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Pubblicato per la prima volta nel 1976, Il formaggio e i vermi ritorna arricchito da una postfazione. Nel frattempo, tradotta in ventisei lingue, la vicenda del mugnaio friulano Domenico Scandella detto Menocchio, messo a morte dall'Inquisizione alla fine del '500, ha fatto il giro del mondo, mostrando come sia possibile, attraverso gli archivi inquisitoriali, cogliere le voci di individui che spesso non compaiono, o compaiono solo in maniera indiretta, nella documentazione storica: dai contadini alle donne. Il mugnaio Menocchio era senza dubbio una figura straordinaria, percepita come anomala anche dai suoi compaesani; l'ampiezza delle sue letture, la ricchezza delle sue reazioni ai libri, l'audacia delle sue idee non finiscono di stupire. Ma anche un caso eccezionale (qui sta la scommessa del libro) può gettar luce su problemi di vaste dimensioni: dalla sfida alle autorità in una società preindustriale all'intreccio fra cultura orale e cultura scritta.
Come chiarisce la nuova postfazione, Il formaggio e i vermi è stato letto retrospettivamente come un esempio di microstoria. Ma lo scopo di quest'esperimento di scrittura della storia era, ed è, quello di far arrivare al lettore la voce di Menocchio: «Io ho detto che, quanto al mio pensier et creder, tutto era un caos, cioè terra, aere, acqua et foco insieme; et quel volume andando così fece una massa, aponto come si fa il formazo nel latte, et in quel deventorno vermi, et quelli furno li angeli...».
231 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1976
what we know about the non-privileged classes is necessarily statistical, a statement which disqualified as irrelevant research such as mine. I, instead of doing research on the privileged classes, had embarked on the study of a miller who had a name, who had strange ideas, and who had read a number of books. The substance of a possible footnote had become the subject of a book…It was a choice I had made much earlier, but which drew new energy and justification from the radical political climate of the 1970s.The political motivation is obvious - Ginzburg namechecks Gramsci, but also writers such as Proust, Brecht and the Oulipo novelist Raymond Queneau. (He even considered writing a book in which each paragraph was a pastiche of a different literary style, but apparently decided that even he had limits.) Such a rethinking of the purpose and potential of history brings to mind Hayden White (the two overlapped at UCLA), whose major work Metahistory pushed literature in a purely literary direction, rejecting tout court the concept of verification.
not a drumhead court, a chamber of horrors, or a judicial labyrinth from which escape was impossible. Capricious and arbitrary decisions, misuse of authority, and wanton abuse of human rights were not tolerated.Everything was written down
the legal manuals required "not only all the defendant’s responses and any statements he might make, but also what he might utter during the torture, even his sighs, his cries, his laments and tears"to be recorded by the notary. (One nuncio, a real banality-of-evil type, complained of "the nuisance, for anyone who isn’t a model of patience, of having to listen to the inanities uttered by so many, especially during torture, that have to be written down word for word.")
"I was almost beside myself, and wanted to go out and cause some harm…I wanted to kill priests and set fire to churches and do something crazy: but because of my two little children, I restrained myself" This outburst of powerless desperation speaks eloquently about his isolation. In the face of the injustice afflicting him, his only reaction was one that he had suppressed instantly, that of individual violence: to revenge himself on his persecutors, lash out against the symbols of the oppression, and become an outlaw. A generation before, the peasants had set fire to the castles of the Friulian nobility. But times had changed.Ginzburg relies on Bakhtin's ideas of the carnivalesque (as portrayed, for instance, in Gargantua and Pantagruel) as representative of the suppressed low culture of the Middle Ages, which serves in its earthiness and grotesquerie as a safety valve for deeply radical ideas which could not be openly expressed. (A related Bakhtinian idea is that of "circularity" , the reciprocal transfer of ideas between lower and upper classes.) Through the bizarre image of God emerging as a worm from rotting cheese, Ginzburg reconstructs Menocchio's intellectual life, through his reading list, life history, and self-defense. Menocchio dreamed of explaining his ideas to princes and kings, and although he was executed alone and penniless (the son who assisted him during his first trial died before his second), his vivid and prescient ideas have at last found a wider audience.