In case you’re looking for further reading related to my novels, Southern Italy, and Italian-American immigration, here is an incompletely annotated bibliography:
Corrado Alvaro, Revolt in Aspromonte, translated by Frances Frenaye: this 1930 novel is one of the earliest Calabrian novels, by the writer who is often credited as the first to mention the ’Ndrangheta in print (elsewhere—this book doesn’t directly address organized crime; rather it is a treatment of the desperation of the common peasant and the heartless exploitation of the landed gentry).
Tommaso Besozzi, photos by Tino Petrelli, “Africa, Emblema della Disparazione” (Africo, Emblem of Despair): An article first published in 1948 in the magazine L’Europeo; this article, which depicts the desperation of the population of a Calabrian town, Africo, was the kernel of my obsession with the Aspromonte and its ghost towns, some of which were forcibly abandoned under tragic and/or questionable circumstances. The article, which should be read in conjunction with Umberto Zanotti Bianco’s 1945 memoir Tra la Perduta Gente (Africo) (more below), was intended to call attention to human need but instead ended up becoming an outrage platform, and when the town of Africo was hit by a flood in 1951, the bad image created by the press attention inspired lawmakers to push for abandoning the town and forcing the movement of its population down to the coast instead of trying to repair the damage. The result was a cultural apocalypse. I’ll try not to write too much more about Africo in this reading list; I’ve already written a whole novel inspired by its history. But if you’re looking for more (like I was), keep scrolling. L’Europeo is long-since defunct, but you can read the text of the article here, and some of Petrelli’s Africo photos are available online.
Laudomia Bonnani, The Reprisal, translated by Susan Stewart and Sara Teardo: this novel, published in 2003 after the author’s death, is a depiction of a vicious moment of the Second World War in what was the Abruzzi—the human-level clash of partisan v fascist. Look for an easter egg in The Lost Boy of Santa Chionia.
Ann Cornelisen, Women of the Shadows: Wives and Mothers of Southern Italy: a 1976 nonfiction group biography of women in Basilicata, drawn from observations the author collected during her years living in Tricarico working for Save the Children. Cornelisen’s life story was a core inspiration point for the character of Francesca Loftfield in The Lost Boy of Santa Chionia. Women of the Shadows is a good starting place, but all of Cornelisen’s work is really useful if you are interested in women’s lives in the middle of the 20th century, or in the realities of rebuilding and modernization post-WWII. Torregreca: Life, Death, and Miracles in a Southern Italian Village, her 1969 debut, is a powerful snapshot of the 1950s in Southern Italy, and Santa Chionia readers will spot the historical woman for whom Cicca Casile is an homage. Where It All Began: Italy 1954, a 1990 memoir about her earliest charity work with Gianna Guzzeloni Thompson, also offers many treasures of historical detail and context. Her 1971 novel Vendetta of Silence is also something I have drawn inspiration from.
Gioacchino Criaco, Anime Nere (Black Souls): a 2008 novel about three boys who grow up in the Aspromonte in Calabria and who embark upon a life of crime because of the chokehold of the ’Ndrangheta in their village (although that organization is never named). Criaco, a native of Africo Nuovo, is a font of inspiration. I also recommend the 2015 film adaptation of this novel.
Roger Daniels, Guarding the Golden Door: American Immigration Policy and Immigrants Since 1882: if you’re looking for a primer on American immigration history, this 2004 work is a good one.
Dialoghi Greci di Calabria, edited by Domenico Minuto, Salvino Nucera, and Pietro Zavettieri: this 1988 publication records a 1981-1983 oral history project in which the editors, all from Greco-speaking communities, recorded four conversations with Greco native speakers (mostly elders) from four Greco-speaking (or once-Greco-speaking) villages: Roghudi (a town whose population was moved from the mountains to the sea in the 1970s), Chorio di Roghudi (a town that no longer exists; its population was moved to Reggio), Gallicianò, and Bova Marina. The publication features the Greco transcription on the left page and its Italian translation on the right. A heck of a book. Packed with precious and surprising history.
John Dickey, Blood Brotherhoods: A History of Italy’s Three Mafias: this 2014 history is seminal reading on the topic of Southern Italian organized crime. Specific to Calabria’s ’Ndrangheta: this is the best single resource I’ve been able to find for learning about its origins, organization, history, evolution, and modern permutations.
Norman Douglas, Old Calabria: a travelogue by a curmudgeonly British outcast with a checkered past and a bad attitude, first published in 1915. Don’t get me started on this one (or do, if you like colorful language). But I couldn’t not include it on the list.
The Evil Eye, edited by Clarence Maloney: a 1976 academic essay collection (Columbia University Press) on iterations of Evil Eye beliefs around the world.
Laurie Fabiano, Elizabeth Street: a 2011 novel, inspired by the author’s great-grandmother’s life, about a woman who emigrates to New York from Calabria after the 1905 earthquake/tsunami and whose family is preyed upon by the Black Hand organized crime syndicate.
Natalia Ginzburg, A Dry Heart (E stata cosi), translated by Frances Frenaye: this 1947 novel is the one that makes an appearance on Isodiana’s bookshelf in Santa Chionia.
George Gissing, By the Ionian Sea: a travelogue by a joyous British classical scholar who loves Calabria even though he almost dies of malaria, so at least he’s less of a sourpuss than the other guys, first published 1901.
Robert Hellenga, The Sixteen Pleasures: a novel set in 1966 Florence about an American bookbinder who lingers in the city in the months after the flood to help with the rescue operation of a medieval convent’s library in wake of the water damage. This book is just a great read in general, but it’s especially useful if you’re curious about how to get divorced in Catholic Italy in the 1960s.
Italian Women Confess, edited by Gabriella Parca, translated by Carolyn Gaiser: this 1963 publication is, per the publisher’s description, “a documentary exploration of the socio-sexual relationships between Italian men and women today,” and it was blurbed by Margaret Mead. It includes hundreds of personal letters and some positioning commentary. Very helpful in recreating a 1960 Italian village.
Edward Lear, Journals of a Landscape Painter in Southern Calabria: a travelogue by the author of, immortally, “The Jumblies,” and of course “The Owl and the Pussy Cat,” who was in Calabria in 1847-1848 (first published 1852). Lear includes some gorgeous and helpful sketches/paintings of Aspromonte towns in this historical moment.
Carlo Levi, Christ Stopped at Eboli: a 1945 memoir about the author’s years of political exile under Fascism in a destitute village in Basilicata.
Jerri Mangione & Ben Moreale, La Storia: Five Centuries of the Italian American Experience: a 1993 nonfiction history of emigration. It’s a little apologistic but has a lot of good information.
Saverio Montalto, A Voice from the Cell, translated by Archibald Colquhoun: a 1953 memoir, published in English in 1960, of a Calabrian man convicted of murder. His account lays into the organized criminal syndicate that terrorized his hometown and describes a life of increasingly futile attempts to avoid violent entanglements with them.
Elsa Morante, History, translated by William Weaver: an epic 1974 novel that covers the years before, during, and after World War II, focused on a Roman woman who struggles against all odds to keep her two sons alive through Allied and German attacks, partisan warfare, starvation, and post-war restructuring.
Katherine Nickols, In the Shadow of the Vatican: Clarence Gamble and the DeMarchis’ Contraceptive Quest in Rome, 1955-1966: Captures the staggering procreative burdens and traumas borne by women in post-WWII Rome, and early efforts to disseminate contraceptive advice.
Alex Perry, The Good Mothers: The True Story of the Women Who Took on the World’s Most Powerful Mafia: this 2018 journalistic treatment of three ’Ndrangheta wives who tried to break away from the iron grip of their clans and of the judge who tried to help them escape is a grim and eye-opening depiction of the reality of syndicate life for women.
Amber Phillips, “Italy’s ‘Other Mafia’: Remediation and Representations of the ’Ndrangheta”: a wealth of information not only about the earliest primary source representations (in Calabria and beyond) of organized criminality in Calabria but also about the organization itself. (Dr. Phillips’s thesis was published in 2023 but I’m lucky that she let me read it in 2019 because it pointed me toward so much of my other research for The Lost Boy of Santa Chionia.)
Stavroula Pipyrou, The Grecanici of Southern Italy: Governance, Violence, and Minority Politics: this 2016 anthropology treatise is a bonanza of social history about the Grecanici that isn’t collected anywhere else.
Ellen Raskin, The Westing Game: my favorite book of all time. You’ve been warned.
Peter Robb, Midnight in Sicily: On Art, Food, History, Travel, and La Cosa Nostra: a purported piece of travel writing but really the most incisive history/depiction of the reality of the Sicilian mafia. Published 1996.
Leonardo Sciascia, To Each His Own: A crime novel set in Sicily by a guy who was brave enough to write about the mafia. You might like his other stuff, too (most famous is probably Day of the Owl).
Corrado Stajano, Africo: Una cronaca italiana di governanti e governati, di mafia, di potere e di lotta: a journalistic inquest into the circumstances around the forced abandonment of Africo. Stajano’s areas of inquiry include Africo’s history, the 1951 flood, the political leaders and mob figures who stood to benefit from population removal, the chronicle of erupting violence around the move, and the lot of the modern Africesi (or Africoti) people. It was first published in 1979 and reissued in 2015.
Helene Stapinski, Murder in Matera: A True Story of Passion, Family and Forgiveness in Southern Italy: a 2017 memoir/investigation into the author’s great-grandmother’s lost life story, uncovering the secret of why she emigrated alone from Basilicata to New Jersey.
Saverio Strati, La Teda (The Sap Lamp; published in English as Terrarosa). Strati’s debut novel, published in 1957, is thinly veiled portrayal of Africo before its abandonment. It’s the story of a young bricklayer sent deep into the Aspromonte mountains to a notorious town called Terrarossa, where a ruthless don reigns with an iron fist, women are chattel, and the population is on the brink of violent revolt. Strati was a native of Sant’Agata di Bianco and the novel is at least partially autobiographical. He writes with frankness about stuff that is difficult to read and which sets him apart from anyone else who has written about this area and time. His third novel, Mani Vuote (published in English as Empty Hands), 1960, is just as illuminating in terms of lifestyle, morality, and humanity of his time and place. His 1956 short story, “La Marchesina,” was also inspired by his time in Africo and is considered the earliest published mention of the ’Ndrangheta.
Henry Swinburne, Travels in the Two Sicilies in the Years 1777, 1778, 1779, and 1780: a travelogue by an English nobleman.
Gay Talese, Unto the Sons: a 1992 history/memoir that covers Talese’s Calabrian family origins. Particularly great material is taken from his uncle’s diaries about soldier life during WWI.
Mark Thompson, The White War: Life and Death on the Italian Front, 1915-1919: a nonfiction account of Italy during the First World War. I have read this book many times.
Umberto Zanotti Bianco, Tra La Perduta Gente (Africo): this 1945 memoir chronicles philanthropist/environmentalist UZB’s 1928 visit to Africo, where he was involved with a charity initiative to (among other things) establish a school for illiterate adults. It was not his first visit to Africo, and in his account he describes its beauty, austerity, and extreme poverty, as well as humanitarian despair at the roadblocks to progress. The author was passionate about developing the Italian south, and was involved in many projects, including the reclamation of Classical Greek heritage in the region. He was heartbroken by the 1951 decision to evacuate Africo, and was chagrined that his literature had been used as part of the argument for its unrehabilitatability.