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The faded saints swayed from the frescoes in elusive benevolence. Laudomia Bonnani. The Reprisal. 

All that struggle, all that time spent camouflaging myself when I could be doing something else. The colors that suited me, the ones that didn’t, the styles that made me look thinner, those that made me fatter, the cut that flattered me, the one that didn’t. A lengthy, costly preparation. Reducing myself to a table […]

Priests are curious, as everyone knows, a priest never just takes a look and moves on. Everyone’s business is his business. Everybody in the end had already understood that. Laudomia Bonnani. The Reprisal. 

Each of us narrates our life as it suits us. Elena Ferrante, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay.

They were round, meek eyes, with straight eyelashes, the eyes of a pet. Laudomia Bonnani. The Reprisal. 

But if all living people are guilty, can’t we deduce from this that no one is? Elie Wiesel, The Judges.

What I really fear is time. That’s the devil: whipping us on when we’d rather loll, so the present sprints by, impossible to grasp, and all is suddenly past, a past that won’t hold still, that slides into these inauthentic tales. Tom Rachman. The Imperfectionists. 

Of course, in a novel, people’s hearts break, and they die, and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us. There is a most busy and important round of eating, drinking, dressing, […]

Some nights I dream of an entirely anonymous library in which books have no title and boast no author, forming a continuous narrative stream in which all genres, all styles, all stories converge, and all protagonists and all locations are unidentified, a stream into which I can dip at any point of its course. Alberto […]