Peter Fortunato’s debut novel Canevale is a hefty tome that deftly moves between the deep and sometimes hallucinatory musings of the narrator Guido Diamante and clear-eyed story-telling that puts readers into the narrator’s line of vision and allows them to live his tale with him. The novel is structured as a chronicle relating the experiences of a young man growing up in the 1950s and coming of age in the 1960’s, as told by the narrator at middle-age in 2008.
Guido’s personal tale is folded into the story of a family living various versions of the immigrant’s dream. Guido’s grandmother, grandfather, their two lifelong friends from the old country, and his mother and father and aunt, uncle and cousin, embody and live not simply generational dramas, pleasures and disappointments, but also cultural ones. Part of the plot here is Guido’s deciding for himself what it means to be a second-generation Italian in the U.S. in the 1950s.
This quest is further compounded by the mundane but no less remarkable and terrifying experience of an adolescent male meeting his burgeoning sexuality head-on. Guido’s quest for carnal knowledge is the flip side of his artistic admiration of the female form. To earn a living as an adult, he is an adjunct professor of art at a small private college in the Hudson Valley, a role on the margin that elicits musings on the pettiness of academia and the vagaries of the art market.
Other reflections woven around personal dramas include Guido’s interest in the spiritual world. Guido’s fertile imagination as a boy is fed and tormented by the power and the glory of Catholicism, primarily represented by priests and confession. The mystical side of that religion opens onto psychic gifts that Guido shares with his nonna and later his younger cousin Tina. The fervor and passion aroused by these realms are tempered by Guido’s knowledge of Greek mythology and Buddhist teachings. The art inspired by all of these is a constant source of reference for Guido as he makes his way through the labyrinth of his personality and identity as an Italian male and as a moral human being.
The narrative voice offers astute and often humorous observations of an only child of owners of a restaurant-resort in the Hudson Valley and ironic, sometimes desperately honest, reflections of a middle-aged artist-art historian-adjunct professor. Early in the novel he acknowledges that his “story is already written ‘in the aether,’ so to speak—but the process of unfolding it card by card or word by word is something else” (59). This “something else” turns out to be a fluidity of mind that continually captures the reader and arouses empathy and curiosity about this narrator and where his path may be leading him.
In the final sections of the novel, the events revealed in the deep dive into Guido’s past in earlier parts become a source of reference for both Guido and his reader as he continues to evolve and learn about himself as an adult. In the end, Guido’s chronicle of his past and present lives does not pretend to offer a final version of himself. It is simply his arrival at a future. “I am going to publish my book,” he announces at the end. To the delight of his reader, it looks like he did. Where will he go from here? Stay tuned.