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.