I read Philip K. Dick’s “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” for the first time in its entirety. I remember starting it many years ago but putting it aside. Passionate about science fiction as a boy, I preferred the clarity of Isaac Asimov, the scientific passion of Robert Heinlein, and the pure adventure of Jack Vance. Philip K. Dick is now considered one of the most visionary authors of science fiction, tackling themes—such as artificial intelligence and genetic research—that remain relevant today. I don’t particularly like Dick’s lighthearted style, but the theme is certainly pressing. This book was adapted into the cinematic masterpiece “Blade Runner” by Ridley Scott, which surpasses the novel in atmosphere, focus, and suspense, featuring a sensational soundtrack by Vangelis and starring Harrison Ford alongside the enchanting Sean Young. Also worth mentioning is its sequel, “Blade Runner 2049,” which, though not as groundbreaking as the original, expands and deepens its themes without losing its essence, utilizing excellent actors like Ryan Gosling, Harrison Ford, returning as the original Deckard, and Jared Leto.

Diese Bezeichnung ist nicht von mir, sondern von Thomas Mann, der Adalbert Stifter als einen der größten Literatur-Genies nannte. Völlig aus der Mode gekommen, bin ich zu Adalbert Stifter durch Thomas Bernhards „Alte Meister“, in dem der Protagonist, der Musikkritiker Reger, vernichtende Worte über Stifter liefert, vor allem wegen seiner Biederkeit und seinem Dazugehören zur vermeintlichen Staatskunst. Das Urteil der fiktiven Figur des Regers hat seine Begründung, denn Adalbert Stifter’s Prosa ist langsam, ist langatmig, ist alles andere als aufregend. Dennoch wissen wir, dass selbst Thomas Bernhard Stifter schätzte – neben anderen Literaturgrössen wie Karl Kraus, Peter Handke und Ilse Aichinger. Aber vielleicht eben wegen der Detailverliebtheit, der absichtlichen Langsamkeit der Erzählung, der subtilen Thematik, sollte dieser fast vergessene Schriftsteller wieder entdeckt werden. Seine Erzählung „Bergkristall“ ist jedenfalls ein Wunder an Sprachgenauigkeit und an langsame, dennoch grossartige, Spannung.

The Enigma Adalbert Stifter

This appellation is not mine but belongs to Thomas Mann, who referred to Adalbert Stifter as one of the greatest literary geniuses. Entirely out of fashion, I discovered Adalbert Stifter through Thomas Bernhard’s “Old Masters,” in which the protagonist, music critic Reger, expresses devastating opinions about Stifter, primarily due to his respectability and supposed ties to statecraft. Reger’s judgment is justified, as Adalbert Stifter’s prose is slow, long-winded, and anything but exciting. Nevertheless, we know that even Thomas Bernhard appreciated Stifter, alongside other literary luminaries like Karl Kraus, Peter Handke, and Ilse Aichinger. It is precisely because of the attention to detail, the intentional slowness of the narrative, and the subtlety of the subject matter that this nearly forgotten writer deserves to be rediscovered. His story “Rock Crystal” is, in any case, a miracle of linguistic precision and slow-building tension.

Much has been written about Rainer Maria Rilke’s Cornet, one of the most influential literary works of the twentieth century. Defined as “prose poetry,” the short text still strikes both for its content, oscillating between the glorification of war and its absurdity, and for its form, which uses a dry, spare language, at times sweet and seductive, creating a contrast that reflects the protagonist’s inner life. The story of the young soldier Christoph Rilke, appointed “Cornet” on the field, and therefore standard-bearer, during the war of the European forces against the Turks in 1663, has been set to music numerous times: by Paul von Klenau to Viktor Ullmann to Kurt Weill to Siegfried Matthus. Perhaps the musical version closest to Rilke in terms of rhythm, color, and intensity is that of Frank Martin for female voice and chamber orchestra.

Über Rainer Maria Rilkes „Cornet“, eines der einflussreichsten literarischen Werke des 20. Jahrhunderts, wurde viel geschrieben. Der kurze Text wird als „Poesie in Prosa“ beschrieben, und beeindruckt sowohl durch seinen Inhalt, der zwischen Kriegsverherrlichung und dessen Absurdität schwankt, als auch durch seine Form, die sich einer trockenen, kargen, manchmal süßen und verführerischen Sprache bedient und so einen Kontrast schafft, der das Innenleben des Protagonisten widerspiegelt. Die Geschichte des jungen Soldaten Christoph Rilke, der im Krieg der europäischen Streitkräfte gegen die Türken 1663 auf dem Feld zum „Cornet“ und damit zum Bannerträger ernannt wird, wurde mehrere Male vertont: von Paul von Klenau über Viktor Ullmann und Kurt Weill bis hin zu Siegfried Matthus. Die Version für Frauenstimme und Kammerorchester von Frank Martin ist in Rhythmus, Farbe und Intensität vielleicht diejenige die Rilke am nächsten kommt.

An important “caveat”: this book is not optimistic, uplifting, or giving hope. It is a brutal analysis of the result of illiteracy and of lack of education. Chris Hedges shows how, little by little, people in the US are becoming increasingly dependent on the visuality and superficiality of evil and wrong examples. School, TV, internet are responsible. Of course, this is extendable to the world population (especially in the Western world, but Asian countries are also touched by this dangerous trend), and it is by no means only an American phenomenon. The language of this book is often crude and even graphic – maybe even too much, and the lack of hope (its mistake is probably to generalize problems that don’t affect everybody) is sometimes upsetting. However, the issues it shows are real and need to be addressed.

This is a beautiful article, with a short movie, about many things: the article focuses on the pressure in Japanese schools, with an underlying negative connotation. But I also see more positive messages: the care of Japanese teachers for their young pupils, the love for music, and the goal of having as many children as possible participating in a – even if modest – musical performance. It is also stunning – and inspiring – to see how children in Japan are educated about caring for their environment. They clean their classrooms, they serve the meals to their classmates. They learn to respect each other.

Read the full article here and watch the short doc below.

Non sono un grande ammiratore di Vittorio Feltri, principalmente per la sua tendenza al turpiloquio, singolare in una persona indubbiamente colta ed acuta nei suoi giudizi, ed ho acquistato questo suo libro solo perché anch’io sono un sostenitore dell’importanza dello studio del latino. Sono quindi rimasto sorpreso dall’amore di Feltri per questa lingua e per il fatto che ne riconosce, oltre la bellezza e la musicalità, anche l’attualità, che si esprime nell’uso, spesso non riconosciuto, che se ne fa anche nelle lingue contemporanee – e non solo in italiano. Feltri naturalmente, da buon giornalista ed osservatore della società e della politica contemporanea, condisce questo libro con ricordi, analisi e giudizi non sempre condivisibili ma spesso caustici e comunque puntuali e centrati. Per gli amanti della buona lettura, e della cultura umanistica, un libro da non perdere.

I am not a great admirer of Vittorio Feltri, mainly because he tends to use foul language, unusual in a person who is undoubtedly cultured and acute in his judgments, and I bought this book of his only because I, too, am a supporter of the importance of studying Latin. I was therefore surprised by Feltri’s evident love for this language and by the fact that he recognizes, beyond its beauty and musicality, also its topicality, which is expressed in the use, often unrecognized, that is made of it also in contemporary languages ​​- and not only in Italian. Feltri, of course, as a good journalist and observer of modern society and politics, spices this book with memories, analyses, and judgments that are not always shared but often caustic and, in any case, timely and focused. This book is not to be missed for lovers of good reading and of humanistic culture.

Finalmente un po’ di tempo per immergermi nella lettura di questo interessantissimo libro, nell’edizione italiana di Einaudi, con una bella ed esauriente parte dedicata alle immagini di cui si parla nei diversi capitoli. Mi sono avvicinato a questo libro solo dopo aver letto alcuni altri saggi di Svetlana Alpers, che mi hanno molto colpito anche per la semplicità del linguaggio con la quale vengono affrontati temi basilari dell’arte e della sua critica. Non essendo un grande ammiratore di Rembrandt, la visione della Alpers, basata non solo su conoscenze profonde ed interdisciplinari, ma anche su un evidente amore per questo pittore, mi ha avvicinato alla sua arte, ed alla sua personalità. Una personalità difficile, egocentrica, ma ugualmente rivoluzionaria. Inoltre, la problematica della bottega e del suo rapporto con il proprietario-artista ci fa riflettere sulla nostra visione, crociana e romantica, dell’opera d’arte. Un libro rivelatorio, che oggi è basilare per la comprensione dell’artista e delle sue opere, ed anche di quelle lungamente, ed erroneamente, attribuite a lui, ugualmente capolavori.

Una raccolta di saggi di uno dei più importanti storici dell’arte di oggi (figlia del Premio Nobel Wassily Leontief). Dal primo di grande importanza sul Vasari, del 1960, che mette appunto in discussione l’equazione Arte – Storia, a più recenti che illuminano in profondità e con risultati inaspettati la stessa problematica. Un libro erudito, ma mai pedante, che si legge con facilità. Di Svetlana Alpers ricordiamo anche uno splendido volume su Rembrandt e la sua officina – che ha rivoluzionato il modo di pensare sulla relazione fra l’artista, la sua bottega, ed il mercato- e l’importantissimo “The Art of Describing”, incentrato sulla pitttura olandese.

A collection of essays by one of today’s most important art historians (daughter of Nobel Prize winner Wassily Leontief). From the first of great importance on Vasari, from 1960, which questions the equation Art – History, to more recent ones that illuminate the same problem in-depth and with unexpected results. It is an erudite book, but never pedantic, that is easy to read. By Svetlana Alpers, we also remember a splendid volume on Rembrandt and his workshop – which revolutionized the way of thinking about the relationship between the artist, his “Bottega,” and the market- and the very important “The Art of Describing,” focused on Dutch painting.

Un breve studio, storia ed analisi delle radici del Liberalismo classico, considerato come reale progresso civile. Un libro interessante, soprattutto oggi, che spiega non solo il significato intrinseco della parola, aldilà di pregiudizi di parte, ma ne spiega anche gli eccessi, o meglio gli errori di interpretazione. Dotto, ma facile da leggere, questo libro può aiutare a capire i contrasti, spesso feroci, che nascono oggi sia da una falsa interpretazione che da un rifiuto a priori.

This book is a brief study, history, and analysis of the roots of classical Liberalism, considered real civil progress. It is an exciting book, especially today, that explains not only the intrinsic meaning of the word, beyond bias but also its excesses or errors of interpretation. Learned but easy to read, this book can help explain the often fierce contrasts that arise today, both from a false interpretation and from an a priori refusal.

Es klingt merkwürdig, dass eine sehr liberale und politisch engagierte Autorin wie Eva Menasse über einen eben aus politischen Gründen umstrittenen Schriftsteller wie Heimito von Doderer ein Porträt voller Bewunderung und sogar Liebe schreibt. Das ist offensichtlich eben der Liebe für einen der persönlichsten, originellsten und grossartigsten Literatur-Künstlern des Nachkriegs geschuldet, und dem Unverständnis über die Tatsache, dass dieser grossartige Schriftsteller heute so gut wie vergessen ist. Hinterlässt die kalt-objektive Doderer-Biographie von Wolfgang Fleischer einen bitteren Geschmack, die offensichtliche Bewunderung von Eva Menasse balanciert das aus, aus der Sicht, und dem Respekt, einer Schriftsteller-Kollegin.