Andrea Camilleri

The initial premise is a true event that took place in 1875 in Sicily. The prefect of Caltanissetta, a Florentine, insisted that the town’s new theatre be inaugurated with a virtually unknown opera, namely *The Brewer of Preston*. Numerous disturbances ensued, left largely unresolved by the inquiry that followed. Taking this real-life occurrence as his point of departure, Camilleri crafted a novel open to multiple readings, so much so that the chapters themselves could easily be rearranged in an order different from that of the narration. One possible trajectory is undoubtedly the detective plot, centered on the police delegate, Puglisi—the novel’s sole genuinely honest character, who may well be regarded as a precursor to Montalbano. In Camilleri’s imagination, the theatre is set ablaze by Mazzinian agitators on the very night of its opening. Acting as a true investigator, Puglisi uncovers the arson behind the fire, a crime for which the police commissioner is equally culpable, having chosen—out of petty political squabbles, and despite having been alerted by Puglisi himself—not to arrest the Mazzinian agitators upon their arrival in the city. Puglisi’s death at the hands of one of the arsonists proves expedient for many, not least the authorities of the newly formed Italian state. The book’s other interpretive key lies precisely in the corruption and arrogance of the officials dispatched to Sicily, chief among them the prefect himself, who colludes with the local mafia: an unholy alliance that bodes ill for the future of the island. Then there is the world of Sicily itself, and it is here that the author is at his finest, offering evocative, affectionately ironic, and at times paradoxical portraits of a society that watches, from the heights of a millennia-old history, the descent of new conquerors (the Piedmontese): a mix of pessimism, cynicism, pride, and stubbornness in defense of its own *sicilianità*, alongside an ingrained habit of submitting to the powerful and to violence. Further narrative threads and motifs can also be identified, particularly as the author structures each chapter around references to masterpieces of Italian and world literature, which one presumes are among those Camilleri held in highest regard. In this sense, the novel’s table of contents serves as a reading guide to other authors. The novel unfolds through continuous temporal shifts back and forth, with the result of fragmenting the plot into numerous vignettes, thereby compromising the narrative’s cohesion. The recourse to the Sicilian language, both in dialogue and narration, intrigues and at times makes for an agreeable read, yet on the whole it leaves an overriding impression of mannerism and literary preciousness pursued for its own sake. Why read it? It is an engaging read, even if one is ultimately left somewhat disappointed. What was the author trying to say?