if you 'll understand italian misteries and particulary SICILIAN SOCIETY. read with attention this novel .ciao over all

I had to work with this book in my studies in Italian language and it was a great pleasure for me to know this author. He describes brillantly the relations in the big family, where nobody owes to say a word about the big bosses and the crimes, which have happened. This silence, omertá, causes the power of the mafia. Regarding this system the officer gets frustrated, because there's no chance for him to arrest the big boss, which is evidently not innocent. My comment about this book is very positive and I could tell everybody to read it, too.

Qual è la differenza tra un romanzo e un racconto? Dovessimo fa riferimento alle pagine, "Una storia semplice" - solo 58 e di piccolo formato - non ce la farebbe ad essere un romanzo; ma se conta piuttosto la complessità dell'impianto narrativo, la tipologia delle tematiche che accompagnano la narrazione, la varietà dei personaggi, "Una storia semplice" è sicuramente un romanzo, forse il romanzo perfetto, per il rapporto tra quello che offre - sia in quantità sia in qualità - e lo spazio/tempo che impegna. Se e' vero infatti che la lettura di un romanzo accompagna il lettore per un ragionevole tempo, nel quale la conoscenza del testo è sottoposta a maturazione ed appropriazione, questo avviene ugualmente per il libro in questione, sia perché chi lo ha letto più e più volte lo rilegge, sia perché la ricchezza degli stimoli è tale che il libro viene immancabilmente elaborato dopo la velocissima lettura. Quasi come un paesaggio che ammiriamo con emozione da un treno in corsa e poi ci piace ricostruire nei particolari e nel senso profondo. Nel 1989 Sciascia, già autore di una serie di bellissimi romanzi ambientati in una Sicilia assolutamente reale e forse proprio per questo mai completamente comprensibile (da "Il giorno della civetta" al "Porte aperte"), pubblica questa storia tutt'altro che semplice: si pensi, ad es., che mai viene nominata la parola "droga", il cui traffico costituisce il vero sfondo della vicenda. Molta amarezza nei tratti che caratterizzano le istituzioni: più si sale nella scala gerarchica (brigadiere, commissario, questore, procuratore della Repubblica...) più aumentano arroganza e incompetenza e più si attenua la spinta morale di chi dovrebbe servire la collettività (quando addirittura non è sostituita da scopi criminali); il rapporto con il semplice cittadino (l'"autista della Volvo") è stravolto, la collaborazione onesta con la giustizia assolutamente mal ripagata (con il tristissimo esito finale); chi riveste i ruoli rassicuranti della società "perbene" si dedica all'assassinio e a fabbricare morte. In questa desolante deriva della morale collettiva, si salvano solo coloro che non pretendono di essere i "giusti", ma aspirano alla conoscenza (l'umile brigadiere che insegue inutilmente una laurea e il vecchio professore); solo costoro, deboli tra i forti, mossi dal desiderio di comprendere, per ciò stesso cercano la giustizia. Ma questo, appunto, non basterà a ridare fiducia. La più bella scena del libro è quella in cui il professore incontra, dopo decenni il suo vecchio allievo divenuto magistrato (uomo di terrificante stupidità); questi rammenta al professore i voti scadenti sistematicamente ricevuti nei temi di italiano, e sottolinea come - nonostante la debolezza nella lingua - abbia raggiunto un'elevata posizione. Il professore gli risponde "l'italiano non è l'italiano, è il ragionare" e poi lo fredda: "con meno italiano, lei sarebbe forse ancora più in alto".

W. S. Di Piero, in his introduction to Leonardo Sciascia's "To Each His Own," aptly comments that Sciascia "used storytelling as in instrument for investigating and attacking the ethos of a culture-the insular, mafia-saturated culture of Sicily-which he believed to be a metaphor for the world." He did this as a political journalist, as a short story writer (notably in his fine collection, "The Wine-Dark Sea," which I also have reviewed here at Amazon) and, perhaps most effectively, as a writer of a unique type of detective story, one in which the usual investigation and solution of a crime is occluded by the lie, the secret, the collusion, and the murder that seemingly pervade Sciasica's Sicily.

In "To Each His Own," a pharmacist receives a simple, threatening and anonymous letter: "This letter is your death sentence. To avenge what you have done, you will die." The threat is apparently soon carried out, for a few days later the pharmacist and a close friend, Dr. Roscio, are found murdered. The two men had been hunting and their pack of dogs returned to the town without the men, prompting much speculation and a typically Sciascian commentary on the Sicilian code of silence:

"The return of the dogs set the whole town to disputing for days and days (as will always happen when people discuss the nature of dogs) about the order of Creation, since it is not at all fair that dogs should lack the gift of speech. No account was taken, in the creator's defense, that even had they had the gift of speech, the dogs would, in the given circumstances, have become so many mutes both with regard to the identity of the murderers and in testifying before the marshal of the carabinieri."

From this point forward, "To Each His Own" narrates the personal investigation of the crime by Professor Laurana, a sexually repressed high school teacher who lives alone with his mother in the same house he has lived in all his life. Professor Laurana undertakes the investigation not because he really cares to bring the perpetrator to justice, but "rather like the man in a living room or club who hears one of those stupid puzzles volunteered by the fools who are always eager to propose and, what is worse, to solve them, and who knows that it is a futile game and a waste of time, yet who feels obliged to solve the problem, and doggedly sets about doing so."

Professor Laurana methodically follows the clues and, along the way, provides a narrative that illuminates the corruption, the secrecy, the complicity, and the silence that make any effort to bring a criminal to justice in Sicily "a futile game and a waste of time." It is a narrative sharply critical of every institution in society-the Government, the Police, the Church, the Family-and laden with commentary and erotically charged innuendo on the relationship between men and women in a patriarchal and overtly sexist, if not misogynistic, culture. "To Each His Own" is, ultimately, a tale that ends grimly for those who seek the truth, even as the perpetrators celebrate their crimes in Sciascia's cynical Sicilian world.

As one expects from Sciascia, this is a highly readable book with well-drawn characters, intriguing plot ... all the makings of a delightful read. But as one also expects from Sciascia, the book is also a pointed political and social commentary. Follow the meanderings of a less-than-socially-observant professor as he tries to unravel the murder of a drugist and doctor on opening day of hunting season. Discover that the real mystery is who knows what when ... and why everyone keeps their knowledge close to their breasts. If you like suspense that reveals the complexity of the human condition, this is definately for you.

Set in a small town in Sicily, the novel "To Each His Own," starts with a death threat: "..." But the town pharmacist who receives the threat, Manno, is convinced he has done no wrong and dismisses the threat as a joke. The next day, he and his hunting companion, Dr. Roscio, are found dead. There are no obvious suspects and no obvious motives. After a perfunctory investigation by the town marshal, the local Professor Laurana takes up the case only to have it all end badly.

The author, Leonardo Sciascia, is widely considered a prominent Sicilian author, a master who pretty much invented the form of the "metaphysical mystery". This dazzling page-turner is ample evidence of the master's craft. The book (as are all of Sciascia's works) is also a social commentary on Sicily with its culture of secrets and violence. When the pharmacist and doctor are done in, there is hardly much of a stir in the local populace. The marshal comes down from the county seat to briefly investigate the "big headache", speculations are tossed around and life goes on. The silence and nonchalance are chilling.

The New York Review of Books recently reprinted "To Each His Own" under its "classics" issues (and what a great service that is!). I am eager to read the rest of the talented Sciascia's works. A word of caution--the edition published by the New York Review of Books has a wonderful introduction to the novel in the beginning. Save this for after you have read the book. While the introduction is good, it gives too much of the plot away!

The final word must belong to the absolutely haunting painting on the book cover. Called "Night in Velate" and rendered by the Italian painter, Renato Guttuso, the picture is the perfect choice for the dark, wonderful book.

If you look closely enough, you can almost see the evil lurking and doing its thing under the cover of a deceptively beautiful Sicilian night.

Equal Dangers is a must read for anyone interested in the culture of the post world war two European societies. This book is a great reflection on the difficulties a society (Italy) had in re-constituting itself. Sciascia accomplishes this in such an intersting, "murder mystery" type of way that makes this book a real page turner.

This is one of the best books I have ever read.

Set in a Sicilian sanatorium in the late 40s, this novel--written by one of the finest Italian writers of the 80s--deals (in fewer pages) with the same basic themes of Th. Mann's masterpiece. It is a mediterranean, sun-scorched, surrealistic, stylistically baroque magic mountain, and deserves 4 stars only because Bufalino is also the author of the amazing Lies of the Night. Partly autobiographic, this novel is haunted, like other Bufalino's novels, by endless literary echoes and is totally enjoyable by foreign readers.

I read this book in italian, and I was absolutely impressed by the power of Bufalino's language. No matter what he writes about, you will be astonished by how effective it is. Like Marguerite Yourcenar, he manages to express very deep concepts with very few words: amazing. I am sure that also through the translation you will be able to appreciate it.

Equal Danger is a short story about the vastly unstable Italian society in the early 1970's. Sciascia presents to us the danger of the corruptibility of government and how it directly relates to the massive amounts of terrorism in the early 1970s. This book is highly reccomended, and definately requires a lot of thought! If you love novels about conspiracy, murder, and drama in the context of the cold war....You will thouroughly enjoy this book.

Like Sicily itself, the short stories in The Wine Dark Sea connect the classical past with the quirky present of an island that was visited and changed by successive waves of conquerors and visitors. The stories evoke the uneasy relationship that Sicily has with the rest of Italy, the edginess of its residents' relationship with strngers. The stories are of uneven length and quality, and some are much more accomplished than others. They are tall on incident rather than on plot, and one wonders a bit whether something is lost in translation, as Sciascia is acclaimed in Sicily to a degree that seems disproportionate to some of these stories. He is no William Maxwell. But this is a good read for those wanting a sense of the tone of the place before a visit or the memory of it after one.

"The Wine-Dark Sea" is a collection of thirteen stories written by Leonardo Sciascia between 1959 and 1972. While less well know in the United States than some of his Italian contemporaries-I think here of Italo Calvino, Primo Levi, Umberto Eco-Sciascia enjoys a well deserved reputation in Italy as a writer of novels, stories and political commentary.

Sciascia was a Sicilian. This fact, more than any other, colors all of the stories in this collection. Each of these stories reflects, in some way, the particularities of Sicilian culture and society. There is, of course, the uneasy and often conflicting relationship that Sicily has had with the rest of Italy, particularly the northern part of that country. There is also the pervasive influence of the Mafia on Sicilian life, particularly the strong notions of honor and "omerta," the Mafia code of silence. And there is, finally, the interplay of the tightly knit Sicilian family, the Roman Catholic Church and the Italian state.

The best of the stories in this collection are marked by subdued irony, subtle wit and steely-clear insight into the idiosyncrasies that mark Sicilian life within the larger context of Italy.

In "A Matter of Conscience," a Sicilian lawyer traveling back home from Rome picks up a women's magazine on the train. He reads an anonymous letter to a priest, written by a woman from his hometown, asking for advice. The woman had an affair with a relative for six months, is tormented by her adultery and wants to know whether she should tell her husband. She relates that, "as a very devout person, I have confessed my fault on several different occasions." She then goes on-drawing the distinction between her Sicilian mores and those of the rest of Italy-as follows: "Every priest except one (but he was a northerner) has told me that if my repentance is sincere, and my love for my husband unchanged, then I must remain silent." From here, the story turns into a witty, ironic exploration of life in the lawyer's town as each of his colleagues becomes obsessed with the thought that he is the cuckold.

In "Mafia Western," a big town "on the border between the provinces of Palermo and Trapani" is embroiled in a bloody battle between two feuding mafia cells. It is at the time of World War I and, "the death-toll from assassination [is] comparable to the death-toll of its citizens falling at the front." In dry, matter-of-fact style, Sciascia relates this fictional tale, the interstices of his story relating the society within the society-the society of the mafiosi, the capo and the code of silence. Thus, a mother's son is killed and she knows his assassin. But she remains silent, picking up her son's body and bringing it back home. "The next morning she let it be know that her son died of a wound there upon his bed, but she knew neither where nor by whom he had been wounded. No word did she utter to the carabinieri about the man who might have killed him. But her friends understood-they knew-and they now set about very careful preparations."

In "Philology," two men that are to be called before the Commission of Enquiry investigating the activities of the mafia in Sicily engage in an ironic, witty discourse on the origin and meaning of the word "mafia". They are doing this in preparation for their interrogation, their dialogue a bit of dry, absurd humor that conflates the high intellectual pretension of philological discourse with the pragmatic, cold-blooded realities that underlie their preparations. As one of them says, "the fact is that everyone tries to establish the current meaning of the word before establishing its origin." After exploring possible Arabic and French origins of the word, and the deficiencies in education of the general public, who misunderstand the importance of etymology and meaning, he ultimately presents an ironically pragmatic, if high-sounding, statement of the meaning of the word "mafia": "Mafia implies a consciousness of self, an exaggerated concept of the power of the individual as sole arbiter of every conflict of interests or ideas; from this derives the inability to bear with the superiority, and even more, the authority of others. The mafioso expects respect and nearly always offers it. When crossed, he does not appeal to the law, public justice, but takes matters into his own hands and, should the remedy be beyond his own power, he will call on the assistance of like-minded friends."

"The Wine-Dark Sea," the longest of the stories in this collection, wonderfully depicts the cultural separation between Sicilians and other Italians. In this story, Bianchi, an engineer traveling to Sicily for the first time, shares a compartment with a Sicilian family and "a girl of about twenty-three" who is attached to the family "by ties of family, friendship or casual acquaintance." Over the course of their long train ride, Bianchi, if only briefly, manages to penetrate the seemingly deep cultural divide between him and the family, along the way also sharing a fleeting romantic connection with the young girl.

These are only some of the stories in this collection. There are others that are equally good. In particular, I think of "Demotion" (which provides a fascinating contrapuntal theme of Catholicism and Communism, Saint Filomena and Joseph Stalin) and "The Ransom" (which retells a popular Sicilian folk tale of familial duty, love and betrayal). With the exception of "Apocryphal Correspondence re Crowley," which, at best, is of nothing more than historical interest and utterly unremarkable, "The Wine-Dark Sea" is an exceptionally good collection of stories and a wonderful introduction to an Italian writer that, thus far, has been little read in the United States.

"The Wine-Dark Sea" is a collection of thirteen stories written by Leonardo Sciascia between 1959 and 1972. While less well know in the United States than some of his Italian contemporaries-I think here of Italo Calvino, Primo Levi, Umberto Eco-Sciascia enjoys a well deserved reputation in Italy as a writer of novels, stories and political commentary.

Sciascia was a Sicilian. This fact, more than any other, colors all of the stories in this collection. Each of these stories reflects, in some way, the particularities of Sicilian culture and society. There is, of course, the uneasy and often conflicting relationship that Sicily has had with the rest of Italy, particularly the northern part of that country. There is also the pervasive influence of the Mafia on Sicilian life, particularly the strong notions of honor and "omerta," the Mafia code of silence. And there is, finally, the interplay of the tightly knit Sicilian family, the Roman Catholic Church and the Italian state.

The best of the stories in this collection are marked by subdued irony, subtle wit and steely-clear insight into the idiosyncrasies that mark Sicilian life within the larger context of Italy.

In "A Matter of Conscience," a Sicilian lawyer traveling back home from Rome picks up a women's magazine on the train. He reads an anonymous letter to a priest, written by a woman from his hometown, asking for advice. The woman had an affair with a relative for six months, is tormented by her adultery and wants to know whether she should tell her husband. She relates that, "as a very devout person, I have confessed my fault on several different occasions." She then goes on-drawing the distinction between her Sicilian mores and those of the rest of Italy-as follows: "Every priest except one (but he was a northerner) has told me that if my repentance is sincere, and my love for my husband unchanged, then I must remain silent." From here, the story turns into a witty, ironic exploration of life in the lawyer's town as each of his colleagues becomes obsessed with the thought that he is the cuckold.

In "Mafia Western," a big town "on the border between the provinces of Palermo and Trapani" is embroiled in a bloody battle between two feuding mafia cells. It is at the time of World War I and, "the death-toll from assassination [is] comparable to the death-toll of its citizens falling at the front." In dry, matter-of-fact style, Sciascia relates this fictional tale, the interstices of his story relating the society within the society-the society of the mafiosi, the capo and the code of silence. Thus, a mother's son is killed and she knows his assassin. But she remains silent, picking up her son's body and bringing it back home. "The next morning she let it be know that her son died of a wound there upon his bed, but she knew neither where nor by whom he had been wounded. No word did she utter to the carabinieri about the man who might have killed him. But her friends understood-they knew-and they now set about very careful preparations."

In "Philology," two men that are to be called before the Commission of Enquiry investigating the activities of the mafia in Sicily engage in an ironic, witty discourse on the origin and meaning of the word "mafia". They are doing this in preparation for their interrogation, their dialogue a bit of dry, absurd humor that conflates the high intellectual pretension of philological discourse with the pragmatic, cold-blooded realities that underlie their preparations. As one of them says, "the fact is that everyone tries to establish the current meaning of the word before establishing its origin." After exploring possible Arabic and French origins of the word, and the deficiencies in education of the general public, who misunderstand the importance of etymology and meaning, he ultimately presents an ironically pragmatic, if high-sounding, statement of the meaning of the word "mafia": "Mafia implies a consciousness of self, an exaggerated concept of the power of the individual as sole arbiter of every conflict of interests or ideas; from this derives the inability to bear with the superiority, and even more, the authority of others. The mafioso expects respect and nearly always offers it. When crossed, he does not appeal to the law, public justice, but takes matters into his own hands and, should the remedy be beyond his own power, he will call on the assistance of like-minded friends."

"The Wine-Dark Sea," the longest of the stories in this collection, wonderfully depicts the cultural separation between Sicilians and other Italians. In this story, Bianchi, an engineer traveling to Sicily for the first time, shares a compartment with a Sicilian family and "a girl of about twenty-three" who is attached to the family "by ties of family, friendship or casual acquaintance." Over the course of their long train ride, Bianchi, if only briefly, manages to penetrate the seemingly deep cultural divide between him and the family, along the way also sharing a fleeting romantic connection with the young girl.

These are only some of the stories in this collection. There are others that are equally good. In particular, I think of "Demotion" (which provides a fascinating contrapuntal theme of Catholicism and Communism, Saint Filomena and Joseph Stalin) and "The Ransom" (which retells a popular Sicilian folk tale of familial duty, love and betrayal). With the exception of "Apocryphal Correspondence re Crowley," which, at best, is of nothing more than historical interest and utterly unremarkable, "The Wine-Dark Sea" is an exceptionally good collection of stories and a wonderful introduction to an Italian writer that, thus far, has been little read in the United States.

Sicily as Metaphor provides an intriguing window on the memories, creativity, and political dimensions of Leonardo Sciascia, one of Sicily's (and perhaps the world's) most gifted writers and intellectuals. Sciascia's compact, wickedly satirical novels remind one of Hemingway and Swift. Sciascia's real influences, however, were French writers, particularly Stendahl, and various Italian writers unfamiliar to me.

This slim, 143-page book amounts to an extended transcript of an interview of Sciascia conducted in the late 70s by the French journalist Marcelle Padovani. There is much discussion of communism and socialism by the activist Sciascia. The brand of politics discussed is a particular European obsession to which non-Europeans may not be able to relate, but which is important to an understanding of Sciascia's personal history and point of view. The discussion of the Red Brigades terrorist group and its kidnapping of Aldo Moro, about which Sciascia wrote, was quite interesting, particularly in light of the recent analysis of the kidnapping in Peter Robb's excellent memoir/mafia history, Midnight in Sicily, which more or less blamed political motivations for the Italian government's failure to rescue its president.

This book requires more than a glancing knowledge of Italian politics and Italian and French literature to be easily understandable; however, for those in search of further knowledge, I can't imagine getting better advice on what to read than from the late, great Leonardo Sciascia. There are few books in English that admirers of Sciascia can turn to for insights into his work, which makes Sicily as Metaphor a truly unique and valuable resource.