The Perfect Circle by Italian author Claudia Petrucci reads like an endless downwards spiral that makes us question: “how did it come to this?”
Whilst reading this novel which is set in Italy, I was reminiscing on lunching in Roma this time last year, trying to stare through the buildings from my spot on a piazza. Nosing a glass of riesling and nibbling absentmindedly on some cheese, I couldn’t stop wondering what was behind the shuttered windows left ajar to let in the height of the midday sun; watching the shadows grow on the symmetrical archways, cut up by iron bars; sitting on the stoop of grand wooden doors that looked as heavy and ancient as marble. That is the appeal of Rome: crooked cobblestones and curiosity. At home, cheese boards don’t quite feel like this. Here, in the afternoon sun, reading Irene’s story begin in Rome felt like my own round circle moment, perfected by memories of the promise of a riposo.
But this book was not a respite. I read it in the very early hours of the morning before another scorching hot day in Perth, where the heat keeps you indoors and unable to nap unless the aircon is assaulting you in the face. A mixture of dystopia, drama, intrigue, mystery was achieved through eerie and spacial writing that granted the reader the detachment of being a bystander alongside the intensity of being a witness, like watching a fire break out and feeling the heat on your face. The artful prose of Petrucci’s writing created a story that shocked me into contemplating a near-future version of Milan shrouded in fog, devoid of sunlight because of the festering effects of climate change. Of an alternate (but perhaps very real) reality where the next time I visited my family in Rome, I would be able to see behind those closed doors in exchange of never seeing the sun again.
In The Perfect Circle, readers are not given any answers as to how the world has come to be like this, but told a story of how regret, betrayal, greed and selfishness linger in physical spaces; the climate crisis’ impact on Italy is superimposed to a smaller scale in the round house on Via Saterna, Milan that sports a central skylight designed to shine three floors down. But Milan is shrouded in a chthonic, orange fog, and instead, the now useless skylight is the centre of a deeper narrative about time, death and repetition
What of a time when you could see the sun through the skylight? Unfortunately, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Until there is no sun, no home, no point of buying houses in darkness. Two narratives about two women separated by time, but connected by the house, alternate and circle each other throughout the novel. Eventually, like a spiral, the two stories converge in the middle.
Irene, a real estate agent based in Rome, returns to Milan when she is commissioned to sell a house on Via Saterna, a Palladian square housing a perfect circle at its centre. To avoid the scrutiny of her architect father, whom questions the morality of selling cultural patrimony to foreign bidders, Irene busies herself by avoiding her not-boyfriend in Rome, contemplating motherhood in this world, and scouring the house from top to bottom to achieve the impossible feat of selling it.
My curiosity sitting on the piazza is satisfied here, where Irene’s discoveries are told in chronological order, and the unfolding tale of Lidia, the house’s previous occupant, is told in reverse. The inverted narrative reveals what is behind the closed doors of the piazza: how and by whom the house on Via Saterna was built, and the mystery behind its odd layout. If the skylight wasn’t rendered useless by a sunless sky, it would have shined on the spot where Lidia fell to her death.
The entire narrative and composition of Petrucci’s writing is concentric. I was thoroughly impressed with how every single theme was added to this elusive whirlpool of mystery. The book begins with Irene’s return and Lidia’s death, and it transpires with the skylight as the radius closes in, further and further, like fog, fire and water; like a planet heating up; like the blaring quiet of an abandoned house. Except, in a crisis like this, abandoning Earth is not an option. So what of Via Saterna?
“The future is frightening without a home.”
Thank you to the publisher, World Editions, for providing me with an advanced reader copy!