Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

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Goliarda Sapienza's The Art of Joy was written over a nine year span, from 1967 to 1976. At the time of her death in 1996, Sapienza had published nothing in a decade, having been unable to find a publisher for what was to become her most celebrated work, due to its perceived immorality. One publisher's rejection letter exclaimed: 'It's a pile of iniquity.' The manuscript lay for decades in a chest finally being proclaimed a "forgotten masterpiece" when it was eventually published in 2005.
This epic Sicilian novel, which begins in the year 1900 and follows its main character, Modesta, through nearly the entire span of the 20th century, is at once a coming-of-age novel, a tale of sexual adventure and discovery, a fictional autobiography, and a sketch of Italy's moral, political and social past. Born in a small Sicilian village and orphaned at age nine, Modesta spends her childhood in a convent raised by nuns.Through sheer cunning, she manages to escape, and eventually becomes a princess. Sensual, proud, and determined, Modesta wants to discover the infinite richness of life and sets about destroying all social barriers that impede her quest for the fulfilment of her desires. She seduces both men and women, and even murder becomes acceptable as a means of removing an obstacle to happiness and self-discovery.
Goliarda Sapienza (1924–1996) was born in Catania, Sicily in 1924, in an anarchist socialist family. At sixteen, she entered the Academy of Dramatic Arts in Rome and worked under the direction of Luchino Visconti, Alessandro Blasetti and Francesco Maselli. She is the author of several novels published during her lifetime: Lettera Aperta (1967), Il Filo Di Mezzogiorno (1969), Università di Rebibbia (1983), Le Certezze Del Dubbio (1987). L'Arte Della Gioia is considered her masterpiece.
Anne Milano Appel, Ph.D., a former library director and language teacher, has been translating professionally for nearly twenty years, and is a member of ALTA, ATA, NCTA and PEN. Her translation of Giovanni Arpino's Scent of a Woman (Penguin, 2011) was named the winner of The John Florio Prize for Italian Translation (2013).

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* * *

‘Nothing at all, Nina? Didn’t you sell the berets?’

‘One question deserves another. Didn’t those cialtroni bring you anything, the bastards? Yet they gobble up your lessons.’

‘The poor things, they can barely stand on two feet! But it heartens me to see how, despite their hunger, their interest is stronger. They lap it all up as if it were rosolio ! In the convent, I dreamed of being a teacher, mostly because of Mother Leonora’s lectern, her pointer … When Jacopo was five, he dreamed of being pope.’

‘Damn! He’s no slouch, your Jacopo.’

‘It’s because of their age. They have so much energy, they don’t know what to do with it. All you have to do is not oppose their dreams and then in time, having had their fill, they come to understand; dreams satisfy you like another life. In fact, afterwards Jacopo began to dream of becoming a pirate.’

‘I dreamed of being an opera singer.’

‘Indeed, you have a stupendous voice.’

‘Yes, but seeing how big and fat they were, I got disgusted. I wanted to be slim!’

‘You can be happy: we’re in the right place here.’

‘Funny! But do I see a little packet?’

‘Really, Nina, it’s only the usual handful of lentils. And besides, there’s no water!’

‘That’s why they let you have them, those little buggers.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Of course it’s not true. I said it just to say something.’

‘How well they catch on if you speak clearly to them! At first I thought my own children were so bright because of the way I raised them. But I see that isn’t so. Except for that Mazzella, who is really deficient, they all get it, and that helps.’

‘They even understand too much! Watch out, the parish priest has complained, I wouldn’t want them to send us to a worse island. Things can always get worse!’

‘I’m not afraid, Nina. Prando was right: all hell is breaking loose, and they have other things to worry about … As I was saying, I wanted to be a teacher.’

‘You already told me, piccoletta . Hunger isn’t doing you any good, little one.’

‘If you tell me I’m repeating myself, it means you don’t love me anymore, Nina.’

‘What are you saying, micia , come here … There, that’s it, on my lap, my little pussycat. Oh, you’re burning up! Don’t tell me you’ve got a fever?’

‘No, no, you don’t love me anymore. Even yesterday, you didn’t want to kiss me.’

‘Well now Nina will kiss you. Come! Yesterday I went up and down four times for the mail, micia , don’t forget that!’

‘But before you always kissed me, even when you were tired.’

‘So? What does that mean? Naturally the flesh always calms down little by little in these things, but in return there’s so much tenderness, right, micia ? So much tenderness it almost makes me cry … Come now, a small kiss on these beautiful eyes, this face, this mouth that goes on and on, just to make it stop chattering…’

‘And also on my firm, arrogant chin, as you used to say … Do you still like it, Nina?’

‘Of course I still do, like this beautiful serene brow, just barely marred by a scar that changes shape, colour … what shape does it have today, do you know? It looks like a small pale brook full of little stars.’

‘Oh, Nina, don’t mention water. I’m so thirsty!’

‘I can’t blame you. So then let’s say that today it has the shape of a comet. You’ve told me everything, but not how you got this scar.’

‘I don’t feel like talking about it. I just feel thirsty.’

‘Then you know what your Nina says? It’s time to get a move on!’

‘You’re so funny when you say that!’

‘Get a move on, then. Come on, shake your ass! Lazy bones! Not to brag, but we Romans are really elegant spirits, almost worthy of Sir Eden, or stylish Bond Street, as Arminio used to say.’

‘What pronunciation, Nina! Say it again: Strreeteh’.’

‘What does pronunciation matter? As long as you get it! Besides, I live by reflected light and I’m satisfied with that.’

‘Whose reflected light?’

‘My Arminio’s. He knows foreign languages and all that. I revolve around him. I look at him and swell with satisfaction!’

‘You still think about your brother, eh, Nina?’

‘Like you and your old man: when I need him.’

‘Listen, Nina, you haven’t told me everything either, like why you stopped studying.’

‘Who knows! Arminio says it’s because of the usual old female self-deprecation. It’s true. I let myself get discouraged! Oh, not at home. At home, to my father, we were all equal … and in fact, damn if he wasn’t right! All dead or in jail, women and men alike! What was I saying? Oh yes, not at home but outside, in school. He also said that maybe it depended on your date of birth. I was born too soon, and he must be right because Licia, the youngest, studies and she’s quicker than a locomotive … Come on, move. I really hope I hear from Olimpia: with Licia she’s in good hands, but you know how it is! A mother’s anxiety doesn’t let up. Come on, let’s go.’

‘No, tell me about Arminio. What is he like?’

‘Again? You must know it by heart.’

‘Yes, but I like to hear about him.’

‘Not to brag, but he’s my brother!’

‘Is it true that his eyes change colour, or did you make it up?’

‘Look at mine. What do you think?’

‘Will I get to meet him?’

‘How should I know! It seems to me that we won’t meet anyone here anymore except in the next world! Come on, let’s go.’

‘I feel weak, Nina. What is it?’

‘Then stay here. I’ll go. Today is a good day, you’ll see. You’ll see, I’ll come back with a lot of letters and something to eat.’

I’m sure that’s true. When Nina says she’ll be right back, she means it. She’s never been late, not ten minutes or an hour. But whether due to thirst or hunger, or because of all that salt water — even from a distance you can tell it’s salty and bitter — today I’m afraid I won’t see her face again. To calm the trembling of my knees, even if I had to crawl over the scorching rocks on all fours, I race after her and grab her hand … I can’t see anything, yet it’s broad daylight. All I feel is the warmth of her hand urging me down toward what was once a quiet cove of pale blue water, with rows of white houses like the ones Jacopo used to draw when he was five or six years old … Why has Nina stopped? And why, instead of the usual silent, empty streets, are there so many people pushing and shouting? Why is that man who has climbed onto the ledge now plucking at the wall and hurling stones at us?

84

‘They weren’t trying to harm us, micia . They were tearing down Mussolini’s bust, and they were elated! When you slumped to the ground like in the movies, I realized, damn if Nina didn’t realize, that it was serious! But now you’re out of danger, and that’s what counts.’

‘What danger? And why is it so dark?’

‘Because your eyes hurt. Nothing serious. It’s the fever and weakness.’

‘It’s from hunger, isn’t it, Nina?’

‘Well, I wish! You had typhus, micia , and what a fever! Is it possible you don’t remember anything? What a fright! Hour by hour, I was afraid you would die in my arms.’

‘Nina? I’ve never seen you cry.’

‘Hell! It’s you who are making me cry, with those fleshless ribs and these tiny little hands. They look like my Olimpia’s hands when she had diphtheria.’

‘Olimpia! Have you heard from your daughter?’

‘She’s here with us … you really don’t remember anything?’

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