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is ugly say, but sometimes we do not want it to be Christmas. Why do we get there in a hurry, suddenly, there seems to be just over the summer, we realized even autumn. Christmas comes creeping in, even without that expectation that once characterized it instead. Of course, we were kids, but then was only yesterday ... or so. Or so it seems. Christmas too crowded with things that the applicant does not have much to do, but this is now a commonplace that it is fashionable again in contrast with the current climate. But come, and suddenly we feel compelled to enter into the atmosphere. And maybe go to confront the spirits with Dickensian past with the future, and compare them with negative the present one. Each year this way. Then you just have to hope that everyone can find their own sense of Christmas in the current situation of each, maybe finding a moment of reflection, rest and peace. Utopias, perhaps. But at least the impression conserviamone. And we try to keep them for as long as possible ... Merry Christmas. What may still surprise us and that we can still afford to do so. Tonight, turn off any unnecessary light: who knows that you can not see some stars ...

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A CHRISTMAS TALE FOR CHRISTMAS

I know. I know that for a month this blog is dumb. But I also wrote several times that if you have nothing to say, it's usually better to stay silent. But it is Christmas, and then I want to give to few if any readers left, an old story ... She is thirteen years old, but maybe ...

Who said THAT IS NOT CHRISTMAS? In the village of

Burozia progress had really made great strides.
It began with the normal innovations, such as the many appliances that had facilitated the lives of buroziani to enable them to not have to do anything by themselves, dall'allacciarsi shoes to put their fingers in the nose, because there was the machine suitable for every need. Then he went ahead with the complete automation of all. Everything was programmed from the outside by means of a whole series of remotes that, wherever you were, they were able to transmit their signals. Gradually it had come to what the political class buroziana Given the extreme point: not having to leave the house.
There was no longer needed: in fact, through computer networks, antennas, communication systems at a distance, all they could now do everything without moving. The food was distributed, of course, canned, through a complicated network of pipes that transport had terminals in each home. Went out of fashion laptops and mobile phones, all old stuff, which involved a movement of its possessor, and thus the need to carry around the tools. The newspapers came via fax or modem. And the TV did the rest, becoming the only voice could be heard outside the buroziani.
So people only knew what he was saying on television. And what the TV said was true. So, if you wanted to know something, it was enough that the TV did not say.
One year after a poll on the popularity he had to accept second place after Jesus Christ, the master of all the TV channels decided that it suited him that it was Christmas. And he did so in a way that no one in any broadcast, commercials or news or talk. And so it happened, and it was from then on ...

Anna lived in a village near the borders of Burozia. In the mountains: it was the only place where, believe it or not, television signals did not arrive. And since there was no TV, no one knew that this village existed, and no one cared. Neither the people, not the least being touched by the wave of progress, had continued to live as if nothing had happened. Sure, they were primitive: they continued to cook on the fire, to pick fruit from the trees and enjoy the sun outside the home ... but despite this they were happy.
There was a road from the village down the valley. But no one ever came from there, and none had ever had the urge to go and see where it leads. Until the cat. The cat Anna, a gray tabby cat named Billy, and that was as curious as restless. And
December 22 Billy decided to go see the world as it was done.
Someone had seen him take the road, but no one could stop him. Anna if she wanted was to go and try it, and who knows where he went. The girl did not lose heart, and started to turn to the famous and unknown road.
journeyed Anna arrived in the valley. Billy even a shadow, but not limited to: not a soul was around. In the distance I could see a small country, and it was there that went.
The streets were empty, but emerged from the houses of bluish light. And the roofs on all types of roofs, a forest of antennas. Things that Anna had never seen. Around no one seems to go for a long time. There was a 'car, there was no litter, just a huge layer of dust accumulated, no one gave it clearly to waive the penalty. The people, if there was, was locked in the house.
The thing that struck Anna was the complete absence of any Christmas decoration, despite only three days to Christmas. In his country there was a big tree full of colored lights and a nice crib built right in front of the church. Here nothing. The shops seemed abandoned long ago.
The houses were connected by large blue metal tubes, which were fishing in the soil, roots from which modern evidently fed. Anna traveled
the strange landscape with a little 'fear. He wanted to call Billy, but it seemed unreal in that silence his call would have been almost rude.
Then he saw a little light.
Just down below, under the door of an isolated house, a house that, unlike the others, seemed deserted. Without antennae, no hoses and no bluish light from the windows.
A house unlike any other because it was like she knew to be the case, a light that seemed, somehow, familiar. He walked to the door and knocked.
was to open a middle-aged man, thin and sad-looking.
- Yes?
- Excuse me ... have you seen my cat?
The man's face was painted an entire rainbow of expressions. From wonder to joy, incredulity. Answered, almost stammering. He had obvious difficulty in articulating words.
- Ma .. but ... yes, the cat. I think so ...
stumbling, the man motioned for Anna to come home.
A home decorated with taste, but where everything seemed old and out of place when compared with the outside. There were also many books, all very old.
Billy was in the kitchen, intent on licking taste with a bowl of milk.
- Luckily it came to me. I still have a cow, and fresh milk. But all the other no longer know what that means. All powder! - The man said with a grin.
and told her what had happened in those years.
The man's name was Thomas, and was the only country to have no television. Anna listened with his mouth open.
- I managed to resist, but only because I did not give them trouble. One after another, they all closed in the house, I had no one with whom to discuss.
- Ma .. - Asked at the end - you do not even Christmas gifts?
On the face of Thomas passed a cloud of sadness and wonder.
- Christmas? But it still exists?
- Of course, we celebrate always do the tree, the crib, let us sing and gifts ...
- Well, tell that to the owner of the country. Here what they say in Television does not exist. And if you find yourself. Up in the mountain, as we will reduce. I almost come away with you!
Anna pondered in silence. Meanwhile, the Billy jumped on his lap and started purring.
- If you want you can come ... - He said - but it is better to try to return it right?
Thomas laughed through clenched teeth.
- and I think I've tried there? They got me a fool!
Anna smiled, scratching the head of Billy.
- Why were you alone. Let me call my friends, and you'll see ...
- But how can you call them?
- Well, the phone we we ...
- But I do not! That, too, have abolished when they all related to computer networks! - Said Thomas.
tried a payphone on the street. There was even an old cabin, sagging and crumbling. Anna was able to dial a number and make a phone call, just in time before the device fell to pieces.
Two hours later, a small gang of boys was at work in the town square desert. Mounted a large tree, and decorated with all sorts of decorations. So the fires lit all around, which sheds new life that environment all dusty and abandoned.
- And now ... - Anna said with a wink - How do I remove the power?
Thomas looked at her incredulously.
- There's a switch ... but is protected by sophisticated alarm, there are robot-keepers who control, no one can come close ...
- Show me where it is. - Anna said, sure.
they went. The controller looks like a bunker impregnable. Complete with electrified barbed wire and alarms everywhere.
- In there is a switch that can disconnect power to the entire country. Ma .. Without waiting another
, Anna whispered something into the ear of Billy.
The cat moved quickly, past the barbed wire without moving, and disappeared into the bunkers. Five minutes later, with a hissing sound, all lights, televisions, cars stopped in the country.
The boys, Thomas and the cat ran into the back of the square, around the tree, and here they began to sing, accompanied the sound of guitars in the glow of bonfires, the only ones in the whole district.

not spent more than ten minutes, maybe less.
With a large flicker of blades, a swarm of helicopters appeared in the sky, and stood overlooking the square. Large bundles of white light cut the darkness, and a voice interrupted the music just as sharp.
- Go home! Go home!
The boys were silent, clinging to each other. Thomas was shaking, indicating the largest helicopter.
- and he ... - Babbling - is he in person ...
Meanwhile, the ropes were thrown from helicopters, in which some robots began to get blue. And the voice continued public address system to yelling:
- It's for your own good ... Back at home ...
robots had surrounded the bonfire, and now waiting for a signal to act. Big helicopter came down an escalator, the same as those in supermarkets, and a figure dressed in dark blue began to drop down, while a spotlight shone in upon him. He stopped midway and extending the arms slowly, with a smile that reached from ear to ear, said
- Do not worry, nothing happens. Now put everything in place and everything returns to business as before ... but you have to be good and go home.

The people inside the houses, found itself suddenly in the dark, and many realized no longer be able to see anything. Their eyes do not get accustomed to the darkness, as before, and without that bright rectangle was total blindness.
tried to grope around, getting rid of the tubes that were connected to all the physiological needs, and other bodies were discovered around the same, without being able to see. From their throats
atrophied guttural sounds came out, and a lot of time standing fell to the ground, because they were no longer able to stand upright.
in dark houses, where it was not even a candle as they also did not use more voices and noises coming from outside.
Laboriously, attracted by the sound, some people began to leave the house.
doors and windows were locked, they tried to shoulder, or with a chisel, but at the end of the first test, hairy and pale, face.
people, those who could see something, rubbing his eyes became huge, he saw that scene from the film, brightly lit, with helicopters overhead, the robots deployed all around and he, the supreme head, at half of its escalator in an attitude of blessing. All remotes
had stuck firmly in the hands, who in his right hand on the left who now needed prostheses and inseparable, the most vital organs of the legs or larynx, which in fact showed all their grievances.
A man, obviously annoyed by sudden, violent flare, with a habitual gesture as a nervous tic pointed his remote at the scene. And one of the blue robot disappeared in smoke gray.
- Yes! - Anna shook, enlightening - Yes, that's how we can win them! Guys, these people do not exist! There are only there because television has made me believe! Come on, let's change the channel!
The man on the ladder shook.
- No, do not give her line! What would you do without television? How to spend your evenings? Fermi, come back home ...
robots, threatening, began to reach people.
- Use the remote control! Courage! - Anna screamed.
- Do not you understand ... - Thomas said - must use the only language they can understand ...
And man, gathering all the breath he had, he shouted:
- Advertise!
Instinctively, smashed all the remotes.
A huge cloud of gray smoke enveloped the whole square.

When dissolved, there were no more, no robots, no helicopters, no escalators.
Only the bonfire, the children, Thomas, the cat, the Christmas tree.
And the people who, staggering and with hands, approached the great bonfire, while the memory of something very far away, forgotten somewhere, started to resurface.

(from "It's Christmas - Fairy tales and stories "by F. and D. Maltarello Frasnelli - ed. Gribaudi, 1995)

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Silence ...

dell'andazzo Another aspect which, unfortunately, we see every day, is the addiction to things that do not, or that do not like. The result is that if someone dares to say something about it, contrary to what the dominant culture, is now accused of being a defeatist, a pain in the ass, at best a grouch. Including when it expresses things that in some so is also shared by others, but for diplomacy (or hypocrisy? what is the border?) if held for them. But why are not these all the fuss type hypocritical "that good, that beautiful, what a good, what a beautiful " guess we all feel that the time? It is not hypocrisy Never criticize anyone (other than those who criticize ...?). Do we have to abide by the fashions of this world? Criticism must be constructive, of course, must be the daughter of intolerance, as well as sometimes can happen. But even in this case should generate a dialogue and not a call for silence. Because you can also discuss, obviously, about the goodness or otherwise of an opinion . It is said that anyone who is silent consents. I am also saying that those who suffer silent. I will be objected that the speaker suffers because in the end not be able to change things. True. ... But at least he vented

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CALM

It often seems that the whole conspiracy behind us, there are days that lie ahead terrible, full of events and delayed threatening, intractable pain in the ass, dizziness swirling, endless complications that arise from each other as the eternal cigarettes Yanez. We would like to disappear with a sudden able to teleport them to safety over all space-time barriers. Then it always happens. It always happens that things fit together with each other almost perfectly, solving chain. Failing to understand what happens is the first to deal with, being able to extract the first skein of yarn and pulling it slightly. Calmly, not angrily, without force, with attention. It all unfolds without clashing. It would be nice if those who understood him shake. And you remember what Kipling wrote in his poem If " ... If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs ...".

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SINCE 1950 ... NEW

I receive this email, which I think just repeating here, without adding comments ...

"Let's say, so theoretically, there is a ruling party, a ruling party, which, however, formally wants to respect the constitution, not want to violate the substance. It does not make the March on Rome transform the classroom space for the paddles, but wants to establish, without opinion, a disguised dictatorship. Then, what to do to gain control of the schools and to transform the State schools into Party schools? He realizes that the State schools have the defect of being impartial. There is some resistance, in those schools is always there, even under fascism has been there. Then, the dominant party follows another path (it's all a theoretical hypothesis, mind you). He begins to neglect the public schools, to discredit, to impoverish. Let it anemizzino and begins to favor private schools. Not all private schools. The schools of his party, that party. And then all these treatments are beginning to go to private schools. Cure of money and privileges. He even begins to advise the boys to go to these schools, because basically it says are better than those of the state. And maybe give themselves awards, as now I will tell you, or proposes to give awards to citizens who are willing to send their children to public schools rather than private schools. A 'those' private schools. The exams are easier, unless you study and you do best. So the private school becomes a privileged school. The ruling party, could not transform the State schools openly in Party schools, send the dogs to schools to give priority to the state's private schools. Beware, my friends, this conference this is the point that we must discuss. Warning, this is the recipe. We must keep an eye on the cooks of this low kitchen. The operation is done in three ways: I have already said, ruin the State schools. Let go to hell. Depleting their budgets. Ignore their needs. Mitigate the supervision and control over private schools. Do not check its reliability. Let the teachers teach you that do not have the minimum qualifications to teach. Let the examinations are jokes. Giving public money to private schools. This is the point. Giving public money to private schools. "

Calamandrei Piero (Speech delivered at the III Congress in defense of the National School in Rome on February 11, 1950).

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Manie

The new frontier of telematic mania is spreading like wildfire. It is not a site, not a blog, not a chat, not a forum. It is a hybrid of all this, is called Facebook and more deaths of a three-dimensional game of last generation. The mail boxes are overflowing with invitations to join, to become friends with someone already written a sort of contagion that chain letters if you dream of. Now you see people communicating with short phrases like "I'm going to lunch" or "I broke", with people who are in the next room, if not the same. The reason for this phenomenon in much greater detail and explain the most scientifically to what I can do, perhaps the only survivor still not registered, and fiercely determined to resist. And I'm not divorced from the electronic world, participate in forums and chat, I have a blog, visit the sites ... I just do not understand what function has this type of communication to those already mentioned, leaving a considerable space to a thought or a reflection of some more useful and thorough, and also, if we want and hope, the futility smart .. .

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absurd?

not know what to invent. I read tonight in the journal Andersen in October, a story picked up by the press . It seems that there is a computer program, invented by none other than a descendant of Charles Dickens, able to automatically process a novel, with only a few instructions: gender, type of history, names. And the rest is done by him, the "New Novelist". The system is based on the consideration that each story is built on structural lines are very similar, but suffices to mix them in a different way to get an original story. That someone has really thought about a kind of absurdity I am surprised to a certain point. I'm more surprised if someone really illudesse to compose in this way the masterpiece of his life. But then, considering many things, in the end perhaps do not even wonder: is yet another step towards the flattening of culture, to the approval to progressive inability to think for themselves, and indeed there is a danger that someone shouting to the genius, begin pouring out stories "written" in this way. Poor Dickens, must be turning in his grave.

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NIGHT

Write at night has an entirely different appeal. The noise of the city are more distant, or otherwise are less frenetic, and leave space to the sounds of home, but there are always that, left free from the superstructure are released in all their mysterious anxiety. We must get used to it, because in the beginning are unknown, can lead to distraction, then slowly even those become part of a soundtrack usual and reassuring. The night is a time suspended, large, free zones, provided that it can be fully exploited. For some, the night is the moment of transgression, for others it is time for reflection, where you can recover that margin necessary solitude, that moment of creativity that day is fragmented into thousands of commitments and tasks. The night is silent, but a silence full of other sounds. Then take over the sleep and fatigue, has now become too fast tomorrow, today, tomorrow, and it's already time to start again ...

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"I suppose you'll mind the unfortunate elders who are aged generously dedicating his life to art. Have it all. [...] They want the very short portion of their remaining life was a repetition of the long portion of the previous year. Flare up and get angry about anything, complain about anything. They want to take the reins of everything and all lead to despair. They are never satisfied with anything or anyone. I am one of them. "Orhan Pamuk," My Name is Red ".

But life runs differently, and lives in a row we have to live out in the same, many, many, not all as will want, with different characters with different roles, nothing stays the same but what we want to change and we can not change. To think again, obviously late, when where we could do it. It is not so bad that you do not live life the same life. Basically it means not survive themselves.

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Satire

And the satire is still a serious problem. Beyond a discussion of freedom of expression (which also deserves to be treated at length in part), there really wonder what the satire does not end up producing the opposite effect as desired, and especially when to do it: if ie there is a limit, a boundary beyond which it is best not to venture. Of course one can not deny the positive contribution of a beautiful vignette of a serious talk: a well done sticker amounts to a full article, even without words. Unlike the discourse regarding the comic (if there are still good comedians who make us laugh and above all they are really smart, how many can you count?). A comedian has to know the meaning of the measure, this is where we run a real risk boomerang effect. The exaggeration, the repetition, sometimes the petulance of a topic. Because it offers the next opponent, you give way to proclaim himself persecuted. Certain topics can not be addressed and complaints (only) with jokes, but with facts and evidence. And sometimes, for not picking up the consensus, it is probably really better than silence.

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PRESS LAST WEEK

Among the news out ...
Never mind the birthday of the president of Milan;
Never mind of who comes and who goes from the island's famous;
Never mind the last book sale;

The newspapers could have half of the pages ... It is true that we are to feed certain characters and certain situations. We should not talk about it. Perhaps we do not even satire, because, as we know, no matter how it is spoken, but only if you do it. Obviously I contradict, because I talk ... but there is no way out ...

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MAZZINI

One thing that always made me run (one of many ...), it is the habit, now perhaps less present, to translate into Italian and Italian names are not. Certainly the old fascist legacy, when everything had to be expressed in our language, when it became Rascel Rascel and Courmayeur Cortemaggiore ... So as a kid I thought Giulio Verne was an Italian author, and when I discovered that Jules had in fact thought it was poorly written ... Sure, there are geographical names and names of historical figures that are conventionally used translated. We say Paris and Paris (the French say Rome), say, Charlemagne and Charlemagne. All right. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, but must remain so, call Wolfgang Amadeus would be like if the Germans Joseph Verdi say ... I do not think they do. Plus translated names, with the last name that is necessarily the original one, also have a bad sound. What would we say if the British to capture in their history books or James Matteotti Joe Mazzini?

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JOE SERIOUSLY SLOW THE SERIAL

A writer or an author, a character that identifies "right" creates a series of his adventures. The series is a rather widespread, and guarantees a certain security, a think tank from which to draw, since there is always a defined structure in which to make things happen. The cartoon, usually, it is always serial of any kind and, while in the serial novels for the most part apply to yellow. The difference is that, while the comic book characters such as the time is frozen, there is an evolution in the novels. The characters drawn are always the same: the Peanuts are always children, Tintin still a teenager, Dylan Dog has always 33/35 years. I've always dressed the same way (except of course if they have to dress up or dress, is an exception that Mickey Mouse made his debut with a pair of shorts and then change it completely). There is obviously an evolution of style graphics (at least for the characters always assigned to a single artist), but the substance is. The characters of the novels rather older. The novel in the Inspector Montalbano novel accuses the passing years. Maigret at one point retiring, even though his exploits are still (Simenon wanted to stop but then had to continue). Then why books should be read in the chronological order in which they were written, just to capture the evolution (or involution) of the protagonists. Some authors write in advance of the last novel in a series, to close (at least to prevent the character to survive themselves) did Agatha Christie, it seems it has already done Camilleri. Conan Doyle was forced to revive Sherlock Holmes. In comics, there are very few exceptions. In the Peanuts and Mafalda, for example, a series that began the new characters are born, which initially are small, as they grow, but reached a certain point they stop. Apart from this, a series of comic books it can be easily read in any order, because there are hardly historical references with previous episodes (there are also there, of course, but sometimes they are hidden and no effect). An example of a serial comic literary type, which presents characters that is standing still in time (and a stop time itself) is the work of Wodehouse, consisting of three or four main areas, linked together, with interchangeable characters, but immutable , ageless. Although there is still a sequence, even if mild. In short, the serial will be a lifeline for writers. It will be only one way to sell more because the public takes a liking characters and ends up forgiving if a story is not up to another. It will be a way to continue telling the same story. Ultimately, it is always so: even the classical myths were formed by episodes involving the same characters. Even the Homeric heroes or the gods of Olympus were basically serial.

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do not know how slow the writing is a virtue or a defect. Slow, first, that does not mean "lazy", that is another thing, which is usually negative, however, even if it is legitimate to take a break to recharge the batteries, but that's not laziness. Laziness is not not write because you need a respite, it is not because there is, and even there we should distinguish and investigate the legitimacy of the reasons (and says so lazy ... er ...). The slowness is to give her time to writing, is necessary, that every time varies, depending on what you are writing. Slowly and savor every word, until you find the right one, looking until we are satisfied. Slowness is also going back to revise, review, correct if necessary and to better define what is already written. The risk, I know well that this (sigh) is to keep rehashing the same things to the bitter end. Clear that if you write with a deadline, the slowness is the enemy. It can only attend when you write without emergencies. Simenon was sometimes criticized for excessive productivity, because it would take an average of one week to produce a book. And he's written hundreds ... But the speed does not necessarily mean superficiality. Fred Vargas writes his books, it seems, in 21 days (vacation time). Each has its own rhythms and time. But in this world that goes on the run, a healthy dose of slowness would not hurt, at times, perhaps by helping to thin out the amount for the benefit of quality.

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Nonsense

Sometimes the language of newspapers falls in love with words and phrases, one fixed and continues to use them in an uncontrolled manner and continue. This is the case, for a long time now, the word "shock." All you have to know that sensationalism has become shock, in the headlines of any newspaper. Judgement shock, shock statement, shocking Vattelapesca. Once there was only John's grandmother Corsaro Nero, to the view that only brings the shock " now the phenomenon is widespread. Possible that there are no other words, at least to diversify? Once or twice is fine, but every day in a newspaper you can find the precise titoletto crying in shock. Then the shock is a very specific thing, and I quote from a dictionary: " emotion, feeling a sudden and violent" . Then there's the shock, but that is Another thing, is to suspect that someone, before you write, there is the past ... I do not know how many of the things for which this term is appropriate to be bothered. I fear that most of the time are just silly .

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BIBLIOTECOMANIA

is true that love books makes us even collectors. Moreover, a book once read, that is the end? Mica you can remove, would be a crime, at best, but just on the edge and for a very serious reason, you can give, but then it happens that you go to buy back, because, well, a book is also an object to have, to return to consult, to be reinterpreted, but just to look in the library, along with his brothers, perhaps aligned in order, but not necessarily, because a library is beautiful even when it is busy (do not say messy, that means not find anything, while those with a library "move" always know where each book). Quite different from the libraries of fake salons, or in television studios, which are made to look like, nothing else. A bibliophile is a Bibliomania however, because it is so beautiful. It is inconceivable that one says "I read many books but sometimes I clean and eliminate". What to eliminate? Yes, textbooks, yearbooks, directories ... things that become obsolete ... Of course, then there is the problem of space. But for books is always, even if they stay in double or Triple line, you know that there are, where they are, and where appropriate will blow out even the most hidden ...

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SPARK

And if ideas are not? Drama, frustration, nervousness, blank page syndrome (or blank screen) ... And I do not think there is a secure system to facilitate the birth of the idea. Inspiration maybe it's just an urban legend, because in any case, if there is something so evanescent that if you can not stop it immediately evaporates. We must capture the idea, began to dress in mind, a piece at a time but continuously, because if you neglect us goodbye and go ... Then, maybe even start inking something, make history around the idea. Only when you have enough light, you can start working seriously. And even this is not true, because writing can also change direction and do not know where it will come: perhaps where you would get anyway, but following a path that we had not imagined. And that's the beauty of writing, let go of what is, so following a common thread (you still know what you want to say), but leaving a small opening for the spark of the unexpected. For this reason I do not think there is a better method than another. Every writer certainly has its rituals, its methods. The mythical apple of Agatha Christie in the bathtub, or the pipes already loaded with Simenon, aligned on the table for him not to interrupt the thread. Some people write better at night, who writes by hand, who said ... But the cure is independent from this idea, which ultimately belongs only dell'aneddotica more or less true of a character. The only true thing is that when ideas are not, then maybe you should stop, think of something else and wait ...

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What has happened? BETWEEN THE LINES

Once, when a public figure for a time disappeared from television, after a bit 'all begin to wonder, "What happened to Tom," because you know, it was true then and even more now, if one does not appear on TV as well not exist, maybe it has a very active and happy life elsewhere, but the audience is gone. Yeah, because it is the TV to decide rhythms and destinies, if something does not tell the TV does not exist, and since it was not there but because the TV said. But there was also people who at one point could do without it, and decided to exist without media exposure. Once there were programs that periodically bothered to go and investigate what had happened to this or that character. It was not yet "Who has seen" , because we deal with people who still knew where it was, only investigations were designed to reassure viewers that their pets were a good time and maybe prepare a return the limelight. Now those programs are no longer needed. Now the question is no longer anxious about the fate of Tom or Dick. Now the characters in question are careful to stay out of ... cameras, but they do the shuttle and relay between a program and another. They are always there. And if for some a 'you do not see (not by choice), as long as it fits in any reality and the problem is solved. It was better to continue to wonder what had happened ...

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"In the books, the poets, looking for you." is a phrase of a song by Gucci ( " Another day has gone " ), and summarizes the basic attitude of those who approaches to reading. Try reading it ourselves, we seek confirmation of what we think and do, what we are. We are looking for justification for what we are and we do not, sometimes an excuse for not doing and not to be. In the books we look for a smile, a coincidence, the explanation for what happens to us daily and we think that only happens to us, or even try what happens to anyone but us, and we study the behavior of the characters trying to adapt ourselves to see if anything we can apply to our lives. We make our own the words and feelings, perhaps because we happen to experience them in reality, or because they secretly preparing to face and there seems to be able be good solutions for us, in the event. And then we close the book, we go out, we resume our lives mulling the pages we read, still hot, e. .. another day is gone, waiting for the next reading ...

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VIGNETTE - 1

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LI TRIVIA

I came across a comic book written by Fred Vargas, unpublished in Italy. It is a story that features the Commissioner Adamsberg, like most of the yellows of the same author, but not a cartoon based on a novel, was born just like comics. is titled "Les quatre fleuves" , and drawings by Edmond Baudoin. Interesting layout, not just comic-book classic, though with a lot of text. The strangest thing was to finally give a face to Adamsberg, which until now was, for me, only task of the imagination. I can not say as I imagined, certainly not as it is drawn, but I will not even say it was a disappointment. Moreover it always happens that way. You read serial novels focus on a character that the head of each assumes a different appearance for each. Or, in the case of texts transposed in the film and, inevitably you imagine the character with the face of the actor. Far as to say that if not Maigret has the face of Gino Cervi not Maigret ... Among other things, is unthinkable, since they have designed together, the same Vargas gave precise instructions to the designer on the features to be given to the commissioner ... If anything, I do not like what was represented as is his deputy, Lieutenant Danglard. But anyhow ... It's the usual dilemma of when a book becomes a movie, this time delivered in a comic ...

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you have read all?

The typical question of who get into a house where there are books in a quantity that clearly seems exorbitant to visitors (and many fear for this to be around ten, excluding the lists of the phone), it is invariably " ... How many books did you read all? . Would be a spontaneous response to Pepe Carvalho, ( No, I use them to light the fireplace "), except that there is a risk of being believed. What kind of question is that? Evidently, the daughter of a subculture in which the book is considered a decorative object, selected by size and height, the color of the cover that makes pendant with good upholstery of the sofa, or fill bookstores fake in front of which to be photographed interview or, if you're famous ... Questions for people who do not know what it is really a book. Of course, I do not I read all the books I have. But some are there, waiting to be their moment, and meanwhile we are. Others may have been purchased in periods of interest in a subject which then came less, and were only browsed, but they are there too ... And then there are books that should not be read but to be seen, should be consulted, to be popular even without ever reading them entirely. It should not be less than the others, for sure. I think the best answer to this question has given the irritating Hugo Pratt, who in his last house in Switzerland, had thousands and thousands of volumes. " has read them all? " "No. But I've paths all." And this is perhaps the best compliment for a book ...

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a joke

But then what a joke? For a writer is the daily bread, even if not so much as a writer, I would say, for a writer. In a novel, the joke, fast, crisp, even sharp, is not as essential as, for example, in a play or film, or in a balloon. I would say that there is indispensable, but this is also the tragedy of the measure. In that sense the danger in a context outside of which it becomes incomprehensible. Unless you are a genius, and "universal" in the sense that life has its own in any situation is repeated. This is the case of many jokes in films, for example, that simply repeat that they may have happened, but who have force only if they report directly to the scene to which they relate. Laughter citing Sordi says "Workers tie ..." , but if one does not know the scene in the movie (any?) May not understand. Now, even the impromptu joke, one that began for a speech, the same fate. The joke must be fast. The moment that comes to mind is already old, because in the meantime the discussion that generated it has taken other directions. Should be simultaneous with, get them to stop their context, fitting exactly where it was designed. A tremendous difficulties. If you arrive late even a few seconds to realize it necessary to repeat the situation, telling the context, prepare it again. Bankruptcy then the joke that needs to be explained. Sure, it can also be guilty of the listener, but also good joke should be transposed from the latter on the uptake ... Then one must also stop making people laugh, but he must do so "even", not "just". In fact, if this is satire, laughter should be tight-lipped ... It should make us think, but unfortunately this is another activity widely practiced ... Well, come to think of a joke is a serious matter ...