Articles by: Traci Andrighetti

  


Nick Persico (b. 1964, Bari) is an attorney, journalist and author. At the urging of writer Lara Cardella, Persico published his first short story, “Stellina (Starlet),” in 2010. His latest work is an intriguing "smart-thriller" about stalking entitled Spaghetti paradiso (Spaghetti Paradise) (Aliante, 2011; Baldini & Castoldi, 2013).


This month I had the pleasure of interviewing Persico about some of the interesting linguistic and artistic aspects of Spaghetti paradiso and his future plans for his charming protagonist, Alessandro Flachi.


What was the inspiration for Spaghetti paradiso? Was it motivated by your work as an attorney with victims of domestic abuse, or was it something else?


I’ve run into cases like this since I started in the profession. Many years ago, there was much less awareness of this phenomenon with respect to today. Over the years I began to supply myself with instruments of knowledge, or rather with texts from specialized authors. In the book, in fact, I cite those who contributed most usefully to my perception of the mechanisms of the phenomenon, and in the latter pages I reference those who, in my opinion, can provide an effective study to those who wish to explore the topic. Through the years, therefore, I’ve become increasingly familiar with the topic of psychological violence, which represents the real ‘invisible enemy’ to defeat and which constitutes a substratum in the majority of the stalking cases, trying to take a focused approach to the practical utility of knowledge. In some ways, I took the same path as the protagonist of the novel, the practicing attorney Alessandro Flachi. One day, then, I tried to recount this phenomenon from the perspective of one who is, unconsciously, ignorant of the subject. The formula, from what is seems, has been effective. At the same time, a narrative vein revealed itself that not even I knew I possessed, and the rest happened on its own.


On the subject of domestic violence, Alessandro says he prefers the term “manipolazione (manipulation)” to stalking. Why this distinction?


When people speak of stalking, they tend to imagine only the most visible part of this hateful phenomenon: persistent texts, for example, or following or obsessive telephone calls. I think this distances us from the real problem, which is actually much more obscure and devious. Using the term ‘manipulation’ helps the interlocutor to position himself or herself in a more critical manner and thereby consider the things that he or she doesn’t know and therefore needs to better observe. It’s not easy, for example, to understand why the victims complain about a hellish life and then, maybe, they’re reluctant to press charges. So, if people don’t take into consideration that the victim is in an altered psychological state, then they’ll also tend to think that things aren’t like the victim says, in as much as a normal person would react with determination. The reason for the psychological fragility of the victim lies precisely in an intentional destruction of his or her equilibrium, consciously induced through manipulation. I think that calling it by its real name better conveys the idea of what the problem is that we have before us.


There is a lot of interesting regional language in Spaghetti paradiso, some of which you define in the text: "quattrofacce (literally, fourfaces, as in a two-faced person)," "vilacchione (coward)," "sparamimpetto (a person who acts as a sacrificial lamb)," and "fafueco (troublemaker)." What does the language of your native Bari mean to you?


I use it often when I’m with friends and in informal contexts because it has a very effective descriptive power, as I state in the book for some of the terms. Dialect in general is a true and proper language, in some passages, and barese is no exception. Some words or a certain phraseology are a precious patrimony that should be valued and, in some cases, reclaimed. And besides, for every one of us, certain expressions are part not only of our language but also of our thought. Some dialectal words have an energy all their own, much more powerful than the corresponding term in the language. And also the sound, the pronunciation and sometimes a typical gesture that accompanies certain phrases are a true value added to the communication. I adore all of this.


Speaking of regional terms, a character in the book calls Alessandro “un frecamidolce.” What does this mean?


The ‘frecamidolce’ is generally a persuasive person who is capable of leading you wherever he or she wants without being impetuous, or intrusive. In the end, you’re able to perceive that he or she has done it, but you don’t mind because at bottom it was done gracefully, and very often it induces you to reflect on something that was in your best interest. I think the closest equivalent to this concept is ‘diplomatic.’ The ‘frecamidolce,’ however, has sweetness of style, and what’s more, he or she leaves a smile on your face even when you understand what he or she was up to. In other words, a truly beautiful aspect of human relationships enclosed in a single word: the power of dialect.


There is an entertaining scene in the chapter entitled “Customer Care” that takes place between Alessandro and a reluctant barista. You describe the exchange as one of “customer sfatigation.” Can you explain the origin of the term “sfatigation” and why you chose English?


It’s the opposite of the expression ‘customer satisfaction,’ which is much more common. But, as often happens, apathy, indolence and sometimes bad manners push people who work with the public to be impolite. ‘Sfaticato (slacker)’ is a slang term that describes a person who is disinclined to ameliorative effort, to obligation. So, in antithesis to the processes of ‘customer satisfaction,’ which aim for the satisfaction of the client, I outlined an adverse behavioral scheme, the scope of which is to irritate the person one finds on the other side of the desk. ‘Customer sfatigation’ renders the idea, in my opinion, of ‘apathy’ toward the client, rather than ‘attention.’ Everyone has entered a store at some time or other and felt like they were almost bothering the employee. If we feel that sensation, there’s no doubt: it’s a matter of ‘customer sfatigation.’


In the same chapter, you state that Bari has undergone “una progressiva milanizzazione (a progressive Milanization)” with respect to daily life. Can you elaborate?


Milan is, in the collective imagination, the symbol of efficiency and of the acceleration of time. Bari used to have the ‘controra (siesta),’ which was absolutely respected like a mantra. Calling someone at around two o’clock in July, for example, in the 70s was a very rare thing. Today everything has changed, obviously, and ‘milanizzare (Milanize)’ conveys the idea of generalized efficiency. Sincerely, however, I have a great nostalgia for the ‘controra.’ It was a re-appropriation of civic spaces on the side of silence, of quiet. A pause for reflection.


In the book, Alessandro’s private and rather unusual recipe for a dish called “Spaghetti Paradiso” is accidentally shared with his friends and colleagues. Do you ever make this recipe?


Well, exactly as it’s described, no. But in some ways, like all of us, I’ve lived it in similar forms. All the times I’ve repaired a relationship after an argument, maybe, or a big explanation. I wanted to incarnate the possibility of re-establishing harmony with someone important to you, and who, because of the daily routine, had distanced themselves a bit because of certain mechanisms that often create useless walls. We need to force ourselves, every once in a while, to note them and break them down again. The important relationships have always been our true patrimony, and they need to be maintained: even with a healthy and overwhelming 'spaghettata', if it's warranted…


Alessandro is a terrific character and a great guy. Can your fans hope for any more Alessandro adventures?


There will be another two books, by contract, with Alessandro Flachi as protagonist. The exceptionality, in him, consists in his profound normality and his joy for life. A simple person, in other words, common like many good people who comprise the majority of us human beings. His being awkward, bungling and distracted, but at the same time willing and motivated by good intentions has conquered everyone to some extent. Even the publisher. And the smart-thriller will continue, at least two more times.


Note: If you’d like to know more about Nicky Persico and his work, please see my post on Spaghetti paradiso. This is a book you can’t afford to miss!


Photo: The above picture of Nicky Persico was taken by the great Jeffery Deaver.

Rosa Mogliasso (b. 1960, Susa) is a prize-winning author of Italian regional mystery; specifically, Turinese noir. She is perhaps best known for her Inspector Barbara Gillo series, a gritty and often ironic portrait of contemporary Turin and the surrounding area. Notably, Mogliasso also writes children’s literature, and she has been actively involved in productions of her work for the Italian stage.


This month I had the pleasure of interviewing Rosa about the Inspector Barbara Gillo series, her fascinating use of language, and her plans for the future.


Like you, your protagonist, Inspector Barbara Gillo, lives in Turin. What do you hope to convey to your readers about the city and your native region of Piedmont?


By writing mysteries I tell criminal stories and I demonstrate, against my will, how evil can be anywhere, even here. But with the evil, the good and the tenderness, I hope.


You incorporate a number of languages, dialects and varieties of language into your work. Is this a conscious choice on your part?


Conscious choice and challenge. I always try to stratify diverse lexical levels: the how and the low, the educated and the everyday, the correct choice and the jargon, because they coexist in daily life. The reality—for now and for better—isn’t undifferentiated but is the synchronic presence of diverse elements. This is why it’s necessary to seek out the plurality of languages.


One of the most interesting linguistic features of L'amore si nutre di amore (Love Feeds Off Love) (Salani, 2011), the second novel in the Inspector Gillo series, is the online language of “Giovanna85.” Are you familiar with the language of social media? Or was this something you had to research?


The lexicon of social networks is easy. All you have to do is speed it up and remove the punctuation and vowels; plus, in Italy, use “k” instead of “ch.” These are practices that I abhor, but as I’ve already stated, if you want to be realistic you can’t exempt yourself from taking note of it and playing along.


From time to time, you insert a word or phrase in the Piedmontese dialect into the text. Do you incorporate the dialect merely for stylistic purposes, or does it serve a deeper purpose?


I adore the dialects, all of them. Speaking in dialect is like putting on your pajamas when you get home. Dialect is also a factor in the attempt to exploit the potentialities of sound and the evocation of words. Certain colorings, certain combinations work only with dialect, in my case Piedmontese, the language that I acquired together with the maternal milk.


Romanesco also makes a brief appearance in L’amore si nutre di amore. As a native of Piedmont, how would you describe this dialect?


Carnal, decisive, disenchanted.


The fourth and final novel in the Inspector Gillo series, Chi bacia e chi viene baciato, comes out next month. Can you give us a teaser?


This time Barbara doesn’t have time to despair over the loss of her irreplaceable right arm, Peruzzi, and the near definitive break with her boyfriend, the Palermitan Inspector Zuccalà. Destiny has dealt her the case of a French journalist who was killed because she was in possession of dangerous information tied to the trafficking of the Russian Mafia in Italy.


What’s next for you?


I’m writing the fifth episode of the adventures of Barbara Gillo while, together with Davide Livermore, a friend and director of lyric opera, I’m writing a book about Mozart. And I’d really like to have my work translated for an American audience


Note: Many thanks to Rosa Mogliasso for the fascinating interview! If you’d like to know more about Rosa and her writing, be sure to read my post on L’amore si nutre di amore.

 
In October of 2013, biologist and author Santo Piazzese (b. 1948, Palermo) released his fourth novel,   Blues di mezz'autunno    (Mid-Autumn Blues)   (Sellerio). Although it’s not exactly autumn, any season is a great time to talk about one of Piazzese’s books. Why? For starters, his three noir novels featuring the biologist Lorenzo La Marca, which were republished in 2009 as the  Trilogia di Palermo   (Palermo Trilogy),   represent some of the finest writing contemporary Italy has to offer. And for another thing, fans waited eleven long years to get their hands on this book.


When pressed by readers and critics alike to produce a fourth noir featuring La Marca, Piazzese once remarked that he couldn’t in all good conscience continue to have La Marca stumble upon dead bodies in Palermo when he himself had lived there all his life and had never even discovered one. So, in  Blues di mezz’autunno there is no dead body. Instead, Piazzese shifts from his characteristic “noir mediterraneo   (Mediterranean noir)” to pure Mediterranean narrative. His point of departure is “L’estate di San Martino,” a short story that he wrote for a French publisher and that the late Elvira Sellerio believed was worthy of elaboration.


SUMMARY

In the opening pages of  Blues di mezz’autunno, La Marca runs into an old college acquaintance at a professional workshop in Erice, Sicily. This chance encounter prompts La Marca to flash back to his adventures conducting research for his thesis on the Sicilian coast as a second-year biology student. But his memories are bittersweet. While he fondly reminisces about many of the people he met on the Santa Ninfa fishing boat and on the island “La Spada dei Turchi (The Sword of the Turks),” he recalls with “un blues da mezz’autunno   (a mid-autumn blues)” an incident that occurred among the islanders nicknamed “gli stravaganti  (the eccentrics)” at the Bar Edelveiss—one that was fundamental to his coming of age.


LANGUAGE

Although the genre of Piazzese’s work has changed, his language is still very much the same. Readers will find the author’s trademark cultured prose tinged with (often entertaining) irony. And linguists like myself will have the embarrassment of choice in terms of language and varieties of language to consider. In typical Piazzese style, the text contains a rich mixture of neostandard Italian marked by regional and dialect influences as well as foreign language.


ANGLICISM
push-up

"E deve pure portare le mutande push-up," disse Alessandra.

("And he probably also wears push-up underwear," Alessandra said.)


APPROXIMATION
euroinglisc   (Eng.  Euro-English; Ital.  euro-inglese)

Parlavano l'euroinglisc standard dei loro coetanei di tutta l'Europa.

(They spoke the standard Euro-English of their contemporaries in all of Europe.)


DIALECT
picchì cu nasci tunnu ’un po mòriri quatratu  (Palermo)
pirchì cu nasci tunnu ’un poti murìri quadratu  (Messina and Porto Zanca)

perché chi nasce tondo non può morire quadrato (Italian)

because he who is born round can't die square (English)


JARGON
mammasantissima   (Eng. literally,  extremely holy mamma, but typically used to refer to the  boss of bosses  of the Sicilian Mafia or Neapolitan Camorra)

Un caso di wishful thinking, lo definirebbero oggi certi infallibili mammasantissima bocconiani.

(A case of wishful thinking, as certain infallible Bocconian bosses of bosses would define it today.)


HYPHENATION
sono-Simonetta-buonasera  (Eng.  I'm-Simonetta-good-evening)

Ero stato testimone auditivo di una sua epica performans, una volta, all'inizio della sua crociata contro il Nord, quando gli era capitato di prendere la chiamata di un tale "sono-Simonetta-buonasera", che esercitava con entusiasmo la tentata vendita telefonica di prodotti enogastronomici padani.

(I had been an auditory witness to one of his epic performances, once, at the beginning of his crusade against the North when he had happened to take the call of a certain "I'm-Simonetta-good-evening," who enthusiastically exercised the attempted telephone sale of gourmet products from the Po Valley.)


NEOLOGISM
piccì  (the word formed from the pronunciation of the initials  PC, the  Partito Comunista)

"A voi intellettuali idealisti i piccì vi considera solo degli utili idioti," si era avventurato a dire, Angelini, a un certo punto.

("You idealist intellectuals, the PC considers you only useful idiots," Angelini had ventured to say at a certain point.)


SUFFIXATION
sessantottista   (Eng. sixty-eightist; refers to a member of the social and political movement in Italy in 1968)

Ce l'aveva sopra tutto con me, in quanto sessantottista, diceva lui.

(He was mad above all at me, since I was a sixty-eightist, he said.)


REGIONALISM
bbabbiare  (Sic.  bbabbiari; Ital.  scherzare; Eng.  to joke)

Beato te che hai sempre la voglia di bbabbiare.

(Lucky you because you always feel like joking.)


WORDPLAY (in English)
betting/petting

Aveva fatto di tutto per convincermi a giocare in società con lui, ma io gli avevo detto che al betting avevo sempre preferito il petting.

(He tried everything to convince me to gamble with him, but I told him that I had always preferred petting to betting.)


CONCLUDING REMARKS

Although some readers will undoubtedly lament the lack of a body, others, like me, will be enthralled by Piazzese’s masterful story-telling no matter what genre he chooses to write. And as a resident of Austin, Texas, I can’t tell you what a thrill it was to see my hometown get a mention in  Blues di mezz’autunno, even if it was in reference to a biophysicist with a fixation for copper atoms instead of a linguist with a passion for Italian language and literature.


IN TRANSLATION

Although Piazzese’s work has been translated into French and German, there are no English translations to date. Honestly, if English-language publishers don’t rectify this grave omission soon, I may have to find a way to quit my day job and translate them myself.


NOTE

Be sure to read  my post   on the first novel in the Lorenza La Marca series,  I delitti di via Medina-Sidonia   (The Crimes of Via Medina-Sidonia) as well as  my interview  with Santo Piazzese. Believe me when I say that you don’t want to miss the picture he gave me for the post!

 
Anna Mittone (b. 1971, Torino) is an accomplished television screenwriter and author of contemporary women's fiction. She  has written for some of Italy’s most beloved TV shows, including “Un medico in famiglia,” “Elisa di Rivombrosa” and “Un posto al sole,” and her debut novel,  Quasi quasi m'innamoro  (I Might Just Fall In Love) (Piemme, 2012), has drawn comparisons to the work of chick lit great Helen Fielding. In fact, the novel’s non-serenely named protagonist, Consolata Bogetto, has been called “the Bridget Jones of Torino.”


Like Bridget, Consolata is single, thirty-something, less than stimulated by her job and supported in her crises by a cast of misfit friends. But in contrast with her British counterpart, Consolata has an Italian-style dysfunctional family, and distinctly so. And when her heart is broken—by her ex-live-in companion who left her the year before after announcing that he’d gotten another woman pregnant—our fictitious heroine doesn’t go after a barrister like Mark Darcy. Oh no. She sets her sights on real-life singer, musician and X Factor judge Marco Castoldi, who goes by the stage name Morgan. Talk about a plot twist.


The language of Quasi quasi m’innamoro is as engaging and entertaining as the plot. The slang, Anglicisms, word play and cultural references, just to name a few, add personality and depth to the novel, as does the stream-of-consciousness narrative style. The novel also contains Piedmontese dialect and regionalisms, which localize the text and provide fascinating splashes of Turinese color.


REGIONAL ITALIAN of PIEDMONT
balengo (Ital. scemo; Eng. fool)

Mia sorella in stile tardo velina è accanto al balengo in pantalone di velluto viola e maglioncino a V pervinca ton sur ton e in tono con la moglie.

(My sister in late TV showgirl–style is next to the fool in violet velour pants and a periwinkle V-neck sweater ton sur ton and in tone with his wife.)


PIEDMONTESE DIALECT
It ses fola (Ital. Tu sei matta; Eng. You are crazy [to a female])

“It ses fola?” mi chiede mio padre.

(“Are you crazy?” my father asks me.)


SLANG
sbolognarla (Eng. to unload her; derived from the name of the city of Bologna, which was once known for producing cheap items)

…“Non devi rovinare la tua vita per me” un estremo tentativo di sbolognarla con onore, mascherando di cavalleria un attacco di panico.

(…“You don’t have to ruin your life for me” an extreme attempt to unload her with honor, masking with chivalry an attack of panic.)


vampirizza (Eng. literally, vampirizes, as in to suck the life blood out of)

…mia madre vampirizza ogni pallido tentativo di comunicazione esultando che Non è una notizia meravigliosa io me lo sentiva che c’era qualcosa nell’aria già dalla cena di Natale…

(…my mother sucks the life blood out of every weak attempt at communication by exclaiming It isn’t wonderful news I already knew that something was going on ever since Christmas dinner…)


HYPHENATION
felicità-fedeltà-organizzazione-tenuta (Eng. happiness-fidelity-organization-capacity)

Dopo solo tre mesi di Situazione sentimentale: fidanzato ufficialmente già si comporta come un maturo padre di famiglia, elargisce a chiunque, clienti compresi, massime di navigata saggezza su felicità-fedeltà-organizzazione-tenuta di una coppia…

(After only three months of Sentimental Situation: officially engaged is already behaving like a mature family man, bestowing freely upon anyone, clients included, principles of experienced wisdom about happiness-fidelity-organization-capacity of a couple…)


WORD PLAY
gayezza (Eng. gayness or gayity; a play on the Italian giaezza [Eng. gaiety])

Perché nonostante la sua per me lampante gayezza, Maurizio allude. Infarcisce di sottotesti. Lascia intendere che la notte è piccola per noi…

(Because notwithstanding his, for me, shining gayness, Maurizio alludes. He stuffs with subtexts. He makes it understood that the night is young for us…)


ANGLICISMS
happy end (Ital. lieto fine; Eng. happy ending)

E soprattutto mi fermo prudenzialmente sulla sottile linea rossa dell’happy end.

(And above all I stop prudentially on the subtle red line of the happy ending.)


APPROXIMATION
Bolscioi (Eng. Bolshoi)

Fare la commessa in un ipermercato dell’editoria è sempre stato il mio sogno. Appena un gradino sotto quello di cantare alla Scala, ballare al Bolscioi e declamare Racine alla Comédie Française.

(Being a clerk at a bookstore hypermarket has always been my dream. Just a step below that of singing at La Scala, dancing at the Bolshoi and reciting Racine at the Comédie-Française.)


ONOMATOPOEIA
etciù (Eng. ah-choo, the sound of a sneeze)

Uno per tutti tutti per uno, ma io mi sono quasi presa una polmonite per lasciare che tu e il balengo andaste a fondo nel vostro rapporto, nemmeno so cosa vi siete detti, né lo voglio sapere puoi restare qui tutto il tempo che vuoi ma io con mamma non ci parlo e siccome mamma sa che sei qui e non è stupida tra un’ora te la trovi al portone e io non voglio esserci. Etciù.

(One for all all for one, but I almost got pneumonia to let you and the fool get to the bottom of your relationship, I don’t even know what you said to each other, nor do I want to know you can stay here as long as you want but I’m not talking to Mom and since Mom knows that you here and she’s not stupid within an hour you’re going to find her at the door and I don’t want to be here. Ah-choo.)


FOREIGN ACCENT
gelato flitto (Chinese pronunciation of the Ital. gelato fritto; Eng. flied ice cleam)

Se adesso ci butto sopra un Crederci sempre arrendersi mai sono sicura che si alza e se ne va senza aspettare il gelato flitto che è poi l’unica ragione per cui si ostina a frequentare i ristoranti cinesi.

(If now I throw out an Always believe never give up I’m sure that he’ll stand up and leave without waiting for the flied ice cleam which is really the only reason he insists on frequenting Chinese restaurants.)


BEST MOVIE REFERENCE
Francamente mi cara me ne infischio (Eng. Frankly my dear I don’t give a damn)

…la nebbia mi avvolge come Rossella O’Hara dopo la morte di Melania, anche se dubito fortemente lei portasse sandali a listino color argento tacco dodici e comunque spero vivamente che Morgan non se ne esca con un Francamente mia cara me ne infischio perché francamente ne morirei.

(…the fog envelops me like Scarlett O’Hara after the death of Melanie, even though I seriously doubt that she was wearing discount silver-colored five-inch sandals, and anyway I fervently hope that Morgan doesn’t come out with a Frankly my dear I don’t give a damn because frankly I would die.)


Concluding Remarks: Quasi quasi m’innamoro is one of the best works of contemporary women’s fiction I’ve read. Mittone has an exceptional gift for putting the reader into Consolata’s head and Consolata into the reader’s heart. Along with Consolata, you’ll laugh (a lot), you’ll cry, you’ll fall down (and often, because her feet are too small for her body), you’ll pick yourself up—all the way to the thrilling-touching-inspiring “happy end.”


Note: Anna Mittone just released a new novel entitled Come ti vorrei (How I Would Like You) (Piemme, 2013). Although it doesn’t feature the regional language of Quasi quasi m’innamoro, it does involve a girls’ trip to Amsterdam and a reunion with an old flame. So, you know it’s good.


In Translation: The English translation rights to Quasi quasi m’innamoro are currently available. For the sake of English-speaking readers, I hope a translation is in the works soon. Because even though Consolata is from Turin, she’s in all of us. And she’s a symbol of hope.


On the Internet: For more information about Anna Mittone, check out her website and Facebook page. Also, watch for my upcoming interview with Mittone. In the meantime, check out the book trailer for Quasi quasi m’innamoro.