Alessandro Baricco Forum

Alessandro Baricco

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I read Ocean Sea and in love with Baricco's writing style, then I read Silk and appreciated him even more. I have yet to read City. I am especially interested in Novecento, I only wish there was a translated version, or I was better at Italian.

>>By anster (Saturday, 25 Jan 2003 17:58)

Ocean Sea was beautiful and powerful. It carries the reader as gently as listening to favorite music: a Beethoven string quartet, which expresses nuance and is a discovery of all that life holds. Now, I want to re-read it and to find Silk.

>>By Barbara (Saturday, 25 Jan 2003 17:58)

First I read Ocean Sea. Perfect. Now i have in my possession all of his works. One of my very favourites. His style is so light, so easily he is guiding you. Every picture comes natural.

>>By Krstan Laketic (Friday, 4 Apr 2003 18:55)

everyone should read castelli di rabbia ,that is his very first novel and without a shadow of a doubt his masterpiece.I personally met the writer in sardinia at a show of his and i can ensure you that he is the most interesting and charming person.

>>By piero (Thursday, 17 Apr 2003 18:41)

This man is an alchemist! The most magical storyteller I've encountered ever . Each of his works has its own pulse, rhythm, sound. Every single one deserves to be explored, just begin with the portal that comes natural.

>>By Pomegranate (Friday, 18 Apr 2003 22:21)

hi, i've read novecento and i'm very interested in it . i'm from romania and i want to play an one man show based on the monologue sometime in the spring of 2004. if there is somebody who has it's english version and wants to sell it, please contact me at alex_t4t@yahoo.com
thank you

>>By alex pavel (Saturday, 3 May 2003 15:27)

I know this might sound strange, but I am a communications student and I'm working on a short film. One of the projects we might do is an adaptation of Chapter 8 of OceanSea. I want to know if there is a way to contact Mr. Baricco about this student project and if we can use the text, for no profit. Must I contact the publisher? The author? If so, how?

I loved the novel and would really like to work on this. Any information would be appreciated.

>>By rena (Sunday, 18 May 2003 19:11)

I picked up an old New Yorker (the periodical :-) ) and with half-open eyes, began to read "Without Blood." Became mesmerized. Really felt this writer had it.
The pages continued on and on for a delicious length, ...and then...just when I reached what I thought was the denouement:

"He [Tito] was wondering if he should sit on the bed, or maybe say..."

I discovered I'd ripped out the conclusion at some point in the last year. I was left stranded. So those words above were the very last ones left in the December 23/30, 2002 issue with the Chimpy typists on cover.
Disappointment was all mine. I cannot bear to not know what happened.
So it's Thanksgiving. Feel a bit pathetic begging for immediate gratification. Waiting until tomorrow to scrounge for old N/Yorker back issues (who knows where) is too much work for this lazy girl. If I have to do it, I shall. I'd rather start the endeavor by asking if, ahem, anyone out there has read this particular story and would he/she care to let me know/discuss its ending?

Thanks.

>>By silk (Friday, 28 Nov 2003 06:00)

here is the ending...
something about the place-- for example that it wasn't so bad. The woman went over to the man, unbuttoned his overcoat, and slipping it off his shoulders let it fall to the floor. They were close. They looked into each others's eyes for the second time in their lives. Then he slowly leaned over herò he had decided to kiss her on the lips. She didnt move and in a low voice said, "Dont be silly." The man stopped, and he stood like that leaning slightly gorward, feeling in his heart that everything was ending. But the woman slowly raised her arms, and took a step forward and embraced him, first gently, then powerfully, until her head rested on his shoulder and her whole body was pressed against his. The man felt the body of the woman who was holding him, and her hands light, in his hair. He closed his eyes. He took the woman in his arms. And with all his old mans strength he hugged her to him.
When she began to undress she said smiling: "Dont expect much"
When he was lying on her, he said smiling: "You are very beautiful."

From a room nearby came the sound of a radio, just perceptible. Lying on his back, in the big bed, completely nake, the man stared at the celing wondering if it was weariness that made his head spin, or the wind. Beside him the woman was still, her eyes closed, turned toward him, her head on the pillow. THey held each other by the hand. The night outside was illegible, and the time was vanishing without measure. He thought that he should be grateful to the woman, because she had led him there by the hand, step by step, like a mother with a child. She had done it wisely, and without haste. Now what remained to be done would not be difficult.
He let go ofher hand and rolled onto his side, giving her his back. It seemed that this was what she was expecting. A gesture that left her free to think, and gave her some solitude in which to decide her final move. Sleep was about to carry him off. It occurred to him that he didnt like being naked because they would find him like that and everyone would look at him. But he didnt dare tell the woman. So he turned his head toward her, not enought ot see her, and said_"I'd like you to know that my name is Pedro Cantos."
The woman repeated it slowly. "Pedro Cantos."
Then he laid his head on the pillow again and closed his eyes.
Nina repeated the name in her mind.
She turned to look at her bag, sitting on a chair near the door. She thought of going to get it, but she didnt, and remained lying on the bed. She thought of the kiosk, of the waiter in the cafe, of the taxi with the plastic covered seats. She saw again Pedros Cantos weeping, his hands sunk in the pockets of his overcoat. She saw him as he caressed her without the courage to breathe. i will never forget this day, she said to herself.
Then she turned, moved closer to Pedro Cantos, and did what she had been longing to do. She curled up behind him: she pulled her knees up to her chest, aligned her feet until she flet her legs perfectly paired, the thighs softly joined, the knees like two cups balanced one on the other, the calves separated by nothing, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and slid her hands between her legs. She looked at herself. She saw an old doll. She smiled. Shell and animal.
Then she thought htat however incomprehensible life was, probably we move through it with the single desire to return to the hell that created us, to live beside whoever once saved us from it. She tried to ask herself where that absurd faithfulness to horror came from but she had no answer. She understood only that nothing is stronger than the instinct to return, to where they broke us, and to replicate that moment forever. Thinking that the one who saved us once can do it forever. In a long hell identical to the one form which we came. Bust suddenly merciful. ANd without blood.
THe sign outside told its rosary of red lights. They were like the flames of a house on fire.
Nine rester her forehead against Pedro Cantos' back. She closed her eyes and slept.

>>By Nicolp (Tuesday, 2 Dec 2003 12:41)

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