This book, published in 1961, was written by Ginzburg after she had moved from Italy to London, following the Second World War. It is a blend of a memoir and a novel, detailing Ginzburg’s childhood in Turin, her marriage to an anti-fascist conspirator, and her family’s plight as Italian Jews, forced to live in a village in Abruzzi while in internal exile during the war. She states up front, “I haven’t invented a thing…. If read as a history, one will object to the infinite lacunae…. One should read it as if it were a novel, and therefore not demand any more or less than a novel can offer.” The book blends her humor, the intrigues of Italian politics, her family’s playful use of language, and the deeply personal inner-workings of her tight-knit family. There are familial phrases, whose meanings are only known to the members of her clan, that become themes that return to her life as she ages. Describing her father, “For him someone stupid was a “nitwit.”… In addition to the “nitwits,” there were also the “negroes.” For my father, a “negro” was someone who was awkward, clumsy, and faint-hearted; someone who dressed inappropriately, didn’t know how to hike in the mountains, and couldn’t speak foreign languages.” Ginzburg’s mother had her own peculiar sayings too. “Returning to Freiburg after the war, the bookseller [an old family friend] had exclaimed, “I don’t recognize my Germany anymore!” It was a saying that remained famous in our family and every time my mother didn’t recognize someone or something she would repeat it.” As for Ginzburg’s paternal grandmother, ““For you lot everything is a bordello. In this house you make a bordello out of everything,” my grandmother always said, meaning that for us nothing was sacred. The saying became famous in our family and we used to repeat it every time we found ourselves laughing over a death or a funeral.” As for her maternal grandmother, who died before Ginzburg was born, “Because he [her grandfather] always packed the house full of socialists, my grandmother Pina used to say bitterly, in dialect, of their daughter, “That girl’s going to marry the gasman.”” Ginzburg’s father ended up being a biologist, however.
Growing up under the rule of Mussolini, politics pervaded the life of the Ginzburg family. They were all committed anti-fascists, with Ginzburg’s future husband, father, and male siblings all having been arrested or going into exile. “At the time, my father didn’t really have a well-defined opinion about the communists. He didn’t believe there were any conspirators in the new, younger generation, and if he had suspected that there were, he would have thought them crazy. In his opinion, there was nothing, absolutely nothing to be done about fascism…. My mother went out in the morning saying, “I’m going to see if fascism is still on its feet. I am going to see if they’ve toppled Mussolini.”” Of Ginzburg’s own husband, “Leone was arrested now and again. They arrested him as a precautionary measure every time some notable politician or the king visited Turin. They kept him in jail for three or four days, letting him go as soon as the political figure had left.” Leone was eventually captured in Rome, operating an illegal printing press, and killed by the Nazis towards the end of the war. All that Ginzburg writes about this incident is “Leone had died in prison, in the German section of the Regina Coeli prison one icy February in Rome during the German occupation.” She recounts their friend Pavese as saying, “When someone goes away, or dies, I try not to think about him because I don’t like to suffer.” After the war, people once again had to adjust to their new lives and transform into their new selves. “The postwar period was a time when everyone believed himself to be a poet and a politician…. In one way or another, everyone felt deceived and betrayed, both those who lived in reality and those who possessed or thought they possessed a means of describing it.”
