What do you think?
Rate this book
Adua
“Utterly sublime."—Maaza Mengiste, author of Beneath the Lion’s Gaze
Adua, an immigrant from Somalia to Italy, has lived in Rome for nearly forty years. She came seeking freedom from a strict father and an oppressive regime, but her dreams of becoming a film star ended in shame. Now that the civil war in Somalia is over, her homeland beckons. Yet Adua has a husband who needs her, a young man, also an immigrant, who braved a dangerous crossing of the Mediterranean Sea. When her father, who worked as an interpreter for Mussolini’s fascist regime, dies, Adua inherits the family home. She must decide whether to make the journey back to reclaim her material inheritance, but also how to take charge of her own story and build a future.
Igiaba Scego is an Italian novelist and journalist. She was born in Rome in 1974 to Somali parents who took refuge in Italy following a coup d’état in their native country, where her father served as foreign minister.
Adua, an immigrant from Somalia to Italy, has lived in Rome for nearly forty years. She came seeking freedom from a strict father and an oppressive regime, but her dreams of becoming a film star ended in shame. Now that the civil war in Somalia is over, her homeland beckons. Yet Adua has a husband who needs her, a young man, also an immigrant, who braved a dangerous crossing of the Mediterranean Sea. When her father, who worked as an interpreter for Mussolini’s fascist regime, dies, Adua inherits the family home. She must decide whether to make the journey back to reclaim her material inheritance, but also how to take charge of her own story and build a future.
Igiaba Scego is an Italian novelist and journalist. She was born in Rome in 1974 to Somali parents who took refuge in Italy following a coup d’état in their native country, where her father served as foreign minister.
183 pages, Paperback
First published September 2, 2015
34 people are currently reading
1472 people want to read
About the author
Igiaba Scego
36 books231 followersIgiaba Scego is an Italian writer, journalist, and activist of Somali origin. She graduated with her BA in Foreign Literature at the First University of Rome (La Sapienza) as well as in pedagogy at the Third University of Rome. Presently, she is writing and researching cultural dialogue and migration.
She writes for various magazines that deal with migrant literature, in particular Carta, El-Ghibli and Migra. Her work, not devoid of autobiographical references, are characterized by the delicate balance between her two cultural realities, the Italian and Somalian.
In 2003, she won the Eks & Tra prize for migrant writers with her story "Salsicce", and published her debut novel, La nomade che amava Alfred Hitchcock. In 2006 she attended the Literature festival in Mantua.
Scego collaborates with newspapers such as La Repubblica and Il manifesto and also writes for the magazine Nigrizia with a column of news and reflection, "The colors of Eve". In 2007 along with Ingy Mubiayi, she edited the short story collection 'Quando nasci è una roulette. Giovani figli di migranti si raccontano.' It follows the story of seven boys and girls of African origin, who were born in Rome of foreign parents or came to Italy when young: the story of their schooling, their relationship with family and with peers, religion, racism in Italy, and their dreams.
She writes for various magazines that deal with migrant literature, in particular Carta, El-Ghibli and Migra. Her work, not devoid of autobiographical references, are characterized by the delicate balance between her two cultural realities, the Italian and Somalian.
In 2003, she won the Eks & Tra prize for migrant writers with her story "Salsicce", and published her debut novel, La nomade che amava Alfred Hitchcock. In 2006 she attended the Literature festival in Mantua.
Scego collaborates with newspapers such as La Repubblica and Il manifesto and also writes for the magazine Nigrizia with a column of news and reflection, "The colors of Eve". In 2007 along with Ingy Mubiayi, she edited the short story collection 'Quando nasci è una roulette. Giovani figli di migranti si raccontano.' It follows the story of seven boys and girls of African origin, who were born in Rome of foreign parents or came to Italy when young: the story of their schooling, their relationship with family and with peers, religion, racism in Italy, and their dreams.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 98 reviews
December 23, 2017
This is more of a 3.5 star read for me, rounded up. I loved the approach of the novel with the three historical periods and a woman who has experienced massive changes in her life between growing up traditionally as a Somali Muslim girl and then transitioning to film stardom in Italy. I liked the techniques of the rotating narrative perspective between Adua, her father as a younger man, and the sections addressed to her, correcting her behavior. Very unique! But it just wasn't long enough. I only get a taste! I wanted so much more of her father's experience (perhaps too narrow of a view of his life, I needed more background to understand his choices), her childhood, and the time between her film career and marrying young immigrant men who need homes. And more about the modern Somalia with houses selling for millions.
The writing, even in translation, shines in its casual approachability and the ability to pull the reader into the setting through brief but evocative descriptions of smells and sounds.
I appreciated how the author provided a brief overview of the historical context of the three periods of her novel at the end, but I think I would have preferred to learn it inside the novel. I will look for more from her.
Thanks to the publisher for providing access to this title through Edelweiss.
The writing, even in translation, shines in its casual approachability and the ability to pull the reader into the setting through brief but evocative descriptions of smells and sounds.
I appreciated how the author provided a brief overview of the historical context of the three periods of her novel at the end, but I think I would have preferred to learn it inside the novel. I will look for more from her.
Thanks to the publisher for providing access to this title through Edelweiss.
August 13, 2020
I was excited to read Igiaba Scego this #WomenInTranslationMonth, an Italian author of Somali origin. Although she is prolific in Italian, sadly only two of her books have been translated into English so far - this one, and Beyond Babylon. I really enjoyed reading Adua, and I hope more of her work will be translated in the future, especially her autobiographical book, La Mia Casa è Dove Sono (if I get desperate I'll have to brush off my Italian and read it in the original!)
.
Adua follows two main storylines. That of Adua, a so-called 'Old Lira' woman who has lived in Italy for more than 40 years after she fled Somalia in the 70s to escape her father and the restrictive regime. And then we also hear her father's story, when he also lived in Italy before he became a husband and a father, working as an interpreter and translator under Mussolini's fascist regime. Although the two storylines don't really come together, they are insightful on their own.
.
When Zoppe came to Italy, he was met with hostility and violence, the only kindness he was shown was from a Jewish family who were also suffering discrimination at the time. Adua's POV, especially when she was still a child in Somalia, was interesting. As a child, Adua had no idea what fascism or colonialism was; all she knew was that Italy, especially Rome, was painted as some sort of paradise. Needless to say when she arrived there with promises of becoming a movie star, the reality was altogether different.
.
As well as those two waves of immigration, Scego also touches on more current issues: migrants resorting to dangerous crossings of the Mediterranean to escape their country. Adua's husband is one such person, but we don't hear that much about him. However, Scego's afterword is helpful to understanding her aim with this book, as she said she didn't want to perform an analysis of these three periods in time, but transform them into experiences and emotions lived by her characters.
.
You don’t often hear about Italy’s colonial past in literature (The Shadow King addresses it, still on my TBR!), so I'm grateful to Scego for illuminating us. I do wish it had been a bit longer though!
.
Adua follows two main storylines. That of Adua, a so-called 'Old Lira' woman who has lived in Italy for more than 40 years after she fled Somalia in the 70s to escape her father and the restrictive regime. And then we also hear her father's story, when he also lived in Italy before he became a husband and a father, working as an interpreter and translator under Mussolini's fascist regime. Although the two storylines don't really come together, they are insightful on their own.
.
When Zoppe came to Italy, he was met with hostility and violence, the only kindness he was shown was from a Jewish family who were also suffering discrimination at the time. Adua's POV, especially when she was still a child in Somalia, was interesting. As a child, Adua had no idea what fascism or colonialism was; all she knew was that Italy, especially Rome, was painted as some sort of paradise. Needless to say when she arrived there with promises of becoming a movie star, the reality was altogether different.
.
As well as those two waves of immigration, Scego also touches on more current issues: migrants resorting to dangerous crossings of the Mediterranean to escape their country. Adua's husband is one such person, but we don't hear that much about him. However, Scego's afterword is helpful to understanding her aim with this book, as she said she didn't want to perform an analysis of these three periods in time, but transform them into experiences and emotions lived by her characters.
.
You don’t often hear about Italy’s colonial past in literature (The Shadow King addresses it, still on my TBR!), so I'm grateful to Scego for illuminating us. I do wish it had been a bit longer though!
March 14, 2021
I don’t think I’ve read anything substantive about Italian colonialism before, and I’m glad that this novel has now given me some exposure to it. Translated from the Italian, the novel focuses on Adua, a Somali woman who has lived in Italy since arriving there in her teens with (later cruelly dashed) hopes of movie stardom. Now, she is married to a younger man, a recently arrived migrant to whom she is an “Old Lira” woman, having arrived before the adoption of the Euro. Chapters in Adua’s voice alternate with the story of her father, Zoppe, who travelled to Italy as a translator in the 1930s. As well, short chapters headed “Talking-To” voice Zoppe’s admonishments to his daughter. It was a lot to take in - voices, cultural and historical context, disturbing racial and sexual violence, and some magical realism - within a short novel. Consequently I spent some of it feeling disoriented, and not all of it feeling fully engaged. But nonetheless it was powerful and I’ve continued to think it over afterwards.
February 18, 2016
A volte capita che il destino di ognuno di noi sia già scritto nel proprio nome. Ne sa qualcosa Adua, la protagonista di questo romanzo di Igiaba Scego.
"Ti ho dato il nome della prima vittoria africana contro l'imperialismo. Dentro il tuo nome c'è una battaglia, la mia..."
Adua non è solo il nome della prima vittoria africana, ma è anche e soprattutto la storia di una donna che dalla Somalia degli anni '70 giunge a Roma in attesa di un futuro migliore. Il libro è raccontato come un diario a due voci: da un lato, il padre e la sua storia di soprusi nel regime fascista, mentre dall'altro Adua e la sua storia di speranza, di pregiudizi, di infibulazione. Il romanzo racconta del colonialismo in terra africana, dell'integrazione. Una storia molto attuale per capire e non voltarsi dall'altra parte, in nome di tutti i migranti e le donne come lei che lottano e sognano in nome della libertà.
"Ti ho dato il nome della prima vittoria africana contro l'imperialismo. Dentro il tuo nome c'è una battaglia, la mia..."
Adua non è solo il nome della prima vittoria africana, ma è anche e soprattutto la storia di una donna che dalla Somalia degli anni '70 giunge a Roma in attesa di un futuro migliore. Il libro è raccontato come un diario a due voci: da un lato, il padre e la sua storia di soprusi nel regime fascista, mentre dall'altro Adua e la sua storia di speranza, di pregiudizi, di infibulazione. Il romanzo racconta del colonialismo in terra africana, dell'integrazione. Una storia molto attuale per capire e non voltarsi dall'altra parte, in nome di tutti i migranti e le donne come lei che lottano e sognano in nome della libertà.
October 7, 2024
Igiaba Scego racconta la storia dell’Italia e della Somalia attraverso tre generazioni di migranti. Adua arriva in Italia negli anni ‘70 con la promessa del cinema in cerca di una vita diversa; suo padre Zoppe lavora come traduttore per il regime fascista negli anni ‘30 a Roma, anche lui in cerca di opportunità e ricchezza; Titanic è il giovane marito di Adua, soprannominato così perché è arrivato su uno dei barconi che attraversano il Mediterraneo. Tutti sono accomunati dal sogno di un futuro migliore. Adua e Zoppe si alternano nella narrazione del romanzo; entrambi saranno traditi dai loro sogni ma la grande differenza tra i due, che hanno un rapporto molto conflittuale, è il modo in cui affrontano i loro fallimenti e soprattutto i loro errori; l’uno negando il proprio passato e l’altra raccontandosi apertamente. Adua ritrova sè stessa e la sua libertà proprio attraverso il racconto e il riappropriarsi della sua narrazione. È un libro importante che affronta il grande rimosso storico del colonialismo, che per l’Italia è ancora un argomento tabù di cui si parla e si conosce pochissimo. Scego decostruisce il racconto storico italiano con un romanzo fatto di corpi maltrattati. Per i loro sfruttatori, i somali sono solo un mezzo per i propri scopi; che sia per vincere una guerra ai tempi del colonialismo o per fare soldi con un film, a distanza di decenni Adua trova una società ancora intrisa della stessa logica razzista e dagli stessi stereotipi. Scego cerca di abbattere anche un’altra barriera, ovvero quella del racconto dei migranti oggi. Messi tutti in un unico calderone che li contrappone agli italiani, il rapporto tra Adua e Titanic racconta (a partire da questo soprannome) una realtà complessa, disomogenea e piena di conflitti. È un romanzo tosto, che parla di noi, dell’Italia. Di noi oggi e di noi ieri, che poi è la stessa cosa.
Alla fine del libro c'è anche un utile glossario delle parole somale presenti nel testo e soprattutto una bella bibliografia dei libri importanti per la stesura del romanzo che l'autrice ha scelto di condividere.
Commento del 2016
Alla fine del libro c'è anche un utile glossario delle parole somale presenti nel testo e soprattutto una bella bibliografia dei libri importanti per la stesura del romanzo che l'autrice ha scelto di condividere.
Commento del 2016
May 14, 2017
Reading "Adua" can be compared to a cake: some ingredients are quite tasty and can be eaten separately, like sugar or the backstory of the protagonist, Adua, while others cannot be, causing one to cringe, like salt or the first-person chapters in which Zoppo chastises Adua. The most disappointing though is that fact that this novel, in the cake analogy, makes for a very lopsided overall finished product that is more likely to elicit a feeling of sympathy for its creator, who had only the best intentions in mind, than for a true appreciation of the creation itself. There were many parts of "Adua" where I felt like Scego could have elaborated and rounded off the writing some more, especially with the jumping around and the particularly confusing setting of the present. In the end, while I felt saddened and angry at the way Adua was treated, I didn't feel like I truly knew her or her story, as she lacked that final breath of life that would make her feel real.
January 23, 2020
I’m not sure who upset the other reviewers, but I believe their lack of ability of relating to the realities discussed in this novel made it so that they were not able to connect with the narrative. Regardless of the poor reviews still pick up the book. Especially if you are aware of the true atrocities Italian colonialism had and still has on Somalian people. How the Italian white gaze deemed women from the continent as exotic sexual creatures. It’s a wonderful tale which jumps between the generations and describes the real pain of people who were indeed: people. The story jumps between a father and daughter and their relationship with their family and society around them. A tearjerker at times but nevertheless a well written story which should be read by all especially during the so called ‘immigration crisis’.
March 5, 2021
Questa è la storia narrata parallelamente di immigrati in Italia dalla Somalia durante tre ben diversi periodi storici.
Prima Zoppe, un giovane poliglotta che arriva in Italia durante la colonizzazione fascista in qualità di interprete, e che si sentirà di aver tradito il suo paese al pari delle persone per cui sarà costretto a fare da interprete.
Poi Adua, sua figlia, una giovane ribelle cresciuta nella boscaglia somala dopo la morte della madre, che verrà attratta dal mondo della celluloide a cui si venderà per ben poco, finendo col fare un film soft-porn di quelli che andavano in voga negli anni 70/80 in Italia.
Infine il giovane marito di Adua, che lei continua a chiamare "Titanic", un giovane immigrato clandestino dell'ultima ondata, che l'ormai vecchia Adua salva da un destino di alcol e di droga donandogli un tetto e del cibo in cambio di affetto.
Un libro molto intenso, con tanto orgoglio nazionale somalo e un pizzico di realismo magico.
Prima Zoppe, un giovane poliglotta che arriva in Italia durante la colonizzazione fascista in qualità di interprete, e che si sentirà di aver tradito il suo paese al pari delle persone per cui sarà costretto a fare da interprete.
Poi Adua, sua figlia, una giovane ribelle cresciuta nella boscaglia somala dopo la morte della madre, che verrà attratta dal mondo della celluloide a cui si venderà per ben poco, finendo col fare un film soft-porn di quelli che andavano in voga negli anni 70/80 in Italia.
Infine il giovane marito di Adua, che lei continua a chiamare "Titanic", un giovane immigrato clandestino dell'ultima ondata, che l'ormai vecchia Adua salva da un destino di alcol e di droga donandogli un tetto e del cibo in cambio di affetto.
Un libro molto intenso, con tanto orgoglio nazionale somalo e un pizzico di realismo magico.
September 18, 2017
Poignant personal story told in a disjointed way. It is excellent for certain points and passages, and then so jumpy it becomes almost, for me, time and motives incomprehensible.
July 3, 2023
3,75
Adua, com certeza, seria um livro incrível e melhor se tivesse mais contextualização e mais páginas para trabalhar os assuntos propostos.
Não é um livro ruim. Está longe disso, mas a Igiaba Scego poderia construir mais. Como acompanhamos memórias espaçadas e não lineares captamos o pouco que a autora nos oferece. É um pouco com qualidade e sem grandes arroubos.
É um bom livro e poderia ser mais se houvesse mais contextualização e menos fragmentos. Essa história merecia mais.
Adua, com certeza, seria um livro incrível e melhor se tivesse mais contextualização e mais páginas para trabalhar os assuntos propostos.
Não é um livro ruim. Está longe disso, mas a Igiaba Scego poderia construir mais. Como acompanhamos memórias espaçadas e não lineares captamos o pouco que a autora nos oferece. É um pouco com qualidade e sem grandes arroubos.
É um bom livro e poderia ser mais se houvesse mais contextualização e menos fragmentos. Essa história merecia mais.
August 4, 2023
This was not great :/ I appreciate the conversation on diaspora and colonialism, but overall the book just felt too fractured to work. Maybe if it had been longer it would’ve had more opportunities for cohesion. On the other hand, I feel like 2/3 POVs were unnecessary and were confusing with too many random events and details. It really should��ve just been Adua’s book. I can kind of see the vision, but the execution was just too far removed from anything effective for me.
July 26, 2020
É bom ler livros assim, novos autores e grandes emoções. Recomendo. Li a tradução brasileira. Este livro veio até mim por oferta de uma amiga, uma autora que pretendo ler muito, muito mais.
October 21, 2019
This, tied with Schlink's The Reader, was probably my favourite set text at university. Fascinating and heartbreaking.
October 14, 2022
A bitingly honest, sometimes funny, sometimes brutal, account of Italian Colonialism, racism and xenophobia told through the memories of Adua and her father. It’s an important perspective on understanding the recent past, especially given the current geopolitical climate & the rise of far right politics.
July 9, 2017
In 2013, Somali, Adusa, former actress, who lived in Rome, discovered the deed to Labo Dhegax—two stones, home of her deceased father, Mohamed Ali Zoppe, in Magalo, Somalia. She had been estranged from her father at an early age, and at seventeen, in the 1970s, she ran away to Italy with the help of Italian B-movie producers. Adua married a much younger Somali, a refugee; however, she conversed with and confided in her miniature, marble elephant.
In 1934, Adua’s father, known as Zoppe, was master of a half dozen languages, and worked in Rome as a translator for an Italian contractor. Zoppe attempted to break up a fight between two co-workers who argued over the texture of his curly hair. Instead of the employees being jailed, the police convicted Zoppe of a crime. He was released not to his employer, but to Count Anselme, who considered Zoppe his slave and translator when he returned to Africa.
Years later, Zoppe saw a movie that starred Adua. He was taken aback at how the movie producers exploited his daughter. He realized she too had suffered exploitation at the hands of people who had once colonized their country before the Second World War.
Unfortunately, Zoppe and Adua never reunited; however, I believe if Adua had gave in, they would have bridged the gap of alienation before his death. Zoppe wasn’t always kind in his approach toward Adua; sometimes he was unfairly or destructively critical. Adua never forgave him.
The chapters move back and forth over time, with Adusa in first person point of view, and her father, Zoppe, in third person point of view. In addition, the book briefly describes the current refugee crisis. The author wrote backstories on each character. Noting timelines with each chapter’s character would have been helpful, as sometimes the chronological storyline appeared unclear.
I believe Adua suffered and had not released her past, which is sometimes difficult to do, nor did she know how to nourish her happiness. Her younger husband didn’t offer much friendship, so she had the illusion of companionship with an inanimate object. I honestly enjoyed reading Zoppe’s point of view more than Adua’s; his character had more depth.
Historically, I was surprised Ethiopia wasn’t the only country colonized by Italy. Eritrea and Somalia suffered under colonization in the late 1800s, which lasted until the 1940s and early 1950s. The author suggests books concerning East Africa’s former colonization. In addition, she provides a glossary in the back of the book.
I gave this book 3.5 stars.
In 1934, Adua’s father, known as Zoppe, was master of a half dozen languages, and worked in Rome as a translator for an Italian contractor. Zoppe attempted to break up a fight between two co-workers who argued over the texture of his curly hair. Instead of the employees being jailed, the police convicted Zoppe of a crime. He was released not to his employer, but to Count Anselme, who considered Zoppe his slave and translator when he returned to Africa.
Years later, Zoppe saw a movie that starred Adua. He was taken aback at how the movie producers exploited his daughter. He realized she too had suffered exploitation at the hands of people who had once colonized their country before the Second World War.
Unfortunately, Zoppe and Adua never reunited; however, I believe if Adua had gave in, they would have bridged the gap of alienation before his death. Zoppe wasn’t always kind in his approach toward Adua; sometimes he was unfairly or destructively critical. Adua never forgave him.
The chapters move back and forth over time, with Adusa in first person point of view, and her father, Zoppe, in third person point of view. In addition, the book briefly describes the current refugee crisis. The author wrote backstories on each character. Noting timelines with each chapter’s character would have been helpful, as sometimes the chronological storyline appeared unclear.
I believe Adua suffered and had not released her past, which is sometimes difficult to do, nor did she know how to nourish her happiness. Her younger husband didn’t offer much friendship, so she had the illusion of companionship with an inanimate object. I honestly enjoyed reading Zoppe’s point of view more than Adua’s; his character had more depth.
Historically, I was surprised Ethiopia wasn’t the only country colonized by Italy. Eritrea and Somalia suffered under colonization in the late 1800s, which lasted until the 1940s and early 1950s. The author suggests books concerning East Africa’s former colonization. In addition, she provides a glossary in the back of the book.
I gave this book 3.5 stars.
March 27, 2018
Puoi trovare questa recensione anche sul mio blog, La siepe di more
Adua è un romanzo fatto di immagini e sensazioni: più che raccontare la situazione attuale dei migranti (o, comunque, quella di qualche anno fa) nel nostro Paese e delle violenze colonialiste perpetrate dall’Italia nel Corno d’Africa durante il fascismo, cerca di mostrarcele e farcele sentire.
In questo senso, Adua è un romanzo riuscito: nelle sue pagine, ci sono speranze, delusioni, regressioni, inganni, violenze e tradimenti e tutto arriva con immediatezza, senza darti la possibilità di rimanere indifferente. Tuttavia, durante la lettura mi sono chiesta se queste immagini potessero colpire chiunque allo stesso modo. Ovviamente, parlando in generale, la risposta dovrebbe essere negativa: siamo persone diverse e rimaniamo colpite da narrazioni diverse. Nello specifico di questo romanzo, però, mi sono chiesta se non richiedesse troppe informazioni pregresse alla lettrice e al lettor* non tanto per essere compreso, ma per dare la giusta forza alle immagini e alle sensazioni che vuole trasmettere.
È stata una precisa scelta dell’autrice quella di non soffermarsi sulle vicende storiche («volevo trasformare gli eventi storici in emozioni, visioni, vissuti» dice Scego nella Nota storica), però nella pressoché ignoranza italiana di quella vergognosa pagina della nostra storia non so quanto sia stata una scelta felice. È vero che una persona può sempre andarsi a informare dopo aver letto il romanzo, ma lo farà se il romanzo stesso non l’ha colpita come avrebbe fatto dando più informazioni? Boh, il cane che si morde la coda…
È comunque un libro che ho apprezzato tanto e che mi ha tenuto incollata alle pagine fino alla fine e che mi ha fatto venire voglia di leggere altro di Scego – e anche tanta altra letteratura post-coloniale italiana, che spero l’immigrazione dal Corno d’Africa e dalla Libia renda un genere in espansione: così magari la finiremo di nascondere questa parte della nostra storia...
Adua è un romanzo fatto di immagini e sensazioni: più che raccontare la situazione attuale dei migranti (o, comunque, quella di qualche anno fa) nel nostro Paese e delle violenze colonialiste perpetrate dall’Italia nel Corno d’Africa durante il fascismo, cerca di mostrarcele e farcele sentire.
In questo senso, Adua è un romanzo riuscito: nelle sue pagine, ci sono speranze, delusioni, regressioni, inganni, violenze e tradimenti e tutto arriva con immediatezza, senza darti la possibilità di rimanere indifferente. Tuttavia, durante la lettura mi sono chiesta se queste immagini potessero colpire chiunque allo stesso modo. Ovviamente, parlando in generale, la risposta dovrebbe essere negativa: siamo persone diverse e rimaniamo colpite da narrazioni diverse. Nello specifico di questo romanzo, però, mi sono chiesta se non richiedesse troppe informazioni pregresse alla lettrice e al lettor* non tanto per essere compreso, ma per dare la giusta forza alle immagini e alle sensazioni che vuole trasmettere.
È stata una precisa scelta dell’autrice quella di non soffermarsi sulle vicende storiche («volevo trasformare gli eventi storici in emozioni, visioni, vissuti» dice Scego nella Nota storica), però nella pressoché ignoranza italiana di quella vergognosa pagina della nostra storia non so quanto sia stata una scelta felice. È vero che una persona può sempre andarsi a informare dopo aver letto il romanzo, ma lo farà se il romanzo stesso non l’ha colpita come avrebbe fatto dando più informazioni? Boh, il cane che si morde la coda…
È comunque un libro che ho apprezzato tanto e che mi ha tenuto incollata alle pagine fino alla fine e che mi ha fatto venire voglia di leggere altro di Scego – e anche tanta altra letteratura post-coloniale italiana, che spero l’immigrazione dal Corno d’Africa e dalla Libia renda un genere in espansione: così magari la finiremo di nascondere questa parte della nostra storia...
September 2, 2017
The plot line was confusing. Three voices, and vagueness, combined with a reader ignorant of the historical significance of the backstory made this a challenge to understand.
June 13, 2017
3.5 Stars, Rounded
I wasn’t wholly sure what to expect from this story: from the blurb it is clearly a tale of a woman who emigrated from Somalia and a difficult life, only to find more and different challenges in her new city of Rome. Opening with an uncomfortable start, the protagonist, Adua, is bearing up under a series of berating commentary which harken back to her own difficulties with her relationship with her father. Her choice to leave Somalia was based partly in this relationship, and partly to follow her dreams of being an actress, not a possibility in the post-colonial governmental regime. For forty years she has been struggling against those who would seek to oppress or deny her opportunity, some based in her difference, others in the legacy of issues surrounding the us v them debates when discussing refugees and immigrants, and when you add in the overwhelming attitudes about Africa and the lack of potential therein, there is plenty of food for plot here.
And while Adua’s story is harrowing and sad, one takes heart in the fact that she continues on: perhaps because there are no other choices, perhaps just a testament to the strength of her own character and dreams, but she continues. Day after day as dreams become further from reach as doors close and the queue of those willing to accept her in positions that will exploit her skills and person while still managing to set limitations on her forward progress.
What emerges is an interesting, if not wholly flushed out character: notable for her story, but much of it felt “done” to her, without any real reasons for her to continue. If I were to find the cause for that – I would point to the many threads and elements brought into the plot: ambitious elements that did provide some history, background and information needed to understand some of what she faced, but so many pieces and time spent to that, without giving a clear or direct correlation to the characters, or even providing dialogue that offered some sort of contrast between what is and what should be helped to bog the story down, at least where developing a connection to Adua was concerned. It’s not difficult to feel sorry for her struggles, or wonder why things couldn’t have been different, but it was as if that emotion wasn’t tied to her as a person, but to the populations in transition as a whole, those hoping for new and better lives in countries far from their homes and all that is familiar.
Not a bad read by any sense of the word, and the history presented brought me a whole new perspective with discoveries about the colonial ambitions of yet another European nation, as well as the fallout when colonial powers leave and countries self-rule. Another book that highlights the variety of perspectives, viewpoints and lesser-known histories of the world we inhabit: some with legacies that we are still battling now to varying degrees of success.
I received an eArc copy of the title from the publisher via Edelweiss for purpose of honest review. I was not compensated for this review: all conclusions are my own responsibility.
Review first appeared at I am, Indeed
I wasn’t wholly sure what to expect from this story: from the blurb it is clearly a tale of a woman who emigrated from Somalia and a difficult life, only to find more and different challenges in her new city of Rome. Opening with an uncomfortable start, the protagonist, Adua, is bearing up under a series of berating commentary which harken back to her own difficulties with her relationship with her father. Her choice to leave Somalia was based partly in this relationship, and partly to follow her dreams of being an actress, not a possibility in the post-colonial governmental regime. For forty years she has been struggling against those who would seek to oppress or deny her opportunity, some based in her difference, others in the legacy of issues surrounding the us v them debates when discussing refugees and immigrants, and when you add in the overwhelming attitudes about Africa and the lack of potential therein, there is plenty of food for plot here.
And while Adua’s story is harrowing and sad, one takes heart in the fact that she continues on: perhaps because there are no other choices, perhaps just a testament to the strength of her own character and dreams, but she continues. Day after day as dreams become further from reach as doors close and the queue of those willing to accept her in positions that will exploit her skills and person while still managing to set limitations on her forward progress.
What emerges is an interesting, if not wholly flushed out character: notable for her story, but much of it felt “done” to her, without any real reasons for her to continue. If I were to find the cause for that – I would point to the many threads and elements brought into the plot: ambitious elements that did provide some history, background and information needed to understand some of what she faced, but so many pieces and time spent to that, without giving a clear or direct correlation to the characters, or even providing dialogue that offered some sort of contrast between what is and what should be helped to bog the story down, at least where developing a connection to Adua was concerned. It’s not difficult to feel sorry for her struggles, or wonder why things couldn’t have been different, but it was as if that emotion wasn’t tied to her as a person, but to the populations in transition as a whole, those hoping for new and better lives in countries far from their homes and all that is familiar.
Not a bad read by any sense of the word, and the history presented brought me a whole new perspective with discoveries about the colonial ambitions of yet another European nation, as well as the fallout when colonial powers leave and countries self-rule. Another book that highlights the variety of perspectives, viewpoints and lesser-known histories of the world we inhabit: some with legacies that we are still battling now to varying degrees of success.
I received an eArc copy of the title from the publisher via Edelweiss for purpose of honest review. I was not compensated for this review: all conclusions are my own responsibility.
Review first appeared at I am, Indeed
March 21, 2019
Desconhecia completamente Igiaba Scego até ela ser convidada pra FLIP do ano passado. À época, achei super interessante as propostas de discussão que ela trazia no pouco que tive acesso dela. “Adua” foi o primeiro romance que li da autora e boa parte dos assuntos que me chamaram a atenção nela em 2018 estão presentes neste texto. É um livro extremamente simples, fácil, fluido, mas nem por isso tranquilo de se ler, tem lá os seus momentos em que você trava a leitura ou repete um trecho tamanha é a estranheza e o impacto que ele causa. Um texto que fala da colonização italiana da Somália através da relação entre pai e filha, duas vozes poderosas que guiam essa história. E enquanto a terra vai sofrendo com o processo de colonização, a protagonista também vai passando por uma experiência semelhante onde ela vai ter que se reconhecer num novo território, incluindo nesse espaço o seu próprio corpo que se altera e também sofre com tudo isso. Não chega a ser um romance extraordinário, mas é bem bom sim!!! :)
March 6, 2018
visst får den mig att tänka. tyvärr får den inte mig inte att känna för någon karaktär. kanske adua. nja. jag får tänka vidare.
men den har fått mig att vilja läsa nuruddin farahs bok Yesterday, tomorrow.
men den har fått mig att vilja läsa nuruddin farahs bok Yesterday, tomorrow.
September 17, 2017
This book was just average to me. It had the potential to be great, but fell flat.
November 7, 2018
Interessante retrato sobre o tema da imigração somali na Itália. O livro pinta com muita propriedade a exclusão e violência sofridas por esses imigrantes no seio da sociedade italiana.
December 18, 2018
Demorei pra me envolver, mas da metade pro final fiquei 100% apaixonada pelas personagens, em especial a Adua. Fiquei feliz de não ter desistido!
July 18, 2020
Fantastic book. It wasn't really what I expected it to be in terms of storyline, but... Wow. Full review coming soon
March 2, 2025
Very graphically sad. The time frames were a bit lost. Narrative was almost completely beautiful.
September 23, 2024
Li o livro após conhecer a autora e garanto que ela escreve através de suas entranhas.
que voz impecável sobre diáspora e imperialismo, de uma forma sentimentalista e forte.
recomendo muito a leitura!
que voz impecável sobre diáspora e imperialismo, de uma forma sentimentalista e forte.
recomendo muito a leitura!
February 27, 2025
3.5 & eagerly rounding up!
March 2, 2020
Um romance extremamente forte e impactante, que tem como pano de fundo as consequências de um colonialismo devastador e a relação conturbada - e violenta - de um pai e filha. Nascida na Somália da década de 70, Adua teve uma infância marcada pela indiferença e falta de afeto por parte de seu pai, Zoppe, e ainda foi vítima da mutilação genital feminina quando criança. Com a morte de sua mãe no parto, Adua acaba sendo vista como responsável pelo ocorrido.
Sem ter muito a que se apegar em seu país, Adua migrou para a Itália com a promessa de se tornar uma atriz de cinema de sucesso. Mas a protagonista logo percebe que foi enganada e que, na verdade, seu destino seria marcado por muito sofrimento. A história é narrada em primeira pessoa, por uma Adua de idade mais avançada que, depois de tanto tempo morando na Itália, ainda não sabe identificar qual a sua verdadeira casa.
Além dos capítulos que levam o seu nome, a narrativa é alternada com capítulos sobre a história Zoppe e com pequenos capítulos contendo sermões - bem duros - que Adua ouvia de seu pai. Zoppe atuou como intérprete dos italianos, a serviço do regime fascista nos anos que antecederam a 2a Guerra. Além de vitima de racismo, por ser um negro trabalhando em um ambiente cercado com homens brancos, Zoppe também sofria com uma culpa dilacerante, por ajudar os inimigos na guerra contra o seu próprio povo. Apesar de todo esse sofrimento, Zoppe se torna um pai ausente e agressivo.
É um livro curto, mas gigante em seu conteúdo. São muitos temas abordados e que reforçam os problemas decorrentes do colonialismo na África, como imigração e racismo. Foi um livro que terminei com uma sensação de querer mais, senti que a autora poderia ter entretido o leitor por mais páginas, principalmente sobre os detalhes da vida de Zoppe. A narrativa não é linear e em alguns momentos pode deixar o leitor um pouco confuso, mas nada que atrapalhe a experiência com a obra.
Ao final, Igiaba, filha de somalis e nascida na Itália, conta para o leitor um pouco do processo de escrita da obra e de características histórias dos diferentes momentos em que a narrativa se desenvolve.
Nota: 9/10
Mais resenhas em: https://www.instagram.com/book.ster/
Sem ter muito a que se apegar em seu país, Adua migrou para a Itália com a promessa de se tornar uma atriz de cinema de sucesso. Mas a protagonista logo percebe que foi enganada e que, na verdade, seu destino seria marcado por muito sofrimento. A história é narrada em primeira pessoa, por uma Adua de idade mais avançada que, depois de tanto tempo morando na Itália, ainda não sabe identificar qual a sua verdadeira casa.
Além dos capítulos que levam o seu nome, a narrativa é alternada com capítulos sobre a história Zoppe e com pequenos capítulos contendo sermões - bem duros - que Adua ouvia de seu pai. Zoppe atuou como intérprete dos italianos, a serviço do regime fascista nos anos que antecederam a 2a Guerra. Além de vitima de racismo, por ser um negro trabalhando em um ambiente cercado com homens brancos, Zoppe também sofria com uma culpa dilacerante, por ajudar os inimigos na guerra contra o seu próprio povo. Apesar de todo esse sofrimento, Zoppe se torna um pai ausente e agressivo.
É um livro curto, mas gigante em seu conteúdo. São muitos temas abordados e que reforçam os problemas decorrentes do colonialismo na África, como imigração e racismo. Foi um livro que terminei com uma sensação de querer mais, senti que a autora poderia ter entretido o leitor por mais páginas, principalmente sobre os detalhes da vida de Zoppe. A narrativa não é linear e em alguns momentos pode deixar o leitor um pouco confuso, mas nada que atrapalhe a experiência com a obra.
Ao final, Igiaba, filha de somalis e nascida na Itália, conta para o leitor um pouco do processo de escrita da obra e de características histórias dos diferentes momentos em que a narrativa se desenvolve.
Nota: 9/10
Mais resenhas em: https://www.instagram.com/book.ster/
May 19, 2021
I've been meaning to read at least one book from every country in Africa but I've never really made much effort towards the resolution. So, when the opportunity came to read this book, I was very excited. I realized that there's a lot I didn't know about Somalia, despite it sharing a border with Kenya. I was fascinated by the rich culture from both Adua and Zoppe's perspectives, although I was saddened by the occasional discussion about infibulation. It's such a traumatizing process that it pains me to imagine some communities still practice it. Scego sheds so much light on the struggles of Africans before, during, and after colonialism. I also loved how the book tackled themes surrounding parenting; fatherhood in particular.
Would definitely recommend.
Would definitely recommend.
July 29, 2017
Un bel libro. Evocativo anche se frammentario. Una sola osservazione: è un libro scritto dall'autrice. Non è una banalità quella che ho scritto. La realtà è descritta a partire dai suoi occhi e dalla sua conoscenza esistenziale (la nota finale a mo' di postfazione lo spiega bene). Ma il lettore non è nella testa e nel cuore dell'autrice. Da qui un certo sconcerto e una certa mancanza di chiavi interpretative e di criteri per comprendere. Forse un maggior sforzo di non solo "scrivere", ma anche di considerare "a chi" o "per chi" si scrive avrebbe fatto di questo libro un ottimo libro.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 98 reviews