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I find myself, or perhaps I like to find myself, in the position of Massimo de Luca, protagonist and alter ego of the writer in a Naples of the late '40s, early '50s, early '60s, where the protagonist confuses the wave of memories in a continuous coming and going from past to present, describing everything from a future hidden to the reader, where all things have already happened, and I feel surrounded by human types entirely similar, beyond the epochs, spaces, and cultures in this country that loves differences to not see itself too similarto itself at every latitude, in every place. Discover the review
I find myself, or perhaps I like to find myself, in the position of Massimo de Luca, protagonist and alter ego of the writer in a Naples of the late '40s, early '50s, early '60s, where the protagonist confuses the wave of memories in a continuous coming and going from past to present, describing everything from a future hidden to the reader, where all things have already happened, and I feel surrounded by human types entirely similar, beyond the epochs, spaces, and cultures in this country that loves differences to not see itself too similarto itself at every latitude, in every place.
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