There is a story that kept me busy for a large part of Winter and early Spring this year. I started reading it at the same time as I began my bike trainings, which explains why it is one of the things that I associate most closely to my first race, the Strade Bianche in Siena. I arrived in town the afternoon before the race. After having collected my equipment at the historical fortress – the race number, the chip, all that stuff – I rode to my hotel, which was located outside the city centre. It was then that I got completely lost, riding in the dark in the middle of a three-track speedway under a violent thunderstorm. When I arrived to the hotel, at 7PM, I was soaked and tired. I spent the next four hours reading about the betrayal of Edmond Dantès. It was the best possible way to prepare for the race. In the following months I brought the book with me to Spain and to Switzerland and I finished reading it only days after the Gran Fondo of Fiesole. The book is Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo.
Looking back at them now, I realise that most of the books I have read this year are classics that have been translated into a language that is something else than English. Ernest Hemingway’s The sun also rises/Fiesta in Italian was a wise choice after the fiasco of For whom the bell tolls. Shakespeare’s King Lear/Rey Lear and Macbeth in Spanish were odd experiments, but good experiments nonetheless: I bought these two pieces when I was in the Canary Islands and read them in the local language. Jorge Luis Borges’ El Aleph in original Spanish was a luxury I allowed myself during a one-week long stay in Madrid. Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s White nights translated in Italian remains a majestic novel, but reading it in this moment of my life I found it remarkably unremarkable. On the other hand, Pushkin’s The captain’s daughter, also translated in Italian, made me happy – and intrigued.
Of these books, I would strongly recommend two: El Aleph, which is a collection of stories that are both beautifully written and philosophically meaningful; and The captain’s daughter, because it is one of those stories that makes you wonder.
The only book I have read in English, then, is George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London. I did not know what this story is about – so I can tell you now: it is about the experience of a man, probably Orwell himself, who lives as a homeless in Paris and, yes, London. After reading the book I started working with homeless people myself.
Poi, come ogni anno, ho letto una serie di fumetti realizzati da autori molto conosciuti, ironici, leggeri, eppure -come si evincerà dai titoli di cui sotto- dediti a temi piuttosto pesanti. Ecco la mia lista: Kobane Calling di Zerocalcare; La terra dei figli di Gipi; Lo scontro quotidiano di Larcenet; Il faro di Paco Roca. Sono meravigliosi e vi consiglierei di comprarli tutti.
Parlando di fumetti, ho scoperto un piccolo volume di Giovanni Marchese: Leggere Hugo Pratt. Credo di averlo preso la prima volta alla biblioteca delle Oblate e lo ho letto tutto in una volta, mentre pranzavo da solo. M’è piaciuto così tanto che poi lo ho comprato per scribacchiarci sopra.
Other than fictional stories, the ones listed below are the books I would recommend if you had some time to dedicate to history, law, philosophy, and economics respectively. David Gilmour’s The pursuit of Italy is a book I read upon arriving in Torino, the cradle of Italian risorgimento. It deserves to be read because it is a well-crafted history of Italian regions and how they came together. Letters to a young lawyer is a collection of commentaries by Alan Dershowitz, whom I discovered through my president’s course on reading the bible. The individual behind this book might be flawed; but the writer is genius. Stephen Holmes and Cass R. Sunstein’s The cost of rights is a simple and convincing book, but to be fair – it is very repetitive. Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner’s Freakonomics is a book that has been greatly embellished over time and still makes for an entertaining read.
Finally – two Winter reads for this wicked Winter period. Haruki Murakami’s South of the border, north of the sun/A sud del confine, a ovest del sole and Jón Kalman Stefánsson’s Luce d’estate, ed è subito notte/Summer Light and Then Comes the Night. I wanted to read something warm in the cold, and these books were for me.