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A review by nancypolo
Storia di chi fugge e di chi resta by Elena Ferrante
5.0
I primi due libri Napoletane di Elena Ferrante mi colpirono più di ogni altra storia che io abbia inghiottito. Storie ci nutriscono in una maniera che capiamo solo nel interiore del nostro essere, fuori la ragione di carne, ossa e pelle. Sapendo in anticipo che nel terzo libro Lenù avrebbe lasciato le sue figlie, ho perso completamente la voglia di leggere. Mi sembrava impossibile che una mamma avrebbe potuto tagliare il legame (secondo a la mia esperienza) indispensabile per una donna. Solo dopo più di anno ho potuto tornare a leggere. Questo libro, non solo mi ha ritirato dentro l'entropia assuefante di Lila e Lenù, ma anche dentro l'esperienza travolgente del amore illecito-- una forza che non ti lascia alcuna pace finché non ti arrendi. Alla fine, però, ci lascia, come sempre la Ferrante-- con la delusione che sfida qualsiasi speranza di credere nelle favole. Ci resta un filo irrististible da tirare che minaccia di disfare ogni speranza di contentezza immaginabile. Turbolenza sotto l'aeroplano di gioia non si può ignorare. Sono rimasta incantata e non vedo l'ora di continuare.
The first two Neapolitan books by Elena Ferrante hit me more than any other story I have consumed. Stories nourish us in a way that we understand only in the interior of our being, outside the logic of the bone, flesh and skin. Knowing that in the third book Lenù would leave her daughters, I completely lost the will to read. It seemed impossible that a mother could cut a tie essential for any woman (from my experience). Only after more than a year could I read again. This book not only pulled me back into the addictive entropy of Lila and Lenù, but also into the overwhelming experience of illicit love - a force that leaves you no peace until you surrender. In the end, however, Ferrante leaves us as always - with a disappointment that challenges any hope of believing in fables. There remains an irrististible thread to pull that threatens to unravel any hope of contentment imaginable. Turbulence under the airplane of joy can not be ignored. I am enchanted and can not wait to continue.
The first two Neapolitan books by Elena Ferrante hit me more than any other story I have consumed. Stories nourish us in a way that we understand only in the interior of our being, outside the logic of the bone, flesh and skin. Knowing that in the third book Lenù would leave her daughters, I completely lost the will to read. It seemed impossible that a mother could cut a tie essential for any woman (from my experience). Only after more than a year could I read again. This book not only pulled me back into the addictive entropy of Lila and Lenù, but also into the overwhelming experience of illicit love - a force that leaves you no peace until you surrender. In the end, however, Ferrante leaves us as always - with a disappointment that challenges any hope of believing in fables. There remains an irrististible thread to pull that threatens to unravel any hope of contentment imaginable. Turbulence under the airplane of joy can not be ignored. I am enchanted and can not wait to continue.