“50 suicide attempts plus 50 blunt objects”: the review by Serena Dandini – iO Donna
AndIt was precisely an author who revolutionized the plots of thrillers in England in the first half of the twentieth century. She is the first to hide natural poisons in beauty creams, detergents or glasses of champagne to exterminate her victims and drive the police mad.
But Hercule Poirot, the detective with the egg-head and the slicked-back mustache solved the cases because he was a keen observer of everyday life and objects that no one would ever suspect as murder weapons.
And it is Agatha Christie, called lady killer, the first person that came to my mind while reading the poems of Alessandra Carnaroli collected in the book 50 suicide attempts plus 50 blunt objects (Einaudi) now in the bookshop.
In reality, everyday life and the most banal scenarios can turn into a hell of pitfalls, Agatha knew well that she was a real English housewife and Carnaroli knows that in these furious, tragic, deep and funny verses at the same time tells how a cup with Mafalda’s face, a can of peeled tomatoes, a high-heeled shoe or an Ikea fridge bag can become lethal weapons even for a whirlwind of self-harm.
They say that poetry is not an easy genre these days, the public is distracted and hypnotized by the TV series, I believe instead that it is the most suitable reading to attend precisely in difficult moments, an almost homeopathic cure to face the day and to always keep on the bedside table even for a peek before falling asleep.
Violence is constantly lurkinga subliminal specter of our society, especially for the female gender who always lives in the balance between perdition and salvation.
Freeing the ghosts that populate our days and letting them live in the imagination is a liberating and providential act, even more so if seasoned with a right dose of irony.
Carnaroli’s poetry is fierce but precisely this descent into the abyss in the banality of everyday evil has a superstitious and saving power for all the “desperate housewives” who populate his verses.
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Whether it is homicidal or suicidal thoughts, the paradox lives in the words that chase each other to form songs that are more current and convincing than those brought to success by so many fashionable trappers. And at the end of the book we might agree with Dorothy Parker: “We might as well live.”
All the articles by Serena Dandini.
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