Gomorrah Roberto Saviano is necessary, a duty, one of those books that one can not choose not to read it is a cold shower, electric shock is an immediate thought that you share, or a revolution.
not read it means closing their eyes to the truth, do not understand it, go blind.
Saviano writes beautifully, has the genius to combine the beauty (his writing) and hell (the events narrated), to stop memorable images on paper, fully human ... no rhetoric or censorship of any term too. Every sentence is weighed
lived survived a war inside and outside of the author and the world around him, around us.
Gomorrah is not a fictional story, the dead are not decorated, life is stark: the blood flows freely, the smell of concrete mixes, the throat, stomach and fear takes you-reader-you're in it is what you had before your eyes-as-an Italian citizen and you never wanted to see why the bubble-indifferent-like their stories, unknown, that does not touch you .
why you may not know now, not lost time in ignorance ... because after all is different: you can not drink, eat, live in the same way ... is to acquire a consciousness of a guerra mai dichiarata ma che ha fatto più morti di qualsiasi altra guerra.
Saviano ha avuto la capacità geniale di partire dall"io so"pasoliniano e non fermarsi.
"Il romanzo delle stragi"del 14 novembre del '74 di Pasolini inizia così:
"Io so.
Io so i nomi dei responsabili di quello che viene chiamato "golpe" (e che in realtà è una serie di "golpe" istituitasi a sistema di protezione del potere).
Io so i nomi dei responsabili della strage di Milano del 12 dicembre 1969.
Io so i nomi dei responsabili delle stragi di Brescia e di Bologna dei primi mesi del 1974.
Io so i nomi del "vertice" che ha manovrato, dunque, sia i vecchi fascisti ideatori di "golpe", both the neo-fascist perpetrators of the first massacres, and finally, the "unknown" material authors of the recent massacres.
I know the names that have managed the two different, indeed opposite phases of the tension: a first anti-phase (Milan 1969) and a second phase of the antifascist (Brescia and Bologna 1974).
I know the names of the group of powerful figures who, with the help of the CIA (and the second order of the Greek colonels of the mafia), have created the first (besides failing miserably) an anti-Communist crusade, a dab '68, and later, again with the help and inspiration of the CIA, have recovered a virginity-fascist, it must reverse the disaster of the "referendum".
I know the names of those who between a Mass and the other, have given the provisions and ensured the security policy in general older (to keep standing in reserve, the organization of a potential coup), a young neo-fascists, even neo-Nazis (to create tension in the concrete anti), and common criminals, until now, and perhaps forever, without a name (to create the next power-fascist). I know the names of people who are serious and important behind the comic characters like the General Forestry he worked, rather operetta, in the ducal city (as the Italian forests burned), or the gray and purely organizational character as General Miceli.
I know the names of persons and number important behind the tragic children who have chosen suicide fascist atrocities and common criminals, or not in Sicily, which are made available, as killers and assassins.
I know all these names and know all the facts (killings and attacks on institutions) that you are guilty.
I know. But I have no evidence. I did not even clues.
I know because I am an intellectual, a writer who tries to follow everything that happens to know everything that he writes, to imagine all that you do not know or is silent; coordinating events even far away, that puts disorganized and fragmented pieces together of an entire coherent policy framework that restores the logic where there seems to arbitrariness, madness and mystery.
This is all part of my job and instinct of my job. I think it's unlikely that my "draft novel," is wrong, that does not have that bearing on reality, and that its references to real people and facts are inaccurate. I also believe that many other intellectuals and writers know what I know as an intellectual and novelist. Because the reconstruction of the truth about what happened in Italy after the '68 is not that difficult.
This truth - it is heard with absolute precision - is behind a large amount of journalistic and political action, also: that is, not as fancy or fiction is by nature il mio. Ultimo esempio: è chiaro che la verità urgeva, con tutti i suoi nomi, dietro all'editoriale del "Corriere della Sera", del 1° novembre 1974.
Probabilmente i giornalisti e i politici hanno anche delle prove o, almeno, degli indizi.
Ora il problema è questo: i giornalisti e i politici, pur avendo forse delle prove e certamente degli indizi, non fanno i nomi.
A chi dunque compete fare questi nomi? Evidentemente a chi non solo ha il necessario coraggio, ma, insieme, non è compromesso nella pratica col potere, e, inoltre, non ha, per definizione, niente da perdere: cioè un intellettuale.
Un intellettuale dunque potrebbe benissimo fare pubblicamente quei nomi: ma egli non ha né evidence or clues.
The power and the world, though not the power, take practical relations with power, ruled the intellectual free - just for the way it did - the ability to have evidence and clues.
I could argue that I, for example, as an intellectual and an inventor of stories, I could go into that world explicitly political (power or around the power), to compromise with it, and then have the right to participate, with some high probability, evidence and clues.
But this objection I reply that this is not possible, because it is the reluctance to enter such a world politician who identifies with my potential intellectual courage to tell the truth: that is to name names.
the intellectual courage of truth and the political practice are two irreconcilable things in Italy.
intellectualism - profoundly and viscerally despised by all the Italian bourgeoisie - will refer a warrant falsely high and noble, in reality servile to discuss the moral and ideological problems.
If he is put to this mandate is considered a traitor to his role: it just screams (as if he expected more than this) at the "treason of the clerics" is an alibi and a reward for politicians and for the servants of power.
But there is only power: there is also opposition to power. In Italy this opposition is so large and strong da essere un potere essa stessa: mi riferisco naturalmente al Partito comunista italiano."
E concludeva": solo quando un uomo politico - non per opportunità, cioè non perché sia venuto il momento, ma piuttosto per creare la possibilità di tale momento - deciderà di fare i nomi dei responsabili dei colpi di Stato e delle stragi, che evidentemente egli sa, come me, non può non avere prove, o almeno indizi.
Probabilmente - se il potere americano lo consentirà - magari decidendo "diplomaticamente" di concedere a un'altra democrazia ciò che la democrazia americana si è concessa a proposito di Nixon - questi nomi prima o poi saranno detti. Ma a dirli saranno uomini che hanno condiviso with them the power: how responsible children against more responsible (and it is not, as in the American case, which is better). This would ultimately be the real coup. "
Saviano-although not a politician-has the courage to do those names, does not stop at a" I know, "his word is one that involves and acting. With the data collected in his book helps to capture boss, move minds and foster a national debate on certain facts and silenced for too long dimenticati.I the crow Pasolini's "Hawks and the Sparrows" he said "I am convinced that someone else will take my flag and to bring it forward. "
From an interview with Roberto Saviano : "When I went to Casarsa on the grave of Pasolini, I was very angry. clenched fists do not open even wanted to write. I went there in a kind of empathy, to see if it was still possible to believe a word that can attack the reality. I've thought long and I am convinced that the literary word because released by targets, from court decisions, it can show the guts of power, can raggiungere un nucleo di significato molto semplice, che è poi quello dei tragici greci: verità e potere non coincidono mai» .
Da Gomorra(pag.233-235) :" Andai sulla tomba di Pasolini non per un omaggio, neanche per una celebrazione. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Il nome uno e trino, come diceva Caproni, non è il mio santino laico, né un Cristo letterario. Mi andava di trovare un posto. Un posto dove fosse ancora can reflect on the possibility of the word without shame. The ability to write of the mechanisms of power, beyond the stories, beyond the details. Think if it was still possible to name names, one by one, to identify the faces, strip the bodies of the architectural elements of the offense and make them. If it was still possible to pursue such as truffle hogs the dynamics of the real, the affirmation of power, without metaphors, without mediation, with the single blade of writing. I took the train from Naples to Pordenone, a slow train from the name that was very eloquent on the distance covered: Marco Polo. A huge distance seems to separate from the Campania Friuli. Party at eight in ten minutes I arrived in Friuli winds of the past seven days later, through a cold night that I gave respite to sleep even a little. I arrived by bus from Pordenone to Casarsa and went walking with his head down as if he already knows where to go and the road can also be recognized by looking at the shoes. I lost, of course. But after wandering in vain I could get away Valvasone, the cemetery where he is buried Pasolini and his entire family. On the left, just after the entrance, there was a bed of bare ground. I approached this square with the center two white marble slabs, small, and I saw the grave. "Pier Paolo Pasolini (1922-1975)." On the side, just beyond, his mother. It seemed to be less lonely, and they began to splutter my anger, with clenched fists until the nails have come in the flesh of the palm. I began to articulate my I know, the "I know of my time. and I know I have proof. I know how to originate and where the economies take the smell. The smell of the affirmation and victory. I know what oozes profit. I know. And the truth of the word no prisoners because they devour everything and everything is proof. It should not drag proof is baste inquiry. Observes, weighs, look, listen. Sa. Does not condemn in no cage and no witnesses recanted. No regrets. I know and I have proof. I know where the pages of manuals vanish changing economy i loro frattali in materia, cose, ferro, tempo e contratti. Io so. Le prove non sono nascoste in nessuna pen-drive celata in buche sotto terra. Non ho video compromettenti in garage nascosti in inaccessibili paesi di montagna. Né possiedo documenti ciclostilati dei servizi segreti. Le prove sono inconfutabili perché parziali, riprese con le iridi, raccontate con le parole e temprate con le emozioni rimbalzate su ferri e legni. Io vedo, trasento, guardo, parlo, e così testimonio, brutta parola che ancora può valere quando sussurra: «È falso» all'orecchio di chi ascolta le cantilene a rima baciata dei meccanismi di potere. La verità è parziale, in fondo se fosse riducibile a formula oggettiva sarebbe chimica. I know and I have proof. And then the story. Of these truths. I always try to calm this anxiety that takes me every time I walk, every time I climb stairs, take lifts while on mats and rub the soles threshold exceeded. I can not stop a perpetual brooding soul about how they were built palaces and homes. And if I have someone at your word I can with difficulty to refrain from telling you how to pull up floors and balconies to the roof. It is not a universal sense of guilt that comes over me, nor a moral redemption to those who have been quashed by the historical memory. Rather than try to dispose of that mechanism rather Brechtian that I have ingrained to think in the hands and feet of history. In short, more the perpetually empty bowls that led to the storming of the Bastille that the proclamations of the Gironde and the Jacobins. I can not think about it. I always have this habit. As someone who thought that looking at Vermeer mixed colors, pulled the canvas with wood, assembled the pearl earrings, rather than to contemplate the portrait. A true perversion. I just can not forget about how the cycle of the concrete when I see a flight of stairs, and I do not distract from what you bring into the scaffolding tower to see a vertical windows. I can not pretend nothing has happened. I just can not see only the saved, and I think the mortar and trowel. Could it be that those born in the meridians have certain relationship with certain substances in a singular, unique. Not all the material is received in the same way everywhere. I think that in Qatar the smell of oil and gasoline references to feelings and flavors of huge homes, sunglasses and limousines. The same acidic smell of carbonfossile, in Minsk, I think references to dark faces, gas leaks, and smoked while cities in Belgium refers to the smell of garlic and onion of the Italians of the Maghreb. The same happens with the cement for Italy, to the south. Cement. Oil in the South. Everything comes from the cement. There is no economic empire was born in the South that does not see the shift in structures: tendering, procurement, quarries, cement, aggregates, mortar, bricks, scaffolding, workers. The weaponry of the Italian entrepreneur is this . "
.. His voice now belongs to us is safe until we are safe.
Thanks Saviano.
not read it means closing their eyes to the truth, do not understand it, go blind.
Saviano writes beautifully, has the genius to combine the beauty (his writing) and hell (the events narrated), to stop memorable images on paper, fully human ... no rhetoric or censorship of any term too. Every sentence is weighed
lived survived a war inside and outside of the author and the world around him, around us.
Gomorrah is not a fictional story, the dead are not decorated, life is stark: the blood flows freely, the smell of concrete mixes, the throat, stomach and fear takes you-reader-you're in it is what you had before your eyes-as-an Italian citizen and you never wanted to see why the bubble-indifferent-like their stories, unknown, that does not touch you .
why you may not know now, not lost time in ignorance ... because after all is different: you can not drink, eat, live in the same way ... is to acquire a consciousness of a guerra mai dichiarata ma che ha fatto più morti di qualsiasi altra guerra.
Saviano ha avuto la capacità geniale di partire dall"io so"pasoliniano e non fermarsi.
"Il romanzo delle stragi"del 14 novembre del '74 di Pasolini inizia così:
"Io so.
Io so i nomi dei responsabili di quello che viene chiamato "golpe" (e che in realtà è una serie di "golpe" istituitasi a sistema di protezione del potere).
Io so i nomi dei responsabili della strage di Milano del 12 dicembre 1969.
Io so i nomi dei responsabili delle stragi di Brescia e di Bologna dei primi mesi del 1974.
Io so i nomi del "vertice" che ha manovrato, dunque, sia i vecchi fascisti ideatori di "golpe", both the neo-fascist perpetrators of the first massacres, and finally, the "unknown" material authors of the recent massacres.
I know the names that have managed the two different, indeed opposite phases of the tension: a first anti-phase (Milan 1969) and a second phase of the antifascist (Brescia and Bologna 1974).
I know the names of the group of powerful figures who, with the help of the CIA (and the second order of the Greek colonels of the mafia), have created the first (besides failing miserably) an anti-Communist crusade, a dab '68, and later, again with the help and inspiration of the CIA, have recovered a virginity-fascist, it must reverse the disaster of the "referendum".
I know the names of those who between a Mass and the other, have given the provisions and ensured the security policy in general older (to keep standing in reserve, the organization of a potential coup), a young neo-fascists, even neo-Nazis (to create tension in the concrete anti), and common criminals, until now, and perhaps forever, without a name (to create the next power-fascist). I know the names of people who are serious and important behind the comic characters like the General Forestry he worked, rather operetta, in the ducal city (as the Italian forests burned), or the gray and purely organizational character as General Miceli.
I know the names of persons and number important behind the tragic children who have chosen suicide fascist atrocities and common criminals, or not in Sicily, which are made available, as killers and assassins.
I know all these names and know all the facts (killings and attacks on institutions) that you are guilty.
I know. But I have no evidence. I did not even clues.
I know because I am an intellectual, a writer who tries to follow everything that happens to know everything that he writes, to imagine all that you do not know or is silent; coordinating events even far away, that puts disorganized and fragmented pieces together of an entire coherent policy framework that restores the logic where there seems to arbitrariness, madness and mystery.
This is all part of my job and instinct of my job. I think it's unlikely that my "draft novel," is wrong, that does not have that bearing on reality, and that its references to real people and facts are inaccurate. I also believe that many other intellectuals and writers know what I know as an intellectual and novelist. Because the reconstruction of the truth about what happened in Italy after the '68 is not that difficult.
This truth - it is heard with absolute precision - is behind a large amount of journalistic and political action, also: that is, not as fancy or fiction is by nature il mio. Ultimo esempio: è chiaro che la verità urgeva, con tutti i suoi nomi, dietro all'editoriale del "Corriere della Sera", del 1° novembre 1974.
Probabilmente i giornalisti e i politici hanno anche delle prove o, almeno, degli indizi.
Ora il problema è questo: i giornalisti e i politici, pur avendo forse delle prove e certamente degli indizi, non fanno i nomi.
A chi dunque compete fare questi nomi? Evidentemente a chi non solo ha il necessario coraggio, ma, insieme, non è compromesso nella pratica col potere, e, inoltre, non ha, per definizione, niente da perdere: cioè un intellettuale.
Un intellettuale dunque potrebbe benissimo fare pubblicamente quei nomi: ma egli non ha né evidence or clues.
The power and the world, though not the power, take practical relations with power, ruled the intellectual free - just for the way it did - the ability to have evidence and clues.
I could argue that I, for example, as an intellectual and an inventor of stories, I could go into that world explicitly political (power or around the power), to compromise with it, and then have the right to participate, with some high probability, evidence and clues.
But this objection I reply that this is not possible, because it is the reluctance to enter such a world politician who identifies with my potential intellectual courage to tell the truth: that is to name names.
the intellectual courage of truth and the political practice are two irreconcilable things in Italy.
intellectualism - profoundly and viscerally despised by all the Italian bourgeoisie - will refer a warrant falsely high and noble, in reality servile to discuss the moral and ideological problems.
If he is put to this mandate is considered a traitor to his role: it just screams (as if he expected more than this) at the "treason of the clerics" is an alibi and a reward for politicians and for the servants of power.
But there is only power: there is also opposition to power. In Italy this opposition is so large and strong da essere un potere essa stessa: mi riferisco naturalmente al Partito comunista italiano."
E concludeva": solo quando un uomo politico - non per opportunità, cioè non perché sia venuto il momento, ma piuttosto per creare la possibilità di tale momento - deciderà di fare i nomi dei responsabili dei colpi di Stato e delle stragi, che evidentemente egli sa, come me, non può non avere prove, o almeno indizi.
Probabilmente - se il potere americano lo consentirà - magari decidendo "diplomaticamente" di concedere a un'altra democrazia ciò che la democrazia americana si è concessa a proposito di Nixon - questi nomi prima o poi saranno detti. Ma a dirli saranno uomini che hanno condiviso with them the power: how responsible children against more responsible (and it is not, as in the American case, which is better). This would ultimately be the real coup. "
Saviano-although not a politician-has the courage to do those names, does not stop at a" I know, "his word is one that involves and acting. With the data collected in his book helps to capture boss, move minds and foster a national debate on certain facts and silenced for too long dimenticati.I the crow Pasolini's "Hawks and the Sparrows" he said "I am convinced that someone else will take my flag and to bring it forward. "
From an interview with Roberto Saviano : "When I went to Casarsa on the grave of Pasolini, I was very angry. clenched fists do not open even wanted to write. I went there in a kind of empathy, to see if it was still possible to believe a word that can attack the reality. I've thought long and I am convinced that the literary word because released by targets, from court decisions, it can show the guts of power, can raggiungere un nucleo di significato molto semplice, che è poi quello dei tragici greci: verità e potere non coincidono mai» .
Da Gomorra(pag.233-235) :" Andai sulla tomba di Pasolini non per un omaggio, neanche per una celebrazione. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Il nome uno e trino, come diceva Caproni, non è il mio santino laico, né un Cristo letterario. Mi andava di trovare un posto. Un posto dove fosse ancora can reflect on the possibility of the word without shame. The ability to write of the mechanisms of power, beyond the stories, beyond the details. Think if it was still possible to name names, one by one, to identify the faces, strip the bodies of the architectural elements of the offense and make them. If it was still possible to pursue such as truffle hogs the dynamics of the real, the affirmation of power, without metaphors, without mediation, with the single blade of writing. I took the train from Naples to Pordenone, a slow train from the name that was very eloquent on the distance covered: Marco Polo. A huge distance seems to separate from the Campania Friuli. Party at eight in ten minutes I arrived in Friuli winds of the past seven days later, through a cold night that I gave respite to sleep even a little. I arrived by bus from Pordenone to Casarsa and went walking with his head down as if he already knows where to go and the road can also be recognized by looking at the shoes. I lost, of course. But after wandering in vain I could get away Valvasone, the cemetery where he is buried Pasolini and his entire family. On the left, just after the entrance, there was a bed of bare ground. I approached this square with the center two white marble slabs, small, and I saw the grave. "Pier Paolo Pasolini (1922-1975)." On the side, just beyond, his mother. It seemed to be less lonely, and they began to splutter my anger, with clenched fists until the nails have come in the flesh of the palm. I began to articulate my I know, the "I know of my time. and I know I have proof. I know how to originate and where the economies take the smell. The smell of the affirmation and victory. I know what oozes profit. I know. And the truth of the word no prisoners because they devour everything and everything is proof. It should not drag proof is baste inquiry. Observes, weighs, look, listen. Sa. Does not condemn in no cage and no witnesses recanted. No regrets. I know and I have proof. I know where the pages of manuals vanish changing economy i loro frattali in materia, cose, ferro, tempo e contratti. Io so. Le prove non sono nascoste in nessuna pen-drive celata in buche sotto terra. Non ho video compromettenti in garage nascosti in inaccessibili paesi di montagna. Né possiedo documenti ciclostilati dei servizi segreti. Le prove sono inconfutabili perché parziali, riprese con le iridi, raccontate con le parole e temprate con le emozioni rimbalzate su ferri e legni. Io vedo, trasento, guardo, parlo, e così testimonio, brutta parola che ancora può valere quando sussurra: «È falso» all'orecchio di chi ascolta le cantilene a rima baciata dei meccanismi di potere. La verità è parziale, in fondo se fosse riducibile a formula oggettiva sarebbe chimica. I know and I have proof. And then the story. Of these truths. I always try to calm this anxiety that takes me every time I walk, every time I climb stairs, take lifts while on mats and rub the soles threshold exceeded. I can not stop a perpetual brooding soul about how they were built palaces and homes. And if I have someone at your word I can with difficulty to refrain from telling you how to pull up floors and balconies to the roof. It is not a universal sense of guilt that comes over me, nor a moral redemption to those who have been quashed by the historical memory. Rather than try to dispose of that mechanism rather Brechtian that I have ingrained to think in the hands and feet of history. In short, more the perpetually empty bowls that led to the storming of the Bastille that the proclamations of the Gironde and the Jacobins. I can not think about it. I always have this habit. As someone who thought that looking at Vermeer mixed colors, pulled the canvas with wood, assembled the pearl earrings, rather than to contemplate the portrait. A true perversion. I just can not forget about how the cycle of the concrete when I see a flight of stairs, and I do not distract from what you bring into the scaffolding tower to see a vertical windows. I can not pretend nothing has happened. I just can not see only the saved, and I think the mortar and trowel. Could it be that those born in the meridians have certain relationship with certain substances in a singular, unique. Not all the material is received in the same way everywhere. I think that in Qatar the smell of oil and gasoline references to feelings and flavors of huge homes, sunglasses and limousines. The same acidic smell of carbonfossile, in Minsk, I think references to dark faces, gas leaks, and smoked while cities in Belgium refers to the smell of garlic and onion of the Italians of the Maghreb. The same happens with the cement for Italy, to the south. Cement. Oil in the South. Everything comes from the cement. There is no economic empire was born in the South that does not see the shift in structures: tendering, procurement, quarries, cement, aggregates, mortar, bricks, scaffolding, workers. The weaponry of the Italian entrepreneur is this . "
.. His voice now belongs to us is safe until we are safe.
Thanks Saviano.
0 comments:
Post a Comment