Alessandro Baricco
Mr Gwyn

Everyone who can't stand Baricco and his self-indulgent prose. Or those who can't stomach the plots of his novels. Or perhaps can't stand HIM, his exaggerated literary successes, his intolerable overexposure, his "likeability" and slyness. All these people must know that Alessandro Baricco's latest book, in my opinion, has a serious and unforgivable "flaw": it's a good book.

What is truly remarkable is how the author sketches the characters and describes the setting of the absurd "new" job Jasper Gwyn, the protagonist, dedicates himself to: a novelist who, all of a sudden, stops writing stories and becomes a "painter of souls," that is, a writer of portraits. Just so, portraits not painted but written... Portraits of characters who serve as his models, naked in the large room designated as a -shall we say- literary workshop. Naked not just in the literal sense, meaning unclothed, but also and most importantly devoid of any filter between themselves and Mister Gwyn. Who, on the other hand, without canvas nor colors nor brushes, but armed only with a small notebook, looks, thinks, writes, notes, elaborates. And the distance, seemingly immense, between the models (people unknown to Gwyn until that day) and the "crazy" man in front of them diminishes, until it disappears entirely at the moment when he -after more than a month of work ("observation") on each model and for a generous compensation- hands them the portrait.

The meticulous precision with which the protagonist sets up the storeroom, the description of the light created by the 18 light bulbs that go out one by one, the different reactions of the various models as the last bulb dies, are genuine narrative jewels.

And if it's complicated (nor, perhaps, would Baricco want it) to identify with Gwyn, it is almost inevitable to follow the moves and flow of thoughts of his adorable assistant Rebecca, and ultimately, "root" for her, who -at two-thirds through the novel- becomes the true protagonist of the book, in the frantic search for the now absent Gwyn and in her attempt to unravel his mystery. There's something unresolved in the ending: but it's the only possible ending.

Here's my personal feeling: I started reading the first pages with skepticism. Then I became curious, and eventually passionate. The novel can be read in one breath, and this time Baricco does not annoy and does not flounder in search of dramatic phrases disguised as absolute truths.

It's often said about the Turin writer: he is either loved or hated. But perhaps there is another way: review "Mr Gwyn" and not Baricco. In other words, forget about him and flip through each page as if it were the creation of an unknown author. Of whom I would have said: Well now...! Promising this debut writer... will sell more than a few copies... I'm sure of it...