Andrea Vitali

We are in 1930s Italy, at the height of the Fascist era. In a small village on Lake Como, four good-for-nothings spend their time lingering in taverns and playing pranks. One day, as a favor to the village prostitute, they poison the pigeons that typically congregate in the squares and streets. One of these pigeons is given to an elderly woman, who dies from the poison. From this incident unfolds a whole sequence of events centered on the village *maresciallo*. He is the classic figure of the *carabiniere*: dutiful, stern yet pragmatic and sensible, attempting to resolve the locals' troubles by acting as a «benevolent paterfamilias». The narrative moves swiftly, buoyed by a lively, stripped-down style, weaving through somewhat absurd situations—such as a brother fretting that his skinny, pious sister might marry a friend endowed with exceptionally exaggerated sexual attributes—and singular characters, like the wife of the *podestà*, who believes herself to be three people in one and is constantly shifting personalities. The atmosphere evoked by the author is the familiar one handed down to us regarding Fascist Italy: an absurd regime, unloved yet endured, while at the same time paternalistic and condescending. The book’s greatest virtue is that it is a very smooth read, yet both characters and settings remain superficial and distant. The former verge on mere caricatures; the latter (Lake Como and village life) ultimately prove irrelevant. The deft narrative pacing fails to compensate for the vacuity of its content. Why not read it? Because it only makes sense to read it on a train, when one is thoroughly exhausted.