Certainly few, when we read, we want to feel bad. No one, at least consciously, chooses a book by pursuing the search for negative emotions or states of anxiety.
As I said already in this blog, when I read "The Elementary Particles" Houellebecq and I poured him waves of humanity disintegrated, misogyny and destructiveness, I was tempted to abandon the novel. Touching even a few pages I had come to feel in my throat regurgitation nausea. Then the end of the story was enough to convince me that I had just gone through an experience of salvation and damnation, made possible by speech, writing. Suddenly, where there was darkness and despair, rampant impetuous, invincible light.
Reading "The Apparition" Rocco Carbone of the process of awareness fu invece sottile, trattenuto ad un confine quasi insenziente. Conclusi la lettura di notte con l’impressione di un libro illuminante, ma non riuscii a dormire ritrovandomi asserragliata in qualcosa di molto simile alla depressione, o forse la sfiducia nella possibilità di essere felice. Il mattino dopo decisi che avevo letto un capolavoro.
Dei racconti del mio libro “Comuni immortali” Giulio Mozzi, tra l’altro, aveva scritto: “...questa non è una voce cristallina: è vetro smerigliato. Non c'è trasparenza: c'è una materia semidensa nella quale il mio sguardo entra, si invischia, rimane prigioniero. Non posso dire di aver provato piacere, lì invischiato. Non posso dire happy to have been a prisoner there. But I must say that this matter has been sticking to her semi me. What I have not released easily. "
Someone reading this back cover, he found the beautiful words, but there were some who said to me, but what does that mean? And despite Hubs (which now I get to talk about "the evil nature") ended by saying that he had found the stories very beautiful, that person asked me an opinion is good or bad? If I read your stories I like or give me grief?
The same dilemma has expressed to me his friend Benedetto De Nuccio, however, about the novel "A day like her ". Nuccio told me that he struggled to get to the bottom of the story. Because the atmosphere disturbed him. What I have full cognizance of: my stories have a base of pain, experienced problems. I try to write about postponing the impact of this fund, from an area of \u200b\u200bseparation that is a diaphragm must be the words that I feel well but does not prevent me to love my characters. Characters and stories "bitter" (the definition of another friend, the writer Vincenzo Corraro ). The only time that I entrusted to a more pronounced feature of irony in the story "Cosmic Garbage", who has read expressed some concern, it has not left its mark as strong as others, in other words. And I do not know if the approach I attempted parody in "Goran name of art" (the novel that eventually will be released by the Sun City ) spiazzerà who has read "A day like her."
"See - I said Nuccio - is a bit 'that I decided to do only things that make me feel good. No movies, music, books depressive. " Then he added: "But there is a strange thing. In my opinion, your novel is good because the characters seem to float in a bubble, almost as if they were imprisoned. But this same atmosphere involves me enough to require leave from the book, not to be there too, inside the bubble. "
It is like saying that none of us reads a book because he wants to suffer. But it may happen that those atoms are lost in there is what life is made, and then, for better or for worse, will not easily forget the writing. Exactly what everyone aspires to write.
I have read many accounts of hubs, and I always felt full consistency between writing fiction and ability to peer into hidden cavities of human existence. Even if it meant materialize situations and disturbing thoughts, analysis, rough, bordering on morbid introspection. Hubs pushes the words until non è arrivata all’osso, scarnificata e nuda nella compiutezza del suo oggetto, che diviene impossibile da non guardare, da non conoscere.
“Il male naturale” l’hanno definito libro fantasma perché era già stato dato alle stampe nel 1998 per Mondadori. E’ uno dei casi in cui nella letteratura disturba troppo quel retrogusto angosciante che dichiara un uso della finzione non per consolare o edulcorare ma per scandagliare il reale umano. Infatti nelle librerie la prima edizione del libro era rimasta poco, presto defilata nell’interesse della casa editrice dopo la sferzata moralista del parlamentare della Lega Oreste Rossi, che presentò un’interrogazione per chiedere la soppressione del volume. Pietra the scandal was the story called "Love", the few pages that describe in a lucid and almost surgical the physical relationship between a man and a child. Where the roles seem to fall over and the man is the slave of feeling towards the child, the latter being a cruel tyrant who tramples and humiliates the worship of the adult. But even if the title suggests love, sex were involved, el'evocazione of pedophilia, so Rossi branded the story (and the entire book) writing as depraved. Complicating matters was added to the alleged complicity of the Mondadori, who had chosen "Love" in the extract of reading to advertise the book on its website. A quarrel ensued ended with the demise of the book, already self-condemnation dall'inquietante cover now vintage, where the fingers of one hand clutched a pubic sinking into flesh like claws. No less an effect is the new cover of Lovran, showing an anguished human bust, the work of Aaron Demetz "Winter" (I can not help but feel attracted to the graphics of the books you choose ' contemporary art, is a legacy from the days when, still childless, I could afford to travel to do shows ...).
In recent years the author, who runs a popular literary blog, “Vibrisse, bollettino”, ha proposto più volte sul web il racconto incriminato scatenando ogni volta infinite discussioni sul moralità e scrittura. Ma se la scrittura narrativa è libera – libera persino di ferire o offendere – dovremmo essere fuori dal campo della moralità. Occorrerebbe piuttosto distinguere tra immoralità e amoralità, quest’ultima (con il suo prefisso incolpevolmente privativo, ad indicare l’assenza genetica di qualcosa) insita nella natura della letteratura di finzione, quanto non lo è invece, ad esempio, nel giornalismo, che dovendo fornire un servizio (l’informazione) non può permettersi spazi di sregolatezza di pensiero.
Perciò credo che rileggendo oggi “Il male naturale” nella nuova edizione - arricchita di un commento dello stesso Mozzi sulle vicende del libro e di una nota critica di Demetrio Paolin – si farebbe torto a concentrarsi solo sul racconto della diatriba. E questo sia che si condivida o meno la mia concezione di letteratura amorale, e si sia o meno nel partito di quanti, come il mio amico Nuccio, preferiscono non procurarsi, leggendo, lesioni emotive (pur riconoscendo di esserne attratti).
Questi racconti di Mozzi sono infatti una piccola e sconvolgente lacerazione nel loro narrare un grumo segreto dell’umanità, il substrato del nostro male inevitabile. C’è una cattiveria silenziosa che è soprattutto degli afflati spontanei the body, and then affect the soul. And you can not redeem it, as he says with aseptic Giulio Mozzi clarity: "I gave up for good, I decided to accept evil as a natural fact. I do not believe that a pardon can save me, nor do I think will save me a therapy or rational thought, let alone literature. " A literature
playing with autobiographical references (the name Julius, the reference to persons actually known by the author) but claims the right to change things softening events and feelings in a cathartic sort of madness. So in the stories there are bodies tortured by self-inflicted cuts, guilt that turn into obsession, attractions morbid transferred from the object to substitute the original statues, especially as a source who wishes people lost or missing. It seems that just about the absence, in the void left open in the feelings of the characters, it almost gives off an evil exanthematous that writing Hubs bares no emphasis in the essentiality, but reiteration of language, inner dialogues, disconnections of time and thought. In the final note of the book, dated 1997, the author stated that "The evil nature" would be his last anthology of short stories, and in fact (although there were then "Ghosts and leaks" and "Fiction"), this collection is a watershed in the production of the Venetian writer. After the onset di “Questo è il giardino”, identificato da Mozzi come acme della propria condizione di scrittura (un dichiarato benessere che si trasmette al lettore, come riprova dell’efficacia dell’appagamento dell’autore nei confronti del suo lavoro), e poi il perturbante “La felicità terrena”, questi racconti che analizzano il “male” sono l’ultimo e più completo capitolo di una trilogia intima che – come dicevo - guarda lì dove forse si avrebbe paura di farlo. Dunque poco importa se, come ipotizzava Oreste Rossi, Mozzi sia correo nell’amore tra il pedofilo e il bambino, o che, come scrisse Pampaloni, il racconto “Amore” sia sgradevole e crudele, se suggests complacency rather a detachment paradoxically empathetic with the dark area of \u200b\u200bhumanity. Once (it was a grotesque debate for "Municipalities immortal" in the squabble over the sexual content of some stories between two pseudocritici literary province) with the anthropologist Mauro Minervino bigoted remarks of prudery viciousness of those who sniff at every line, where the surfaces sex. And we noticed that in some cases, by contrast, gender has absolutely no sensual nuances: there is a bleak, manifest fact, there is not exciting. To put it as crudely observed Tinto Brass by responding to my question in a Venice Film Festival Venice is now very far in my time of exile from the mother, travel news, there is sex that does not cause, explained the director, "wetness erections in males and females." The supposed eroticism of "Love" is cold and sore, as well as chilled, in other stories, the burning passions of the young disabled, fantasies necrophilia, virginity charge of perspectives, the infantile fetish and full of vaguely religious frenzy of the chorus of Mariele Ventre, physical and emotional ol'incomunicabilità which affects all the characters, often similar to each other to the point of confusion in a gradual and endless storytelling.
stories that, at the end of reading, continue to hover in a creeping awareness. The evil within us cowering staff, including textiles, unexpected moods and desires.
We can freely choose not to want to know, someone who does not want to say this is the hateful way that is real. We do not want to know that we are made of blood, water and natural perversion.
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