ORevery time I open one of my old novelsthe ones I devoured in high school when I proceeded in sections, after the Italians, the Russians, the French, the Germans, I always find some surprises among the crumpled pages. A postcard to use as a bookmark, a flower left to dry, a clipping from the Corriere della Sera.
Carefully folded, dedicated to the book in question, inserted for future reference. They were the famous elzeviri on the third page, which I didn’t always understand but I liked to think that I could pick them up again even after years. I was right: among the many notes, clippings, folders and archive attempts that were lost or stranded, those remained, as delicate as tissue paper.
And it happens that a son who has decided to fill the literary gaps waves them before my eyes with an ironic: “And this?…”. And that’s the way I grew up. The Courier arrived with mother, who came home for lunch and had the privilege of the first reading. After a morning at school (he was a teacher), a quick lunch, having loaded the dishwasher and prepared the coffee, he took the Courier exclaiming with a certain solemnity “and now I’ll read the newspaper”.
Danda Santini, director of iO Donna
He sat on the floor, his long legs stretched out on the carpet, his back leaning against the sofa, the large sheets of paper unfolded and turned with absolute concentration. Woe to disturb her: it was her sacred moment. She would continue over the years, delighting in the subscription to “Ore Sette” which made her find the copy on her doorstep in the sleepless dawns of her last days. Then came I, who I had started with The Courier (never been one for Mickey Mouse), continued with the Boys’ Courier and then with the real newspaper. I read it lying on the carpet, on my stomachquick on politics and foreign affairs, more curious about culture, cinema, costume pieces. My brother would do his rounds on the sport and in the evening, after dad had read it too, smoking his last cigarette of the day, if I had noticed a piece of mine, I had to remember to take it back, cut it out, insert it in the right book and then throw the rest in the bin.
As they grew, their priorities would change, other newspapers would be added, I would discover weeklies, then periodicals and the power and value of images. Reading and writing would become my profession. But the appointment with the Corriere would have remained intact.
Illustration Cinzia Zenocchini
Now I read it in many different ways: in the morning, the first quick look at the titles on the iPad with the first coffee, then with headphones on I listen to the Corriere podcast on the way to the metroduring the day I go to the corriere.it website if something happens in the world, in the evening I finally take it to the sofa. I always read on the iPad, but always the replica of the newspaper in its original form, my favorite.
I grew up like this, coffee and Corriere since I was old enough to drink coffee and understand what an elzeviro is. And now that its 150th anniversary is being celebrated (on the website corriere.it “Il Racconto del Corriere”, which is the history of our country, in 10 videos) I can’t help but wonder how I would have grown up without it. Without my daily reading of the Corriere, which helped me understand when I began to want to understand.