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Earthquake I.D.
The first novel in John Domini's Naples trilogy, Earthquake I.D. appeared in spring '07. Set in a famously troubled and romantic Southern Italian seaport, following the next earthquake, the story combines family and social crises with an element of fantasy and pervasive humor. The novel won wide critical praise and was nominated for a Pulitzer and other prizes. Richard Ford, an earlier Pulitzer winner, called it "a wonderful novel of an old-fashioned sort...a rich feast." Steve Erickson, author of Zeroville , called Domini "a writer of the world, with a deft talent for negotiating the currents of our age."In April 2009, an Italian translation appeared, under the title Terremoto Napoletano . Again reviews have been strong.
- GenresFiction
306 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2007
3 people are currently reading
56 people want to read
About the author
John Domini
17 books184 followersJohn Domini has won awards in all genres, publishing fiction in Paris Review and Ploughshares, and non-fiction in GQ and The New York Times, and elsewhere. The Times praised his early stories as "dreamlike… grabs hold of both reader and character," and Richard Ford called his ’07 novel, Earthquake I.D., "wonderful… a rich feast." In 2016, J.C. Hallman hailed his latest, MOVIEOLA!, as "a new shriek for a new century." A 2014 selection of criticism, The Sea-God's Herb, was termed "poetic" and "fascinating," in Publishers Weekly. Domini has won an NEA fellowship, taught at Harvard, Northwestern, and elsewhere, and held visiting-artist positions in Italy.
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January 9, 2009
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com:]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted here illegally. Sorry; today's review is slightly longer than Goodreads' word-count limit.)
Well, whaddya know -- January 8th and already one of my New Year's resolutions is shot all to hell. See, I promised myself this year to try to get through enough artistic projects to be able to publish five essays here a week; and that means reading roughly 100 to 150 pages of any particular book each day, or in other words a book every two or three days, punctuated with occasional movie reviews and personal essays to make up the difference, a schedule I frankly usually have no problems with at all. Ah, but then I come across a book like celebrated academic writer John Domini's Earthquake ID, and the next thing you know I'm down to 35 pages a day, suddenly finding myself facing day after day when I don't actually have a completed book to review; and that's because this book is one of those kind of novels, one of those dense metaphorical things that the academes love so much, with the same kind of careful, loving attention to each and every word that you usually only find in poetry. And thus does my reading rate slow to a crawl, simply so that I can soak up every word and make sure I understand the rich, multilayered story being told; and thus is it suddenly January 8th and I haven't published a review in three days, because of it taking me an entire week longer to actually finish the thing than I was expecting. Damn you, John Domini!
In fact, today's book is as good a time as any to delve more into an assertion I've made here several times before, now that I've been reviewing books professionally for about two years now, and am learning more and more about how the literary world works -- that so-called "mainstream fiction" or "literary fiction" or "general-audience fiction" is in fact just as much of a narrowly-defined genre as any so-called genre work, with the same kinds of rules and topics and touches that make any fan of that particular genre swoon, and that the reason this particular genre has become known as the "most important" one (i.e. the "serious" one, the one that wins all the awards) is because it's the genre academes love the most, the exact people spending the most time thinking about literature and handing out those awards in the first place. Take this inarguable fact, for example, that just like most "lit-fiction," Earthquake ID is much more interested in establishing an intriguing setting and complex characters than in following a traditional three-act plot; and that's because those who think about literature the most find this the part of literature where one is most able to make interesting and illuminating observations about the human condition, which most academes believe is the main point of literature in the first place. And this is versus the "And then they did this, and then they did this" nature of constructing a three-act plot, which the argument goes is precisely why "genre novels" do concentrate so much on plot, because they just naturally have less interesting observations to make about the human condition. Or like I said, so the argument goes.
To be more specific, the book is an examination of one Barbara Lulucita, and an ultra-detailed look at her unique yet relatable life: middle-aged American east-coast intellectual, devout Catholic and church-related counselor, now with her husband and five children in the exotic city of Naples, Italy, helping the place rebuild from a recent natural disaster that destroyed much of the poorer, immigrant-heavy districts. The book clearly concentrates much more on us learning as much as possible about Barbara, about what makes her tick and what her relationship is to her church, her family; and if this were a typical lit-fiction book, that's all this story would be, with academes fawning all over its "meta-texturalism" and non-academes grumbling about how "nothing happens." But like I said, this is actually a much better-than-average lit-fiction book, and one of those reasons is that Domini has injected a fascinating, unsettling detail into the middle of it; turns out that their middle child Paul, a sickly eleven-year-old who already has trouble navigating the ins-and-outs of normal society, has since arriving been regularly exhibiting what seems like the religious ability to heal people through the laying-on of hands, starting with fixing his dad after a mugging on their very first day there, from what witnesses could've sworn was actually a bit of brain matter oozing out of the side of his head wound.
This allows Domini to then add to the complexity of everything else going on in the story, making it a much more exciting thing than the usual academic snoozer; under this NEA-grant-recipient's very capable hands, this suddenly miraculous ability of her son's ends up flavoring Barbara's relationship with her newly adopted local priest, with the shady UN "advisor" who is technically her husband's boss, even the city itself and the way her family interacts with it. Because that's another major hallmark of literary fiction versus genre work; Earthquake ID is as much a portrait of Naples as it is a fictional narrative story, with the city itself becoming just as much a character as any of the humans we meet. This is where the book has already received a lot of critical praise, and it's easy to see why; because Domini paints an astoundingly magical portrait of the city by the time he's done, offering up such unique comparisons as the neighborhoods' gossipy nature to a group of teens gathered around a MySpace page, showing us an accumulated mass of four distinct cultures that make up this three-thousand-year-old space, showing how you can personally touch them each again with each new Neapolitan sub-basement you crawl through in the city's labyrinthine underground. And that's the main difference between a book like this and, say, Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian, and why one is so goose-bumpingly good and the other such a hacky mess; because Domini is a master of describing the flavor of a city, the tone of that city, the spirit of that city, instead of merely describing the same pictures that any of us can see at Flickr, or rattling off statistics that any of us can read at Wikipedia.
But like I said, make no mistake -- it's the quality of the writing itself that is the main reason to pick this up, yet another thing that you can say is a truism about all of lit-fiction, a subject at which this multiple award-winning author excels. (For those who don't know, Domini's CV is like an academe's wet dream -- publishing credits with The Paris Review and GQ, flowing praise from NPR, a critic gig with The Believer, former jobs at Harvard and Northwestern, even with this particular book being published by a special academic non-profit, one that concentrates on astonishingly written yet commercially questionable contemporary novels.) Because the fact is that Earthquake ID is one of those books I only come across once or twice a year, the kind that make me get a funny feeling in my stomach about halfway through, this absolute certainty all of a sudden that I'm in the presence of greatness, that I'm currently reading what will be known in another century as one of the best-written books of our times. It's a hard emotion to rationally describe, so let me just put it like this, that the last time I felt this way was fourteen months ago, while reading Denis Johnson's National Book Award winner Tree of Smoke; and if you're an obsessive fan of that book like I am, you'll know exactly what I mean by mentioning that gut-socking feeling you sometimes get with great books like these, that intensely personal pleasure that feels almost like a secret, like a brilliant secret you've come across and don't want to share with anyone else.
But of course that's silly; as a champion of the arts, I of course want you know about books like these, and in fact highly encourage you to check this one out if you get the chance; and in fact just next month I'll be reviewing yet another of Domini's novels, the newer A Tomb on the Periphery which apparently is part two of a story cycle related to today's book, which is why I was sent both titles at once. And in all fairness, there are things to warn you about too, and various annoying things about lit-fiction that Domini is also guilty of here; just to mention one very well-known example, his dialogue for the most part is extremely stilted and unrealistic-sounding throughout, pretty much the main reason the book didn't get a higher score here today than it did. I'm okay, though, with overlooking things like that with books like these, ready to dismiss them as necessary drawbacks to the great things that come with reading such titles; because the fact is that with stories this meticulous and poetic, of course every aspect of that story is going to be meticulous and poetic, even stuff like dialogue that is normally supposed to come out as more realistic than this in order to be truly effective.
As I've been learning recently more and more, there are strengths and weaknesses to any type of literature one decides to become a fan of, not just the hacky excesses of genre work that are usually held up as the main example; this is part of the very definition of being a fan of the arts, is to decide what things about the arts you're the biggest fan of, which things you'll overlook in order to enjoy the things you particularly love. And the fact is that a couple or several times a year I really love coming across books like these, deeply academic creatures that...
Well, whaddya know -- January 8th and already one of my New Year's resolutions is shot all to hell. See, I promised myself this year to try to get through enough artistic projects to be able to publish five essays here a week; and that means reading roughly 100 to 150 pages of any particular book each day, or in other words a book every two or three days, punctuated with occasional movie reviews and personal essays to make up the difference, a schedule I frankly usually have no problems with at all. Ah, but then I come across a book like celebrated academic writer John Domini's Earthquake ID, and the next thing you know I'm down to 35 pages a day, suddenly finding myself facing day after day when I don't actually have a completed book to review; and that's because this book is one of those kind of novels, one of those dense metaphorical things that the academes love so much, with the same kind of careful, loving attention to each and every word that you usually only find in poetry. And thus does my reading rate slow to a crawl, simply so that I can soak up every word and make sure I understand the rich, multilayered story being told; and thus is it suddenly January 8th and I haven't published a review in three days, because of it taking me an entire week longer to actually finish the thing than I was expecting. Damn you, John Domini!
In fact, today's book is as good a time as any to delve more into an assertion I've made here several times before, now that I've been reviewing books professionally for about two years now, and am learning more and more about how the literary world works -- that so-called "mainstream fiction" or "literary fiction" or "general-audience fiction" is in fact just as much of a narrowly-defined genre as any so-called genre work, with the same kinds of rules and topics and touches that make any fan of that particular genre swoon, and that the reason this particular genre has become known as the "most important" one (i.e. the "serious" one, the one that wins all the awards) is because it's the genre academes love the most, the exact people spending the most time thinking about literature and handing out those awards in the first place. Take this inarguable fact, for example, that just like most "lit-fiction," Earthquake ID is much more interested in establishing an intriguing setting and complex characters than in following a traditional three-act plot; and that's because those who think about literature the most find this the part of literature where one is most able to make interesting and illuminating observations about the human condition, which most academes believe is the main point of literature in the first place. And this is versus the "And then they did this, and then they did this" nature of constructing a three-act plot, which the argument goes is precisely why "genre novels" do concentrate so much on plot, because they just naturally have less interesting observations to make about the human condition. Or like I said, so the argument goes.
To be more specific, the book is an examination of one Barbara Lulucita, and an ultra-detailed look at her unique yet relatable life: middle-aged American east-coast intellectual, devout Catholic and church-related counselor, now with her husband and five children in the exotic city of Naples, Italy, helping the place rebuild from a recent natural disaster that destroyed much of the poorer, immigrant-heavy districts. The book clearly concentrates much more on us learning as much as possible about Barbara, about what makes her tick and what her relationship is to her church, her family; and if this were a typical lit-fiction book, that's all this story would be, with academes fawning all over its "meta-texturalism" and non-academes grumbling about how "nothing happens." But like I said, this is actually a much better-than-average lit-fiction book, and one of those reasons is that Domini has injected a fascinating, unsettling detail into the middle of it; turns out that their middle child Paul, a sickly eleven-year-old who already has trouble navigating the ins-and-outs of normal society, has since arriving been regularly exhibiting what seems like the religious ability to heal people through the laying-on of hands, starting with fixing his dad after a mugging on their very first day there, from what witnesses could've sworn was actually a bit of brain matter oozing out of the side of his head wound.
This allows Domini to then add to the complexity of everything else going on in the story, making it a much more exciting thing than the usual academic snoozer; under this NEA-grant-recipient's very capable hands, this suddenly miraculous ability of her son's ends up flavoring Barbara's relationship with her newly adopted local priest, with the shady UN "advisor" who is technically her husband's boss, even the city itself and the way her family interacts with it. Because that's another major hallmark of literary fiction versus genre work; Earthquake ID is as much a portrait of Naples as it is a fictional narrative story, with the city itself becoming just as much a character as any of the humans we meet. This is where the book has already received a lot of critical praise, and it's easy to see why; because Domini paints an astoundingly magical portrait of the city by the time he's done, offering up such unique comparisons as the neighborhoods' gossipy nature to a group of teens gathered around a MySpace page, showing us an accumulated mass of four distinct cultures that make up this three-thousand-year-old space, showing how you can personally touch them each again with each new Neapolitan sub-basement you crawl through in the city's labyrinthine underground. And that's the main difference between a book like this and, say, Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian, and why one is so goose-bumpingly good and the other such a hacky mess; because Domini is a master of describing the flavor of a city, the tone of that city, the spirit of that city, instead of merely describing the same pictures that any of us can see at Flickr, or rattling off statistics that any of us can read at Wikipedia.
But like I said, make no mistake -- it's the quality of the writing itself that is the main reason to pick this up, yet another thing that you can say is a truism about all of lit-fiction, a subject at which this multiple award-winning author excels. (For those who don't know, Domini's CV is like an academe's wet dream -- publishing credits with The Paris Review and GQ, flowing praise from NPR, a critic gig with The Believer, former jobs at Harvard and Northwestern, even with this particular book being published by a special academic non-profit, one that concentrates on astonishingly written yet commercially questionable contemporary novels.) Because the fact is that Earthquake ID is one of those books I only come across once or twice a year, the kind that make me get a funny feeling in my stomach about halfway through, this absolute certainty all of a sudden that I'm in the presence of greatness, that I'm currently reading what will be known in another century as one of the best-written books of our times. It's a hard emotion to rationally describe, so let me just put it like this, that the last time I felt this way was fourteen months ago, while reading Denis Johnson's National Book Award winner Tree of Smoke; and if you're an obsessive fan of that book like I am, you'll know exactly what I mean by mentioning that gut-socking feeling you sometimes get with great books like these, that intensely personal pleasure that feels almost like a secret, like a brilliant secret you've come across and don't want to share with anyone else.
But of course that's silly; as a champion of the arts, I of course want you know about books like these, and in fact highly encourage you to check this one out if you get the chance; and in fact just next month I'll be reviewing yet another of Domini's novels, the newer A Tomb on the Periphery which apparently is part two of a story cycle related to today's book, which is why I was sent both titles at once. And in all fairness, there are things to warn you about too, and various annoying things about lit-fiction that Domini is also guilty of here; just to mention one very well-known example, his dialogue for the most part is extremely stilted and unrealistic-sounding throughout, pretty much the main reason the book didn't get a higher score here today than it did. I'm okay, though, with overlooking things like that with books like these, ready to dismiss them as necessary drawbacks to the great things that come with reading such titles; because the fact is that with stories this meticulous and poetic, of course every aspect of that story is going to be meticulous and poetic, even stuff like dialogue that is normally supposed to come out as more realistic than this in order to be truly effective.
As I've been learning recently more and more, there are strengths and weaknesses to any type of literature one decides to become a fan of, not just the hacky excesses of genre work that are usually held up as the main example; this is part of the very definition of being a fan of the arts, is to decide what things about the arts you're the biggest fan of, which things you'll overlook in order to enjoy the things you particularly love. And the fact is that a couple or several times a year I really love coming across books like these, deeply academic creatures that...
April 20, 2011
Let me explain something about the narrator’s function. The narrator should be an observer, a voyeur, a secretary. The narrator should slowly orbit her characters, allowing them room to breathe, to grow, to take on colours and shapes, letting the actions and events unfurl in a carefully choreographed tableau of feelings and happenings. This isn’t true of all narrators. But it’s a good starting point. A good narrator also knows when to shut the hell up.
Earthquake I.D. is an accomplished and ambitious novel, populated by strange and engaging events, set in a wholly unchartered fictional terrain: modern Naples. The shelves aren’t swarming with sagas about Sicilian-American immigrants returning home to help with earthquake relief efforts. So this novel stakes its flag in original and fascinating territory, and pursues that territory with an assured, intelligent voice.
But, heavens to Betsy. That narrator doesn’t stop narrating. He loves to narrate, he loves it, so he does. And that, for me, is this book’s undoing. It’s not simply a case of style, of the Sicilian storytelling tradition fused with the sardonic Sorrentino touches, topped off with a little erudite showboating. That’s all well and good, that’s what makes the style distinctive. But there’s too damn much of it. So what happens, ultimately, is the narrator blocks our involvement with the characters, the plot, the language. He blocks the novel.
By over-narration, I mean simply excessive descriptive passages of feelings, sensations, happenings, plot machinations. You get the feeling the narrator often gives way begrudgingly to dialogue, a necessary hurdle before another long stretch of narration begins. The narrator never gets close to the characters in a gut-level way: the best moments with Barb are shown through dialogue, while the narration flaps away, digging for insight, for little profundities. It’s a novel that blocks emotional involvement through fat swathes of superfluity.
Added to this a convoluted plot with characters dumped and forgotten, an increasingly frustrating performance from the lead man ‘Jaybird,’ and the often awkward technology and sex talk. The subplot with Paul, a child with healing powers, is dropped entirely, and towards the end I had to will myself to keep reading as I couldn’t follow any of the plots toppling over themselves in this long slow wheeze towards the end.
Having said that, the research and attention-to-detail is faultless, and the book has a simmering political subplot running throughout designed to keep the reader tip-toeing on hot coals. It’s a smorgasbord of elements, knitted together with patches of sumptuous prose.
I’ve been cautious in this review since Mr Domini is a frequent Goodreads contributor (and top reviewer), and knowing the author might read a not-too-flattering review makes a person very cautious about clear expression and rational analysis. (A good thing? Certainly.) So yes, on the whole: fascinating ideas, not mad on that loquacious narrator. (Also I have to agree with another reviewer regarding the cover: it’s hideous).
Earthquake I.D. is an accomplished and ambitious novel, populated by strange and engaging events, set in a wholly unchartered fictional terrain: modern Naples. The shelves aren’t swarming with sagas about Sicilian-American immigrants returning home to help with earthquake relief efforts. So this novel stakes its flag in original and fascinating territory, and pursues that territory with an assured, intelligent voice.
But, heavens to Betsy. That narrator doesn’t stop narrating. He loves to narrate, he loves it, so he does. And that, for me, is this book’s undoing. It’s not simply a case of style, of the Sicilian storytelling tradition fused with the sardonic Sorrentino touches, topped off with a little erudite showboating. That’s all well and good, that’s what makes the style distinctive. But there’s too damn much of it. So what happens, ultimately, is the narrator blocks our involvement with the characters, the plot, the language. He blocks the novel.
By over-narration, I mean simply excessive descriptive passages of feelings, sensations, happenings, plot machinations. You get the feeling the narrator often gives way begrudgingly to dialogue, a necessary hurdle before another long stretch of narration begins. The narrator never gets close to the characters in a gut-level way: the best moments with Barb are shown through dialogue, while the narration flaps away, digging for insight, for little profundities. It’s a novel that blocks emotional involvement through fat swathes of superfluity.
Added to this a convoluted plot with characters dumped and forgotten, an increasingly frustrating performance from the lead man ‘Jaybird,’ and the often awkward technology and sex talk. The subplot with Paul, a child with healing powers, is dropped entirely, and towards the end I had to will myself to keep reading as I couldn’t follow any of the plots toppling over themselves in this long slow wheeze towards the end.
Having said that, the research and attention-to-detail is faultless, and the book has a simmering political subplot running throughout designed to keep the reader tip-toeing on hot coals. It’s a smorgasbord of elements, knitted together with patches of sumptuous prose.
I’ve been cautious in this review since Mr Domini is a frequent Goodreads contributor (and top reviewer), and knowing the author might read a not-too-flattering review makes a person very cautious about clear expression and rational analysis. (A good thing? Certainly.) So yes, on the whole: fascinating ideas, not mad on that loquacious narrator. (Also I have to agree with another reviewer regarding the cover: it’s hideous).
March 18, 2011
This has to be my favorite of Domini's writings so far. There are just so many things going on in this book at one time that are woven together into a single narrative movement. Like the literary equivalent of thousand thread count sheets. Just really pulls me in. Religion, personal issues, intrafamily issues, politicial issues, each distinct yet each contributing to the forward motion that sucks me in and pulls me along. This is a marvelous book.
February 20, 2011
John is a brilliant, talented writer. Although A Tomb on the Periphery is, for me, his accomplished novel, I have had pleasure to re-read recently this wonderful book Earthquake I.D. set in Naples, Italy.
October 13, 2010
what a powerful novel. reminds me of Rikki Ducornet some. a full story about the dissolution and reuniting of a new york family in Naples after a devastating earthquake. Shows and brings usa people into the real world, or all the other world not encompassed in our insular usa. I think we have arrived and are facing the consequences of our meddling and the long history of people and their god.
November 17, 2009
If this book were a dessert, it would be Mississippi Mud Pie. The prose is dense and rich, and demands one's full attention. Loved the miracles, the quirky characters, and the setting (Naples).
July 26, 2012
ONE PART MARVELOUS, ONE PART BORING
Earthquake I.D.
By John Domini
Barbara Lulucita (lu-lu-CE-ta in America, lu-LU-su-ta in Italy) is involved in a marriage she believes is on the cusp of divorce. Her internal monologue dominates John Domini’s Earthquake I.D. to point of informing everything in the book. To me, this is an anchor holding back what could be an engaging, even fascinating, fast-moving naval destroyer of a tale.
It occurs in a semi-exotic location — Naples — in a time of upheaval and turmoil both physical and psychological following an earthquake near Mt. Vesuvius — a real one in 1980. It features her son, an adolescent with apparent powers for faith healing. Her husband, the momorably-nicknamed Jaybird, on a UN mission providing relief in the earthquake shaken area around Naples. Her four other children entering or nearing the end of their teenage years. Her mother-in-law who considers herself a seductress in her dotage. A surrounding cast of characters including Silky, a scheming truth-challenged UN employee and bodyguard, clandestino Africans, an unctious Italian priest, hordes of Italians shaken by the earthquake, international and local characters with shady or at least unexplicable motives.
So with all that, you’d expect a tale of movement, of action, of consequence and redemmption. Those elements are present, to be sure, but they are overwhelmed by Barbara’s continuing angst about her marriage. Should she kick the ol’ Jaybird out? Or should she reconcile with him, recognizing the nobility of the man who left a high-paying job in New York to perform missions of mercy for his ancestral countrymen?
Unfortunately, we are presented with much too much agonizing on Barb’s concerns. It’s not that these are trivial questions — busting up a long marriage or keeping it together — call for serious questions not only about who we are and what we want with our lives, but about the practical concerns about starting a new phase of life and the unfathomable problems that creates, and about the children, their development, and their educations.
Domini does a marvelous job of that. Open this book at any random page and might well be overwhelmed by the humanity of the characters, the humor and danger of their situation, the beauty of the language.
At the same time, you’re likely to be wishing Domini could get past the cluelessness of his lead character’s approach to her problem and just — please! — get on with the story.
I’m a huge fan of John Domini’s works. He has an unparalled ability to place himself into the minds of his characters — but maybe a little too unparalleled in Earthquake. I think his shorter pieces are better than his longer works. To contrast Earthquake I.D. with his other book on the same place and time, read A Tomb on the Periphery. Try Highway Trade, a marvelous collection of short stories. Try Bedlam. All short, sweet, rapidly moving stories (or collections of stories) that are more representative examples of Domini’s talents.
Earthquake I.D.
By John Domini
Barbara Lulucita (lu-lu-CE-ta in America, lu-LU-su-ta in Italy) is involved in a marriage she believes is on the cusp of divorce. Her internal monologue dominates John Domini’s Earthquake I.D. to point of informing everything in the book. To me, this is an anchor holding back what could be an engaging, even fascinating, fast-moving naval destroyer of a tale.
It occurs in a semi-exotic location — Naples — in a time of upheaval and turmoil both physical and psychological following an earthquake near Mt. Vesuvius — a real one in 1980. It features her son, an adolescent with apparent powers for faith healing. Her husband, the momorably-nicknamed Jaybird, on a UN mission providing relief in the earthquake shaken area around Naples. Her four other children entering or nearing the end of their teenage years. Her mother-in-law who considers herself a seductress in her dotage. A surrounding cast of characters including Silky, a scheming truth-challenged UN employee and bodyguard, clandestino Africans, an unctious Italian priest, hordes of Italians shaken by the earthquake, international and local characters with shady or at least unexplicable motives.
So with all that, you’d expect a tale of movement, of action, of consequence and redemmption. Those elements are present, to be sure, but they are overwhelmed by Barbara’s continuing angst about her marriage. Should she kick the ol’ Jaybird out? Or should she reconcile with him, recognizing the nobility of the man who left a high-paying job in New York to perform missions of mercy for his ancestral countrymen?
Unfortunately, we are presented with much too much agonizing on Barb’s concerns. It’s not that these are trivial questions — busting up a long marriage or keeping it together — call for serious questions not only about who we are and what we want with our lives, but about the practical concerns about starting a new phase of life and the unfathomable problems that creates, and about the children, their development, and their educations.
Domini does a marvelous job of that. Open this book at any random page and might well be overwhelmed by the humanity of the characters, the humor and danger of their situation, the beauty of the language.
At the same time, you’re likely to be wishing Domini could get past the cluelessness of his lead character’s approach to her problem and just — please! — get on with the story.
I’m a huge fan of John Domini’s works. He has an unparalled ability to place himself into the minds of his characters — but maybe a little too unparalleled in Earthquake. I think his shorter pieces are better than his longer works. To contrast Earthquake I.D. with his other book on the same place and time, read A Tomb on the Periphery. Try Highway Trade, a marvelous collection of short stories. Try Bedlam. All short, sweet, rapidly moving stories (or collections of stories) that are more representative examples of Domini’s talents.
December 8, 2008
A wonderfully satisfying read, John Domini's new novel rewarded me with an intriguing portrait of another world, fascinating characters, and a hint of the mysterious in a modern setting. The world is that of Naples, Italy, riotously overcrowded, yet nevertheless conveying a sense of joyous celebration of humanity en masse. The characters are the Lulucitas, an American family on a mission to help the victims of the city's latest earthquake. The novel focuses mainly on the mother, Barbara, a woman whose mind is as deeply divided as the post-quake setting. The mysteriousness is the apparent faith healing abilities of the Lulucitas' youngest son. The novel takes us on an Amalfi Drive of plot complications, as we find out secrets of the city, the family, and more. A tremendously rewarding novel, at every level.
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