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Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I kill

22 May

Io uccido- I kill

I have finally read "I kill" by Giorgio Faletti:

During his show, Jean-Loup Verdier, a famous Radio Montecarlo disc-jockey, receives a call from a man who declares live on radio that he's planning to commit a crime. That very night, Formula One racing driver, Jochen Welder, and his fiancée, Arijane Parker, a famous chess player, are murdered: both victims' faces are completely removed by the killer to make masks. This sets the scene for the almost 700 pages of “Io uccido” (I kill), this year's surprise literary find: perhaps because the author of this thriller - who has been mentioned in the same breath as Thomas Harris and Jeffrey Deaver - is Giorgio Faletti. Yes, you've got it, the same Faletti of “Drive In” and “Striscia la notizia”, the inventor of vigilante Vito Catozzo, the man who scooped a  surprise second place at Sanremo in ‘94 with “Signor tenente”. The idea of trying his hand at this typical American suspense mechanism which hinges on quick pace and a helter-skelter succession of twists in the plot, was undeniably a risky bet. Falletti dared to stake everything and take his chances, placing his band of characters - who boldly run close to the stereotypical - in the unusual setting of the Principality of Monaco: there's Detective Superintendent Hulot, whose son died while just a child; FBI agent Frank Ottobre, and old friend of Hulot's, on holiday and trying desperately to forget the death of his wife, but who inevitably becomes involved in the investigation; the mentally retarded Pierrot, who has the gift of being able to find vital clues in certain pieces of music; American army general Nathan Parker, the father of murdered Arijane, who rushes to Montecarlo to carry out his own personal, ferocious manhunt for the killer. Amid literary and film allusions (from “The Silence of the Lambs” to “Chinatown”), the novice thriller writer proceeds slickly about his business, moving his pawns with demiurgical dexterity: the quick pace, bar occasional slackening, is maintained to the end and actually steps up in the second part, with the menacing Provencal digression which almost unravels the mystery. There's plenty of material for a film, which will no doubt be made: what's more, there's a literary talent that justifies our hoping Faletti will not abandon his sortie into thriller territory here.

Eugenio Conigliaro

Posted at 02:11 am by eugio
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Wednesday, August 09, 2006
My view of the world


"How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he sometimes thinks he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people -- first of all for those upon whose smiles and well-being our own happiness is wholly dependent, and then for the many, unknown to us, to whose destinies we are bound by the ties of sympathy. A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving...

"I have never looked upon ease and happiness as ends in themselves -- this critical basis I call the ideal of a pigsty. The ideals that have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty, and Truth. Without the sense of kinship with men of like mind, without the occupation with the objective world, the eternally unattainable in the field of art and scientific endeavors, life would have seemed empty to me. The trite objects of human efforts -- possessions, outward success, luxury -- have always seemed to me contemptible.

"My passionate sense of social justice and social responsibility has always contrasted oddly with my pronounced lack of need for direct contact with other human beings and human communities. I am truly a 'lone traveler' and have never belonged to my country, my home, my friends, or even my immediate family, with my whole heart; in the face of all these ties, I have never lost a sense of distance and a need for solitude..."

"My political ideal is democracy. Let every man be respected as an individual and no man idolized. It is an irony of fate that I myself have been the recipient of excessive admiration and reverence from my fellow-beings, through no fault, and no merit, of my own. The cause of this may well be the desire, unattainable for many, to understand the few ideas to which I have with my feeble powers attained through ceaseless struggle. I am quite aware that for any organization to reach its goals, one man must do the thinking and directing and generally bear the responsibility. But the led must not be coerced, they must be able to choose their leader. In my opinion, an autocratic system of coercion soon degenerates; force attracts men of low morality... The really valuable thing in the pageant of human life seems to me not the political state, but the creative, sentient individual, the personality; it alone creates the noble and the sublime, while the herd as such remains dull in thought and dull in feeling.

"This topic brings me to that worst outcrop of herd life, the military system, which I abhor... This plague-spot of civilization ought to be abolished with all possible speed. Heroism on command, senseless violence, and all the loathsome nonsense that goes by the name of patriotism -- how passionately I hate them!

"The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed. It was the experience of mystery -- even if mixed with fear -- that engendered religion. A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, our perceptions of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which only in their most primitive forms are accessible to our minds: it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute true religiosity. In this sense, and only this sense, I am a deeply religious man... I am satisfied with the mystery of life's eternity and with a knowledge, a sense, of the marvelous structure of existence -- as well as the humble attempt to understand even a tiny portion of the Reason that manifests itself in nature."

Albert Einstein (signature)


Posted at 03:28 am by eugio
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Sunday, January 15, 2006
Whose hand is that?

Posted at 05:17 am by eugio
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Southern light

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Wednesday, December 28, 2005
sax- A feeling of freedom on the road

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Monday, January 31, 2005
Suspended in midair

Suspended in midair

Old words resound tired along white corridors,
Suspended in midair.

Old slippers, abandoned, perpetually, under a white bench
Suspended in midair.

Old people, suspended in midair,
Stare into the emptiness and see everything,
Even what does not exist.

White is dawn
That finds them already immersed in their everything
Giving the impression of doing nothing.

Old is the sun, suspended in midair,
With its heat attempts to mitigate the cold feeling of the night that,
Inexorable, will be approaching.

Old is the insomnia that keeps them company along the white nights
Suspended in midair.

Old people, Suspended in midair,
Smile at a white light, far away, Suspended in midair.

Eugenio Conigliaro

Copyright ©2005 Eugenio Conigliaro

Posted at 06:12 am by eugio
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I waited nearby the lake,
Not too close to the shore though,
A sign of reverence or maybe just fear.
I waited, with a dear friend,
for the sun to come
And float on the water.
I stretched my arm towards the incandescent shrine
And I felt its closeness increasing my faith
The setting sun is a free spirit
Travels at speed but has no destination.
The lake inflamed by the crepuscular light
Was floating in the air and so were our souls.
Is it going to last all night this breathtaking glow?
Only a fragment of that light will make it through the night
Only a sweet nuance of undistinguished colour will stay
Will line a cloud and will blend our minds.

Eugenio Conigliaro

Copyright ©2005 Eugenio Conigliaro

Posted at 06:10 am by eugio
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