by Elena Ferrante
Beautifully written novels open a window onto a host of fascinating characters, place and time
Being a short story writer, I long resisted reading these book just because they were novels, and lengthy ones at that. Mostly, I didn’t want to succumb to the weight of their popularity. But with so much pandemic time on my hands, I thought, why not see what the fuss is about? I’m on board now. These are beautifully written novels, an open window onto a host of fascinating characters in a unique, even exotic (to me, at least) place and time.
Contributing to their popularity is a technique Ferrante borrows from genre novelists, concentrating principally on the action, fragmenting the long story into very short chapters, almost all of which end on what television writers call a button—a spiffy bit of dialog or a precarious plot turn. You keep saying, what’s one more tiny chapter, then find yourself still reading at three in the morning. It’s the literary equivalent of binge-watching NETFLIX.
In case you’ve been living under a rock and don’t know this, here goes. Refracted through the story of two friends—one naturally brilliant, one merely very smart, but persistent—is the nearly sixty-year history of post-war Neapolitan life.
Class and the attending language conflicts, poverty, organized crime, an archaic and discriminatory educational system, the ‘60s student revolts and the violent factions rising out of them, politics, motherhood, womanhood, ambition, the pettiness of the academe, betrayal, shoes, only a little love, even less sex. Did I leave anything out? Oh, yes. Vendetta, violence, murder.
What’s not to like? I devoured the books in less than a month and was sad when it was over. That said, I can’t count myself a true Ferrante fan. Her books are a little overstuffed for me. Still, I’m glad I spent time with Elena Greco, Lila Cerullo, Maestra Oliviero, with the families—Sarratore, Solaras, Caraccis—with Enzo, Antonio, Pasquale and the gang. With all the messiness and menace of Naples.