I am checking in with reading notes, since I have not kept up with “reviewing” this month.
As usual, these are not quite reviews.
I recently read Natalia Ginzburg’s two novellas, Valentino and Sagittarius, recently published by NYRB, translated by Avril Bardoni, and John le Carre’s 1974 thriller, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, beloved both of intellectuals and the common readers. These books are flawlessly constructed, elegantly-written, unflinching, and sharp. Both writers elucidate abnormal situations that don’t, at first, seem particularly unusual.
In a way, Ginzburg reminds me of Elena Ferrante, though Ginzburg writes much more concisely than Ferrante. Her portraits of dysfunctional families are anchored by smart, independent women narrators who are not completely unlike Lena in Ferrante’s Neapolitan Quartet.
In Ginzburg’s novella Valentino, Caterina, the diffident narrator, lives with her parents and mesmerizingly handsome brother, Valentino. The focus of family life is her pampered brother, who is vain, lazy, always needs money, and is constantly getting engaged to and breaking up with pretty young women. When he announces his plans to marry a rich woman he has never mentioned, they are appalled. His previous fiancees have been gorgeous, so they know he is marrying Maddalena for money. “She’s grotesque,” the mother says. Clara, the married sister, says she is a pig. (Really, she’s not that bad. I liked her.)
In the reliable voice of observant Caterina, who selects and relates the details of the story, the truth of Valentino’s decadent mode of life is revealed. Eventually Caterina, who has a teaching degree, is invited by Maddalena to live with the married couple, and also looks after their children.
At first she is fascinated by her brother’s expensive plumage, i.e., fashionable clothing. Every night Valentino and Maddalena’s cousin, Kit, dress up to go to the clubs. Maddalena says she doesn’t mind Valentino’s womanizing; it is to be expected of Italian men But their picture of Valentino is completely inaccurate. In the end, everything comes down to family loyalty.
In Sagittarius, the narrator, another dutiful daughter, is, like Caterina, a teacher. She is annoyed by her mother, who doesn’t have enough to do, and keeps dropping in at her apartment. When her mother plans to open an art gallery, the narrator is happy for her. But things are hazy: she met her partner in a coffeehouse, and they spend hours fantasizing about the gallery. Again, the most charming people have secrets and are the most unreliable. In this tragicomedy, there are appalling consequences.
Now I must finish watching the movie. Lots of brilliant, fascinating actors, but I must have missed something crucial when I went to get a cup of tea without pausing.
Below is a photo from the film of Benedict Cumberbatch (a bit rattled from stealing files from spy libraries, as who wouldn’t be?), and Gary Oldman (a dead ringer for Smiley, who captures his stillness and understated character).