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3.9 AVERAGE
3.9 AVERAGE
funny
reflective
challenging
emotional
funny
inspiring
medium-paced
Everytime I came across the familiar family lexicon that I've learned throughout the reading process (Jackass! Nitwit! Lend her gear!), I got this urgent sense to laugh. I love how Ginzburg gave us a glimpse of her family and people around her with so much clarity in her deadpan with a hint of comical tone in her writing.
It’s a memoir but centered MOSTLY on her family and friends. Bear in mind you won't learn a lot about natalia herself in this book since she was barely present at all, just a little commentary from her here and there. But I feel so connected with the story. It's funny, it’s informative and heart wrenching too. Seeing how the family fought against fascism, dealing with antisemitism really makes me upset yet the characters were really admirable in their own ways, with how they resisted the oppressors back then.
“By contrast, after the war the world seemed enormous, unknowable, and without end.
Nevertheless, my mother tried to live in it again as best she could. She inhabited the world again with joy because her temperament was joyful. Her spirit was incapable of growing old and she never understood old people who retreated from life, bemoaning the desolation of the past. My mother looked dry-eyed upon the past's desolation and didn't mourn for it.”
informative
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
emotional
hopeful
sad
slow-paced
Breath of the human. "Talismanic tags" of people, as described in the Afterward.
I was immediately drawn to it after reading the first few lines because there was such warmth emanating from it and I could tell the author knows about real human beings and real human life. So many other books I've picked up I put back down because it lacks that vital energy and warmth. Many contemporary books are often cerebral and detached, stuck in narcissism and only able to feign the semblance of drama. And even when I read classics, it takes a while to get into the ambling nature and long expository format. But this book, right away, you enter into the warmth of people's lives. I will say the mother and father were the most endearing characters in the book. Especially the mother and her joie de vivre. 'Si tira avanti' is apparently the answer Italians often give when asked how they are doing. 'One pulls oneself forward.' '...they seem to say with a steady, bemused irony' (208, afterward).
I think that's why I am a bit disappointed, or should I say, I am left wanting more, because in a sense you receive all the tangible details of this family's life, but then again, the lack of a clear narrative timeline and the economy of sentences and events means that you are left still with more impression than story. The nature of the book also is that it assumes the language of the family (family lexicon yes) so it does not undertake any burden to explain or provide continuity, which is what happens when you're around family. So I wonder if the author wrote this book more for herself and her loved ones than a wider audience. Which I get, but the book could've been so much more.
I always loved diving into the story because it felt like entering a community. However, it was difficult to follow after a while, as there was no central plot to follow and characters were introduced so organically that I lost track, in spite of the author generously repeating character names and their context multiple times. Because of the scattered nature of the character descriptions and events, it was hard for me to form and recall a cohesive picture of each character, instead each character becoming a new one for me to re-discover as I read throughout the book. I think it would've read better if I knew more of the allusions to politics and art (at least by now I know who Proust is and read a few pages of his book) and if I could read it in Italian.
I appreciated the uncompromising (yet not unkind) portraits of the people in the book, which is refreshing compared to the neurotic or over-censored nature of our modern society that nullifies individuals for being offensive or flawed. I also appreciate the insights because they help me in my real life and provide objective clarity, but also a sort of empathy and love for the way human beings can be. My goodness! Not to be a naive American, but how poetic the people in Europe are! They are filled to the brim with literature and art, and converse about artists and writers as if they are their friends. And in the book, they do know some of the painters, actually!
Overall, a refreshing book that left me hungry for more.
(more plot + emotions + more analyses... which is rare because I often find contemporary novels too dense with overanalyzing... but this book was too slim!)
Some quotes:
'...one of his daughters was in Africa where she'd gotten married and the other, the determined one, was in Rome studying law' (125)
'The publisher- handsome, with a ruddy complexion, a long neck, and hair slightly graying at his temples like the wings of a dove...' (140)
'During fascism, poets found themselves expressing only an arid, shut-off, cryptic dream world. Now, once more, many words were in circulation and reality appeared to be at everyone's fingertips. So those who had been starved dedicated themselves to harvesting the words with delight. And the harvest was ubiquitous because everyone wanted to take part in it. The result was a confused mixing up of the languages of poetry and politics. Reality revealed itself to be complex and enigmatic, as indecipherable and obscure as the world of dreams. And it revealed itself to still be behind glass- the illusion that the glass had been broken, ephemeral. Dejected and disheartened, many soon retreated, sank back into a bitter starvation and profound silence. The postwar period, then, was very sad and full of dejection after the harvest of its early days. Many pulled away and isolated themselves again, either within their dream worlds or in whatever random job they'd taken in a hurry in order to earn a living, jobs that seemed insignificant and dreary after so much hullabaloo. In any case, everyone soon forgot that brief, illusory moment of shared existence. Certainly, for many years, no one worked at the job he'd planned on and trained for, everyone believing that they could and must do a thousand jobs all at once. *And much time passed before everyone took back up on his shoulders his profession and accepted the burden, the exhaustion, and the loneliness of the daily grind, which is the only way we have of participating in each other's lives, each of us lost and trapped in our own parallel solitude*' (152 - I would say Ginzburg's worldview and thesis. Evident in how the characters interact in this novel.)
'At the time, there were two ways to write: one was a simple listing of facts outlining a dreary, foul, base reality seen through a lens that peered out over a bleak and mortified landscape; the other was a mixing of facts with violence and a delirium of tears, sobs, and sighs. In neither case did one choose his own words because in one case the words were inextricable from the dreariness, and in the other the words got lost among the groans and sighs. But the common error was to still believe that everything could be transformed into poetry and words. This resulted in a loathing for poetry and for words, which was so powerful it extended to true poetry and true words. In the end everyone kept quiet, paralyzed by boredom and nausea. It was necessary for writers to go back and choose their words, scrutinize them to see if they were false or real, if they had actual origins in our experience, or if instead they only had the ephemeral origins of a shared illusion. It was necessary, if one was a writer, to go back and find your true calling that had been forgotten in the general intoxication. What had followed was like a hangover: nausea, lethargy, tedium. In one way or another, everyone felt deceived and betrayed, both those who lived in reality and those who possessed or thought they possessed a means of describing it. And so everyone went their own way again, alone and dissatisfied' (153- this and the passage above are from one of the few longer analyses in the novel ! )
'Balbo was a philosopher and Adriano was fascinated by philosophers. Balbo, for his part, was fascinated by industrialists, engineers, factories, and all questions related to factories, machines, and engines. He boasted about this fascination, this passion of his to us, to Pavese and me, saying that we were intellectuals but that he was not; he said we didn't understand a thing about factories or machines. It was a fascination and a passion that culminated in the contemplation, on his way home at night, of parked motorcycles' (154-155- another interesting motif! The interaction of the culture of philosophy and literature vs. the modern age.)
'In love, and in his writing, he threw himself into such a state of feverish calculation that he no longer knew how to laugh or to ever be entirely himself. And sometimes when I think about him now, his sense of irony is the thing I remember best about him and I cry because it no longer exists. There's no trace of it in his books and it's nowhere else to be found except in that flash of his wicked smile.' (180)
'Balbo left the publishing house and went to live in Rome. He floundered between crazy projects and erroneous endeavors for years. Finally he got a real job and learned to work like other people, but as he had done at the publishing house, he forgot to go to lunch and to leave the office at the end of the day when everyone else did. Without realizing it, he ended up working harder than any of his colleagues and was astonished by how exhausted he was in the evening' (182-183- great example of Ginzburg's matter-of-fact writing of characters which reveals more love and generosity than a sentimental description)
I was immediately drawn to it after reading the first few lines because there was such warmth emanating from it and I could tell the author knows about real human beings and real human life. So many other books I've picked up I put back down because it lacks that vital energy and warmth. Many contemporary books are often cerebral and detached, stuck in narcissism and only able to feign the semblance of drama. And even when I read classics, it takes a while to get into the ambling nature and long expository format. But this book, right away, you enter into the warmth of people's lives. I will say the mother and father were the most endearing characters in the book. Especially the mother and her joie de vivre. 'Si tira avanti' is apparently the answer Italians often give when asked how they are doing. 'One pulls oneself forward.' '...they seem to say with a steady, bemused irony' (208, afterward).
I think that's why I am a bit disappointed, or should I say, I am left wanting more, because in a sense you receive all the tangible details of this family's life, but then again, the lack of a clear narrative timeline and the economy of sentences and events means that you are left still with more impression than story. The nature of the book also is that it assumes the language of the family (family lexicon yes) so it does not undertake any burden to explain or provide continuity, which is what happens when you're around family. So I wonder if the author wrote this book more for herself and her loved ones than a wider audience. Which I get, but the book could've been so much more.
I always loved diving into the story because it felt like entering a community. However, it was difficult to follow after a while, as there was no central plot to follow and characters were introduced so organically that I lost track, in spite of the author generously repeating character names and their context multiple times. Because of the scattered nature of the character descriptions and events, it was hard for me to form and recall a cohesive picture of each character, instead each character becoming a new one for me to re-discover as I read throughout the book. I think it would've read better if I knew more of the allusions to politics and art (at least by now I know who Proust is and read a few pages of his book) and if I could read it in Italian.
I appreciated the uncompromising (yet not unkind) portraits of the people in the book, which is refreshing compared to the neurotic or over-censored nature of our modern society that nullifies individuals for being offensive or flawed. I also appreciate the insights because they help me in my real life and provide objective clarity, but also a sort of empathy and love for the way human beings can be. My goodness! Not to be a naive American, but how poetic the people in Europe are! They are filled to the brim with literature and art, and converse about artists and writers as if they are their friends. And in the book, they do know some of the painters, actually!
Overall, a refreshing book that left me hungry for more.
(more plot + emotions + more analyses... which is rare because I often find contemporary novels too dense with overanalyzing... but this book was too slim!)
Some quotes:
'...one of his daughters was in Africa where she'd gotten married and the other, the determined one, was in Rome studying law' (125)
'The publisher- handsome, with a ruddy complexion, a long neck, and hair slightly graying at his temples like the wings of a dove...' (140)
'During fascism, poets found themselves expressing only an arid, shut-off, cryptic dream world. Now, once more, many words were in circulation and reality appeared to be at everyone's fingertips. So those who had been starved dedicated themselves to harvesting the words with delight. And the harvest was ubiquitous because everyone wanted to take part in it. The result was a confused mixing up of the languages of poetry and politics. Reality revealed itself to be complex and enigmatic, as indecipherable and obscure as the world of dreams. And it revealed itself to still be behind glass- the illusion that the glass had been broken, ephemeral. Dejected and disheartened, many soon retreated, sank back into a bitter starvation and profound silence. The postwar period, then, was very sad and full of dejection after the harvest of its early days. Many pulled away and isolated themselves again, either within their dream worlds or in whatever random job they'd taken in a hurry in order to earn a living, jobs that seemed insignificant and dreary after so much hullabaloo. In any case, everyone soon forgot that brief, illusory moment of shared existence. Certainly, for many years, no one worked at the job he'd planned on and trained for, everyone believing that they could and must do a thousand jobs all at once. *And much time passed before everyone took back up on his shoulders his profession and accepted the burden, the exhaustion, and the loneliness of the daily grind, which is the only way we have of participating in each other's lives, each of us lost and trapped in our own parallel solitude*' (152 - I would say Ginzburg's worldview and thesis. Evident in how the characters interact in this novel.)
'At the time, there were two ways to write: one was a simple listing of facts outlining a dreary, foul, base reality seen through a lens that peered out over a bleak and mortified landscape; the other was a mixing of facts with violence and a delirium of tears, sobs, and sighs. In neither case did one choose his own words because in one case the words were inextricable from the dreariness, and in the other the words got lost among the groans and sighs. But the common error was to still believe that everything could be transformed into poetry and words. This resulted in a loathing for poetry and for words, which was so powerful it extended to true poetry and true words. In the end everyone kept quiet, paralyzed by boredom and nausea. It was necessary for writers to go back and choose their words, scrutinize them to see if they were false or real, if they had actual origins in our experience, or if instead they only had the ephemeral origins of a shared illusion. It was necessary, if one was a writer, to go back and find your true calling that had been forgotten in the general intoxication. What had followed was like a hangover: nausea, lethargy, tedium. In one way or another, everyone felt deceived and betrayed, both those who lived in reality and those who possessed or thought they possessed a means of describing it. And so everyone went their own way again, alone and dissatisfied' (153- this and the passage above are from one of the few longer analyses in the novel ! )
'Balbo was a philosopher and Adriano was fascinated by philosophers. Balbo, for his part, was fascinated by industrialists, engineers, factories, and all questions related to factories, machines, and engines. He boasted about this fascination, this passion of his to us, to Pavese and me, saying that we were intellectuals but that he was not; he said we didn't understand a thing about factories or machines. It was a fascination and a passion that culminated in the contemplation, on his way home at night, of parked motorcycles' (154-155- another interesting motif! The interaction of the culture of philosophy and literature vs. the modern age.)
'In love, and in his writing, he threw himself into such a state of feverish calculation that he no longer knew how to laugh or to ever be entirely himself. And sometimes when I think about him now, his sense of irony is the thing I remember best about him and I cry because it no longer exists. There's no trace of it in his books and it's nowhere else to be found except in that flash of his wicked smile.' (180)
'Balbo left the publishing house and went to live in Rome. He floundered between crazy projects and erroneous endeavors for years. Finally he got a real job and learned to work like other people, but as he had done at the publishing house, he forgot to go to lunch and to leave the office at the end of the day when everyone else did. Without realizing it, he ended up working harder than any of his colleagues and was astonished by how exhausted he was in the evening' (182-183- great example of Ginzburg's matter-of-fact writing of characters which reveals more love and generosity than a sentimental description)
Ahhh, this was so good! It is amazing how effortless some people's writing is, and Natalia Ginzburg's is a prominent example. The ability to capture a person's essence, or a feel, or what of their personality or quirks has stayed alive with another person, is a hard one to eke out and hard to come by.
Throughout it all she smuggles some pretty poignant messages - she was of Jewish heritage and lived during World War II, after all. But she does not go for overt dramatics, which I'm always thankful for.
Possibly the only drawback for me is the fact that most of the family men here are just obnoxious towards their wives (hardly to do with the book, it just really bothered me to continue reading this stuff at some point) and the inclusion of the word negroism in a derogative sense. This one I'm also struggling with, because in Venetian Italian apparently this has no racial connotations and so can be accepted as a family saying. On the other hand, why then wasn't it translated accordingly? Why did Natalia Ginzburg not change it?
Throughout it all she smuggles some pretty poignant messages - she was of Jewish heritage and lived during World War II, after all. But she does not go for overt dramatics, which I'm always thankful for.
Possibly the only drawback for me is the fact that most of the family men here are just obnoxious towards their wives (hardly to do with the book, it just really bothered me to continue reading this stuff at some point) and the inclusion of the word negroism in a derogative sense. This one I'm also struggling with, because in Venetian Italian apparently this has no racial connotations and so can be accepted as a family saying. On the other hand, why then wasn't it translated accordingly? Why did Natalia Ginzburg not change it?
adventurous
emotional
informative
reflective
fast-paced
emotional
funny
reflective
medium-paced
funny
informative
reflective
fast-paced
A little pointless, a little boring. Too many characters, and the memorable ones are too few.
The family dynamics are interesting to read about, and the story being set in Italy during the war was intriguing.
The family dynamics are interesting to read about, and the story being set in Italy during the war was intriguing.