Life was a perpetual holiday in those days. We had only to leave the house and step across the street and we became quite mad. Everything was so wonderful, especially at night when on our way back, dead tired, we still longed for something to happen, for a fire to break out, for a baby to be born in the house or at least for a sudden coming of dawn that would bring all the people out in the streets, and we might walk on and on as far as the meadows and beyond the hills.
An almost perfect gem of a short novel illustrating 'dolce far niente' , that musical Italian phrase that is so descriptive of the long summer days and nights of easy companionship, boredom, sudden enthusiasms followed by bouts of loneliness. Pavese really strikes the heart chords here, for who among us hasn't had such a summer that endures in memory to our old age in such vivid details, despite little of consequence having occured ... except falling in love. Turgheniev (First Love), Dostoyevsky (White Nights), Hartley (The Go-Between), Raucher (Summer of '42), Carr (A Month in the Country) – the list could go on and on of such bittersweet stories of lost youth. What makes Cesare Pavese stand out among his peers?
This is my first read from him, so I may not be in the best position to judge his style, especially as my own memories are colouring the lecture with personal shades of sunshine and moonlight and half-forgotten conversations. But I do love his delicate touch in describing the emotional journey of a sixteen year old girl in a small Italian town in the 1930s. Ginia is a poor working girl living with her older brother, rather shy and self-conscious around her friends, easily moved to tears, yet so willing to start experiencing life at its fullest. Her chance comes when she meets Amelia, a more sophisticated girl-about-town, who hangs around cafes and dance-halls and professes to be an artist model.
'We'll have a drink, though. Come along! People who are bored have only themselves to blame.'
Ginia is fascinated by this emancipated Amelia, yet horrified at the same time by the libertine morals of her painter friends. Her natural shyness and a healthy streak of common sense keep Ginia from plunging whole-heartedly into the night life of this artist group, but the summer nights are hard to bear on her own. She keeps coming back to the painter studio of Guido, wearing her heart on her sleeve, asking for love and then running away with her whole body burning with shame and desire.
'I am a little idiot,' she concluded, 'why do I always run away? I still have to learn to be alone. If they want me, they can come and fetch me.'
I don't know how much Pavese tapped into his own memories for writing this short novel, but who cares? We all have our own stories of youth and summer and the ones that got away. From the short notes I have been able to read on the author, the most personal phrase could be a declaration by Guido that he feels alienated in town, that he longs for the countryside of his childhood:
'But I am only really happy on the top of a hill.'
For Ginia, the summer ends in bitter winter days, hard truths about venereal diseases and the shallowness of casual, selfish friends.
She found distraction in the thought that the summer she had hoped for would now never come, because she was alone and would never speak to anyone again.
For me, the novel ended too quickly, and a bit ambiguously, but I am sure its echoes will continue to reverberate in future lectures. I wish a movie was made of it by the likes of Fellini or Visconti, as I'm sure I would have loved the result.
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure;
Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.