THE VERTICAL SUMMER

THE VERTICAL SUMMER

The vertical summer by Chiara Sfregola  published by Fandango is the book I received from Manuale di Mari whom I thank.

I don’t know if you already have an idea of what a ‘vertical’ summer might be like … I have wondered about it, and although I found the explanation in the book, I retain my own personal vision created by reading it.

Thinking about it now, vertical could also be the split between those who love summer and those who hate it.

How do you experience the summer season?

The protagonists of the book experience the emblematic events of their lives in summer: the timeline is in fact a relay of seven different female characters.

Very often we say ‘characters that revolve around’ in this case instead they move vertically, as in a descent inversely proportional to time passing, like a fall.

Like the summer that somehow represents the origin of all the events that strike in succession like a domino.

Dominoes whose tiles seem to fall even before they are hit.

Because they are imperfect tiles, unsatisfied with their role.

Everything seems too easy and it is exactly the ease with which things happen that makes them an unimportant outline, even successes, prestigious situations and luck seem totally irrelevant.

When nothing makes sense any more, the very construction of the book changes, like a restart whose initially stunted and unconvincing steps turn into a crescendo that corresponds to real growth.

The reader is taken to the epilogue with literally different writing, a form I particularly love.

And suddenly it all comes together.

BRUISES AND MUSIC

BRUISES AND MUSIC

Bruises and music is the name of the blog that gives us today’s story for the Advent calendar

In addition to Bruises and music on the blog I found the dose of irony I really like, and in addition to bruises there may also be broken bones, just as in addition to music there may also be stories, dreams, ideas, insights, considerations, random phrases … that is my natural habitat.

In fact, I found myself very well and I liked the particular surprise at the end of the story.

And I immediately immersed myself in the story because the story is here and now, it’s reality, it’s the imperfection of an idealized character, it’s pocket-sized Magic.

Yes, the magic we can perhaps try to aspire to, the restricted magic, the reduced magic, the magic that can contain hope.

Whoever writes is not a bot, whoever writes knows paranoia quite well, whoever reads and is like me, understands, but above all whoever reads will love Hippos for Christmas:

The conveyor belt started with a dull hum, and the first thing he saw coming was a pack of dog diapers. The old man took it reluctantly, turned it around in his hand for a couple of seconds as if he were observing an unknown alien life form and finally slipped it into the box, ready to be packedgo on here

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