Polvere di Fata - Recensione

 Grazie a Francesco Giommoni, linguista e educatore, per questa bella recensione di Polvere di Fata!

Polvere di Fata è una raccolta di fiabe scritte da autori provenienti da Paesi diversi, curata da Ünver Alibey e illustrata dall'artista italiana Valentina Bardazzi, che la casa editrice Kaba ha deciso di pubblicare in edizione bilingue italiano-inglese, rendendone la lettura adatta anche per scopi didattici.

La trovi QUI.

 

Personalmente ho molto apprezzato l’opera consistente in 7 fiabe scritte da autori provenienti da paesi differenti, curata da Ünver Alibey.

La multiculturalità di questo progetto, oltre a permettere di leggere storie molto diverse tra di loro, aiuta a comprendere meglio come alcuni topoi letterari si ripresentino in tradizioni letterarie differenti e come, allo stesso tempo, altri siano propri di alcune tradizioni e sconosciuti, o perlomeno, non diffusi in altre. 

Pur trattandosi di un genere destinato a giovani lettori, è indubbio che possa essere utilizzato anche come un’introduzione alle letterature comparate, tema affrontato con discenti più adulti, sin dalla più giovane età. 

Gli insegnanti delle scuole elementari che opteranno per questo testo potranno, infatti,  stimolare gli studenti con domande che passano da un racconto all’altro, come una certa figura, ad esempio la fata o la strega/il mago, vengano rappresentate in ogni singola fiaba e spingere a fare ricerche più incentrate sulle tradizioni e letterature locali per comprendere come alcune figure vengano rappresentate e descritte. 

Da docente di lingua italiana per studenti stranieri, trovo assai utile disporre di un testo bilingue perché può, indubbiamente, aiutare gli studenti a comprendere meglio l’uso e le collocazioni di alcuni termini, oltre ad analizzare strutture grammaticali di medio e alto livello. 

A differenza dei romanzi per adulti, questo genere letterario si presta meglio ad essere utilizzato in quanto, tendenzialmente, contiene frasi più brevi e chiare, adatte a studenti che non sono di madrelingua italiana, seppur già in possesso di un livello B1/B2. 

Il rischio di consigliare letteratura “standard” è, infatti, quello di demoralizzare lo studente che si trova ad affrontare strutture ormai desuete e parole arcaiche che non lo incentivano a migliorarsi. 

Tale testo, oltre che dagli insegnanti della scuola primaria, può essere utilizzato anche dai docenti di italiano per stranieri per sollevare domande e incoraggiare ricerche circa gli elementi tradizionali delle fiabe del proprio paese. In primis, permette agli studenti di conoscere autori del proprio paese magari sconosciuti. In aggiunta, offre la possibilità di poter arricchire i dibattiti attraverso elementi delle fiabe proprie di ogni tradizione letteraria e linguistica. 

Da un punto di vista stilistico, il testo presenta un lessico moderno seppur non banale, ottimo per sviluppare il vocabolario degli studenti, siano essi di madrelingua italiana o straniera. Anche a livello sintattico e morfologico, ho apprezzato l’uso del passato remoto, proprio della letteratura, dal momento che il suo utilizzo è sempre più ridotto, in particolar modo quando si pensa a testi per bambini. 

Infine, una nota all’editing:  mi è molto piaciuto il filo narrativo che dall’introduzione porta alla conclusione, in particolare la presentazione “fiabesca” dell’autore e della fiaba stessa. Non una classica biografia dell’autore o un riassunto scontato, ma qualcosa di più, un’introduzione che anticipa alcuni elementi della storia successiva e che potrebbero essere sapientemente usate dai docenti per stimolare gli studenti a inventare la propria storia e la propria narrazione. 

 

Francesco Giommoni

Linguist/Educator

 

Nenia di Elena Fanti

 

Copertina di: Alessio Gherardini

Di questo libro mi ha attirato subito una cosa. Anzi, due. No, tre. 

La prima: la copertina. Non è fichissima? 

La seconda: l'ha scritto Elena Fanti, una giovane donna dolcissima e sensibile, di cui avevo già letto "Mi permetta di offrirle un caffè". 

La terza: è un libro in cui i protagonisti fanno parte di una band che fa symphonic metal e la mia canzone d'amore preferita (Ever Dream dei Nightwish) apre la storia. 

Con queste premesse, c'erano poche possibilità che il libro non mi catturasse. Così ieri sera, per provare a esorcizzare una serie di giornate 'no', ho deciso di farmi un regalo, sono entrata sul sito di Le Mezzelane Casa Editrice e pochi minuti dopo l'eBook era sul mio Kindle. 

Mi sono ritrovata subito nella vita di Sofia, una ragazza di diciassette anni con una grande passione: il canto. 

Per una serie di coincidenze, entra a far parte della band di Angelo, un ragazzo molto bello e molto sicuro di sé, che inizialmente la irrita alquanto. Quando Sofia è con i ragazzi della band e canta, è nel suo elemento, il mondo attorno a lei scompare. Se questo sembra un cliché, invito a ripensarci: quando ci si dedica a una passione il tempo vola, ci si sente energizzati anziché stanchi, nulla ha importanza se non quello che si sta facendo. Lo stesso vale per Sofia, che è più che decisa ad affrontare il rabbioso dissenso del padre, il quale vorrebbe costringerla ad abbandonare la musica e il sogno di far parte di una vera band. 

La figura del padre, ma anche quella della madre di Sofia, sono delineate con sicurezza e allo stesso tempo con molta delicatezza. Questo è un dettaglio che avevo notato anche leggendo "Mi permetta di offrirle un caffè": Elena ha una sensibilità particolare nel raccontare personaggi reali, nel bene ma, in questo caso, soprattutto nel male: non fa sconti a nessuno e in poche righe trasmette un'immagine completa, che permette al lettore di provare empatia anche nei confronti di un personaggio il cui comportamento è da condannare. È il caso di Roberto, il padre di Sofia. Ha commesso e continua a commettere tanti errori con la moglie Irene e con Sofia, eppure il suo animo diviso e sofferente emerge chiaramente dalle righe. 

Abbiamo quindi una storia relativamente semplice, che si snoda tra il liceo che frequenta Sofia, le prove con la band e la turbolenta vita domestica della ragazza, che è sempre più intenzionata a rimanere aggrappata al suo sogno. Angelo, in tutto questo, diventa un punto di riferimento importante, nonostante il suo atteggiamento un po' da spaccone. Ma anche gli spacconi, a volte, nascondono un animo sensibile, e alla fine del libro Sofia condivide con lui un momento particolarmente intenso, grazie al quale scopre la fonte della sua gentilezza di spirito.

Consigliato? Assolutamente! Sia che abbiate la stessa età dei protagonisti, sia che siate più in là con gli anni ma non abbiate mai perso la capacità di sognare, sia che semplicemente amiate il symphonic metal - una musica 'forte' di fuori, ma carica di poesia se si spacca la supercifie - questo libro vi accompagnerà piacevolmente per qualche ora. Di giorno, oppure, se siete come me, di notte. Abbinatelo alla giusta colonna sonora. non ve ne pentirete!

 

I dettagli del libro

Titolo: Nenia

Autrice: Elena Fanti

Collana: Young Like Me

Le Mezzelane Casa Editrice

Acquistalo sul sito della casa editrice, cercalo sulle librerie online o chiedilo in libreria. 

The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins

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Wilkie Collins was an English writer who lived in the XIX century, and I fell in love with him when I read The Woman in White. Besides, just look at him: isn’t he adorable?

I hear you asking: How have you discovered Wilkie Collins? 

Well, here’s how: I went to the library, as I often do when I’m bored, and decided it was time for a book by a British writer from two centuries ago. There. I picked the above mentioned book and I was blown away already from the first pages! I finished it in a couple of days – all 900+ pages of it - and afterwards I recommended and gave it as a present to more people than I can remember. 

Wilkie Collins’s unique style and mystery plot conquered me, so I soon picked another novel written by him: The Moonstone. I actually bought this one, as I intend to buy and own every book by Wilkie Collins. See how tenderly I set it up for the picture? I loved this book!  

The main character is the Moonstone itself: a cursed Indian diamond. 

As we learn in the first pages, there’s a legend hovering over this diamond – or is it not a legend? 

The Stone is sacred and that’s why it was cursed: to prevent it from being stolen. But did people believe in the curse and leave the Stone alone? Of course not! So the Stone was stolen a long time ago. 

Since the theft, a handful of keepers follow it across the world whenever it’s sold, inherited, or whatever, and try to retrieve it each time. 

After centuries, the Moonstone lands on British soil to become the birthday present for Miss Rachel Verinder. 

You hold your breath, as you wait to learn whether anything bad is going to happen after the girl rejoices for the precious present. As a matter of fact, you already know that something is going to happen, only things are not always what they appear to be. 

As per Wilkie Collins’s style, the story is told by many different characters, each telling her or his view of the events. Of course there are those who are biased; those who think they know the truth; those who, in the end, do not really care one way or another; and one person who is determined to definitely settle the matter. 

Why should you read this book?
The Moonstone provides you with mystery, death, loss, romance, desperation, twists, turns, and an unexpected conclusion. And don’t expect a boring or hard prose, just because the novel comes from almost two hundred years back. On the contrary: the prose is clear, witty, delightful to read. 

Have you read The Moonstone, or any other book by Wilkie Collins?

 Leave a comment and let us know!

 

J.D. Robb and the In Death series

J.D. Robb is one of the pseudonyms used by the American writer Nora Roberts.

She’s such a prolific writer, that I suspect an army of Fairies take up her job every night when she goes to bed. That, or she doesn’t go to bed at all. 

The In Death series was started in 1995 with “Naked in Death” and isn’t finished yet: the last published book (at the time of the writing), “Faithless in Death”, is, after all, only number 52!



I must confess I’m still at book number 19, “Imitation in Death”, but am planning a binge-reading weekend to reach at least number 30: “Eternity in Death” seems a good title to read before taking another break.


It’s a compelling series, set in New York in the near future: it’s not proper sci-fi, but there are some nice details, such as the AutoChef, a wonderful device that cooks for you! Weapons have been banned, and the police use tasers to stop and arrest criminals. Sex workers and professional mothers are a thing, and people can go-off planet for a business conference in space. 

Of course there are downsides: real coffee is rare and expensive, for example (which is dreadful), and people manage to kill each other just as they’ve always done. 

Here come our two main characters to the rescue: Lieutenant Eve Dallas solves impossible cases and catches murderers; her charming, rich, handsome, Irish husband Roarke provides real coffee – and a seemingly infinite number of useful gadgets. 

Both have a dark and stormy past: they both have faced death and lived through things they wish they could forget. They find true understanding and consolation in each other’s arms. They seem almost too perfect to be true, but you can’t help caring for them!
Roarke is a romantic, and Eve is his one true love, although she’s as romantic as a cactus and easy prey to doubts about their relationship.

Since Roarke is a very resourceful man, and also a very clever one, the two end up working together on cases more often than not, which makes everything very entertaining.

Lieutenant Dallas’s official team is composed of Detective Delia Peabody (of the big butt – her words, not mine) and Detective Ian McNab (computer geek, likes to dress smartly), whose story-lines develop and entwine over time - and give  Lieutenant Dallas more than one headache.

Eve has a best friend, Mavis, who goes rapidly from singer in a less-than-upper-class club to superstar, thanks to Roarke’s intervention. 

She is the opposite of Eve: dresses extravagantly, loves to party, cares a lot for her hair and nails, and she often tricks Eve into a beauty treatment - which Eve, admittedly, probably doesn’t really need. 

Each book deals with a new case, so they can be read independently. Anyway, since there are characters who develop relationships of many kinds, it’s nice to follow the order in which they have been written.



 
Why is the In Death series worthy of your time? 

Well, first of all: with such a long and yet unfinished series, you have a guaranteed bazillion reading hours. If you like the characters, it’s going to be extra-fun.

There’s crime, death, danger. There’s also a steamy romance, and good values like friendship, loyalty, and family find their way through the pages.
Each book normally takes me a couple days to read from cover to cover: I find them relaxing, entertaining, and they make me smile. When I close one, I want to open the next right away! I tend to repeat the process at least 5-6 times, before forcing myself to stop and pick something different from my bottomless To-Be-Read pile – mainly because I don’t want to risk reading all of J.D. Robb’s already existing books and having to wait (God forbid!) for a new one. 

Childhood

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt was created using a random generator. Use these five words in a writing: suntan, paint, waterfall, inflation, exposure. This week’s prompt comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers kidlit mystery series.

Like so many, Val is at home in social isolation with her family during these strange times, which serves as inspiration to this prompt. She wishes the best for readers of this post, and for everyone around the globe.

Childhood

by Val Muller

She was on the way to work when she got the call. It was a strange conversation, sounding at first almost like a telemarketer, but the voice on the other end sounded determined, somber. Not the careless, detached way telemarketers often sound.

After she hung up, the words echoed in her mind. Possible COVID-19 exposure. Self-quarantinde for 14 days. The symptoms, shortness of breath, trouble breathing… those were happening now, already. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Those were symptoms of stress, too, and what was more stressful than that phone call?

She was instructed to pick up her children from school, and the man on the phone—she’d already forgotten his name. It had letters in it, she remembered that. Maybe an R? Or a B, perhaps?—was going to call her husband as well to make him aware of the situation.

Her phone buzzed again, and she pulled to the side of the road to get a handle on things. It was a text from the boss. The whole office had been exposed. They had known, hadn’t they? When Mary came in wheezing and coughing… she said it was just allergies. And they believed her, though their nerves had been set on edge.

And what were they supposed to do? Start a witch hunt against anyone who sniffled?

As instructed, she called the school. She was to have a teacher escort her children out of the building and to her car. She was not to enter the school building, or any building, until she had spent 14 days symptom-free.

The kids were thrilled. She shook her head. Boys. They asked if they could order fast food using their app. She considered this. The app allowed payment online. The food would be brought to their car. She nodded in a daze and let them order.

After lunch, they asked if they could spend the day in the basement playing video games. In her shock, she allowed it. On the phone, the school secretary disclosed rumors that schools were likely shutting down soon, anyway, so the boys wouldn’t be missing much in-class instruction. She didn’t tell the boys that, of course. Let them have this day to be carefree. They were old enough now—grades 4 and 5. This event would likely mark the end of their childhood.

And how would she spend today, the last day her boys were children? At first she panicked at the computer, ordering a delivery of groceries while fielding texts from her husband about his preparations for coming home to telework for the next two weeks. Then she cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer. They would be in this for the long haul, it seemed.

Then she headed for the entryway closet. Cleaning always calmed her. It gave her something to do, a goal. She started with the winter clothes. They were likely done for the season. Spring had come early, it seemed. She packed all the hats and gloves and scarves into the plastic sleeve and tucked the sleeve on the top shelf. Something was wedged back there, preventing the sleeve from fitting.

It was the box of paints. She’d bought it for the boys when they were younger, hoping they’d pick up her love for art. But they took instead to video games and sports. She took the paints and closed the closet door.

Outside, springtime acted like the world was not in a global panic. The birds chirped as if they had never heard of a virus. The sun warmed her skin, and she felt the suntan already bronzing her bleached winter skin as she set up the small wooden easel on the picnic table.

The neighbor’s line of pear trees were in bloom, fuzzy white against a clouded blue sky. In their rock garden, they had turned on the little waterfall that pumped a stream of water so that it trickled over a pile of rocks.

This was zen. So she picked up her paintbrush to capture the moment. Tomorrow would bring what it would, but for now her boys were living a peaceful childhood moment.

And as she dabbed at the paper with bits of white on blue, so was she. 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

 

Ponderosa

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story about a tree of (any type of) significance that is cut or falls down.

Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series. You can read the ebook for just $2.99. The series, like the following story, is inspired by events of her childhood with a dash of whimsy and a serving of imagination.

Ponderosa

by Val Muller

Today she would be a cowboy. She chose her cut-off jeans—because that’s what a cowboy would wear in the stifling summer heat. Buttoned up a checkered blouse. Donned her leather belt, the one with the two holsters. Stuck her two cap guns in and tied a red bandana around her neck. She wiped Froot Loop crumbs off her face and donned her straw cowboy hat.

Outside, her clubhouse would be a one-room frontier home. Her sandbox today would be her open fire, where she could roast deer and squirrel and mutton—whatever that was. She’d have to hunt, of course, in the forest of pines at the side of the house.

In the suburban neighborhood, those pines provided a bit of magic. The ponderosa’s soft needles fell to the ground like a mattress and muffled sound like a blanket of soft snow. The dripping sap spoke of frontiers, not minivans, and the leafy branches blocked the view of four other homes.

It was that row of ponderosa pines that made her frontier play possible. The needles, brought to her clubhouse, created a mattress and play food that could be mixed with sand or water or dirt to imagine any type of culinary delight of the frontier. At certain times of year, the sap could be collected and made into frontier potions and salves.

She started at her clubhouse, as she always did, tucked away in the furthermost corner of the back yard. The pantry was bare: she’d have to go hunting. Carefully, she lowered her hat and unholstered her weapons. A kill could be waiting around any corner. She shot a deer in the nearby field, but she missed. The imaginary deer leapt away, its escape warning countless others.

She’d have to travel further from home. With a nod of resolution, she made her way to the ponderosa forest. Turning the corner near the garage, she froze. Her pulse raced behind her ears. The tree was—

Gone.

In its place, a pile of logs, like bones snapped and bloodied by a predator. But it was no predator. The real world came rushing in. The frontier silence gave way to the ordinary sounds of a lawn mower, someone’s air conditioning, and the neighbor’s old dryer. And there, at the center of the massacre, was her father.

He and a neighbor were efficiently piling logs into a wheelbarrow. A million questions circled her head, but she could utter none of them. Her dad looked up only after the wheelbarrow was full.

“Ell,” he said. “I thought you were watching a movie with breakfast again.”

She shook her head.

Her dad rubbed the back of his neck and glanced bashfully at the neighbor, who graciously hoisted the wheelbarrow and made his way to the back yard, through the newly-opened passage at the side of the garage.

“This was all supposed to be a surprise, Ell,” he said.

“What?” It was all she could utter—barely a syllable.

“A pool,” he said. “We’re getting a pool. The excavator’s out front.” He pointed to a giant yellow machine sitting in the road in front of the house. In the paradise of childhood summer, she had not heard it during her sugary meal or her frontier plans.

“Pool,” she repeated senselessly.

“It couldn’t get to the back yard. You know, to dig the hole. It couldn’t fit. We had to cut either the pine or the forsythias, and the pine was getting kind of big, anyway.”

Ell turned to the other side of the house, where the forsythia bush peeked at her tauntingly, as if boasting its own existence in the wake of her pine.

“Hole?” she said.

Her mother materialized from inside, as if sensing shock. She held out a shiny brochure. “See, honey? A pool. It’ll be ready within the next week or two. We thought you and your friends would love to—”

Ellen listened patiently without hearing as her parents explained the benefits of the new pool. Her eyes were directed by adamant fingers to the pattern chosen for the pool’s liner, to the color of the pool’s siding and even the style of the ladder.

But all she saw was the brute strength of the industrial era, westward expansion driving the buffalo to near extinction. How could they cut down her pine? She nodded graciously and left her parents to clean up the remains of her pine. She quietly went inside to pout.

Before she threw herself on the bed, she removed her holsters, her hat, and her bandana. Cowboys had no place in such an industrial world. As the mechanized pattern of the excavator lulled her into a nap, her mind filled with images of cool blue water and a lost city of Atlantis.

Tomorrow, she would be a mermaid. 

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/