Marco Buticchi
Le Pietre della Luna

THE REVIEW

My "golden" period as a reader was roughly between the ages of seven and fifteen: I would read anything that came my way, including geographical atlases from before the fall of the Berlin Wall, a massive encyclopedia dating back to the '60s, and books not exactly considered amongst the greatest masterpieces of literature like "Heidi" by Johanna Spyri or "Martina" by Astrid Lindgren (of the latter, I still have pleasant and relatively clear memories despite the years passed); around nine or ten years old, I even managed to finish an unabridged edition of The Betrothed that belonged to my sister (obviously skipping the notorious description in the first chapter). In short, it wasn't like there were illustrious readings circulating in my house, yet my voracity was truly remarkable, a manifestation of that meticulous and slightly obsessive side of my personality that I have extensively displayed even as a reviewer. Unfortunately, over the years, I've somewhat lost this good habit, regaining it only partially in recent times.

Always the same, maniacal and even narcissistic: Danny, this is not your secret diary, your readers don't care about these "evocative" glimpses of lived life, get to the point! Oh, right, "Le Pietre della Luna," a lovely novel that kept me pleasant company in these weeks straddling February and March 2015. An interesting story that of this writer: son of Albino Buticchi, with a distant past as a very wealthy oil tycoon and president of Milan squandered by decades of poor investments and a pathological gambling addiction. If the father had known how to manage his wealth more prudently, probably today Marco Buticchi would be a big shot in the Italian economy, the president of Confindustria or something similar; instead, starting from this book published in 1997, he managed to embark on a writing career rich with successes and acknowledgments. I have much admiration and, I confess, a pinch of envy. A historical novel? Adventure? A spy story? "Le Pietre della Luna" is all this and more; its most important feature is surely its very particular structure, divided into four macro-chapters (earth, water, fire, and air) which in turn are fragmented into narrative pieces varying in length from half a page to no more than five pages, engaging the listener in a compelling shuttle between the Roman Empire of the Flavian dynasty and the 1990s, two historically distant epochs yet both characterized by a dense web of machinations and power games.

On one hand, the adventures of Junius and Clelia, a legionary and a vestal who, despite themselves, find themselves entangled in an incredible and endless series of intrigues; on the other, the CIA, Mossad, NASA, the mysteries of Hitler, and a secret society with ambiguous and nebulous goals. The only, tenuous point of contact between the two main narrative threads is the Moonstones, enigmatic gold artifacts from the pre-Roman era belonging to Junius's family that, centuries later, are discovered in the remains of a U-Boat alongside personal items of the Fuhrer and a dossier of complex astronomical calculations. Plot twists follow rapidly and continuously until a bittersweet epilogue and a simple yet elegant narrative style make this book a smooth, engaging, and delightful read, even if the characters are nothing special: each has their clearly defined role, each is an instrument at the service of the plot, or rather, the plots, true protagonists of the novel.

The Roman events and the seventeenth-century interlude set in the Spanish colonies of the New World, among treasures, galleons, mutinies, and shipwrecks, hold more fascination for me than the spy intrigues of the "modern" plot, but I believe this depends largely on the tastes and personal sensitivity of the reader. In any case, I think "Le Pietre della Luna" is a beautiful novel, modern and carefully researched from a historical documentation standpoint, much like an Al Stewart song. Perfect for those seeking an entertaining read, but with quality, taste, and style.