the great books of life.
September 19, 2021
مسار يعود فيه الراوي إلى بلدته في صقلية بعد 15 عام من الرحيل
أحاديث وذكريات ومشاهدات خلال الرحلة التي استغرقت 3 أيام
أطراف الحديث مختلفة وفيه ملامح عن الحال العام في صقلية فترة الثلاثينيات
السرد بطئ ولجأ فيه فيتوريني للرمز من خلال بعض الشخصيات
الترجمة غير سلسة في الحوارات
أحاديث وذكريات ومشاهدات خلال الرحلة التي استغرقت 3 أيام
أطراف الحديث مختلفة وفيه ملامح عن الحال العام في صقلية فترة الثلاثينيات
السرد بطئ ولجأ فيه فيتوريني للرمز من خلال بعض الشخصيات
الترجمة غير سلسة في الحوارات
April 27, 2022
الیو ویتورینی نویسنده ایتالیایی بوده که در زمان استبداد و اختناق فاشیست ها در ایتالیا می زیسته ، کتاب گفت و گو در سیسیل را به عنوان مشهورترین اثر او و البته یک نوشته ضد فاشیستی می شناسند .
کتاب او در مورد سیلوستر ، جوانی ایست که تصمیم گرفته تا پس از 15 سال ، به زادگاه ه خود روستایی در سیسیل رفته و مادر خود را ببیند ، سفر کوتاه او و گفت و گوهای عجیب سیلوستر با مسافران قطار ، نمایی کلی از ایتالیایی های بی آرزو و افسرده را نشان می دهد .
اقامت کوتاه او با گفت و گو با مادر و گشت و گذار در روستا و دیدن فقر و فلاکت روستاییان و حتی صحبت با روح برادر به پایان رسیده و او عازم میلان می شود .
گفت و گو در سیسیل باید سرشار از نماده ها بوده باشد ، مانند گفت و گوی سیلوستر با چاقو تیز کن ، یا با افرادی در قطار ، اما این نمادها و معانی آن ، افزون بر در لفافه و سربسته بودن انتقادها از رژیم فاشیستی کتاب را به اثری گُنگ تبدیل کرده است .
کتاب او در مورد سیلوستر ، جوانی ایست که تصمیم گرفته تا پس از 15 سال ، به زادگاه ه خود روستایی در سیسیل رفته و مادر خود را ببیند ، سفر کوتاه او و گفت و گوهای عجیب سیلوستر با مسافران قطار ، نمایی کلی از ایتالیایی های بی آرزو و افسرده را نشان می دهد .
اقامت کوتاه او با گفت و گو با مادر و گشت و گذار در روستا و دیدن فقر و فلاکت روستاییان و حتی صحبت با روح برادر به پایان رسیده و او عازم میلان می شود .
گفت و گو در سیسیل باید سرشار از نماده ها بوده باشد ، مانند گفت و گوی سیلوستر با چاقو تیز کن ، یا با افرادی در قطار ، اما این نمادها و معانی آن ، افزون بر در لفافه و سربسته بودن انتقادها از رژیم فاشیستی کتاب را به اثری گُنگ تبدیل کرده است .
November 30, 2019
This lyrical modernist novel is a beautifully written tale of a man trying to find sense among the dire reality of war. Its dreamy prose comes with a strong anti-war sentiment. Narrated by a man who upon realizing that he is unable to feel anything decides to travel back home i.e. Sicily to reconnect with his roots, this book feels authentic. As the ancient nun from the film The Great Beauty (La Grande Bellezza) points out, roots are indeed important. ( Her lines if I remember well: ...'Do you know why I eat only roots? Because roots are important.')
Author's note says: "I warn the reader that, just as the protagonist of these Conversations is not the author, so the Sicily in which this story takes place is Sicily only by chance." Still, the novel manages to portray some of the tastes and smells of the southern Italy. That is what I meant when I say that it is surreal, in one moment it is realistic and in the other it is not.
One moment you have a feeling you're in Sicily and the other you feel you're lost in the narrator's thoughts. I spent 4 months of my life working and living in Sicily. I turned twenty there and officially left the teenage years behind me. Even if this book isn't specifically about Sicily, one can feel a touch of Sicily in it, a reflection of that magical and mysterious island where so many cultures left their trace. In one way it is Sicily and in another it isn't- it could be any place that is isolated just as narrator could be any man that is isolated, that cannot find answers or consolation, that goes numb from the horrors of the world surrounding him. For this is perhaps first and foremost a work of anti-war prose.
Indeed, this modernist novel is not too focused on Sicily. It is a part of the story, but not its main point. Set in Sicily but perhaps more in the head of its narrator, this book takes us through an odyssey of sorts. With whom the narrator converses in Sicily? With a number of people, but mostly with himself. This books speaks to its reader in a dreamy language. If you're a fan of a straightforward lineal narrative, well this might not be the best book for you.
This is not a typical novel, but then most antiwar prose is not typical, at least the one that is any good. It is not driven by plot. If it can be said to be philosophical then it is philosophical in a mild or indirect way. If I had to compare it with a work of literature, it would be Camino Real by Tennessee Williams. That play is not antiwar writing as far as I remember it, but for some reason that play of Tennessee Williams is the first thing that comes to my mind.
Italo Calvino said this is "the book- Guernica". I can see why he said it, like the famous Guernica this novel is fragmented, full of pain and inspired by horrors of war. However, personally I would opt for one of Dali's painting if I had to make a comparison. Conversation in Sicily has that unusual, uncanny, surreal and dreamy quality od Dali's art.
This is one of those books I wish I had the time to reread some time soon, but I think a reread will have to wait. Not that I have any problems recalling the events in this book and the dreamy quality of writing. When I reread it, I will do it for the pleasure of reading, not because I have forgotten what this book was about. What it was about? As all great works of literature, it is about a great many things. About isolation, about what it means to be human, to search for meaning amidst the horrors of war.
...Thus those who suffered personal misfortune and those who suffered the pain of the wronged world were together in the nude tomb of wine, and could be like spirits, finally parted from this world of suffering and wrongs.”
The novel opens like this: ..." That winter I was in a grip of abstract furies. I won't be more specific, that's not what I've set out to relate. But I have to say that they were abstract, not heroic, not living; in some way they were furies for all doomed humanity." What was he out to relate besides the obvious (the opposition against war)? Without wanting to speculate in too much detail or give any definite answer, I can say that whatever it was I liked it. I liked this dreamy and lyrical novel. I remember it fondly. I long for a reread.
Author's note says: "I warn the reader that, just as the protagonist of these Conversations is not the author, so the Sicily in which this story takes place is Sicily only by chance." Still, the novel manages to portray some of the tastes and smells of the southern Italy. That is what I meant when I say that it is surreal, in one moment it is realistic and in the other it is not.
One moment you have a feeling you're in Sicily and the other you feel you're lost in the narrator's thoughts. I spent 4 months of my life working and living in Sicily. I turned twenty there and officially left the teenage years behind me. Even if this book isn't specifically about Sicily, one can feel a touch of Sicily in it, a reflection of that magical and mysterious island where so many cultures left their trace. In one way it is Sicily and in another it isn't- it could be any place that is isolated just as narrator could be any man that is isolated, that cannot find answers or consolation, that goes numb from the horrors of the world surrounding him. For this is perhaps first and foremost a work of anti-war prose.
Indeed, this modernist novel is not too focused on Sicily. It is a part of the story, but not its main point. Set in Sicily but perhaps more in the head of its narrator, this book takes us through an odyssey of sorts. With whom the narrator converses in Sicily? With a number of people, but mostly with himself. This books speaks to its reader in a dreamy language. If you're a fan of a straightforward lineal narrative, well this might not be the best book for you.
This is not a typical novel, but then most antiwar prose is not typical, at least the one that is any good. It is not driven by plot. If it can be said to be philosophical then it is philosophical in a mild or indirect way. If I had to compare it with a work of literature, it would be Camino Real by Tennessee Williams. That play is not antiwar writing as far as I remember it, but for some reason that play of Tennessee Williams is the first thing that comes to my mind.
Italo Calvino said this is "the book- Guernica". I can see why he said it, like the famous Guernica this novel is fragmented, full of pain and inspired by horrors of war. However, personally I would opt for one of Dali's painting if I had to make a comparison. Conversation in Sicily has that unusual, uncanny, surreal and dreamy quality od Dali's art.
This is one of those books I wish I had the time to reread some time soon, but I think a reread will have to wait. Not that I have any problems recalling the events in this book and the dreamy quality of writing. When I reread it, I will do it for the pleasure of reading, not because I have forgotten what this book was about. What it was about? As all great works of literature, it is about a great many things. About isolation, about what it means to be human, to search for meaning amidst the horrors of war.
...Thus those who suffered personal misfortune and those who suffered the pain of the wronged world were together in the nude tomb of wine, and could be like spirits, finally parted from this world of suffering and wrongs.”
The novel opens like this: ..." That winter I was in a grip of abstract furies. I won't be more specific, that's not what I've set out to relate. But I have to say that they were abstract, not heroic, not living; in some way they were furies for all doomed humanity." What was he out to relate besides the obvious (the opposition against war)? Without wanting to speculate in too much detail or give any definite answer, I can say that whatever it was I liked it. I liked this dreamy and lyrical novel. I remember it fondly. I long for a reread.
March 15, 2015
Conversazione in Sicilia non è un libro semplice da leggere, benché estremamente scarno. Il registro narrativo è molto spiazzante. C’è un mix di situazioni realistiche e oniriche al contempo. E’ una specie di “Fellini 8 e mezzo” letterario, se vogliamo.
Come vi immaginerete, dunque, di interpretazioni ne sono state date tante. Ma ciascuno deve trovare la propria, senza dar retta a quelle altrui.
Io mi sono innamorata del piccolo e soave siciliano che porge disperato le arance a sua moglie. Mi sono innamorata del Gran Lombardo che aveva tre belle figlie femmine e che pensava ci fossero altri e più degni doveri da compiere. Mi sono innamorata del vecchio miele che ancora può essere smosso nella madre del narratore. Mi sono innamorata dell’arrotino che potrebbe, se lo volessi, rendere più aguzzi i miei denti e le mie unghie.
Ma è stato un percorso del tutto personale. Come lo sarà il vostro, se deciderete di leggerlo.
Come vi immaginerete, dunque, di interpretazioni ne sono state date tante. Ma ciascuno deve trovare la propria, senza dar retta a quelle altrui.
Io mi sono innamorata del piccolo e soave siciliano che porge disperato le arance a sua moglie. Mi sono innamorata del Gran Lombardo che aveva tre belle figlie femmine e che pensava ci fossero altri e più degni doveri da compiere. Mi sono innamorata del vecchio miele che ancora può essere smosso nella madre del narratore. Mi sono innamorata dell’arrotino che potrebbe, se lo volessi, rendere più aguzzi i miei denti e le mie unghie.
Ma è stato un percorso del tutto personale. Come lo sarà il vostro, se deciderete di leggerlo.
March 25, 2024
Absolutely no idea what this one was all about. It wandered from amiable comedic whimsy into poetical landscapery (perfectly nice) and then into manic repetition (perfectly irritating) :
P143 :
It’s a shame to wrong the world
What are you, a worldly person or one who wrongs the world?
Aren’t you someone who wrongs the world?
Sometimes we confuse the petty things of the world with wrongs to the world.
(Then for a whole page, nothing about wronging the world. But then )
P145
Earth not yet contaminated by the world’s wrongs, the wrongs that take place on the earth
Yes, my friend, the world has been wronged
P146
The world has been wronged
He’s suffering the pain of the wronged world
P147
And he’s suffering the pain of the wronged world
The world has been badly wronged
(Building up to the final crescendo)
P148
Our friend knows that we’re suffering the pain of the wronged world
The world is big and beautiful but it has been badly wronged
Everyone suffers each for himself, but not for the world that has been wronged
I am writing down the pains of the wronged world
It doesn’t stop there, but I will spare you the wronged worlds on page 149 (three times) and 150 (twice). There is clearly something going on here which went whizzing over my head. This novel is supposed to be in one sense a cryptic covert criticism of Mussolini’s Fascist regime, but I did not get any of that, and I did not get what all this strange repetition was for. So I am thinking that I am not the right reader of this oddball novel. But it is in 1001 Books you Should Read Because We Say So
P143 :
It’s a shame to wrong the world
What are you, a worldly person or one who wrongs the world?
Aren’t you someone who wrongs the world?
Sometimes we confuse the petty things of the world with wrongs to the world.
(Then for a whole page, nothing about wronging the world. But then )
P145
Earth not yet contaminated by the world’s wrongs, the wrongs that take place on the earth
Yes, my friend, the world has been wronged
P146
The world has been wronged
He’s suffering the pain of the wronged world
P147
And he’s suffering the pain of the wronged world
The world has been badly wronged
(Building up to the final crescendo)
P148
Our friend knows that we’re suffering the pain of the wronged world
The world is big and beautiful but it has been badly wronged
Everyone suffers each for himself, but not for the world that has been wronged
I am writing down the pains of the wronged world
It doesn’t stop there, but I will spare you the wronged worlds on page 149 (three times) and 150 (twice). There is clearly something going on here which went whizzing over my head. This novel is supposed to be in one sense a cryptic covert criticism of Mussolini’s Fascist regime, but I did not get any of that, and I did not get what all this strange repetition was for. So I am thinking that I am not the right reader of this oddball novel. But it is in 1001 Books you Should Read Because We Say So
January 19, 2023
Scoprirsi tornando alle proprie origini, riportando indietro il tempo sino a riappropriarsi del passato e trovarvi ciò che le distrazioni del presente spesso hanno sbiadito. Cogliere una visione diversa degli eventi, ampliare gli orizzonti, rivedere, perché no, molti dei pregressi giudizi, in bene o in male. Credo sia questo il tema portante della storia. Ottimi i dialoghi, molto buone le caratterizzazioni dei personaggi. Si respirano gli odori, si sentono i suoni, si entra in un mondo di materia viva e sapida. Eppure non è un romanzo che mi abbia particolarmente catturato. De gustibus...
June 14, 2022
Da anni nella mia lista, riesco finalmente a leggerlo e a trascinarmi in questo mondo lontano e perduto, raccontato con gli occhi di un figlio e di una madre che si ritrovano dopo anni di lontananza. Ma, forse, non si ritrova solo la madre ma un mondo che non si riconosce più eppure profondamente radicato dentro di sé. È la storia di chi si allontana da casa e poi torna, dei fantasmi che si ritrovano, degli odori di paese, del viaggio fitto di pensieri, di cimiteri e di androni perduti, di profumi e di odori, di cibi e di mancanze.
Pensavo di leggere un'altra storia, invece mi sono trovata in questa conversazione così lontana e così vicina.
Pensavo di leggere un'altra storia, invece mi sono trovata in questa conversazione così lontana e così vicina.
July 22, 2019
کتاب عجیبی بود. نویسنده به جزئیات حسهای بدنی زیاد توجه میکرد. لمسها و بوها و مزهها و لحظههای خوردن. توش تاکیدهایی روی چیزهایی عادی میذاشت. اتمسفرسازیِ کتاب هم خیلی عالی بود. کوهستان و صداهاش و خانههای روی هم ساخته شدهی سیسیل. در کنار اینها یه حال و هوای جادویی هم داشت، آدمهای کاریکاتوری، شبیه کاراکترهای نمایشهای کمدیا دل آرته. مضمون کتاب چیزی شبیه پیدا کردن اتفاقی برای شکستن زندگی روزمره بود. آدمِ این کتاب دنبال همچین چیزی بود. مساله امر روزمره و امر قهرمانی. امر قهرمانی هم چیزیه که عادت رو میشکونه. چیزی فراتر از مسئولیتهای روزمره آدمها. و شخصیت انگار دنبال همچین چیزی بود و تو سفر با ابعاد متفاوت این مساله روبرو میشد.
کتاب متفاوتی بود!
کتاب متفاوتی بود!
April 12, 2021
Silvestro abita al nord, è smarrito e si rende conto di non sentire più nulla. Decide di tornare a casa dopo 15 anni, in Sicilia, per ritrovare la madre e riconnettersi alle sue radici. Scopre una società frenata, senza speranza, arrabbiata e confusa, ma dotata di una saggezza ancestrale.
Romanzo politico, onirico, enigmatico.
Prosa accessibile, colma di ripetizioni e paradossi narrativi, dove ogni frase allude a qualcos’altro.
I vari personaggi (Calogero, Ezechiele, Porfirio, Colombo…) rappresentano diverse tipologie di pensiero, in bilico tra materialismo, idealismo, cattolicesimo e regime.
Estremamente simbolico, in certi frangenti inafferrabile.
Incipit portentoso.
[74/100]
Io ero, quell’inverno, in preda ad astratti furori. Non dirò quali, non di questo mi son messo a raccontare. Ma bisogna dica ch’erano astratti, non eroici, non vivi; furori, in qualche modo, per il genere umano perduto. Da molto tempo questo, ed ero col capo chino. Vedevo manifesti di giornali squillanti e chinavo il capo; vedevo amici, per un’ora, due ore, e stavo con loro senza dire una parola, chinavo il capo; e avevo una ragazza o moglie che mi aspettava ma neanche con lei dicevo una parola, anche con lei chinavo il capo. Pioveva intanto e passavano i giorni, i mesi, e io avevo le scarpe rotte, l’acqua che mi entrava nelle scarpe, e non vi era più altro che questo: pioggia, massacri sui manifesti dei giornali, e acqua nelle mie scarpe rotte, muti amici, la vita in me come un sordo sogno, e non speranza, quiete.
Era una piccola Sicilia ammonticchiata, di nespoli e tegole, di buchi nella roccia, di terra nera, di capre, con musica di zampogne che si allontanava dietro a noi, e diventava nuvola o neve, in alto.
L’uomo Ezechiele si mise a riepilogare: - Il mondo è grande ed è bello, ma è molto offeso. Tutti soffrono ognuno per se stesso, ma non soffrono per il mondo che è offeso e così il mondo continua ad essere offeso.
Eravamo immersi nella notte, ormai, e le voci si abbassarono, nessuno più avrebbe potuto udirci parlare. Stavamo vicini, con le teste vicine, e l’uomo Porfirio era come un enorme cane nero di San Bernardo che tenesse raccolti tutti e se stesso nel calore del suo pelo. A lungo egli parlò dell’acqua viva; e parlò l’uomo Ezechiele, parlò l’arrotino; e le parole furono notte nella notte e noi fummo ombre, io credevo di essere entrato in un conciliabolo di spiriti.
Ad evitare equivoci o fraintendimenti avverto che, come il protagonista di questa Conversazione non è autobiografico, così la Sicilia che lo inquadra e accompagna è solo per avventura Sicilia; solo perché il nome Sicilia mi suona meglio del nome Persia o Venezuela. Del resto immagino che tutti i manoscritti vengano trovati in una bottiglia.
Romanzo politico, onirico, enigmatico.
Prosa accessibile, colma di ripetizioni e paradossi narrativi, dove ogni frase allude a qualcos’altro.
I vari personaggi (Calogero, Ezechiele, Porfirio, Colombo…) rappresentano diverse tipologie di pensiero, in bilico tra materialismo, idealismo, cattolicesimo e regime.
Estremamente simbolico, in certi frangenti inafferrabile.
Incipit portentoso.
[74/100]
Io ero, quell’inverno, in preda ad astratti furori. Non dirò quali, non di questo mi son messo a raccontare. Ma bisogna dica ch’erano astratti, non eroici, non vivi; furori, in qualche modo, per il genere umano perduto. Da molto tempo questo, ed ero col capo chino. Vedevo manifesti di giornali squillanti e chinavo il capo; vedevo amici, per un’ora, due ore, e stavo con loro senza dire una parola, chinavo il capo; e avevo una ragazza o moglie che mi aspettava ma neanche con lei dicevo una parola, anche con lei chinavo il capo. Pioveva intanto e passavano i giorni, i mesi, e io avevo le scarpe rotte, l’acqua che mi entrava nelle scarpe, e non vi era più altro che questo: pioggia, massacri sui manifesti dei giornali, e acqua nelle mie scarpe rotte, muti amici, la vita in me come un sordo sogno, e non speranza, quiete.
Era una piccola Sicilia ammonticchiata, di nespoli e tegole, di buchi nella roccia, di terra nera, di capre, con musica di zampogne che si allontanava dietro a noi, e diventava nuvola o neve, in alto.
L’uomo Ezechiele si mise a riepilogare: - Il mondo è grande ed è bello, ma è molto offeso. Tutti soffrono ognuno per se stesso, ma non soffrono per il mondo che è offeso e così il mondo continua ad essere offeso.
Eravamo immersi nella notte, ormai, e le voci si abbassarono, nessuno più avrebbe potuto udirci parlare. Stavamo vicini, con le teste vicine, e l’uomo Porfirio era come un enorme cane nero di San Bernardo che tenesse raccolti tutti e se stesso nel calore del suo pelo. A lungo egli parlò dell’acqua viva; e parlò l’uomo Ezechiele, parlò l’arrotino; e le parole furono notte nella notte e noi fummo ombre, io credevo di essere entrato in un conciliabolo di spiriti.
Ad evitare equivoci o fraintendimenti avverto che, come il protagonista di questa Conversazione non è autobiografico, così la Sicilia che lo inquadra e accompagna è solo per avventura Sicilia; solo perché il nome Sicilia mi suona meglio del nome Persia o Venezuela. Del resto immagino che tutti i manoscritti vengano trovati in una bottiglia.
May 15, 2013
"io ero, quell'inverno, in preda ad astratti furori. non dirò quali, non di questo mi son messo a raccontare. ma bisogna dica ch'erano astratti, non eroici, non vivi; furori, in qualche modo, per il genere umano perduto..."
(come si fa a non amare un libro con un incipit simile?)
(come si fa a non amare un libro con un incipit simile?)
March 27, 2024
"العالم كبير وجميل، ولكنه مهان جدًا. الجميع يعانون، كل لحاله، ولكنهم لا يعانون من أجل العالم المهان، وهكذا يظل العالم مهانا"
جملة تُلخص فكرة الرواية.. تدور أحداث الرواية حول "سيلفسترو" الذي يتلقى رسالة من أبيه يطلب منه ان يزور أمه "كونشتسيوني" لتهنئتها؛ ليقرر سيلفسترو - بعد عناء من التفكير والحيرة- الذهاب لأمه ويقضي ٣ أيام في المدينة.
استخدم الكاتب الرمزية في بعض المواقف كما أنه يعتمد على ما يراه في هلوساته وأحلامه في الحوار مع الشخصيات أو حتى مع نفسه بطريقة مُدهشة بالنسبة لي..
(ايه تقنية السرد الرهيبة دي اللي هي مفهومة ومش مفهومة في نفس الوقت!)
الرواية رائعة يُعيبها طريقة الحوار بين الشخصيات
الترجمة كويسة
جملة تُلخص فكرة الرواية.. تدور أحداث الرواية حول "سيلفسترو" الذي يتلقى رسالة من أبيه يطلب منه ان يزور أمه "كونشتسيوني" لتهنئتها؛ ليقرر سيلفسترو - بعد عناء من التفكير والحيرة- الذهاب لأمه ويقضي ٣ أيام في المدينة.
استخدم الكاتب الرمزية في بعض المواقف كما أنه يعتمد على ما يراه في هلوساته وأحلامه في الحوار مع الشخصيات أو حتى مع نفسه بطريقة مُدهشة بالنسبة لي..
(ايه تقنية السرد الرهيبة دي اللي هي مفهومة ومش مفهومة في نفس الوقت!)
الرواية رائعة يُعيبها طريقة الحوار بين الشخصيات
الترجمة كويسة
March 1, 2013
Diffido sempre di certe... esegesi, a meno che non si tratti di poesia, di un testo antico, ricco di arcaismi, oppure - con le debite cautele - di un testo sacro. Retaggi dell'insegnamento ricevuto, tutt'ora buono, nonché primi rudimenti di reale democrazia. La Comunicazione è, e resta, un sistema a due vie; altrimenti è altro.
Difficile, quindi, digerire le prime 135 pagine di questo libro. Saggi, spiegazioni, tutorial e, soprattutto, esegesi. Di un moderno romanzo in prosa. Che peso!
Terminare la lettura del romanzo è stata un'altra impresa, proprio per gli sforzi, moltiplicati, di lasciare fuori tutto ciò che non fosse un sano stream of conscious reading; o un dialogo intellettuale diretto con lo scrittore, con la sua storia scritta. E ciò proprio a causa delle prefazioni
Un vero peccato. Perché il testo vale. E' intenso, struggente. Dipinge un cammino intimo alla ricerca di cardini, di valori, o radici da cui ripartire, abbinandolo a un vero quanto improvvisato "viaggio a ritroso". E' ricco di momenti di poesia narrativa; tecnicamente interessante (l'ipnosi generata dalle iterazioni; l'effondersi di atmosfere non descritte, percepite solo attraverso certe titubanze del monologo interiore; le parole pesate al grammo, scelte per suonare...) C'è molto, considerata l'epoca in cui fu scritto. Compresa una certa audacia; sulle caratteristiche della quale - però -, sia letterarie che sociali, andrebbe aperto un simposio. Aggiungo che la valenza politica di queste pagine risulterebbe, ancora oggi, assai più efficace, naturale e dignitosa, se non fosse preceduta e accompagnata sempre dalla pletora di teorizzazioni stucchevoli, ridondanti spiegazioni per adepti e non addetti, e da un flusso di accrediti, che in qualche modo la smitizzano.
La celebrazione inutile è un limite di cui gran parte del nostro tessuto sociale non si libererà mai.
Difficile, quindi, digerire le prime 135 pagine di questo libro. Saggi, spiegazioni, tutorial e, soprattutto, esegesi. Di un moderno romanzo in prosa. Che peso!
Terminare la lettura del romanzo è stata un'altra impresa, proprio per gli sforzi, moltiplicati, di lasciare fuori tutto ciò che non fosse un sano stream of conscious reading; o un dialogo intellettuale diretto con lo scrittore, con la sua storia scritta. E ciò proprio a causa delle prefazioni
Un vero peccato. Perché il testo vale. E' intenso, struggente. Dipinge un cammino intimo alla ricerca di cardini, di valori, o radici da cui ripartire, abbinandolo a un vero quanto improvvisato "viaggio a ritroso". E' ricco di momenti di poesia narrativa; tecnicamente interessante (l'ipnosi generata dalle iterazioni; l'effondersi di atmosfere non descritte, percepite solo attraverso certe titubanze del monologo interiore; le parole pesate al grammo, scelte per suonare...) C'è molto, considerata l'epoca in cui fu scritto. Compresa una certa audacia; sulle caratteristiche della quale - però -, sia letterarie che sociali, andrebbe aperto un simposio. Aggiungo che la valenza politica di queste pagine risulterebbe, ancora oggi, assai più efficace, naturale e dignitosa, se non fosse preceduta e accompagnata sempre dalla pletora di teorizzazioni stucchevoli, ridondanti spiegazioni per adepti e non addetti, e da un flusso di accrediti, che in qualche modo la smitizzano.
La celebrazione inutile è un limite di cui gran parte del nostro tessuto sociale non si libererà mai.
April 4, 2019
Viaggio onirico in Trinacria
Ancora fondamentale e validissimo questa celebre opera di Vittorini: se (forse) la materia sociale e politica mostra gli anni passati, lo stile di scrittura e la struttura del romanzo lo mantengono ancora stimolante e stratificato anche per il lettore contemporaneo.
Mi ha ricordato (mutatis mutandis) un altro importante viaggio onirico della letteratura, quel Pedro Páramo che rimane pietra miliare della cultura sudamericana.
La lenta ascensione da una dimensione terrestre e terragna è realizzata prima di tutto con lo stile, in cui le continue ripetizioni di parole e frasi (spesso particolari e strane nel contesto) danno un senso di ridondante litania, in una sorta di barocco sonoro (appropriatamente, arrivando in Sicilia).
Su questa colonna sonora si dipanano gli incontri del protagonista che appaiono dapprima realistici ed episodici, ma finiscono per assumere un carattere allegorico sempre più forte, in particolare nella quarta parte dove i "conversatori" divengono simboli della Patria, del Partito, della Chiesa.
Ma questa struttura teorica non nuoce particolarmente al romanzo che in effetti rappresenta tutte le pulsioni sentimentali e i pensieri socio-politici che scuotono il protagonista.
I moltissimi rimandi culturali (a partire da Shakespeare fino alla drammaturgia greca fino alla conclusione del libro centrata sulla figura del fratello morto) rendono questo libro estremamente denso, nonostante la scrittura apparentemente semplice.
Ancora fondamentale e validissimo questa celebre opera di Vittorini: se (forse) la materia sociale e politica mostra gli anni passati, lo stile di scrittura e la struttura del romanzo lo mantengono ancora stimolante e stratificato anche per il lettore contemporaneo.
Mi ha ricordato (mutatis mutandis) un altro importante viaggio onirico della letteratura, quel Pedro Páramo che rimane pietra miliare della cultura sudamericana.
La lenta ascensione da una dimensione terrestre e terragna è realizzata prima di tutto con lo stile, in cui le continue ripetizioni di parole e frasi (spesso particolari e strane nel contesto) danno un senso di ridondante litania, in una sorta di barocco sonoro (appropriatamente, arrivando in Sicilia).
Su questa colonna sonora si dipanano gli incontri del protagonista che appaiono dapprima realistici ed episodici, ma finiscono per assumere un carattere allegorico sempre più forte, in particolare nella quarta parte dove i "conversatori" divengono simboli della Patria, del Partito, della Chiesa.
Ma questa struttura teorica non nuoce particolarmente al romanzo che in effetti rappresenta tutte le pulsioni sentimentali e i pensieri socio-politici che scuotono il protagonista.
I moltissimi rimandi culturali (a partire da Shakespeare fino alla drammaturgia greca fino alla conclusione del libro centrata sulla figura del fratello morto) rendono questo libro estremamente denso, nonostante la scrittura apparentemente semplice.
August 21, 2015
The first 8 or 9 pages I audibly sighed. Not my style, I thought. So arrogant, so self-centered, so male "all about me" with most others not given names, just basic descriptive categories. Women, wives, girlfriends basically in the "them" category of mere landscape mention.
But no, it was fabulous. I almost gave it a 5. He hits the very essence of Sicilian perceptions and self-identity. And the exact kinds of communication and sensibilities that result.
In the rock, in the prickly pear, in the Mother's life- every aspect- this author is Sicily. And a Sicilian looking at the world of the "Big Lombard" that is away- he knows.
Enjoyable and fabulous read. There are quotes worth rereading on every other page that relate to human nature, trust- so much of the essence of being alive- when you "understand" the Sicilian conversations.
But no, it was fabulous. I almost gave it a 5. He hits the very essence of Sicilian perceptions and self-identity. And the exact kinds of communication and sensibilities that result.
In the rock, in the prickly pear, in the Mother's life- every aspect- this author is Sicily. And a Sicilian looking at the world of the "Big Lombard" that is away- he knows.
Enjoyable and fabulous read. There are quotes worth rereading on every other page that relate to human nature, trust- so much of the essence of being alive- when you "understand" the Sicilian conversations.
February 9, 2013
This relatively obscure (and difficult-to-find) short novel is not at all what I expected. I learned about it from reading “The Age of Doubt,” #14 in Andrea Camilleri’s Inspector Montalbano series. Camilleri indicated that “Conversations in Sicily” offered a critique of the rise of fascism in Italy. No doubt, but the short novel is so subtle and allegorical that the point is never made explicitly. There are only allusions, including to Shakespeare’s Macbeth, and flights of magical realism. Perhaps one should consider, as a review in the Guardian suggests, that Vittorini, who for a period was communist, very likely could have published such a critique only on a very abstract plane: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2003/...
Although I was somewhat disappointed by Vittorini's indirectness, I still found this mysterious novel oddly compelling. The protagonist, an alienated and marginally employed man from northern Italy, visits his ancestral Sicily after an absence of 15 years. In his casual contacts and cryptic conversations with ordinary Sicilians, he encounters the despair of common people crushed by desperate poverty—an orange vendor who bitterly eats his own oranges--his and his ailing wife’s only sustenance--because he cannot find any buyers and a knife grinder who similarly cannot find enough customers with tools to sharpen. He discovers a Sicilian society held back by a primitive agrarian economy—woefully underdeveloped in contrast to the industrial north. Even more profoundly, this wretched society was adrift, hopeless, angry, and confused.
The protagonist’s mother has a third-grade education, but the wisdom of a peasant. As the reviewer notes, from the author’s perspective she embodies realism. Despite repeated probing conversations, the son (Silvestro) is unable to overcome the chasm that has opened up between him and his mother (Concezione), between his present and his past. This same realism causes her to cast doubt on her son’s claim that she should be honored and envied for having lost another son in war.
Concezione: “His death honors me?”
Silvestro: “Dying he brought honor to himself…”
Concezione: “And that’s why I’m fortunate?”
Silvestro: “The honor reflects back on you. You gave birth to him.”
Concezione: “But I’ve lost him, now. I should call myself unfortunate.”
Silvestro: “Not at all. Losing him you’ve gained him. You are fortunate.”
Concezione resists Silvestro’s attempt to comfort her by comparing her sacrifice to the pride that Cornelia Scipionis Africana, a Roman noblewoman, had in her sons. Cornelia famously replied to a question about her modest attire by pointing to her sons: “These are my jewels.“ Ever the stubborn skeptic, Concezione looks up Cornelia in a children’s book and determines that in fact her sons did not die on the battlefield. “By the way, you got me confused with that Cornelia,” she tells her son.
The underlying question is: why sacrifice oneself for a dubious patriotic honor? Once again, literature speaks to us across centuries and continents. Perhaps “Conversations in Italy” can best be appreciated for its timeless anti-war message.
Although I was somewhat disappointed by Vittorini's indirectness, I still found this mysterious novel oddly compelling. The protagonist, an alienated and marginally employed man from northern Italy, visits his ancestral Sicily after an absence of 15 years. In his casual contacts and cryptic conversations with ordinary Sicilians, he encounters the despair of common people crushed by desperate poverty—an orange vendor who bitterly eats his own oranges--his and his ailing wife’s only sustenance--because he cannot find any buyers and a knife grinder who similarly cannot find enough customers with tools to sharpen. He discovers a Sicilian society held back by a primitive agrarian economy—woefully underdeveloped in contrast to the industrial north. Even more profoundly, this wretched society was adrift, hopeless, angry, and confused.
The protagonist’s mother has a third-grade education, but the wisdom of a peasant. As the reviewer notes, from the author’s perspective she embodies realism. Despite repeated probing conversations, the son (Silvestro) is unable to overcome the chasm that has opened up between him and his mother (Concezione), between his present and his past. This same realism causes her to cast doubt on her son’s claim that she should be honored and envied for having lost another son in war.
Concezione: “His death honors me?”
Silvestro: “Dying he brought honor to himself…”
Concezione: “And that’s why I’m fortunate?”
Silvestro: “The honor reflects back on you. You gave birth to him.”
Concezione: “But I’ve lost him, now. I should call myself unfortunate.”
Silvestro: “Not at all. Losing him you’ve gained him. You are fortunate.”
Concezione resists Silvestro’s attempt to comfort her by comparing her sacrifice to the pride that Cornelia Scipionis Africana, a Roman noblewoman, had in her sons. Cornelia famously replied to a question about her modest attire by pointing to her sons: “These are my jewels.“ Ever the stubborn skeptic, Concezione looks up Cornelia in a children’s book and determines that in fact her sons did not die on the battlefield. “By the way, you got me confused with that Cornelia,” she tells her son.
The underlying question is: why sacrifice oneself for a dubious patriotic honor? Once again, literature speaks to us across centuries and continents. Perhaps “Conversations in Italy” can best be appreciated for its timeless anti-war message.
October 23, 2012
Italo Calvino said this is "the book- Guernica". I can see why he said it, like the famous Guernica this novel is fragmented, full of pain and inspired by horrors of war. However, personally I would opt for one of Dali's painting if I had to make a comparison. Conversation in Sicily has that unusual, uncanny, surreal and dreamy quality od Dali's art.
This is not a typical novel, but then most antiwar prose is not typical, at least the one that is any good. It is not driven by plot. If it can be said to be philosophical then it is philosophical in a mild or indirect way. If I had to compare it with a work of literature, it would be Camino Real. That play is not antiwar writing as far as I remember it, but for some reason that play of Tennessee Williams is the first thing that comes to my mind.
Author's note says: " I warn the reader that, just as the protagonist of these Conversations is not the author, so the Sicily in which this story takes place is Sicily only by chance."
Still, the novel manages to portray some of the tastes and smells of the southern Italy. That is what I meant when I say that it is surreal, in one moment it is realistic and in the other it is not. In one way it is Sicily and in another it isn't- it could be any place that is isolated just as narrator could be any man that is isolated, that cannot find answers or consolation, that goes numb from the horrors of the world surrounding him.
The novel opens like this: " That winter I was in a grip of abstract furies. I won't be more specific, that's not what I've set out to relate. But I have to say that they were abstract, not heroic, not living; in some way they were furies for all doomed humanity." What was he out to relate? Without wanting to speculate or give any definite answer, I can say that whatever it was I liked it.
This is not a typical novel, but then most antiwar prose is not typical, at least the one that is any good. It is not driven by plot. If it can be said to be philosophical then it is philosophical in a mild or indirect way. If I had to compare it with a work of literature, it would be Camino Real. That play is not antiwar writing as far as I remember it, but for some reason that play of Tennessee Williams is the first thing that comes to my mind.
Author's note says: " I warn the reader that, just as the protagonist of these Conversations is not the author, so the Sicily in which this story takes place is Sicily only by chance."
Still, the novel manages to portray some of the tastes and smells of the southern Italy. That is what I meant when I say that it is surreal, in one moment it is realistic and in the other it is not. In one way it is Sicily and in another it isn't- it could be any place that is isolated just as narrator could be any man that is isolated, that cannot find answers or consolation, that goes numb from the horrors of the world surrounding him.
The novel opens like this: " That winter I was in a grip of abstract furies. I won't be more specific, that's not what I've set out to relate. But I have to say that they were abstract, not heroic, not living; in some way they were furies for all doomed humanity." What was he out to relate? Without wanting to speculate or give any definite answer, I can say that whatever it was I liked it.
June 29, 2012
Quote 1.
And the knife grinder: "Pepperoni, milk, goats, pigs and cows...Mice."
And I: "Bears, wolves."
And the knife grinder: "Birds. Trees and smoke, snow..."
And I: "Sickness, healing. I know, I know. Death, immortality, and resurrection."
"Ah!" the knife grinder shouted.
"What?" I asked.
"It's amazing," the knife grinder said. "Ah! and Oh! Uh! Eh!"
And I: "I suppose."
Quote 2.
"I thought of my father and myself, all men, with our need for soft hands touching us, and I thought I understood something of our uneasiness with women; of our readiness to desert them, our women with their rough, almost masculine hands, their tough hands in bed at night; and of how like slaves we would submit to calling a woman a queen who was a woman, an odalisque, when she touched us. This is why, I thought, we loved the idea of people living in luxury, the idea of the whole civil-military society and of the hierarchies, the dynasties, and the princes and kings in the fables-because of the idea of the woman who cultivated her hands for tenderness...and this is why we took our eyes off the women and children who were our equals and continued to play the field, looking for other women-myself, my father, all men, looking for something else in those other women without ever knowing that we were looking to be touched by tender hands"
January 2, 2016
Repriza posle jedanaest godina. Još je bolje nego što sam upamtila. Najbolja komunistička knjiga koja nikad nije bila u lektiri! (budimo iskreni: svrstavanje u lektiru tako strašno snižava koeficijent voljenosti neke knjige, jadan Tihi Don i jadni mi što smo ga na silu čitali kad nije trebalo)
A sad ozbiljno: Razgovor na Siciliji je tako retka i neobična knjiga da mora vatreno da se voli, ali uopšte ne može primereno da se hvali.
A sad ozbiljno: Razgovor na Siciliji je tako retka i neobična knjiga da mora vatreno da se voli, ali uopšte ne može primereno da se hvali.
August 22, 2017
La spinta a soffrire, oltre che per se stessi, "per il mondo che è offeso"; l'urgenza di "altri doveri", di "nuovi doveri": da un mare per il resto alquanto ermetico, sono messaggi in bottiglia sufficientemente chiari, spiaggiati nel 1941.
January 24, 2021
Rileggerlo e innamorarsi di nuovo.
August 22, 2018
SİCİLYA KONUŞMALARI
***Yazarın 15 yaşına kadarki çocukluğu I.Dünya Savaşı sırasında Sicilya'da geçmiştir. Kitabı yazdığı 30'lu yaşlarının başında ise II.Dünya Savaşı sürmektedir ve yazar gençliğinin başında terk ettiği Sicilya'ya 15 yıl sonra ilk kez dönmektedir***
Aklımdan çıkaramadığım ÖLEN İNSAN YIĞINLARI ve YOK OLUP GİTMEKTE OLAN İNSANLIKLA ilgili öfke nöbetleri yaşamaktaydım; Çocukluğumda da, yılın günleri, 365 kapkara, biçimsiz fare gibiydi. Anlamsız bir düş, sessiz bir umutsuzluktu yaşamak benim için. İşin en korkunç yanı da buydu: UMUTSUZLUĞUN SESSİZLİĞİ; insanlığın yok olmaya yargılı olduğuna inanmak, ama onu kurtarmak için hiçbir istek duymamak, bunun yerine onunla birlikte yok olmayı özlemek.
(Sefaletin hüküm sürdüğü Sicilya'da) PORTAKAL satabilmek çok güç bir iş; (her taraf portakal bahçesi) patronlar para yerine portakal veriyor işçilerine, kimse portakal satın almıyor, zehirli gibiler sanki.
Sicilya'da herkes her şeyin kötü yanını görmeye hazırdır; biz Sicilyalılar içi HÜZÜN dolu insanlarız.
Leonforte'de geniş toprakları olan bir adam, atıyla topraklarında dolaşırken, kendini oraların KRALI sanırmış, çünkü o kadar kurumlu ve iri bir atmış bu. Ama ATINDAN İNİNCE krallığını devam ettirecek bir neden bulamıyormuş.
Artık ödevlerimizi yerine getirmek bizi tatmin etmiyor. Onları yerine getirmek bir çeşit duygusuzluğa yol açmakta, ödevler yerine getirildikten sonra içimizde bir rahatlama olmuyor. Sebebi de bu ÖDEVLERİN ARTIK ÇOK ESKİMİŞ ŞEYLER, çok eski ve KOLAYLAŞMIŞ SORUMLULUKLAR olması. Bunlar gerçek vicdanın ihtiyaçları değil artık...
Sicilyalı kadınlar; elleri geceleri yumuşaklıktan yoksun, belki de zaman zaman bu yüzden mutsuz, kıskanç, hatta vahşi; bir odalığın kalbine ve yüzüne sahip olup, erkeklerini kendilerine bağlayacak YUMUŞACIK ELLERİ OLMAYAN KADINLAR.
Kadınlarla olan huzursuzluğumuzu biraz anlar gibi oldum, sert ve kemikli, neredeyse erkeksi elleriyle kadınlarımızı ne kadar çabuk bırakmaya hazır olduğumuzu düşündüm. Bolluk içinde yetişen insanları çekici yapan şeyin bu olduğunu düşündüm.
Annem, bir kuş gibi şakıyor, mırıldanıyor, ıslık çalıyor, arada bir de sesini tizleştirip bir şeyler söylüyordu. Ellerinin ve ayaklarının hiç önemi yoktu, kaç yaşında olduğu bile önemli değildi. Önemli olan o şarkıları söylemesiydi, bir kuş gibi, havada uçan bir ana kuştu, yumurtalarının arasında, pırıl pırıl, ışık saçan bir ana kuştu.
Babamın başka kadınlara duyduğu isteğin sadece hesabını tutmaktan perişan olmuş ZAVALLI BİR KADIN OLMASINI ÖNLEYECEK ZENGİNLİKTE BİR ANALIK DUYGUSU. Çaresiz bir insan olamayacak kadar doluydu O ESKİ BALLA.
BELKİ DE HER İNSAN İNSAN DEĞİLDİR; bütün insanlık insan olmaktan uzaktır. Yağmurlu bir günde, insanın ayakkabıları delik deşikse ve su alıyorsa; gönlünü birine kaptırmamışsa, yaşayacağı bir hayatı yoksa; ne başardığı, ne de başaracağı bir şey yoksa; ne korkacağı, ne yitireceği bir şey kalmışsa, ve çevresinde dünyadaki kırımı görüyorsa, insanın içine işte böyle bir kuşku düşebilir.
Her insan insan değildir. Biri cana kıyıyor, öbürünün canına kıyılıyor; bütün insanlık değil, ancak CANLARINA KIYILANLAR İNSANDIR. Hasta olan, aç olan da daha insandır, açların meydana getirdiği insanlık da DAHA İNSANdır.
Bana kalırsa, yoksul bir gezgin Sicilyalı değil de Çinliyse, bir kadının ona vereceği pek bir şey olmaz. YOKSUL BİR ÇİNLİ, ÖBÜR YOKSULLARDAN DAHA DA YOKSULDUR.
"SEN HASTALIĞI İYİ ET, HER ŞEY DÜZELİR" dedi annem.
HATIRLAYACAK BİR ŞEYLERİ OLANLARA NE MUTLU !
Çocukken kitap okumak çok iyidir; insan okuduklarını sanki onları yaşamış gibi hatırlar, çocukluk anılarıyla birlikte insanlığın ve dünyanın tarihini de içinde taşır.
Bir çocuğun bütün istediği kağıt, rüzgar ve UÇURTMASINI uçurmaktır. Gidip uçurtmasını havalandırır, uzun ve görünmeyen iple oradan oraya götürür, böylece inancı yücelir ve edindiği gerçeklikle beslenir. Ama bu gerçekliği ne yapacaktır sonra? Sonra dünyaya yöneltilen küfürleri, saygısızlığı, köleliği, insanlar arasındaki haksızlığı, öldürmeleri öğrenecektir. Bu durumda, o gerçekliği korusa bile, ne yapabilir? Ben ne yapabilirdim?
DÜNYA büyük, dünya güzel, ama çok canına okunmuş. Herkes acı çekiyor, ama her insan kendisi için, canına okunan dünya için değil. Bu yüzden de dünyanın canına okuyanların sonu gelmiyor; sonra da yaptıklarına da arsız yüzlerle gülüyorlar.
İnsanlar Tanrıların, sıradan insanlarda nefret ettikleri şeyleri krallarda hoş gördüklerini sanırlar.
Meyhanenin mahzeninde yıllanmış çıplak şaraptan ve çağlar boyunca KENDİ ÇIPLAKLIKLARI ŞARABIN ÇIPLAKLIĞINA KARIŞMIŞ İNSANLARIN HAYALETLERİNDEN başka bir şey yoktu. ŞARABIN OLDUĞU YERDE DÜNYANIN KÜÇÜK HESAPLARININ İZİNE RASTLANMAYAĞINI ileri sürdü meyhanedekilerden biri.
Düşündüm de, her yanımı saran bu uçsuz bucaksız gece art arda geceler gibi geldi bana. Aşağılardaki ve tepelerdeki o ışıklar, o dondurucu karanlık, gökteki o donuk yıldız, bir tek gece değil de, SONSUZ SAYIDA GECELERdi; dedemin gecelerini, babamın gecelerini, Nuh'un gecelerini, içkinin çıplaklığı içinde ve savunmasız, aşağılanmış bir çocuktan ya da bir cesetten çok daha az insan olan insanlığın gecelerini düşündüm.
SHAKESPEARE yada onun oyunlarını oynayan babam, insanlara boyun eğdirir, içlerine girer, onları o pisliğin içinden kurtarır, onlara düşler kurdurur; günahlarını itiraf ettirir, insanlık için acı çektirir, ağlatır, yalvartır, onları insan özgürlüğünün simgeleri olmaya zorlardı.
Öte yandan Shakespeare sıradan insanları dizelerine koymadığı, yenilenlerin öçlerini almamaya ve yenenleri bağışlamaya karar verdiğinden beri, MEZARLIKLARDAKİ HAYALETLER KENDİ OYUNLARINI OYNAMAKTALAR HER GECE.
***Yazarın 15 yaşına kadarki çocukluğu I.Dünya Savaşı sırasında Sicilya'da geçmiştir. Kitabı yazdığı 30'lu yaşlarının başında ise II.Dünya Savaşı sürmektedir ve yazar gençliğinin başında terk ettiği Sicilya'ya 15 yıl sonra ilk kez dönmektedir***
Aklımdan çıkaramadığım ÖLEN İNSAN YIĞINLARI ve YOK OLUP GİTMEKTE OLAN İNSANLIKLA ilgili öfke nöbetleri yaşamaktaydım; Çocukluğumda da, yılın günleri, 365 kapkara, biçimsiz fare gibiydi. Anlamsız bir düş, sessiz bir umutsuzluktu yaşamak benim için. İşin en korkunç yanı da buydu: UMUTSUZLUĞUN SESSİZLİĞİ; insanlığın yok olmaya yargılı olduğuna inanmak, ama onu kurtarmak için hiçbir istek duymamak, bunun yerine onunla birlikte yok olmayı özlemek.
(Sefaletin hüküm sürdüğü Sicilya'da) PORTAKAL satabilmek çok güç bir iş; (her taraf portakal bahçesi) patronlar para yerine portakal veriyor işçilerine, kimse portakal satın almıyor, zehirli gibiler sanki.
Sicilya'da herkes her şeyin kötü yanını görmeye hazırdır; biz Sicilyalılar içi HÜZÜN dolu insanlarız.
Leonforte'de geniş toprakları olan bir adam, atıyla topraklarında dolaşırken, kendini oraların KRALI sanırmış, çünkü o kadar kurumlu ve iri bir atmış bu. Ama ATINDAN İNİNCE krallığını devam ettirecek bir neden bulamıyormuş.
Artık ödevlerimizi yerine getirmek bizi tatmin etmiyor. Onları yerine getirmek bir çeşit duygusuzluğa yol açmakta, ödevler yerine getirildikten sonra içimizde bir rahatlama olmuyor. Sebebi de bu ÖDEVLERİN ARTIK ÇOK ESKİMİŞ ŞEYLER, çok eski ve KOLAYLAŞMIŞ SORUMLULUKLAR olması. Bunlar gerçek vicdanın ihtiyaçları değil artık...
Sicilyalı kadınlar; elleri geceleri yumuşaklıktan yoksun, belki de zaman zaman bu yüzden mutsuz, kıskanç, hatta vahşi; bir odalığın kalbine ve yüzüne sahip olup, erkeklerini kendilerine bağlayacak YUMUŞACIK ELLERİ OLMAYAN KADINLAR.
Kadınlarla olan huzursuzluğumuzu biraz anlar gibi oldum, sert ve kemikli, neredeyse erkeksi elleriyle kadınlarımızı ne kadar çabuk bırakmaya hazır olduğumuzu düşündüm. Bolluk içinde yetişen insanları çekici yapan şeyin bu olduğunu düşündüm.
Annem, bir kuş gibi şakıyor, mırıldanıyor, ıslık çalıyor, arada bir de sesini tizleştirip bir şeyler söylüyordu. Ellerinin ve ayaklarının hiç önemi yoktu, kaç yaşında olduğu bile önemli değildi. Önemli olan o şarkıları söylemesiydi, bir kuş gibi, havada uçan bir ana kuştu, yumurtalarının arasında, pırıl pırıl, ışık saçan bir ana kuştu.
Babamın başka kadınlara duyduğu isteğin sadece hesabını tutmaktan perişan olmuş ZAVALLI BİR KADIN OLMASINI ÖNLEYECEK ZENGİNLİKTE BİR ANALIK DUYGUSU. Çaresiz bir insan olamayacak kadar doluydu O ESKİ BALLA.
BELKİ DE HER İNSAN İNSAN DEĞİLDİR; bütün insanlık insan olmaktan uzaktır. Yağmurlu bir günde, insanın ayakkabıları delik deşikse ve su alıyorsa; gönlünü birine kaptırmamışsa, yaşayacağı bir hayatı yoksa; ne başardığı, ne de başaracağı bir şey yoksa; ne korkacağı, ne yitireceği bir şey kalmışsa, ve çevresinde dünyadaki kırımı görüyorsa, insanın içine işte böyle bir kuşku düşebilir.
Her insan insan değildir. Biri cana kıyıyor, öbürünün canına kıyılıyor; bütün insanlık değil, ancak CANLARINA KIYILANLAR İNSANDIR. Hasta olan, aç olan da daha insandır, açların meydana getirdiği insanlık da DAHA İNSANdır.
Bana kalırsa, yoksul bir gezgin Sicilyalı değil de Çinliyse, bir kadının ona vereceği pek bir şey olmaz. YOKSUL BİR ÇİNLİ, ÖBÜR YOKSULLARDAN DAHA DA YOKSULDUR.
"SEN HASTALIĞI İYİ ET, HER ŞEY DÜZELİR" dedi annem.
HATIRLAYACAK BİR ŞEYLERİ OLANLARA NE MUTLU !
Çocukken kitap okumak çok iyidir; insan okuduklarını sanki onları yaşamış gibi hatırlar, çocukluk anılarıyla birlikte insanlığın ve dünyanın tarihini de içinde taşır.
Bir çocuğun bütün istediği kağıt, rüzgar ve UÇURTMASINI uçurmaktır. Gidip uçurtmasını havalandırır, uzun ve görünmeyen iple oradan oraya götürür, böylece inancı yücelir ve edindiği gerçeklikle beslenir. Ama bu gerçekliği ne yapacaktır sonra? Sonra dünyaya yöneltilen küfürleri, saygısızlığı, köleliği, insanlar arasındaki haksızlığı, öldürmeleri öğrenecektir. Bu durumda, o gerçekliği korusa bile, ne yapabilir? Ben ne yapabilirdim?
DÜNYA büyük, dünya güzel, ama çok canına okunmuş. Herkes acı çekiyor, ama her insan kendisi için, canına okunan dünya için değil. Bu yüzden de dünyanın canına okuyanların sonu gelmiyor; sonra da yaptıklarına da arsız yüzlerle gülüyorlar.
İnsanlar Tanrıların, sıradan insanlarda nefret ettikleri şeyleri krallarda hoş gördüklerini sanırlar.
Meyhanenin mahzeninde yıllanmış çıplak şaraptan ve çağlar boyunca KENDİ ÇIPLAKLIKLARI ŞARABIN ÇIPLAKLIĞINA KARIŞMIŞ İNSANLARIN HAYALETLERİNDEN başka bir şey yoktu. ŞARABIN OLDUĞU YERDE DÜNYANIN KÜÇÜK HESAPLARININ İZİNE RASTLANMAYAĞINI ileri sürdü meyhanedekilerden biri.
Düşündüm de, her yanımı saran bu uçsuz bucaksız gece art arda geceler gibi geldi bana. Aşağılardaki ve tepelerdeki o ışıklar, o dondurucu karanlık, gökteki o donuk yıldız, bir tek gece değil de, SONSUZ SAYIDA GECELERdi; dedemin gecelerini, babamın gecelerini, Nuh'un gecelerini, içkinin çıplaklığı içinde ve savunmasız, aşağılanmış bir çocuktan ya da bir cesetten çok daha az insan olan insanlığın gecelerini düşündüm.
SHAKESPEARE yada onun oyunlarını oynayan babam, insanlara boyun eğdirir, içlerine girer, onları o pisliğin içinden kurtarır, onlara düşler kurdurur; günahlarını itiraf ettirir, insanlık için acı çektirir, ağlatır, yalvartır, onları insan özgürlüğünün simgeleri olmaya zorlardı.
Öte yandan Shakespeare sıradan insanları dizelerine koymadığı, yenilenlerin öçlerini almamaya ve yenenleri bağışlamaya karar verdiğinden beri, MEZARLIKLARDAKİ HAYALETLER KENDİ OYUNLARINI OYNAMAKTALAR HER GECE.
December 6, 2017
Elio Vittorini’s CONVERSATIONS IN SICILY is a quiet novel It was written a lifetime ago, at the end of the 1930s, in Northern Italy, although the story takes place in Sicily—takes place on a ferry crossing, a train ride, and then up to and around a hill town above Syracuse. It also takes place almost entirely in the mind of the narrator, Silvestro Ferrauto.
This is not to say there are no actual conversations. Silvestro shares a few words with people he encounters on his journey, a pitiful old man from whom he buys an orange he doesn’t want. He brushes against others including a pair who may be secret police or a vaudeville act. Home, he speaks with and also interrogates his mother Concezione. The formidable Concezione, who, after a 15-year separation greets her son by asking, “But what the devil brought you here?”
Later, he will converse with a knife sharpener, a saddle maker, a cloth merchant all of whom he follows into a bar. Together they form a comic if solemn confraternity who drink to the “wrongs of the world.” It is not a trivial concern. Who has not wronged the world and who has not been wronged?
These scenes are among the saddest in the book. Leaving the bar, Silvano finds himself in the village graveyard where he is engaged in another conversation, one with ghost who is no stranger. The scene at the bar could be read as an absurdist aside within the story; Silvestro’s companions would not seem out of character if they were wearing grease paint, but I think that would be a mistake. Vittorini seems to argue, one can run but one can’t hide.
Silvestro, like Vittorini, was first a runaway and then an exile. In the book’s telling, Silvestro who left home at 15 returns only after receiving a letter from his father who urges him to see his mother on her name day. A father who is no paterfamilias and so a man with no authority. A father who himself left home but whom we catch a glimpse of at the book’s end.
Before the Silvestro begins his journey his anomie is conspicuous. He is detached from his work, girlfriend and from the events of the day. The visit home is not suggested as an antidote to anything, nor is it an obligation, but rather an inevitability. Home is both the beginning and the end.
In CONVERSATIONS, Vittorini’s political views are, of necessity, disguised. If the reader is of a mind he or she can locate antifascist commentary. I suggest Vittorini’s politics are of no consequence. The story of the boy/man returning home is as old as Homer or the parable of the Prodigal Son. As for anomie, it is simply a condition of modernity.
Silvestro is not Every Man, he is No Man. His ability to turn this way or that is less evidence of volition than being on edge and off balance. Silvestro’s sudden departure is merely a fact, like the price of a train ticket. The man is only another traveler "with no direction home."
This is not to say there are no actual conversations. Silvestro shares a few words with people he encounters on his journey, a pitiful old man from whom he buys an orange he doesn’t want. He brushes against others including a pair who may be secret police or a vaudeville act. Home, he speaks with and also interrogates his mother Concezione. The formidable Concezione, who, after a 15-year separation greets her son by asking, “But what the devil brought you here?”
Later, he will converse with a knife sharpener, a saddle maker, a cloth merchant all of whom he follows into a bar. Together they form a comic if solemn confraternity who drink to the “wrongs of the world.” It is not a trivial concern. Who has not wronged the world and who has not been wronged?
These scenes are among the saddest in the book. Leaving the bar, Silvano finds himself in the village graveyard where he is engaged in another conversation, one with ghost who is no stranger. The scene at the bar could be read as an absurdist aside within the story; Silvestro’s companions would not seem out of character if they were wearing grease paint, but I think that would be a mistake. Vittorini seems to argue, one can run but one can’t hide.
Silvestro, like Vittorini, was first a runaway and then an exile. In the book’s telling, Silvestro who left home at 15 returns only after receiving a letter from his father who urges him to see his mother on her name day. A father who is no paterfamilias and so a man with no authority. A father who himself left home but whom we catch a glimpse of at the book’s end.
Before the Silvestro begins his journey his anomie is conspicuous. He is detached from his work, girlfriend and from the events of the day. The visit home is not suggested as an antidote to anything, nor is it an obligation, but rather an inevitability. Home is both the beginning and the end.
In CONVERSATIONS, Vittorini’s political views are, of necessity, disguised. If the reader is of a mind he or she can locate antifascist commentary. I suggest Vittorini’s politics are of no consequence. The story of the boy/man returning home is as old as Homer or the parable of the Prodigal Son. As for anomie, it is simply a condition of modernity.
Silvestro is not Every Man, he is No Man. His ability to turn this way or that is less evidence of volition than being on edge and off balance. Silvestro’s sudden departure is merely a fact, like the price of a train ticket. The man is only another traveler "with no direction home."
October 18, 2021
Letto ovviamente in concomitanza di un viaggio in Sicilia, non posso dirmi di essermici ritrovato (si svolge durante il ventennio fascista), ma alcuni luoghi e descrizioni di personaggi mi sono sembrati molto attuali.
Non è immediata la scrittura di Vittorini in questo libro, alcuni passaggi sono rimasti oscuri per me, però una volta entrati nel linguaggio ci si rende conto di come questa sia una grande opera italiana; non solo per la qualità dello scritto, ma anche per ciò che racconta.
Una denuncia non troppo velata verso i mali del regime, la condizione di miseria dei siciliani e la mentalità delle persone, che non le porta davvero ad opporsi alla dittatura con convinzione.
Un piccolo libro di grande spessore.
Non è immediata la scrittura di Vittorini in questo libro, alcuni passaggi sono rimasti oscuri per me, però una volta entrati nel linguaggio ci si rende conto di come questa sia una grande opera italiana; non solo per la qualità dello scritto, ma anche per ciò che racconta.
Una denuncia non troppo velata verso i mali del regime, la condizione di miseria dei siciliani e la mentalità delle persone, che non le porta davvero ad opporsi alla dittatura con convinzione.
Un piccolo libro di grande spessore.
July 7, 2024
Οι «Σικελικοί διάλογοι», το γνωστότερο βιβλίο του μοντερνιστή ιταλού λογοτέχνη Έλιο Βιττορίνι, είναι ένα πραγματικά θαυμάσιο βιβλίο. Ποιητικό, συμβολικό, με ζωγραφικές απεικονίσεις, προϊόν παραπάνω επεξεργασίας για να αποφύγει την φασιστική λογοκρισία (γράφτηκε μεταξύ του '35 και του '36).
Κεντρικό θέμα είναι η ζωή στη σικελική ύπαιθρο τη δεκαετία του '30. Είναι μια ζωή μέσα στη φτώχεια, στις δεισιδαιμονίες, στην απομόνωση, στην εγκατάλειψη. Ο πρωτοπρόσωπος αφηγητής, ένας Σιλβέστρο Φερράουτο, ένας τριαντάχρονος σικελός που ζει τα τελευταία δεκαπέντε χρόνια στο Μιλάνο, αποφασίζει να επισκεφτεί το πατρικό του και να ευχηθεί αυτοπροσώπως στην μάνα του για τη γιορτή της. Εκείνη, η Κοντσεσιόνε Φερράουτο ζει μόνη της στο χωριό -μετά τη φυγή του πατέρα για να ξαναπαντρευτεί- χωρίς καμία επαφή ούτε με τα παιδιά της που έχουν σκορπίσει (όπως έντονα συνέβη στον ιταλικό νότο καθόλη τη διάρκεια των πρώτων δεκαετιών του 20ου αιώνα). Ο αφηγητής, αλλοτριωμένος στον ιταλικό βορρά, αποφασίζει μια βουτιά στο παρελθόν και σ' ένα κάποτε εναλλακτικό παρόν. Πάει για να γνωρίσει το παρελθόν του, όμως το ταξίδι, η ξαφνική απόφαση γι' αυτό, κρύβει άλλα ψυχολογικά κίνητρα πολύ συνθετότερα: πάει να καταδυθεί σε π��υχές της ανθρώπινης συμπεριφοράς, εκεί ακριβώς που αυτή παρουσιάζεται στην αυθεντικότερη και αυθόρμητη μορφή της: στο χωριό (του).
Κάθε μικρό κεφάλαιο του βιβλίου είναι ένας διάλογος, τον οποίον εισάγουν εικόνες και τον διαδέχονται άλλοι διάλογοι σε συνέχεια των προηγούμενων. Είναι ένα ενιαίο κείμενο, σπασμένο σε μικρά επεισόδια που ομαδοποιούνται σε τέσσερα μέρη:
Το πρώτο μέρος είναι το τ α ξ ί δ ι μέχρι τη Σικελία και οι διάλογοι με ανθρώπους που γνωρίζει κατά τη διάρκειά του (τον Μέγα Λομβαρδό, τον Χωρίς Μουστάκι, τον Με Μουστάκι κλπ). Οι διάλογοι είναι σουρεαλιστικοί, αποπροσανατολιστικοί, δημιουργούν σύγχυση.
Το δεύτερο μέρος είναι οι γ υ ν α ί κ ε ς. Η μάνα του που τον παίρνει μαζί της να τη συντροφεύει όσο κάνει ενέσεις σε άλλες γυναίκες που έχουν είτε χτικιό είτε ελονοσία. Είναι εξαιρετικοί οι διάλογοι μεταξύ τους, όπου βλέπουμε ότι ο ένας ανακαλύπτει τον άλλον, αλλά κυρίως αποκαλύπτεται η μιζέρια στο χωριό, η ανημποριά του εγκαταλελειμμένου συνόλου όπου μόνη ανακούφιση είναι η αλληλοβοήθεια. Ο Σιλβέστρο ταυτόχρονα προβάλει άμυνα σε όσα λέει η μάνα του για τον πατέρα του, δεν επιτρέπει να του κατεδαφίσει την πατρική φιγούρα, για τον οποίον διατηρεί την ανάμνηση του ευαίσθητου ανθρώπου. Εκείνη το ίδιο πράγμα το θεωρεί μειονέκτημα και διαρκώς τον αντιπαραβάλλει με τον πατέρα της, τον γλεντζέ, τον λεβέντη, τον σοσιαλιστή. Ο Σιλβέστρο δεν συγκρούεται• κατανοεί.
Το τρίτο μέρος είναι οι ά ν τ ρ ε ς που γνωρίζει όταν σε κάποια επίσκεψη της μάνας μένει -αυτή τη φορά- απέξω από το σπίτι της ασθενούς (που πάντα πρόθυμα ξεγυμνώνονται μπροστά στον νεαρό για να δεχτούν την ένεση- σαραντάχρονες χήρες οι περισσότερες). Ο Ακονιστής που ακονίζει μαχαίρια τού πιάνει κουβέντα και τον εισάγει στον κόσμο των αντρών του χωριού, στον Ιεζεκιήλ, στον ταβερνιάρη Κολόμπο, στον υφασματά κ.α. Το τρεχούμενο νερό, ο κόσμος που υποφέρει, το κρασί που κατευνάζει είναι το διαρκές μοτίβο των όσων συζητάνε ή σωστότερα όσα αναφέρουν, χωρίς παραπάνω λέξεις, αναλύσεις κι εξηγήσεις, ξανά και ξανά. Θαρρείς πως όλοι μιλάνε -κοφτά και λακωνικά- απλά για να μιλήσουν. Ξεχωριστά λοιπόν οι άντρες απ' τις γυναίκες χωρίς να είναι τελικά σαφές ποιος είναι χρησιμότερος. Η ίδια η μάνα του Σιλβέστρο, αν κάνει ένεση σε άντρα, λέει πως αν αρρωστήσει ο άντρας διαλύεται το σπιτικό και το αντίθετο αν κάνει ένεση σε γυναίκα.
Το τέταρτο μέρος είναι ο α π ο χ α ι ρ ε τ ι σ μ ό ς. Μου θυμίζει έντονα το τέλος που έδωσε πενήντα χρόνια μετά ο Ούγκο Πράττ στην περιπέτεια του Κόρτο Μαλτέζε «La rosa alchemica», όπου όλοι όσοι συνάντησε στην πραγματικότητα ή στη φαντασία του ο πρωταγωνιστής εμφανίζονται να του πουν κάτι.
Οφείλει να σημειώσει κανείς την εξαιρετική λιτότητα κι απλότητα των διαλόγων, μια φόρμα που όταν κυριαρχεί συντριπτικά σ' ένα βιβλίο κατά κανόνα κουράζει. Εδώ συμβαίνει ακριβώς το αντίθετο. Ο Σιλβέστρο πιθανότατα είναι λίγο Βιττορίνι κι όχι Φερράουτο. Πολλά σημεία της ως τότε βιογραφίας του απαντιούνται στο βιβλίο.
Κεντρικό θέμα είναι η ζωή στη σικελική ύπαιθρο τη δεκαετία του '30. Είναι μια ζωή μέσα στη φτώχεια, στις δεισιδαιμονίες, στην απομόνωση, στην εγκατάλειψη. Ο πρωτοπρόσωπος αφηγητής, ένας Σιλβέστρο Φερράουτο, ένας τριαντάχρονος σικελός που ζει τα τελευταία δεκαπέντε χρόνια στο Μιλάνο, αποφασίζει να επισκεφτεί το πατρικό του και να ευχηθεί αυτοπροσώπως στην μάνα του για τη γιορτή της. Εκείνη, η Κοντσεσιόνε Φερράουτο ζει μόνη της στο χωριό -μετά τη φυγή του πατέρα για να ξαναπαντρευτεί- χωρίς καμία επαφή ούτε με τα παιδιά της που έχουν σκορπίσει (όπως έντονα συνέβη στον ιταλικό νότο καθόλη τη διάρκεια των πρώτων δεκαετιών του 20ου αιώνα). Ο αφηγητής, αλλοτριωμένος στον ιταλικό βορρά, αποφασίζει μια βουτιά στο παρελθόν και σ' ένα κάποτε εναλλακτικό παρόν. Πάει για να γνωρίσει το παρελθόν του, όμως το ταξίδι, η ξαφνική απόφαση γι' αυτό, κρύβει άλλα ψυχολογικά κίνητρα πολύ συνθετότερα: πάει να καταδυθεί σε π��υχές της ανθρώπινης συμπεριφοράς, εκεί ακριβώς που αυτή παρουσιάζεται στην αυθεντικότερη και αυθόρμητη μορφή της: στο χωριό (του).
Κάθε μικρό κεφάλαιο του βιβλίου είναι ένας διάλογος, τον οποίον εισάγουν εικόνες και τον διαδέχονται άλλοι διάλογοι σε συνέχεια των προηγούμενων. Είναι ένα ενιαίο κείμενο, σπασμένο σε μικρά επεισόδια που ομαδοποιούνται σε τέσσερα μέρη:
Το πρώτο μέρος είναι το τ α ξ ί δ ι μέχρι τη Σικελία και οι διάλογοι με ανθρώπους που γνωρίζει κατά τη διάρκειά του (τον Μέγα Λομβαρδό, τον Χωρίς Μουστάκι, τον Με Μουστάκι κλπ). Οι διάλογοι είναι σουρεαλιστικοί, αποπροσανατολιστικοί, δημιουργούν σύγχυση.
Το δεύτερο μέρος είναι οι γ υ ν α ί κ ε ς. Η μάνα του που τον παίρνει μαζί της να τη συντροφεύει όσο κάνει ενέσεις σε άλλες γυναίκες που έχουν είτε χτικιό είτε ελονοσία. Είναι εξαιρετικοί οι διάλογοι μεταξύ τους, όπου βλέπουμε ότι ο ένας ανακαλύπτει τον άλλον, αλλά κυρίως αποκαλύπτεται η μιζέρια στο χωριό, η ανημποριά του εγκαταλελειμμένου συνόλου όπου μόνη ανακούφιση είναι η αλληλοβοήθεια. Ο Σιλβέστρο ταυτόχρονα προβάλει άμυνα σε όσα λέει η μάνα του για τον πατέρα του, δεν επιτρέπει να του κατεδαφίσει την πατρική φιγούρα, για τον οποίον διατηρεί την ανάμνηση του ευαίσθητου ανθρώπου. Εκείνη το ίδιο πράγμα το θεωρεί μειονέκτημα και διαρκώς τον αντιπαραβάλλει με τον πατέρα της, τον γλεντζέ, τον λεβέντη, τον σοσιαλιστή. Ο Σιλβέστρο δεν συγκρούεται• κατανοεί.
Το τρίτο μέρος είναι οι ά ν τ ρ ε ς που γνωρίζει όταν σε κάποια επίσκεψη της μάνας μένει -αυτή τη φορά- απέξω από το σπίτι της ασθενούς (που πάντα πρόθυμα ξεγυμνώνονται μπροστά στον νεαρό για να δεχτούν την ένεση- σαραντάχρονες χήρες οι περισσότερες). Ο Ακονιστής που ακονίζει μαχαίρια τού πιάνει κουβέντα και τον εισάγει στον κόσμο των αντρών του χωριού, στον Ιεζεκιήλ, στον ταβερνιάρη Κολόμπο, στον υφασματά κ.α. Το τρεχούμενο νερό, ο κόσμος που υποφέρει, το κρασί που κατευνάζει είναι το διαρκές μοτίβο των όσων συζητάνε ή σωστότερα όσα αναφέρουν, χωρίς παραπάνω λέξεις, αναλύσεις κι εξηγήσεις, ξανά και ξανά. Θαρρείς πως όλοι μιλάνε -κοφτά και λακωνικά- απλά για να μιλήσουν. Ξεχωριστά λοιπόν οι άντρες απ' τις γυναίκες χωρίς να είναι τελικά σαφές ποιος είναι χρησιμότερος. Η ίδια η μάνα του Σιλβέστρο, αν κάνει ένεση σε άντρα, λέει πως αν αρρωστήσει ο άντρας διαλύεται το σπιτικό και το αντίθετο αν κάνει ένεση σε γυναίκα.
Το τέταρτο μέρος είναι ο α π ο χ α ι ρ ε τ ι σ μ ό ς. Μου θυμίζει έντονα το τέλος που έδωσε πενήντα χρόνια μετά ο Ούγκο Πράττ στην περιπέτεια του Κόρτο Μαλτέζε «La rosa alchemica», όπου όλοι όσοι συνάντησε στην πραγματικότητα ή στη φαντασία του ο πρωταγωνιστής εμφανίζονται να του πουν κάτι.
Οφείλει να σημειώσει κανείς την εξαιρετική λιτότητα κι απλότητα των διαλόγων, μια φόρμα που όταν κυριαρχεί συντριπτικά σ' ένα βιβλίο κατά κανόνα κουράζει. Εδώ συμβαίνει ακριβώς το αντίθετο. Ο Σιλβέστρο πιθανότατα είναι λίγο Βιττορίνι κι όχι Φερράουτο. Πολλά σημεία της ως τότε βιογραφίας του απαντιούνται στο βιβλίο.
August 23, 2019
Silvestro, figlio di un ex ferroviere, attore dilettante, fa un viaggio nella terra natia, la Sicilia. Un giorno, suo padre Costantino, gli spedisce una lettera, nella quale gli comunica l’intenzione di lasciare la moglie per vivere accanto ad un’altra donna: questo il motivo che spinge il protagonista a partire e, insieme con questo, c’è la voglia di rivedere sua madre, che non vede da 15 anni. Durante il viaggio in treno, Silvestro conosce alcuni personaggi che, in qualche modo, gli fanno ricordare il vero spirito della sua terra.
Arrivato a casa, cerca subito la madre, la quale, dopo tanto tempo, lo accoglie con stupore, perfettamente comprensibile dopo tanti anni di lontananza. La donna, che si chiamava Concezione, aveva come occupazione, quella di fare iniezioni alla gente del posto e poco le importava se non tutti la pagavano sempre. Anche nel giorno dell’arrivo di suo figlio, la donna non aveva smesso il suo lavoro, mentre Silvestro aveva fatto amicizia con qualche abitante come l’arrotino di passaggio e altri ancora, tutti accomunati da un unico sentimento, il dolore del mondo offeso che soffre. Il protagonista, in qualche modo affascinato da queste persone, trascorre la sera con loro in un’osteria, ubriacandosi. Tornato a casa, sogna suo fratello, morto in guerra e, non appena sveglio, si preoccupa di interpretare ma quella specie di visione: esce, fa un giro per il paese, e poi ritorna senza una risposta. Il giorno della sua partenza, Silvestro rivede il padre, il quale ha improvvisamente deciso di tornare accanto alla moglie. Il libro è molto espressivo, soprattutto per le descrizioni dei luoghi e della gente della Sicilia: la forma è identica a quella di Uomini e no, che prevede ripetizioni continue, tipiche del modo di scrivere di Vittorini.
Arrivato a casa, cerca subito la madre, la quale, dopo tanto tempo, lo accoglie con stupore, perfettamente comprensibile dopo tanti anni di lontananza. La donna, che si chiamava Concezione, aveva come occupazione, quella di fare iniezioni alla gente del posto e poco le importava se non tutti la pagavano sempre. Anche nel giorno dell’arrivo di suo figlio, la donna non aveva smesso il suo lavoro, mentre Silvestro aveva fatto amicizia con qualche abitante come l’arrotino di passaggio e altri ancora, tutti accomunati da un unico sentimento, il dolore del mondo offeso che soffre. Il protagonista, in qualche modo affascinato da queste persone, trascorre la sera con loro in un’osteria, ubriacandosi. Tornato a casa, sogna suo fratello, morto in guerra e, non appena sveglio, si preoccupa di interpretare ma quella specie di visione: esce, fa un giro per il paese, e poi ritorna senza una risposta. Il giorno della sua partenza, Silvestro rivede il padre, il quale ha improvvisamente deciso di tornare accanto alla moglie. Il libro è molto espressivo, soprattutto per le descrizioni dei luoghi e della gente della Sicilia: la forma è identica a quella di Uomini e no, che prevede ripetizioni continue, tipiche del modo di scrivere di Vittorini.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 28, 2016
الكتابة ، التمثيل ، المسرح ، شتي أنواع الثقافة والفن والأدب ، هي سلاح من نوعًا ما ، هي مقاومة تخرج في أصعب وأحلك اللحظات ، هي مياه تسري في كل الاماكن لا يمنعها مانع ولايسدها سد ..
" أطراف حديث في صقلية " هي رواية الواقعية الجديدة يمكن قراءتها علي طريقتين ..
أولهما طريقة واقعية الحلم وهنا يعتمد إليو علي ما يراه في أحلامه وهلوساته أو طريقة الحوار التي تدور بينه وبين اصداقاءه وبينه وبين نفسه ، فتجد نفسك حائرًا لعدم وجود حبكة كاملة أو خيط روائي يجمع بين كل هذا فتشعر إنك أمام سيرة ذاتية .
أما الطريقة الثانية فتعتمد علي مذهب الرمزية ، وأنا أميل الي هذا ، فالمعروف أن اليو فيتوريني كام شيوعيًا معادي للنظام الفاشي أنذاك ، وكان النظام يعارض وقتها أي عمل يسيئ للنظام والسلطة فكان لابد أن تأتي الرواية رمزية ، ففي الفصل الرابع تحديدًا إجتمع أربع أصدقاء علي أن العالم مهان والإنسانية والبشر في إنحدار ، فرمز لهذا إليو الي فئات المجتمع فمنها الثوري ( السنان ) ، ومنها الكاثوليكي ( بور فيريو ) والأخير الذي يمثل مذهب الفلسفة في المجتمع ( حزقيال) فجميعهم شكّلوا المقاومة ولكن المجتمع لا يسمع لهم ..
السرد به شئ غريب ، تشعر كأنه يغلف شئ في باطنه .. والرواية بأكملها إيطالية خالصة بجغرافيتها وأسمائها وأحداثها ، وبها شئ عن العرب مصور في حديثه عن ال�� ليلة وليلة ، وبعض الاسماء العربية في صقلية ..
" أطراف حديث في صقلية " هي رواية الواقعية الجديدة يمكن قراءتها علي طريقتين ..
أولهما طريقة واقعية الحلم وهنا يعتمد إليو علي ما يراه في أحلامه وهلوساته أو طريقة الحوار التي تدور بينه وبين اصداقاءه وبينه وبين نفسه ، فتجد نفسك حائرًا لعدم وجود حبكة كاملة أو خيط روائي يجمع بين كل هذا فتشعر إنك أمام سيرة ذاتية .
أما الطريقة الثانية فتعتمد علي مذهب الرمزية ، وأنا أميل الي هذا ، فالمعروف أن اليو فيتوريني كام شيوعيًا معادي للنظام الفاشي أنذاك ، وكان النظام يعارض وقتها أي عمل يسيئ للنظام والسلطة فكان لابد أن تأتي الرواية رمزية ، ففي الفصل الرابع تحديدًا إجتمع أربع أصدقاء علي أن العالم مهان والإنسانية والبشر في إنحدار ، فرمز لهذا إليو الي فئات المجتمع فمنها الثوري ( السنان ) ، ومنها الكاثوليكي ( بور فيريو ) والأخير الذي يمثل مذهب الفلسفة في المجتمع ( حزقيال) فجميعهم شكّلوا المقاومة ولكن المجتمع لا يسمع لهم ..
السرد به شئ غريب ، تشعر كأنه يغلف شئ في باطنه .. والرواية بأكملها إيطالية خالصة بجغرافيتها وأسمائها وأحداثها ، وبها شئ عن العرب مصور في حديثه عن ال�� ليلة وليلة ، وبعض الاسماء العربية في صقلية ..
May 27, 2021
4.5/5
Per leggere questo libro di Vittorini è utile conoscere a grandi linee il contesto.
Infatti, ci sono diversi rimandi alla situazione politica del tempo e alla resistenza.
Un libro allegorico e poetico che gioca con i contrasti per creare atmosfere in cui il protagonista è disorientato, in una terra che ricorda ma continua a stupirlo.
Una lettura evocativa che ti trascina senza forzarti, anzi, richiede che tu stesso porga la giusta attenzione ai dettagli, perché in essi si nascondo significati e ambivalenze, nulla è veramente soltanto ciò che appare.
Per leggere questo libro di Vittorini è utile conoscere a grandi linee il contesto.
Infatti, ci sono diversi rimandi alla situazione politica del tempo e alla resistenza.
Un libro allegorico e poetico che gioca con i contrasti per creare atmosfere in cui il protagonista è disorientato, in una terra che ricorda ma continua a stupirlo.
Una lettura evocativa che ti trascina senza forzarti, anzi, richiede che tu stesso porga la giusta attenzione ai dettagli, perché in essi si nascondo significati e ambivalenze, nulla è veramente soltanto ciò che appare.
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