January 8, 2021 | pp. 58-70 (through “…we are just piling up pointless details. Giuseppe”)
“She had a baby girl and her mother died. She separated from her husband who killed himself a short time afterwards.”
Death is always a swift occurrence in Ginzburg’s narrative. There is no drama, the ripples are barely visible on the surface...
The swiftness of death in Ginzburg's work: of her husband tortured to death by the Nazis, she wrote simply this: “During the German occupation Leone had died in the German Wing of the Regina Coeli prison in Rome, one icy February.” (Family Lexicon)
Lucrezia’s meat-loaf is becoming another refrain in the letters. “Her meat-loaves fall apart.” More things in heaven and earth fall apart than Lucrezia’s meat-loaves!
January 5, 2021 | pp. 1-20 (through “We will see one another next Saturday. I’ll bring Ignazio Fegiz. Egisto”)
January 11, 2021 | pp. 108-130 (through “Let me know if you are still sleeping in the room with the bear-cubs. Lucrezia”)
January 14, 2021 | pp. 171-191 (through “…in which your future is fated and all mapped out for you. Egisto.”)
January 16, 2021 | pp. 212-228 (through “I buy black underpants so that I won’t have to wash them so often.”)
January 17, 2021 | pp. 229-247 (through “I buy black underpants so that I won’t have to wash them so often.”)
January 18, 2021 | pp. 248-265 (through “…and anyway she doesn’t like children. Yours, Giuseppe)
January 19, 2021 | pp. 248-265 (through “…and anyway she doesn’t like children. Yours, Giuseppe)