5385: Response to The Italian Affair

I feel like I might be struck down for this, but: So far, this is the book I’ve felt most inhabited the Italian space—and there is a very good chance that’s due to the fact that it’s stereotypically Italian and that the author city namedrops in every paragraph. We’ve come to associate this type of story with the Italian atmosphere: the exotic lover, the single white woman finding herself again, the gaggle of girlfriends.

But if we can look past the terribly characterized women, the absolutely stunning lines (don’t you just hate it when a mosquito wakes you up in the dead of night and you find yourself in tears?), and the simple plot line, we’ve got:

-The romanticizing of the Italian world/culture alongside the romanticized foreigner.

-A preoccupation with food.

-The language element?

-The uncomfortable/strange second-person narration.

Really, all of it seems to be romanticized. Even when the narrator hates whichever island she is on, the food is great. Later, the professor (naturally, because teachers are another sexualized literary figure; and, perhaps, teachers are also an element of danger due to the fact that they are typically off-limits because of the student/teacher relationship) loves the sound of the word “gorgeous,” literally drawing a connection between beauty and language. He “likes that word, tasting it like wine,” pulling the food element in, too.

I don’t know what to do with the second-person, on a literary level. In the commercialized fiction world, it is clearly meant to fold the reader into the narrative. I wonder if we could look at it as another type of possession. Sitting here, in the breakfast room, listening to the American tour group talk to each other, I’m struck by just how often we (I already want to distance myself from them, but I’ll say we anyway) claim possession. One woman mentioned someone “speaking American” (she clearly meant English). Another claimed that “they only use espresso here, not American coffee.” On the way in, our group slipped into this, too—where was OUR city on OUR hill? Perhaps the second-person narration works in a similar manner. We possess the narrative fully, experiencing Italy as she does.