Vincenzo Malinconico, age 42, attorney on the edge of failure in his own words:"my shortcoming: I lack conclusions, in the sense that nothing ever really comes to an end...I'm an inconsistent narrator. I'm not a narrator you can rely on. I'm too interested in incidental considerations that can take you off the track...my thoughts don't seem to grip the road, they tend to skid and drift." And then there's the morphosyntactic impairment where his sentences come undone. He likens it to herding cats. All of which makes him an utterly engaging if hapless teller of his own story.His wife has left him (for an architect), but they still occasionally sleep together and he refers to the architect as a cuckold. His teenaged kids are worrying him. He has just been appointed to defend a minor Camorra hit man, a job which brings possible risks as well as rewards and which comes with an unwelcome but highly effective minder named Tricarico. And his love life suddenly includes the delectable attorney Alessandra Persiano. It's a lot to take in.The nonlinear story telling with its hilarious digressions is a constant source of amazement and delight. His chapter on What Malconico Would Say about Gilbert O'Sullivan, About His Submerged Pessimism and the Pedophobia of Contemporary Pop Music if Anyone Were Ever to Ask Him is all by itself worth the price of the book. To say nothing about his obsessive descriptions of his furniture, his neighbors - whose names he reinvents every time he mentions them - and their horrible toy spitz who is finally brought to heel by Tricarico. It's full of wry but telling social and political commentary, has an engaging story line and Malconico is a total gem. Bravo. Ho visto cose che voi non avvocati non potete neanche immaginare.Questa è la storia dell'avvocato Malinconico e della sua lenta trasformazione da passivo sopportatore dell'esistenza a protagonista della propria vita; il tutto condito da una rapsodia di dissertazioni libere del suddetto avv. La molla che scatena la ribellione, come sempre succede in questi casi, sono la rabbia e la frustrazione scaturite da un matrimonio naufragato e da una carriera sfumata. Insomma, il ruggito del coniglio. Tutto sommato carino, a tratti divertente, tuttavia non rapisce e si guadagna solo tre stelle e mezzo. Napoli non c'è, se non nella lingua e nella camorra, e questo è un po' un peccato, perché non c'è niente di più bello di un napoletano che canta la sua città.
What do You think about I Hadn't Understood (2012)?
È diventato uno dei miei libri preferiti già mentre lo leggevo. Posso solo stra-consigliarlo!
—gaya
tutta la parte di alone again, almeno secondo me, è proprio american psycho
—colehoop
... eh!a volte �� meglio non capirci niente
—jenhubbard
