Inside the labyrinth : the thematics of space in the fiction of Paola Capriolo

In Capriolo's fiction we see, above all, the centrality of place in the minds and lives of her protagonists, often linked with the idea of the labyrinth: labyrinth as endless tortuous passageways, enclosed place, puzzle, quest. The stories, built around the obsessions of their protagonists, transcend normal temporal and spatial boundaries, and reflect the labyrinth in various forms: as a physical maze; as mirror reflections, sometimes infinitely receding; as a remote, closed-off place; and as a metaphor suggesting confusion of the mind or of ideas. As well as a considerable degree of overlap within these areas, there is a pervading, underlying sense of ambiguity, and the idea of permanence and of eternal 'being'

Gilgamesh, i miti e 'l'eterno ritorno': intervista con Paola Capriolo, Milan, September 2003

Since my 1996 interview, recorded in the pages of this journal, Paola Capriolo has continued to be an exceptionally prolific author. Five more novels have appeared since then (bringing her total to ten), in addition to four translations of German texts, and several short stories, not forgetting her regular reviews for the Corriere della sera. My questions at that time focused on the principal themes and motifs recurring in her fiction, such as obsession, solitude, anxiety, music, mirrors, and the prison-like environments. I also addressed issues of responsibility and gender, the fact that her protagonists have no ‘past’ and sometimes no name, the role of the narrator, and the role of the reader. Deriving partly from her fondness for Mann and Rilke, the theme that dominated Capriolo’s writing up to 1996 was the connection – or more accurately, the distinction – between life and art. It found expression in the characters’ search for artistic perfection in music, sculpture, painting, philosophy, or literature, or in an ideal seen as something fixed and eternal. And so Eulalia worshipped the perfect mirror man (‘La grande Eulalia’), Mur and Stiler the female statue (‘La donna di pietra’, Un uomo di carattere), Walter the exotic stranger (Il nocchiero), and Vulpius and Scarpia the perfect gesture or act (La spettatrice, Vissi d’amore). Adele and the prisoner sought the perfect performance (‘Il gigante’, ‘Lettere a Luisa’), Cara and Vulpius repetition and fixity (Il doppio regno, La spettatrice), and Stiler control and order (Un uomo di carattere). To what extent do the post-1996 novels reflect the same concerns

Fortunes of the firefly: Sciascia's art of detection

Two of the principal features of Leonardo Sciascia’s works are the treatment of historical events and the adoption of the techniques of the detective novel. It is the latter characteristic which is the object of this study, for which I shall examine in particular the five novels, Il giorno della civetta, 1961 (The Day Of The Owl), A ciascuno il suo, 1966 (To Each His Own), Il contesto, 1971 (Equal Danger), Todo modo, 1974 (One Way Or Another), and Il cavaliere e la morte, 1988 (The Knight and Death), and the short story, Sciascia’s final ‘giallo’ (detective story), Una storia semplice, 1989 (A Straightforward Tale)

Trends in contemporary Italian narrative 1980-2007

The ‘new Italian narrative’ that began to be spoken about in the 1980s was not associated with a single writer or movement but with an eclectic and varied production. The eight essays that make up this volume set out to give a flavour of the breadth and range of recent trends and developments. The collection opens with two essays on crime fiction. In the first, Luca Somigli examines novels dealing with topical issues or recent history and which reveal a strong indigenous and regional tradition, while in the second, Nicoletta McGowan discusses the particular case of a noir by Claudia Salvatori. They are followed by essays on two of Italy’s best-known contemporary writers: Marina Spunta’s essay explores the representation of space, place and landscape in the work of Gianni Celati and photographer Luigi Ghirri, while Darrell O’Connell analyses the fiction of Vincenzo Consolo, and his struggle to find a means of representing an ethical stance within fiction