Christ Stopped at Eboli, by Carlo Levi

I love a book that starts with a map. In this case, the map covers nearly the southern half of Italy, even though the vast majority of the book takes place in the small town of Gagliano (Aliano in reality) in what is today Basilicata. I picked up Christ Stopped at Eboli because I was researching Basilicata and Calabria (where I am going on vacation next week) and came across this list of reasons to visit Basilicata. Frequently, I'm inspired to visit a place after reading about it in a book, but this time it went backwards. However, having now read Christ Stopped at Eboli, I am very glad to be going there in just a few days.

Beyond the map, there were so many things I loved about this book. Carlo Levi is a sensitive and descriptive writer. Reading this book, I developed such an affection for Levi's dog, Barone. And for all the children, pigs, and goats in the village. One of the most wonderful things in this book is how Levi writes about the magic and folklore of the peasants, never casting doubt on their existence or truth.

The nature of Levi's captivity seems so strange today. He was arrested by the Mussolini government for his involvement in an anti-fascist organization. Following 3 months of solitary confinement in Rome, he was exiled to a remote village in the South, where he was allowed to live with some amount of freedom, provided he had his own means of support, checked in daily, stayed within the village walls, and didn't talk to any of the other political prisoners exiled in the same village. Yet in the book, Levi rarely discusses his own political positions until near the very end when he makes some remarkable diagnoses about the problem of the State:

The problem, in all of its three aspects, existed before the advent of Fascism. But Fascism, while hushing it up and denying its existence, aggravated it to the breaking point, because under Fascism the middle class took over and identified itself with the State. We cannot foresee the political forms of the future, but in a middle-class country like Italy, where middle-class ideology has infected the masses of workers in the city, it is probable, alas, that the new institutions arising after Fascism, through either gradual evolution or violence, no matter how extreme and revolutionary, will maintain the same ideology under different forms and create a new State equally far removed from real life, equally idolatrous and abstract, a perpetuation under new slogans and new flags of the worst features of the eternal tendency toward Fascism. Unless there is a peasant revolution, we shall never have a true Italian revolution, for the two are identical. 

The other thing that I found fascinating when reading this book is the class of people Levi refers to as "Americans." The book spans the years 1935-1936 and in the south of Italy at that time, there is a whole class of men who had emigrated to the United States and then returned to Italy after the crash of 1929. I was, of course, aware of the mass movement of Italians to America in the early part of the last century, but I had no idea of the number who had returned. In Levi's description, the people of the very south of Italy feel themselves more connected to New York than to Rome -- many of their number have moved there, and some smaller number have returned.

Anyway, this book was wonderful. I'm so glad I read it.

The Stone Raft, by José Saramago

Now and then, I'll find a book lovely and also a slog. The prose is beautiful, but my mind will drift as I read. I'll have to go back and reread sentences, or paragraphs. I can only read a few pages at a time. My abandoned shelf on Goodreads has a fair number of these: Chromos and The Unconsoled for instance. (Note that there's a Saramago book lingering there too.) I was still on a break from Wolf Totem, which I guess now I have set aside indefinitely. I decided to read The Stone Raft -- which was loaned to me by a friend ages ago; I think before my last trip to Portugal -- ostensibly because I am going to Spain and Portugal in November and I thought it would put me in the mood. Or something. I had also recently reread my short post about The Gospel According to Jesus Christ, though maybe not closely enough. (If you read that, you'll see there's something of a trend with finding Saramago slow-going, and also going to Portugal in November I guess.) In any case, in the end I did love The Stone Raft. It did get me in the mood to go to Spain and Portugal. Saramago requires a patience that I don't always have, but when I devote the necessary attention, it's so worth it.

What I miss

This morning, Tanzina Vega posted a tweet asking "What NYC places do you miss?"

There are so many places that I once went to that are now gone. Looking through various responses I recognize lots of places I used to frequent. Life Cafe, for instance. There was a time in my life when Life Cafe was where I always proposed to meet friends for dinner. But I didn't even know it was gone, because I stopped going long before it closed. (Am I part of the problem?) French Roast, too, I have fond memories of, going back many, many years. But in the last 10 years that it was open, I probably only went there two or three times. Tower Records, Unique, Antique Boutique, and Canal Jeans were all places I visited in middle school and probably into high school, but they all outlived my regular visits by years (decades?). It's hard to say I miss these places when I know, if they were still around, I probably wouldn't be going to them.

If I think about places that are gone that I would still go if they were here, there are a few to be sure: Hope & Anchor, St. Mark's Bookstore, Franny's. But at least as much as I miss places that are gone, there are also places I "miss" that are still here:

I miss Washington Square Park and the Astor Place cube, where I always knew I would find friends after (or during) school.
I miss the Waverly Diner, where I would order a broccoli and cream cheese omelet (!!!) with fries instead of home fries, and a Sprite.
I miss Odessa, where I drank cosmos and went through so much relationship drama (including my ex-husband's and my first kiss -- definitely the most consequential kiss of my life) in the late 90s.
I miss Barcade when it was brand new in 2004, huge and empty, so we could take over an entire corner and camp out for hours.
I miss Pete's Candy Store trivia night from roughly 2004-2007.
I miss Sharlene's, where we all decamped after old Freddy's closed before new Freddy's opened.
I miss Fulton Grand, the only bar I have ever called my local.
I miss 2010, when I could walk into any bar in a certain part of Brooklyn certain I would run into friends.

I could go on, but I'm sure you get the gist: it's the times I miss; not the places.

Siracusa, by Delia Ephron

After finishing Loving, I briefly went back to Wolf Totem (which presumably I'll write about someday when I finish it) and then on my lunch break last Thursday, I found Siracusa at a thrift store (how many books do I find at thrift stores? A lot. Most books I read, perhaps.) and picked it up entirely because of my love of Sicily. When I got on the subway home that evening, I pulled Siracusa out and decided to start it rather than reading Wolf Totem (have I mentioned it's very bloody? Very.). Anyway, Siracusa is not the first book I've read solely because it was set in Sicily. That honor belongs probably to Blood Rain (which, now that I think about it, I picked up at the same thrift store where I found Siracusa!), though debatably to The Leopard. I also have a whole collection of Andrea Camilleri novels - I buy them every time I come across them! - but I haven't actually read any of them yet. And while we're on the topic of literature set in Sicily, I should mention the first piece I read in this category: Sun by D.H. Lawrence, which I believe I first read in middle school and which has really stayed with me these last 30-ish years.

I haven't actually been to Siracusa. I was supposed to go there on my first, aborted trip to Sicily in December 2014 when I ended up having to drastically alter my plans and go to Spain at the last minute due to a national strike in Italy that would have left me stranded at Malpensa. When I planned my actual first trip to Sicily in April 2015, I realized (very correctly in retrospect) that I had been far too ambitious in the amount of ground I thought I could cover when I'd made my itinerary for the 2014 trip. Sicily is a sizable island, train routes are limited, the autostrade connect the bigger cities, but much of the island is covered only by winding mountain roads, so travel is slow. On that first trip, I did my traveling by train and bus (and a couple extremely long taxi rides) and managed to cover really only the western tip of the island: Palermo, Trapani, Marsala, and Agrigento. On my second trip to Sicily, in 2017, I went back to Palermo for a couple days and then rented a car stationed myself for a week in the Nebrodi mountains, from where I made day trips to Taormina, Enna, Cefalù, among other places. The southeastern corner of the island, where Siracusa is, remains the part I have not visited. I have (at present only theoretical) plans to go back in 2019 and visit that corner, including Siracusa -- though I must say this book certainly did not increase my interest in going there.

Siracusa is about two couples who go on vacation together to Rome and Syracuse, a trip whose events end up destroying the relationships among nearly all of them. (This is why I always travel alone.) The story is told in alternating chapters from the perspective of the 4 central characters and only the reader really gets the full picture (and even that requires some conjecture). The overlapping narratives were really effective, and I found they gave me sympathy for all the characters, even as I didn't really like any of them. This was a tense, but fun read. And even as Siracusa comes off as quite unappealing, it captures very well the crumbling old and cheap new that I've seen elsewhere on the island. Places that have been in decline since the Baroque era is my aesthetic ideal.

Loving, by Henry Green

I wasn't sure if I'd go back to Loving after I set it aside for The Uninvited Guests and then started another book -- Wolf Totem, by Jiang Rong -- but then last week I found myself wanting to read something a little less bloody than Wolf Totem (which is incredibly bloody) and rather than starting something new, I decided to finish Loving. It's such a short book it felt a shame to abandon it, so I finished it in an afternoon and then sent it on its way (via PaperbackSwap, to someone to wanted it). I don't really have much to say about this book. It follows the affairs of the staff of an English estate in Ireland over the period of a few months during World War II. The war is in the background, as is the potential threat to the estate from the IRA, but none of it seems quite to penetrate the reality of the household staff. There were pieces of this book that I enjoyed and that were funny, but overall I didn't felt like it had much to give.

The Uninvited Guests, by Sadie Jones

I started reading Loving by Henry Green a little more than a week ago -- just after finishing Sepharad. I always find it particularly hard to pick a book to read after I finish something I've really loved. Sepharad left me in a mood and I didn't want to break it. I had read a few pages of Loving a month or so ago and found it wasn't what I was in the mood for at the time, so set it aside. After Sepharad I thought maybe it was the time, but in a week I labored through 100 pages and decided to set it aside again. Meanwhile, I picked up a copy of The Uninvited Guests at Housing Works and I decided to switch from one manor house drama to another. While I didn't totally love The Uninvited Guests, it was a fun read and the break I needed. I'm not sure whether I'll go back to Loving.

Sepharad, by Antonio Muñoz Molina

Sepharad can hardly be called a novel, though it says "A Novel" right on the cover under the title. But as Muñoz Molina notes in the Author's Note, "I have invented very little in the stories and voices that wave through this book." But, of course, novels can be based on true events -- so that's not really the reason I say it can hardly be called a novel. It's almost like a book of short stories, with occasional recurring characters. Almost a book of essays. Almost a memoir? Whatever it is, it's lovely. It's about memory and identity and being away from the place you call home. Muñoz Molina connects centuries of forced and voluntary emigration and demands that the reader identify with emigrants and refugees. The writing and stories are poignant and warm. I really loved this book.

A very belated 2017 year in books

In 2016, I declared I would write something brief about every book I read -- resulting in my most prolific year of blogging by far. In 2017, I gave myself a break from writing about every book and, as it turns out, that turned into a break from posting basically at all. Now we're more than halfway into 2018 and I haven't posted in 18 months. Looking back over my brief notes on books I read, I think it was a good habit and I'm going to try to get back to it - though not retroactively. But I will retroactively post about my 2017 reading material. It wasn't quite as good a year as 2016, or even 2015, but I read 25 books (I've listed 26 below - I started Your Face Tomorrow vol. 3 in 2017 and didn't finish it until a couple weeks into 2018, but felt it should be included on the list with the other Your Face Tomorrow books):

• Your Face Tomorrow Vol. 1: Fever and Spear, by Javier Marías
• The Underground Railroad, by Colson Whitehead
• The Polish Boxer, by Eduardo Halfon
• Your Face Tomorrow Vol. 2: Dance and Dream, by Javier Marías
• The Magicians, by Lev Grossman
• Invisible Man, by Ralph Ellison
• Embassytown, by China Miéville
• A Gate at the Stairs, by Lorrie Moore
• Curfew, by José Donoso
• By Night in Chile, by Roberto Bolaño
• The Buried Giant, by Kazuo Ishiguro
• The Sympathizer, by Viet Thanh Nguyen
• Kintu, by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi
• The Scar, by China Miéville
• We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, by Samantha Irby
• A Perfect Spy, by John Le Carré
• Jakob Von Gunten, by Robert Wallser
• The Queen of the Night, by Alexander Chee
• Fathers and Sons, by Ivan Turgenev
• The Turner House, by Angela Flournoy
• Rich and Pretty, by Rumaan Alam
• Beware of Pity, by Stefan Zweig
• A God in Ruins, by Kate Atkinson
• The Group, by Mary McCarthy
• Call Me By Your Name, by Andre Aciman
• Your Face Tomorrow Vol. 3: Poison, Shadow, and Farewell, by Javier Marías

For my favorite book of the year, I'd say it's a tie (isn't it always!) between Your Face Tomorrow Vol. 1 and Curfew.

I've recommended Curfew to several people and I decided to take a trip to Chile last November, largely because of Donoso. I visited La Chascona, Pablo Neruda's home in Santiago, which plays a major part in the book (visiting this place I had read about in a book I loved so much was a rather strange and amazing experience) and also the island of Chiloé, which I only knew of because of the book. So... you could say Curfew had a pretty significant effect on my year.

Your Face Tomorrow was different. As I felt when I read The Infatuations (the first Marías book I read), the writing just spoke to me-- it felt like me. I loved all 3 books in the trilogy, but the first book especially. A huge chunk of the first book consists of the narrator getting very drunk and going through an Oxford don's library chasing down tangential details of the Spanish Civil War and it's just incredible. I haven't recommended Your Face Tomorrow to anyone because I honestly have no idea who else might enjoy it, but the whole time I was reading the books I really wished I knew someone else who had read them because I would love to talk about them. (I have recommended The Infatuations to a couple people always with the caveat that you will know within a couple pages whether you'll enjoy the book. Marías' writing is so specific, has such a distinct voice -- I imagine it's not for everyone, but it is definitely for me. The one star reviews of book 3 crack me up... like how do you get to book 3 before you decide you don't like these books?)

Other books I really enjoyed: The Polish Boxer, Kintu, The Group, Beware of Pity. (And also The Underground Railroad and The Sympathizer, but as those each won multiple prestigious awards, I hardly feel I need to recommend them.)