#elena ferrante

Yes, I was stupid. The channels of my senses were blocked, how long had it been since life flowed in them. What a mistake it had been to close off the meaning of my existence in the rites that Mario offered with cautious conjugal rapture. What a mistake it had been to entrust the sense of myself to his gratifications, his enthusiasms, to the ever more productive course of his life. What a mistake, above all, it had been to believe that I couldn’t live without him, when for a long time I had not been at all certain that I was alive with him.

Immediately shatter everything and every person in the neighborhood, tear them to pieces, Lila and I, go and live far away, lightheartedly descending together all the steps of humiliation, alone, in unknown cities. It seemed to me the just conclusion to that day. If nothing could save us, not money, not a male body, and not even studying, we might as well destroy everything immediately. Her rage expanded in my breast, a force that was mine and not mine, filling me with the pleasure of losing myself. I wished that that force would overflow.

In those frenzied days, my mother bought a photograph album and began to paste in it everything good that was written about me. One morning she asked, “What’s the name of your fiancé?” She knew, but she had something in mind and to communicate it she wished to start there. “Pietro Airota.” “Then you'll be called Airota.” “Yes.” “And if you write another book, on the cover will it say Airota?” “No.” “Why?” “Because I like Elena Greco.” “So do I,” she said.

"Nino has something that eats him from the inside, just like Lila, which is a gift and a curse, they aren't happy, don't give themselves up, fear what happens around them."