Things like questions happen, wrote the Piedmontese, who took up the cultural formation of twenty-year-olds in the right years. I’ll tell you the first thing that happened later. The second is an interview given a month ago by the Piedmontese there.
“How does he judge?” cancer, think about writing about it or what”, here he replied: “Carrère is a great writer, a writer I admire greatly, I envy him, the spin of the idiom, his liveliness, but sometimes as I read I admit I’m embarrassed for his books” .
Baricco when I was twenty, who likes to have a vocabulary similar to Young Holden’s first translation, my reaction to this sentence would sum it up in one adjective: solid.
I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. I was talking to an editor about this one day and I said I was leaving. A lifetime to say it”todo lo que uno escribe es autobiographyI’m not saying ‘I’ is just ‘me’, the Ugly Duckling was autobiographical because Andersen had placed himself in Dickens’ house and after a while no one could stand him anymore and that was before psychoanalysts existed and were rejected. fairy tales where you are a misunderstood swan and not an unwelcome guest like a real mythomaniac.
In short, Borges says that the phrase “Once upon a time, there was a king with three children” was also autobiographical, a life in short, and let me Borges never read it, just because he quoted Guccini. The songs are in the form of a sentimental autobiography of a nation, but now one comes and says that one should be ashamed of “I” and I fear not all wrongdoings have them.
The publisher told me: yes, well, what about Francesco Piccolo? I answered: yes, oh well, what about me?
The third thing that was actually a question was: Announcement of the Nobel Prize in Literature to Annie Ernaux. “Life will be, as the Piedmontese promised us,” he replied. And the answer was: me.
There were more photos of Ernaux on Instagram and in the papers than with the dead. When the death of the day is Ennio Morricone. Ernaux often comes to Italy and meets writers when he comes to Italy, and so all writers, even those who are reviewing a book, even those who do it with impersonal influence, can finally talk about me, display the photo with me, I’m in the center of attention. Le Nobel, c’est moi.
They explained that the ‘I’ stems from social networks, actually no, it stems from the fragile and fragmented identity of the contemporary age, actually no, it stems from the end of parties, politics, community, rava and beans. . None – at least none of the ones I’ve read, whether they’re also those who write “me” or think they’re speaking for the magazines they’re writing for, and then review novels using lunar expressions such as “it seems to us”. – none of them said: because it’s easier.
As the protagonist of this performance, I tell you: a lifetime where I pay my bills by writing “I”. Easier. That doesn’t mean it’s not interesting, it’s complicated, it’s painfully tiring – you decide whether it’s for the author or the reader. But it’s easier. It’s not something we can argue with, really, I know better than you, I have flight hours at the controls of the “me” that you can’t save for a lifetime, believe me: the blue faucet comes out of cold water.
Write about my abortion or my failures, or the kids who threw me in the trash in high school, or the billionaire who sued me by making me spend Christmas with a foreclosed bank account, or the boy my father directed me to or kissed me before I left. cf. Back to the Future is easier to make a literary work than writing the Iliad, Gone with the Wind, or Crime and Punishment, whatever my life and megalomania.
Nadia Terranova once told me, while commenting on some of the cultural debates against the classic novel, something that struck me as much as Baricco’s embarrassment for Carrère: it was difficult to write.”
It’s not just a matter of changing names, it’s the only thing that differentiates those who no longer claim to be talking about themselves in practice. If I describe my cancer, my mystical crisis, my troubled childhood, my renaming of the hero, then this is not autobiography. If I do it in Modena too, then ‘she is clearly the heroine of a fictional novel’, a girl with a purely imaginary existence, no one should let her think that ‘me’ is ‘me’.
(In which case, I’m always someone else, and not just because we all read Rimbaud in high school, but also because we all took a literary stand, knowing that we all had a locked diary and the lock would be broken by family members. The hairpin and there was nothing in that secret, secret diary. Curious that his good work is the diaries that we are told about Pavese, Elias Canetti was the only one who had the illusion that he wrote the diaries himself.
And yes, I know you think Dostoevsky is Raskolnikov, Homer is Achilles, and Margaret Mitchell is Rhett (at least I hope: it wasn’t Rossella, dammit). But they went to the trouble of building a world around them, which is bad business.
The first thing that happened, the first question, was a few months ago. Claudio Giunta had prepared a survey about the Italians who wrote about those who made you laugh. I always think that when they involve me in this sort of thing, it’s because they came to an end and were afraid there wasn’t even a woman in sight and now they’re being lynched – but that wasn’t the point. When including me, Giunta had described me as “a grueling self-published biographer”, so I’ve wondered if that’s the phrase I’ve wanted on my tombstone ever since. And to me, despite being the only Italian without a photo of Ernaux, Nobel is the answer.
#pay #bills #talking #life #easier #writing #Iliad