Gianrico Carofiglio

Roberto and Emma come from two different backgrounds: Roberto is a former carabiniere who spent years working undercover within criminal organizations; Emma is an ex-actress, a single mother to a twelve-year-old boy. Their paths cross because they are seeing the same psychiatrist; both need to free themselves > from thoughts or memories. When they arrive, one must observe them with detachment and let them slip away . The narrative centers on the figure of Roberto. Born in the United States, he returned to Italy with his mother following the suicide of his father (a corrupt police officer). The absence of his father is not the only wound waiting to heal. He enlists in the Carabinieri and is soon successfully deployed in undercover operations. > My job was to be someone else. And it isn’t bad at all to be someone else, from time to time: it makes you feel free.(...) The problem arises when you have to be someone else just to feel like yourself . Deception leads one to tolerate violence, even against young girls, and to betray the trust of the woman one loves, simply because she is the daughter of a crime boss. > I am a coward and a bastard. (...) I was so good at working with criminals because I am just like them : it is a torment that drives Roberto to the brink of suicide. By comparison, Emma’s story is prosaic; after yet another marital row sparked by her infidelities, her husband walks out for several weeks, cutting off all contact and refusing to see their son. The man’s death in a car crash leaves her burdened with profound guilt, as she feels responsible for having denied her son one final meeting with his father. Roberto and Emma approach their relationship with great caution, even if both feel that, at long last, everything around them is beginning to shift. What accelerates their romance and steers it toward a happy ending is Emma’s son, who confides his suspicion that a female classmate has become entangled in a child prostitution ring. Roberto’s intervention is, predictably, decisive in dismantling the criminal racket and rescuing the teenager. Carofiglio is a successful author, blessed with a simple and elegant prose style. One is left wondering why he chose to write a story so vacuous and superficial: there is no real action, the characters are poorly delineated, and the plot is thoroughly predictable. Compounding the already fragile narrative structure is the frequent reliance on dreams—premonitory and revelatory of truths hidden in the unconscious: a “New Age” cliché, far too ubiquitous today in contemporary fiction and countless American TV series. Why skip it? Pointless, hollow, inconclusive.

Perhaps it is not the author’s best book. A brilliant young student is dragged by a friend into a descent into hell: first gambling, then drugs, until he even risks becoming implicated in a rape. Faced with extreme violence, he reacts by saving the girl, and in some measure saves himself as well. The narrative premise could well be interesting, but it drags sluggishly along, offering neither plot twists nor any psychological probing of the motives behind behavior so vastly divergent from his past life. It almost seems as though the character were weak, someone who had always passively endured what was expected of him, only for his true personality to surface under his friend’s pressure. The style wavers between that typical of atmospheric crime fiction and that used in introspective narratives: the synthesis is sheer tedium in the reading.

Guido Guerrieri is a criminal defense lawyer asked by a colleague to look into whether an investigation regarding a young woman’s disappearance can be reopened. Albeit reluctantly, Guerrieri turns investigator and uncovers a narrative of drug consumption and dealing to which the girl fell victim. The mystery is well-crafted. The reader is skillfully guided toward the conclusion, which, while not a surprise, is far from predictable; one arrives there with the same curiosity and guilelessness displayed by the author. As in all of Carofiglio’s novels, the detective plot runs parallel to the lawyer’s personal tribulations: a mature man in his forties who lives somewhat “suspended” in the present, with a past fading into oblivion and a love life facing an uncertain future. Yet, deep down, the protagonist feels at home in this suspension, for “only what is provisional is perfect,” and even the past belongs to a “kind of extended, simultaneous, and welcoming present.” The novel’s primary virtues lie in its prose—light and elegant—and in the investigative thread, which is soundly constructed and clearly the product of real, firsthand experience in the field. Its weakness resides in the portrait of the protagonist, who appears somewhat evanescent, his personal affairs—in truth, rather unengaging—failing to interweave effectively with the investigative narrative. It is no coincidence that the character gains genuine depth only when the discussion turns to the law and legal practice. Why read it? The prose and the plot make the book an exceedingly pleasurable read.

Defense attorney Guerrieri has just been left by his girlfriend when he is asked to represent on appeal a man named Paolicelli, who has already been convicted at first instance of international drug trafficking. From the name, Guerrieri recalls that he is a former fascist thug who took part in beating him during his student days. For this reason, he hesitates to take the case, but meeting the defendant’s stunning wife and an inkling of the man's innocence prompt him to mount his defense. Thus begins the search for evidence to prove that the traffickers used Paolicelli’s car without his knowledge to transport the drugs. Meanwhile, Guerrieri enters into a relationship with Paolicelli’s wife, finding himself in an ambiguous predicament: on the one hand, he has every interest in seeing Paolicelli’s conviction upheld so as to continue the affair and avenge the old beating; on the other, professional duty and a growing awareness of his client’s innocence compel him to commit ever more rigorously to gathering exculpatory evidence. The narrative thus arrives at the appeal trial, where Guerrieri displays his full skill in cross-examining the real culprits and demonstrating to the judges that there is reasonable doubt regarding Paolicelli’s guilt. Yet this success leaves Guerrieri once again alone. The novel unfolds through a continuous alternation between the detective plot and Guerrieri’s personal tribulations, accompanied by bitter reflections on the existential poverty of a life spent shuttling between courtrooms, books, and romantic relationships that never culminate in building a family. The finest part of the book lies in the trial scenes, where the background of the author—a magistrate by profession—plainly shines through. The absence of surprises and the somewhat ritualistic references to the protagonist’s existential and romantic troubles do little to sustain the narrative’s vigor, which ultimately turns predictable. Guerrieri’s moral dilemma (whether to let Paolicelli be convicted or defend him so as to prove his innocence) is treated superficially, without ever bringing the protagonist’s inner conflict into sharp relief. Why read it? It is enjoyable, very well written, and the pages devoted to the courtroom proceedings are of genuine interest.