odradek

Losto, it seems we've understood each other pretty well. Also because before writing to you, I read your words carefully; I understood the meaning. And I didn’t mean the reading list, like some sort of investigation into the literary level of the user Lostinspace before addressing him again with the Salutation. Also, my own readings don’t shine for excellence or careful selection either. If all this soft emotionality has inspired you, that’s fine; it may be intrinsic qualities of the book that have escaped me: but if there’s softness, then the rest, I agree, gets smoothed out. And if it doesn’t get smoothed out, that’s its business. Rather, I am the one who has only written about one book here, and it was a book by Paolo Nori (a book far from excellence, indeed), willing to defend it to the end not despite but precisely because of the possible, probable, utterly excusable exceptions regarding its "literary" value. A piece I posted out of affection for the writer, to the point of then bothering him in person. I don’t know, I think we’ve understood each other, and I’m happy to sprinkle a bit of love your way. The road is a bit "heavy," as the young people say, so they tell me. There are places way worse than San Mauro. CiaU

These The Cure seem like a band that appeals to young people; I see that their anguish and claustrophobia, as well as "the alienating landscape," attract the youth... and they also really like them, those mothers who remember the wonderful years of their depraved youth while listening to them, now faded into decrepit adulthood. They remind me of things too, but it’s not appropriate to say them in public; some I believe could even be considered a crime, though I’m not sure if they are actually statute-barred, since here we only statute-bar crime for the wealthy... Anyway, this album isn’t bad at all; I understand why it still pleases the youth a lot.

Indeed, can you see? It's a relapse not due to some book I've read recently (I’m just waiting for an infected person who has chronicled it to finally let me borrow all the others since I don't intend to waste my entire wealth on Nori, while she, as a chronic case, cannot abstain, so I might as well take advantage of it; it seems fair to me, as a carrier) but due to direct contact. That evening I was with that guy who taught at Giordano at the Holden school (the one by Baricco, just to be clear). In truth, I was mostly at the table with Nori, meaning I went to annoy Nori, not the guy from Holden, whose name I don't even remember (he was nice, by the way, not the name). And de visu, in person, but not while giving public speeches, rather while eating the charcuterie board; he doesn’t have noritis, he speaks more or less like us, with a certain attention to words, a bit slowly, but still normally. A nice person in the end, glad I bought some of his books, at least I didn't give money to an asshole.

Sold is a big word... but the astonishing thing is that it often happens, meaning someone actually buys these things, even at those prices. The world is a wonderful place.

Then, at Lostinspace, I see he even gives it a 5, I would ask why, because to me Lostinspace seems like a nice and intelligent guy, often bright and witty; I wonder why, I said, he is so taken with this little book. It almost makes me want to ask him what books he usually reads. Maybe it's regional pride, since Giordano is from Turin like you and me, but one might hesitate to ask that for fear of seeming offensive, although that’s not the intention. It's truly astonishing that someone would give a 5 to a book; for instance, I reserve that for "The Road" by McCarthy, and I rate his other works a 4.5 because even great authors have peaks and lesser works... In short, how do you give the highest score? I understand it could appeal to some; a book like that can certainly brighten certain afternoons; we don’t have to expect too much from a book, that's true, but don't all the weaknesses jump out at you? Some comments have indeed encapsulated them well; it's not for any other reason that I’m led to ask, what do you usually read that makes you give this little book the highest marks? And it's not meant to be provocative, believe me; I genuinely can’t wrap my head around it...

Coincidence, a few evenings ago I was at the table with a guy who was Giordano's "teacher" at the Holden school. He told me that the title of the book was supposed to be something like "Out of and Into the Water," and I thought Giordano was lucky, that a big part of his fortune (which we can also consider in a monetary sense, since the word fortune here refers to the fact that he became quite rich from this book) was, I said, the book's fortune, at least initially undoubtedly tied to the title, which is perfect and very captivating. Then I also read the book, which I found used just before catching the train, once when I had to go to Milan, so I read almost the entire thing between Turin and Milan, but I forgot it at the Pakistani consulate or the Iranian one—who knows—and I didn’t feel like going back there, to those consulates where I didn’t have a great experience (the Pakistani one was really a bad experience, it felt like dealing with representatives of the Calabrian 'ndrangheta, but in an even less comprehensible language, to boot). But I did want to finish it, this book I had read almost completely. So when I got back to the office, I borrowed a copy from the administrative secretary the next day, knowing she surely had one. I was quite curious to see where the author would take the little narrative contraption he had skillfully set up. The administrative secretary indeed had a copy of the book, and so I was able to finish reading it and find out where and how the author had led the little contraption, etc. And I seem to remember thinking... well, it could have been worse. But not in the sense that the ending could have been worse; I don’t actually remember the ending. I mean, it could have concluded with an even more banal solution, which would have cast a depressing shadow over all the previous pages, while that particular ending, a non-ending, seems to me to salvage them a bit, those previous pages—sort of a clever move, but I didn’t think it was that serious, if I felt like thinking ... well, in the end, etc. If I wanted to delve into the substance, but even just stand beside it, regarding the substance, which I don't really seem to want to engage with, wanting to stand beside the substance, then I could venture to say that the whole book is a successful clever ploy, with its precise mechanisms, careful writing, the choice of suitable codes and rhythms, little characters and situations perfectly suited for a non-reading audience, slightly weak readers in experience who read few books (those are the readers who determine the commercial success of books, around here, in most cases) or even those specialized in mediocre or useless books, who might read many of them (otherwise, the proliferation of such books wouldn’t be explained, books that continue to be printed and many also sold). And you know how it is, especially for those types of readers, there seems to be something more than a stereotyped little story from a Piedmontese TV series, because Giordano spices it up, sets it up, brings in elements that make you think of complexity and suffering, makes you feel like an intelligent reader; you’re not reading Moccia here; there are issues... The impression I have is that Giordano is a good-looking guy, I’m told he’s serious, even somber, very determined, one of those meticulous types who do things right, who prepare and dedicate themselves to their work, understood in the noblest sense, of doing the thing you want to do, with the care it deserves. And for the little I've seen of him in his public appearances, he seems all genuine, judging by his face, which is often what we mortals have to go by. Well, if he decides to become a writer, my impression is that he can succeed, despite this book.

How touching... If Randazzo isn’t you, or if you’re not one of his close friends, it makes one think it’s a joke. I found a magnification of the painting in question, which confirmed my very first impression when observing the little icon of the review: those Christmas cards painted by mutilated painters, you know, the ones you buy to support some charity... (now that I think about it, it’s been a while since I’ve seen any). It seems, however, that Randazzo does have hands. In any case, thank you for reminding me about the cards.

Seen three times, spaced out over the years: an escalation of spectacular skill, a simple joy that's hard to describe. Funny that you have to go to London to enjoy Brachetti. Have a great holiday, Monsignor Sphascia!

I must correct you, Bartle. Supersoul didn't express any enthusiasm about "The Road," but rather about the author (though he suggested a book by Morselli for which I thanked him then and I thank him again now), while I believe it was me, Giubbo, and Lewis who posted comments as devotees. I then read your comment and I’m sincerely glad that you appreciated it. - Regarding this book, I definitely recommend reading it and I would add, since I’m re-reading it these days, "A Slow Apprenticeship," a collection of Pynchon's early stories (it was already released over ten years ago under the title "Entropy," which is also the title of one of the stories contained, a story that Pynchon later criticized but which revealed to me a great writer) with a long introduction by the author, and after "The Enchantment," it might be interesting to discover Pynchon's "beginnings" and his own evaluations of his work in his early days. - To me, the review seems good, although I understand that given the specific weight of the writer, one would have expected at least some reference to his overall work. P.S. I imagine it’s a typo, but what "the epoch chewed on..." was peyote and not pejota:))

Strange that there wasn't already a page for this album, which has appeared multiple times in comments across various reviews. At the time, I really liked it; I've since revisited it over the years for a few spins on the turntable, appreciating it a little less each time. I'm not sure what to think of it now; I have the feeling that if I listened to it for the first time today, it wouldn't say much to me... As if it's irreparably tied to the "flavor" of those years. Well, all that's left to do is to try: I'll listen to it again tonight. Denghiu