work out, but not too much, you've built your new life and years of experience in other contexts, different backgrounds. Yet every Christmas to come home, retrace the road that leads from the station to the street of Corso Cavour, take possession of the same room where many small things have happened. And then you walk along the sea and those lampposts, review the profile of the old town with its cathedral, which stands, enjoy the alien sounds that were your sounds for twenty-four. It 's all here, all property, with details to the edges that fade into new colors, unexpected elements and cracks that make you understand the weather, the time that passes not care what your letter to Santa Claus private, one that expresses the common desire to remain an eternal Peter Pan in Neverland crystallized. Bari at Christmas is like a rite painful and sweet.
Then comes this little book of
Carofiglio , this experiment as part of a tour guide instead. And there are friends who meet, as do you, who come together to say goodbye and return to their lives, that recount the old place, pointing the finger at those moments when everything seemed possible. The style is always his own, simple, flat, smooth, efficient, maybe sometimes pimp, sweet, in its perennial balance between melancholy smile, recognition, wisdom and gentle irony on the gears of all that is around, everything we call world.
frankly do not know what effect it can do to one that has never been to Bari, who has never walked in our districts chaotic, dangerous and fascinating in their own way, I do not know what is the only real, unique cake, or the more proletarian and tasty food in the world.
certainly read "neither here nor elsewhere " here and now was a wonderful coincidence and a fantastic Christmas present. Many thanks to
Gianrico Carofiglio .
.jpg)
