“Trimalcione’s library”, a monument to the unfinished business of reading

Light The library of Trimalchio by Alfredo Giuliani (Adelphi, 392 pp., 35 euros) and rush to buy the complete Epistolario of Ugo Foscolo. Obviously unaware of the ordeal, i.e. of the fact that it is a company fraught with pitfalls, difficulties and inconclusive searches on ebay, Libraccio, Abebooks, first longing and then discontent, first desire and then ordeal, and swimming with a dog to avoid drowning among the floods of incomplete editions, very expensive editions, waste from old warehouses, winning moths on irreparable pages: pain, discouragement, two hours and nothing done, and in the meantime hunger, hunger that grows, hunger that makes sick. And do not rest – “open new window” – as long as, in the meantime, possessed by remaining demons all annotated on a leaflet born as such and degenerated into a handful of thick scribbles, not all Giorgio Colli’s amazonabile has been downloaded, but luckily with Colli it’s better, much better, thanks Adelphi, thanks kindle. Finally, get rid of the irresistible itch of getting Ippolito Nievo, Orpheus among the Argonauts by Paolo Ruffilli, the precise poet – Camunia edition, but it can be done, it can be done (Ippolito Nievo of which Giuliani underlines “the rapturous maturity that presses his immaturity”, and damn, you think, what an exact, egregious arrow , what a seeing eye). From there, you lose control.

Guaranteed escalation: project upon project, far-fetched plans and prospectuses for the next semester of reading (come on, if you give up nutrition, a few hours of sleep and disown your daughter you can do it) maybe starting from The Karamazov brothers – Giuliani analyzes the novel in the light of Pasolini’s definition of “poem of repression” and renames it, if anything, “poem of excess” because, he writes, “man knows himself when he overflows from himself in the lack of identity”, and he explains it in a way that makes a bitter truth very clear to you: you, know-it-all that you are, have never read The Karamazov brothersyou skated over it with your eyes, you fell in love and like every lover you didn’t see what needed to be seen, you are deceived by yourself and by your littleness, but know that reading, know-it-all part two, is another matter altogether.

In short, starting like this and ending up even worse, removing Google Calendar and deciding to take two weeks to return to the beloved Stendhal and his egotism with a fresh look; two more for Jarry, you never delved into Jarry properly; Léon Bloy, then, let’s not talk about it, you don’t even know him, so another fifteen days at least between recovering and reading it; of Catullus’ “twisting of opposites”, in the terms Giuliani proposes, you have not even suspected the possibility, therefore you have not read Catullus even if you thought so, hate and love and all right, bravo, bis, but that’s not all, and now it’s urgently needed to start over again… Of course you can bear the frightening lacuna on Albert Caraco, however, by reading Giuliani’s piece carefully, how to resist a nihilist who tears even Nietzsche to pieces and is defined as “poet of the end of the world”? Here, in a nutshell, is what happens to joyfully get lost in this Adelphone by Alfredo Giuliani, a symphony in four movements of literary pieces that came out in Repubblica: awakening a gargantuan hunger, self-reclusion and tormentingly struggling between a “I have to read more” and a ” I have to read less, that is better”, between hitching one’s chariot to a Pegasus or a Rocinante.

They are fat pages of passion, these. Triumphant pages of one kinky joy. And full of inspiration, concupiscence and mercurial spurt, written by a supreme reader who does not lay siege to a work to milk a pulp by force, but who naturally breathes the thoughts he tells – the formidable reflection on Kierkegaard entitled ” Heartbreaking bauble”, demonstration of true intelligence, which builds and does not block the gaze. A smiling monument to the unfinished business of reading, also gives us unforgettable synthesis: Colli is a Delphic priest, Foscolo a heroic teenager, Leopardi a Platonic materialist. And the Greeks? Great Deceivers who invented the Truth.