From the first page I was drawn by Natalia Ginzburg’s incredibly vivid prose. The title of this memoir encapsulates much of Ginzburg’s recollection of her family. She remembers in minute detail the way in which within her family certain words and phrases had a particular significance or meaning, one that is known only by a small group of people.
For example, the father reiterates the same words and views so much so that readers can predict not only what he will say but the words he will use. The same goes for the rest of Ginzburg’s family…I never thought of them as ‘characters’ but as real people. And of course they were ‘real’ but it is rare to find a memoir—or a book in general—that really brings to life these different personalities.
Maybe I found a lot of the family discussions and anecdotes relatable because I’m Italian, and Ginzburg’s father reminded me very much of my own grandfather (from their quirks and habits to their idiosyncrasies). And in a way in this portrait of her family Ginzburg evokes the typical Italian family (the brothers who fight with one another, the temperamental father, the pacifying mother).
Behind the laughter and mundanities of this family’s everyday life is a country in turmoil. The rise of Mussolini and fascism repeatedly threaten the safety of Ginzburg’s loved ones (her father was jewish and her first husband—born in the Russian Empire—was an anti-fascist). Yet, even as her brothers and father are imprisoned and released time and again, there is a sense of normalcy that alleviates the gravity of these situations.
A memoir full of humour, love, and deeply insightful, I would definitely recommend this to readers who might want an immersive and entertaining glimpse of an Italian family in the 30s and 40s.
side note: the cover for the English edition of this book is beautiful.