Reportage 1, Week 2

Wrinkles zig zag down the back of his berry-colored shirt as the waiter weaves in and out of my vision, setting down tall glasses for the prosecco. His arms fling backwards, spread like victory, as the rush of his excited Italian climbs into a squeak and wheeze. His company spreads her already wide, pink mouth with understanding, though her eyes reveal nothing in the gradated lens of her sunglasses. She brings a manicured hand up to the large waves in her hair and the nails glitter bright as poppies. The fingers curl and wait there in the tangle of her tresses while her other hand works a fork over the appetizers. Again the waiter dives in, prim and dark in a perfectly pressed suit. He sets a plate of bread down on the edge of the table. The man with the berry-shirt calms slightly, reaches for a napkin and wipes his face. His feet shift just as the waiter disappears again, and then, almost as if timed he balls his napkins and his arms take up bending and swinging, like a dance or a sort of scale battling release. His companion tightens her lips and looks down at her plate. Her eyes remain unseen, but from the tilt of her head and the slow, pronounced way she chews, she no longer looks invested. 

Reading Journal 2, Week 2

I have a difficult time embracing the second person, so I will refer to the protagonist as “Laura” rather than myself. However, I will say that, in terms of setting, I greatly enjoyed the centrality of Italy to the work—it was literally like a snapshot of all the great things Italy had to offer without the tourist-heavy “must see the sights, seek the experience” feel. Laura actively struggled against and avoided tourism, and through this displayed a knowledge of both her Italian surroundings and people she met there that made the story seem a great deal more intimate and genuine. Fraser’s version of Italy, from my experience, is more real than any version of Italy we’ve met thus far down to the friends and characters we meet (Nina, Lucia) to the locations we see (Naples, Florence); Fraser is unafraid to examine all the beautiful, the ugly, and even the stereotypical aspects of Italy. I rarely know how Italians feel about their own culture and the representations of it. I imagine it would be like me witnessing American representations—like there is always that trace of something that is not quite right, just a little off—but based on my own experiences I feel that Fraser’s setting is so lush with understanding and appreciation for the highs (it’s beauty and attractions) and lows (its occasionally shotty construction, its heavy crime) that surely even Italians can look at this story and recognize some small part of their own Italy. 

Classmate Response 1, Week 1

In Response to Megan's Original Prompt 2, Week 1:

I really enjoy the sort of heightened approach you take to this rather matter of fact moment, and I appreciate the incorporation of Italian imagery into your narrative. There's a wonderful dreaminess to this entry and I think the challenge here is finding a balance between the vivid and the concrete. There are moments when my understanding falters. Also, before I unpack these moments, is the spelling of Marlboro as Marlborough intentional? I see it as a sort of play on Luca's accent, his tongue's understand of English, and I like it a lot but I feel like that needs to be either pointed out or played out more. Now, going back to what I said earlier, let's take St. Francis for instance. There seems to be a lot of comparisons going on in that first sentence. The cigarette in his (Luca's) hand is like a pigeon in a hole--which is quirky and I like it. But then we talk about nonsensical perches, and St. Francis preaching--is he preaching holes? Is he preaching to the pigeons? I get a little lost there. And again in the wonderful image of the Mary fresco, where I get lost in the exact details but I enjoy the idea of the fading life in her, where the artwork is supposed to represent this eternalness. In fact, I would say that of the two similes, the Mary one works best. Also, at the end you write that you and Luca are both getting what you want—I’d like to see a connection formed between how you are both getting what you want in that moment and how that ties in to the idea of art, in which what you take out of it is what you want to take out of it kind of thing. 

Original Prompt 1, Week 1

Rather than being inspired by a reading, I decided to rework the "a place in Spoleto calisthenic" we received last class because I was disappointed in the result I got.

La piazza Girabaldi--where the low hang of caffe clutches the passing spin of exhaust. Le machine, ballerinas in arabesque, twist on their tires, hit the sharp corner and bound in a spin of wheels. We discover safety at a patio table near the Gelateria and tongue a sound much like the soft mumble of a gelato spoon scraping a cup--that small shovel digging for pleasure. We mouth Italian words, try to imitate the twirl and lull around us. Mi chaimo...di dove sei... Here, no one notices us--no one stares or wonders, cares what we whisper across the table, "sono Americano." A fat fly dunks into a splatter of fragola, drinks the creamy beads before lift off, wavers--a hefty bob around the maze of chairs and tables topped with espresso cups and napkin balls. Your fingers work the curtain of your forehead, smoothes, crinkles, bubbles up a slight groan. Why did we come here anyway? The art of the tongue, the taste of something foreign is so hard to detect as it begins in your mouth. He dives, perhaps loses control, and scrapes his wings on the wisps of your brunnette neckline. Traipses, recovers, then dodges as your hand nearly finds him there. You sigh, no longer caring for speech, instead your hand brushes where the fly once was, scraping the fading traces of Italy from your neck.

Reading Journal 1, Week 2

In “A Room with the View” the characters and their shortcomings are the most central addition to the conflict, but Italy does function as a prevalent setting in which its surroundings distort and later misconstrue Lucy’s perceptions of the ancient “civil/barbarian” binary. Of course, Lucy (the protagonist) is only able to tackle this altered reception of civility via a facilitated approach through the characters George and his father (the British tourists), who view the world rather bluntly and through less socially (and religiously) acceptable spectacles. Italy, rather than functioning as the sole place of her change, instead operates as a sort of charting mechanism that illustrates the steps and different approaches Lucy undertakes in seeing Florence and all its sights—she progresses from the Baedeker toting tourist, to the active engager, and later, to the lone traveler—an incident that resulted in, perhaps climatically, the moment in which everything changed for her; Lucy faces death and in doing so, exchanges a degree of vulnerability and youthful understanding with the Other, George. As well, the sort of agreeability she displays with the more snub-nosed presences of her cousins and the prim people around her falters as her intimacy with Italy and the plight of the Italian people progresses.