Patrizia Poli
Bio
Patrizia Poli was born in Livorno in 1961. Writer of fiction and blogger, she published seven novels.
Stories (282)
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Suzanne Collins, "The Hunger Games"
What creates a publishing phenomenon is the novelty of the subject. The same goes for Eco’s murderous monks, for Meyer’s “vegetarian” vampires, for Dan Brown’s sangreal lineage, or for James’s sadomasochistic bondage. Everything that comes after, is in the trail, is an imitation of the original.
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Fiction
Mario Vargas Llosa, "Adventures of the Bad Girl"
The first part does not take off, it proceeds by accumulation and not by development, Adventures of the bad girl by Mario Vargas Llosa, halfway between the picaresque and the love story. Only in the second part are we passionate about the events of Lily, femme fatale with an iridescent name, as her disguises (but not her character) are iridescent and of Ricardo, an anonymous Peruvian interpreter.
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Humans
Giana Anguissola, "Violetta la timida"
Giana Anguissola (Travo, Piacenza 1906 — Milan 1966) began writing at the age of sixteen, collaborating with the “Corriere dei Piccoli” in which she published novels and short stories. Her most famous novel is “Violetta la Timida” from 1963, which won the Bancarellino award.
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Education
Piero Angela, "A cosa serve la politica"
The title is created along the lines of the anti-caste books that have enjoyed such success in recent years, but Piero Angela’s essay “What is politics for?” goes beyond the purely institutional discourse, or of politics understood in an immediate, literal and superficial way.
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Potent
Carlo Collodi, "Le avventure di Pinocchio"
The Florentine Carlo Lorenzini (1826–1890), better known to the public of young and old with the name of Collodi, borrowed from his mother’s country, was a patriot of the wars of Independence but also a bookseller, reviewer, publisher. He translated French fairy tales, including Perrault’s most famous ones.
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Humans
The Novel: Ebbs and Flows
I have repeatedly argued for the lack of a purely Italian narrative, understood as a great wide-ranging novelistic tradition. This depends on the delay with which this genre established itself here, due to the slow development of the middle class, i.e. “those citizens” (like me) placed by fortune between the idiot and the man of letters” (Foscolo).
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Humans
Edmondo De Amicis, "Cuore"
“Today first day of school. Those three months of vacation in the countryside passed like a dream! My mother took me to the Baretti section this morning to get me enrolled for the third grade: I thought about the countryside, and I was reluctant. All the streets were teeming with boys; the two bookseller shops were crowded with fathers and mothers who bought backpacks, folders and notebooks, and in front of the school there were so many people, that the janitor and the civic guard struggled to keep the door clear. “
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Humans
Gordiano Lupi, "Alla ricerca della Piombino perduta"
Only a reader born in the sixties can welcome this book by Gordiano Lupi, “In search of the lost Piombino”, with a commotion that turns you upside down and knots your throat. The author dedicates the first part to remembrance, to recherche, to retrace one’s steps. We are catapulted backwards, in the early sixties, in a Piombino that has just emerged from the miseries of war and is barely touched by a boom that the inhabitants don’t even notice. A Piombino that seems to leap out of a film by Virzì, divided in half between rich children and children of metalworkers and railway workers, between ice cream parlors and beach resorts where you only go on Sundays and small everyday bars on beaches smelling of stale frying. The love for these memories is absolute, visceral, unconditional. Lupi accepts everything from the past, the beautiful and the monstrous, the shining sea but also the polluted beaches, the undergrowth of the improvised football fields, the crumbling walls, the pungent smells, the steel mill, today a gigantic wreck of industrial archaeology, always looming, always present in the thoughts and words of the inhabitants. “They were romantic times”, he repeats to us. And it is in this romanticism that neorealism dissolves, transforming itself from ideology into sentiment. Everything was beautiful, everything had more grandeur, more thickness, more flavor, everything is embellished, emphasized by the memory. Even the decay, the dilapidation were languid and melancholy. Overbearing, in every chapter and on every page, the feeling of the failure of one’s existence, the idea that the best is now behind us. The dreams have not come true, the path has been interrupted, the aspirations have not materialised.
By Patrizia Poli3 years ago in Humans
