New York Times article on historic Italian libraries

Here is an unusually good article on historic Italian libraries, published recently in the New York Times. It has to do with ancient libraries seen from the perspective of the tourist (albeit cultivated) and not the scholar. As shown in the piece, these libraries are not just about books and manuscripts but also about beautiful art and architecture.

Despite being a trained librarian and mega book lover, I myself neglected this aspect in my twenty years in Italy. I passed by the Marciana in Venice many times and never went in. This is mostly due to the forbidding nature of many of these places, which are carefully guarded and not tourist-friendly. Which is understandable, to a certain extent.

If you go, make sure to prepare beforehand and confirm rules for access.

Donna Leon, Earthly Remains

This is the 26th novel of crime writer Donna Leon, who sets her books in Venice, where she lived for decades. Let's cut to the chase: it's very good. It came out a couple of months ago, and I usually obtain books from the library or Overdrive (e-books through library). But when I heard it was set on the island of Sant'Erasmo, I had to have it right away. Sant'Erasmo (below) is a really big but sparsely populated island near Venice, known for its vegetables and dear to my heart, as most of the islands near Venice are. So I shelled out sixteen something and got it on Kindle through the diabolical invention of one-click ordering on Amazon. It was worth it.

Our police inspector Brunetti is packed off to said island for r and r. He goes alone and meets an interesting old man with whom he rows around the lagoon and talks. Sounds boring but is not. Complications ensue, involving widespread pollution, corruption, and bees dying off. The peeps are interesting, and Leon shows that she has perfected her wry (she would call it bleak) view of human nature. There are more or less sympathetic characters, but she is masterful here in showing the ambiguity and difficulty of moral action across the board. A sort of philosophical-ecological tale with plenty of local color (literally, in the case of Burano, also featured along with Sant'Erasmo).

Highly recommended.

Ms. Ginsburg goes to Venice

Several months ago, on the pages (screens) of this illustrious blog, I informed you that in July there would be an enactment of The Merchant of Venice in the original Ghetto of that city.

And now they have indeed put on the play. As part of the related activities they also staged a mock trial in which American Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg was part of a group of judges hearing an imaginary appeal by Shylock. The judges found in Shylock's favor. Amusingly, Justice Ginsburg's grandson played the part of Lorenzo (the lover of Jessica, Shylock's daughter.)

The judges were somewhat perplexed about what to do with uppity Portia, the woman-disguised-as-male-lawyer who defends Antonio, Shylock's opponent. They find her guilty as an impostor without the proper requisites and sentence her to get a law degree from the University of Padua and a Master's in an American University. Unfortunately, the Faculty of Law in Padua would not allow a woman to study there in the late 16th century, and there were no universities in the United States at that time. There is also the small matter of the judges' jurisdiction... You ask me, Portia was a great gal.

Kidding aside, Justice Ginsburg (although an admirer of Shakespeare- how can you not be?), maintains that The Merchant is anti-Semitic. I strenuously disagree. So Shylock is the villain (a nuanced villain, to be sure)? Is Hamlet anti-Danish? Is Macbeth anti-Scottish and misogynistic? Is Othello racist?

If you want to read a bit more on this, here is the original New York Times article.

Below, see another great Shakespeare lover, Al Pacino, deliver Shylock's famous monologue.

Tennessee Williams and Rome

Author Tennessee Williams resided for a long time in Rome. Who knew? Evidently the writer for the New York Times knew, and that's why she produced this piece in today's paper. The rather unhappy Mississippi native lived in the city for years, mostly at an address near the Villa Borghese (below.)

Having rejected Paris, he took to Rome immediately. Evidently he felt an affinity for Italy and its people- one of his closest friends was the great actress Anna Magnani, and his life partner was the Sicilian-American Frank Merlo. He set his novella The Roman spring of Mrs. Stone in the city. Interesting article with tips for visitors. Unfortunately it furthers the myth that fettuccine Alfredo is part of the Italian culinary tradition, and erroneously states that this unfortunate creation has "attained global renown."

Check it out.

Jhumpa Lahiri is writing in Italian- perche'?

Jhumpa Lahiri is a prominent author who was born in London of Indian parents, and brought up from the age of two in Rhode Island, in the United States. She has achieved widespread acclaim, and won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction at age 32. Writing in English.

Like so many foreigners before her, Lahiri became infatuated with Italy and the Italian language. She explained the long process of learning the language in a recent article in The New Yorker. But what was most surprising, even shocking, is that after having moved with husband and children to Rome (she has since moved back to the States), she decided to start writing in Italian. I must admit that I find this decision to be strange and incomprehensible, even bizarre. She has now written her first book in Italian, the memoir In altre parole. To reach a more international audience, she proceeded to have it translated by the ubiquitous Ann Goldstein. Lahiri explains that she neither felt comfortable with the Bengali of her parents nor with the English of her acquired country. Due to her overwhelming attraction to Italian, she decided to reinvent herself as an Italian, or at least an Italian author.

She stated that she feels liberated and stronger as a writer in her new language. From what I have seen of her Italian (and I don't mean to be brutal) this is a subjective feeling. At least so far. Yes, it's been done before, and it's been done well- that is, writing in a foreign language. Notably by Joseph Conrad and Vladimir Nabokov. But I don't see that happening here. Also, almost invariably, authors who switch languages do so by switching to a more widely spoken language, which often means a larger readership (and market). Not only is Italian not widely spoken, Italians are not big readers.

If nothing else, this is a brave move. It will be interesting to see what comes of it and if the lovely lady ever decides to change her mind.

Hemingway on learning Italian

Ernest Hemingway wrote a short story (one of his best) called In Another country, based on his experiences in World War I in Northern Italy. A Farewell to arms recounts the same experiences, but as a (long) novel. The story is set in a hospital in Milan while he was recovering from injuries sustained as an American volunteer. At a certain point, the young protagonist is talking to an Italian major about his progress in learning the language.


"The major, who had been a great fencer, did not believe in bravery, and spent much time while we sat in the machines correcting my grammar. He had complimented me on how I spoke Italian, and we talked together very easily. One day I had said that Italian seemed such an easy language to me that I could not take a great interest in it; everything was so easy to say. "Ah, yes," the major said. "Why, then, do you not take up the use of grammar?" So we took up the use of grammar, and soon Italian was such a difficult language that I was afraid to talk to him until I had the grammar straight in my mind."

Got Overdrive?

A few months ago I started using Overdrive, a library-based service which is a kind of free online content provider.  I am now using it regularly and receiving an enormous number of quality books. There is always something interesting or useful on my laptop now. You will find an incredible variety of stuff that is about Italy or relates to the Italian language, but few items that are actually in Italian. Cookbooks, Donna Leon mysteries, language materials (including audio), travel guides, serious non-fiction, fiction classic and otherwise, some movies, and even a comical assortment of romances with names like The Italian cardiologist's mistress (I made that one up.)

No fees and no ads, but you do have to have a library card to a participating library or network. The software leaves much to be desired, but with experience you will be able to find all the material you want. Popular items will be held for you, and they can send an e-mail when your request is available, and automatically place it in your account. Check it out.

Elena Ferrante

I just finished reading Elena Ferrante's The Days of abandonment. I had previously read the author's The Lost daughter. I had to read both in translation due to the difficulty of obtaining books in the original. No complaints here, the translation of the former by Ann Goldstein was competent and fluid.

Now this Elena Ferrante (a pseudonym) is the object of massive hype, and not only in Italy. How much of it is deserved? Although I will be a voce fuori dal coro, I think she is overrated. An Italian phrase came to mind when I read her works: si fa leggere, she's readable, sometimes compulsively so. But there is a letdown at the end. I read The Lost daughter years ago and absolutely nothing remains in my memory of this book.

Cynically, I believe that the mystery surrounding her real identity contributes to her mystique. Does the pseudonym conceal someone well-known? Is she indeed a woman? I don't think she intentionally cultivated this effect, at least not entirely, but it has been a great marketing ploy. Also, since it is a form of chick lit (of a high order), she enjoys a ready-made audience of avid female readers. And there does seem to be an element of gender-based political correctness in the excessive praise lavished on her.

The Days of Abandonment is a novel in the first person about a woman who is left abruptly by her husband for a younger woman, and descends into, how shall I put this, atavism. This includes literally ripping the shirt off her husband's back and kicking him in public. Happens all the time. It makes for interesting reading and suspense- will she or won't she lose it completely? To her (I do think it's a her, and I do think she's from Southern Italy) credit, Ferrante references Simone De Beauvoir's La femme rompue. Which covers the same theme, but much better. So that this novel seemed a bit superfluous to me. I won't spoilerarlo for you (as they say in Italy, to my amusement), but the ending was disappointing and not entirely credible.

Will I read other books by Ferrante? Very likely; she is a good writer and I am interested in contemporary Italy, women's fiction and Naples. Should you? Yes, give her/him/it a try and see for yourself.

Fairy tales in Italian

I know, those who consider themselves serious students of Italian might scoff at the idea of reading fairy tales. But they have two important features: the plot is already familiar to you, making comprehension relatively effortless, and the story serves as a good introduction to the the passato remoto, which is used profusely in fables because they are always set in a distant past. Thus they can be used as a springboard to more serious reading.

Here is a site that includes the classic fairy tales, with the addition of audio at the beginning of each story.

Ten books to (try to) understand Italy

The Guardian, a worthy publication despite its relentless anti-American slant, has just published a list of ten books that will help you understand the Beautiful Country.

I know, I know- the list format doesn't work because it tries to quantify the unquantifiable. But still we are irresistibly drawn to them. At least I am.

This happens to be a pretty good one, with Luigi Barzini's The Italians coming in at first place. Good choice. I haven't read all the books in John Hooper's Top Ten, but can second the choice of Tim Parks, who has just about the most reliably accurate view of Italy out there. Although he did write a book on Italian soccer that completely and irrevocably grossed me out. Notable (and perhaps unforgivable) omissions are the great and underrated Leonardo Sciascia and all the entertaining series of crime novels by Donna Leon.

Here is the list. Be sure to read the comments that follow.

Alda Merini, Mi piace il verbo sentire

Alda Merini is a well-known poet who died in 2009. She was nominated for the Nobel Prize in literature and survived a life that included mental illness and institutionalization. Here is one of her most famous poems, which I wish to present here to learners of Italian because it is an excellent illustration of the important verb sentire, which means to hear, to feel and to smell. It is also a good example of the difficulty of translating poetry.

Mi piace il verbo sentire...

sentire il rumore del mare, sentirne l'odore...

sentire il suono della pioggia che ti bagna le labbra, sentire una penna

che traccia sentimenti su un foglio bianco...

sentire l'odore di chi ami, sentirne la voce sentirlo col cuore...

sentire e' il verbo delle emozioni, ci si sdraia sulla schiena del mondo

e si sente




I like the verb sentire

to hear the sound of the sea, to smell its smell

to hear the sound of the rain that wets your lips, to feel and hear a pen

tracing sentiments on a white sheet...

to smell the smell of the one you love, to hear his voice, to feel it with one's heart...

Sentire is the verb of emotions- one lies down on the back of the world

and feels

William Weaver has died

William Weaver has died in Rhinebeck, New York, aged 90, as reported in the New York Times. Weaver was a distinguished translator from Italian into English, who, like so many translators, fell into the job. But in his case (it is not always so) he acquitted himself admirably, bringing new distinction and recognition to the often thankless work of the professional translator.

The Princeton-educated Virginian learned Italian informally after the war, and knew many figures from the robust cultural scene in Italy at that time. After living in Naples and Rome, he resided in Tuscany for many years, like so many cultivated English-speakers, then and now. He translated widely in modern Italian literature- to enumerate his translations is a sort of survey course in the subject. He was also an opera lover who translated librettos and wrote about opera. In later years, he taught translation at Bard College, and loved teaching. A life well-lived, I would say.

For more about the life and work of this interesting man, read this long article in The Paris Review.

For those of you who are curious about the craft of the literary translator, and may have been inclined to neglect it, see this piece in which he describes the process of translating the inimitable Carlo Emilio Gadda.

Artusi's cookbook for $1.64!

This definitely made my day. I discovered the major historical classic of Italian cooking, Pellegrino Artusi's La Scienza in cucina e l'arte di mangiare bene (1891), for $1.64 as a Kindle download from Amazon. It's true that this book was already available online, as it has long been out of copyright. But the convenience of having it on Kindle makes all the difference. (Note that even if you don't have a Kindle device, you can read Kindle downloads with just a free Kindle app.) (No, I am not on the take from Amazon.)

It has oodles and oodles of recipes, basic and not so basic. It also has an engaging, chatty style. For example, as noted earlier in this blog, he personally enjoins the humble meatloaf (polpettone) to come forward and take its rightful place among the more elegant dishes. The Italian used is old-fashioned, of course, but accessible if you have a good mastery of the language. It is invaluable for getting a handle on the difficult task of establishing what is and what isn't Italian cuisine. Do note, if you're actually going to try out the recipes here (and you probably should- I am), that in typical Italian style, they assume that you already know what you're doing. The instructions are consequently vague and imprecise.

I look forward to perusing this for pleasure and reading it for historical insight. Above all, I'll try my hand at many recipes, adapting and experimenting along the way. Of course, I'll report back on my blog about my discoveries in the next few weeks or months.

Edoardo Nesi, Story of my people

OK, so I said I would review this, so here I go.

This is a short book about the author and his family, who established and ran a textile business in Prato, near Florence, a town heavily specialized in the sector. Edoardo, who is also an author, sold the business and then wrote this book about it. Big deal, huh? Well, it is a big deal.

Prato has had a vocation for commerce and international trade for centuries. Iris Origo wrote of this in the masterful The Merchant of Prato, about 14th-century tradesman Francesco di Marco Datini. In his short (I read it in one sitting) and rather breezy book, Nesi chronicles the demise of his own family's involvement in the textile industry as a reflection of the changes that Italy in general and Prato in particular are undergoing as part of globalization. The town has been nearly crushed by the influx of Chinese sweatshops locally and the role of Chinese manufacture in China, as I already reported on the pages of this illustrious blog a few years back.

This is a flawed book, but one worth reading, especially for non-Italians who are not aware of the epoch-making changes now occurring in the country. It is mostly flawed by Nesi's jejune (haven't used that one in a while) obsession with all things American, with frequent digressions about himself and the States. Even the title comes from Fitzgerald. And yet what is lacking is particularly historical depth, which might have been accomplished by bringing up Francesco di Marco Datini instead of, say, Richard and Mimi Farina. Only this would truly honor the title, and give it the gravitas it deserves.

It was interesting for me to see that Italians have trashed the book on Italian Amazon, giving it 2 stars. Some of this is hostility toward the privileged Nesi, who is protected from the current severe crisis, and some of it is quick to assume that an account such as this is racist and in search of a scapegoat for Italy's woes. With its shortcomings, I can still recommend it, because all of Italy's heritage of artisanship (including gastronomic) is under serious threat at this point, and this small, imperfect work serves to bring home this tragic fact.

Aldo Fabrizi, foodie extraordinaire

Been meaning to do this post for some time. Here goes.

Aldo Fabrizi was an Italian actor best known for his role as the priest in Rossellini's Rome Open City. But the portly Roman was also a lifelong gourmet and gourmand, as you might have guessed from his imposing girth. And also the brother of Elena Fabrizi, another foodie in the family, who established several restaurants in Rome, including the famed Sora Lella (named after her), before starting an acting career after the age of forty.

When Aldo wasn't acting up a storm, he was eating and cooking up a storm. Not only that. He wrote recipe-poems in Roman dialect, including the most famous dishes of his city. But some he made up, impromptu, with what he had on hand (as Italians so often do). Here is a shrimp recipe, which he calls seawater pasta.

Pasta all'acquamarina

Tra tutte le ricette pe' sughetti,
questa de stamattina sora sposa,
cia' 'na composizione capricciosa
pe' fa' in un lampo un piatto de spaghetti.

Avete visto mai li vasetti
pieni de gamberetti tutti rosa?
benone: mo' ve spiego co' che cosa
se ponno utilizza' 'sti gamberetti.

Soffritto d'ajo e ojo e doppo: zacche!
Buttate giu' er vasetto el'acqua sua,
co' mezzo bicchierino de cognacche.

Nun ve scordate de la vitamina
cioe' er peperoncino; la C. sua...
sapete bene quello che combina.

A (literally) prosaic summary: get a jar or can (my addition) of cocktail shrimp. Mince garlic and onion and lightly fry in (olive) oil, add the shrimp in its water, and about a half cup of cognac. Finish off with some red pepper.

Aldo obviously did not have an appetite just for food. The final line alludes to the supposed aphrodisiac properties of red pepper. Naughty Aldo- gotta love him.

A

Italian books and Amazon

Since I last wrote about e-books in Italian, over a year ago, much has changed and there have been some bodacious improvements.

I was hankering to read Edoardo Nesi's Story of my people yesterday. It's about the changes effected by globalization and mobility of labor (something of a euphemism) upon the town of Prato, near Florence, and in particular upon the Nesi family. Well, I thought I'd break down and buy it on Kindle in English due to the difficulty of getting it in the original. But to my surprise it was available in Italian! On amazon.com! There are lots and lots of books in Italian on Amazon now, including through Kindle. So I got it immediately and read it in one sitting. I can already see where this is going. A steady emorragia of my conto in banca. Not to mention becoming a fat, Wall-E type americana who never leaves the casa. At least I'm not playing Candy Crush Saga.

A funny thing though. The original book costs significantly more on Kindle than the translation, which is kind of counter-intuitive. Amazon coyly notes that prices are set by the publisher (read: don't blame us).

By the way, in case you didn't know- you don't have to have a Kindle device to get Kindle stuff. Just download the free app for your device (see the Amazon site).

Coming up: I review Nesi's book and a bunch of other things I'll be getting.

Giorgio Bocca has died

I'm coming out of my holiday hibernation for a good reason. Right after finishing the movie Le quattro volte (which I'll be reviewing shortly) on Netflix, I sauntered over to the site of La Repubblica to see what, if anything, was going on in the world this boring Christmas day (Christmas on a Sunday, the double whammy). To my surprise I found the large headlines announcing the death of writer and journalist Giorgio Bocca.

It shouldn't have been a surprise as Bocca was 91. But he was one of those people who you don't think of as dying, due to their enduring vitality, lucidity and youthfulness. I've read a lot of his work, and it has influenced me greatly in my perception of contemporary Italy.

Bocca was from a small town in Northern Italy and identified strongly with his origins all his life, being among other things critical (in a politically incorrect way) of Southern Italy and of all the stereotypical faults of Italians, to the point of calling himself "l'anti-italiano." He had a special distaste for all Mafias, and for fascism. In his long and prolific career, he addressed practically everything you can imagine about politics, trends and events in post-war Italy (he was in the Resistance during WWII).

Little is available in English from his vast production, but if you read Italian you will find that he has a direct and engaging style, and is not difficult. You can begin by looking up his byline online, and choose from one of the many topics he pursued. Here is a good selection to start you off. From there, you can perhaps explore one or more of his books. Not to be missed if you have an interest in the real and not just the tourist Italy.

Andrea Zanzotto has died

Andrea Zanzotto, widely considered one of the major contemporary poets, has died shortly after his ninetieth birthday. He was a Veneto boy from Treviso, not far from Venice.

Here is a selection of his poetry (in Italian and dialect).

Leonardo's Last Supper

Believe it or not, I've never seen the Last Supper (Italian: Il Cenacolo or L'Ultima Cena), despite having lived so long in Northern Italy and despite the fact that my mother was from Milan. The difficulty of access and the well-known fact of its deterioration and subsequent restorations kept me away. This does not mean I'll never see it or that I do not have the highest consideration for Leonardo.

Today's New York Times features some personal considerations along the same lines. Is it worth it? The end of the little article where the author drifts off to see another fresco and glances at his watch, despite the fifteen-minute limit, would cast doubts in this regard.

The irrepressible Mark Twain expressed similar feelings in his post-Civil War travel book, Innocents Abroad (which I can highly recommend and which is available online for free.) Here he is:

Here in Milan, in an ancient tumble-down ruin of a church, is the mournful wreck of the most celebrated painting in the world--"The Last Supper," by Leonardo da Vinci. We are not infallible judges of pictures, but of course we went there to see this wonderful painting, once so beautiful, always so worshipped by masters in art, and forever to be famous in song and story. And the first thing that occurred was the infliction on us of a placard fairly reeking with wretched English. Take a morsel of it: "Bartholomew (that is the first figure on the left hand side at the spectator,) uncertain and doubtful about what he thinks to have heard, and upon which he wants to be assured by himself at Christ and by no others."

Good, isn't it? And then Peter is described as "argumenting in a threatening and angrily condition at Judas Iscariot."

This paragraph recalls the picture. "The Last Supper" is painted on the dilapidated wall of what was a little chapel attached to the main church in ancient times, I suppose. It is battered and scarred in every direction, and stained and discolored by time, and Napoleon's horses kicked the legs off most the disciples when they (the horses, not the disciples,) were stabled there more than half a century ago.

I recognized the old picture in a moment--the Saviour with bowed head seated at the centre of a long, rough table with scattering fruits and dishes upon it, and six disciples on either side in their long robes, talking to each other--the picture from which all engravings and all copies have been made for three centuries. Perhaps no living man has ever known an attempt to paint the Lord's Supper differently. The world seems to have become settled in the belief, long ago, that it is not possible for human genius to outdo this creation of da Vinci's. I suppose painters will go on copying it as long as any of the original is left visible to the eye. There were a dozen easels in the room, and as many artists transferring the great picture to their canvases. Fifty proofs of steel engravings and lithographs were scattered around, too. And as usual, I could not help noticing how superior the copies were to the original, that is, to my inexperienced eye. Wherever you find a Raphael, a Rubens, a Michelangelo, a Carracci, or a da Vinci (and we see them every day,) you find artists copying them, and the copies are always the handsomest. Maybe the originals were handsome when they were new, but they are not now.

This picture is about thirty feet long, and ten or twelve high, I should think, and the figures are at least life size. It is one of the largest paintings in Europe.

The colors are dimmed with age; the countenances are scaled and marred, and nearly all expression is gone from them; the hair is a dead blur upon the wall, and there is no life in the eyes. Only the attitudes are certain.

People come here from all parts of the world, and glorify this masterpiece. They stand entranced before it with bated breath and parted lips, and when they speak, it is only in the catchy ejaculations of rapture:

"Oh, wonderful!"

"Such expression!"

"Such grace of attitude!"

"Such dignity!"

"Such faultless drawing!"

"Such matchless coloring!"

"Such feeling!"

"What delicacy of touch!"

"What sublimity of conception!"

"A vision! A vision!"

I only envy these people; I envy them their honest admiration, if it be honest--their delight, if they feel delight. I harbor no animosity toward any of them. But at the same time the thought will intrude itself upon me, How can they see what is not visible? What would you think of a man who looked at some decayed, blind, toothless, pock-marked Cleopatra, and said: "What matchless beauty! What soul! What expression!" What would you think of a man who gazed upon a dingy, foggy sunset, and said: "What sublimity! What feeling! What richness of coloring!" What would you think of a man who stared in ecstasy upon a desert of stumps and said: "Oh, my soul, my beating heart, what a noble forest is here!"

You would think that those men had an astonishing talent for seeing things that had already passed away. It was what I thought when I stood before "The Last Supper" and heard men apostrophizing wonders, and beauties and perfections which had faded out of the picture and gone, a hundred years before they were born. We can imagine the beauty that was once in an aged face; we can imagine the forest if we see the stumps; but we can not absolutely see these things when they are not there. I am willing to believe that the eye of the practiced artist can rest upon the Last Supper and renew a lustre where only a hint of it is left, supply a tint that has faded away, restore an expression that is gone; patch, and color, and add, to the dull canvas until at last its figures shall stand before him aglow with the life, the feeling, the freshness, yea, with all the noble beauty that was theirs when first they came from the hand of the master. But I can not work this miracle. Can those other uninspired visitors do it, or do they only happily imagine they do?

After reading so much about it, I am satisfied that the Last Supper was a very miracle of art once. But it was three hundred years ago.

Joyce and Svevo

I almost forgot it was Bloomsday, that is, the day the action (so to speak) of James Joyce's Ulysses takes place.

Joyce as you may know lived in Trieste a long time and spoke excellent Italian, including dialect. He had already begun to study the language in Dublin as a youth, and was a proficient linguist. Reportedly the Joyces spoke Italian at home, and his two children had Italian names (Giorgio and Lucia). In Trieste, he made friends with writer Italo Svevo (real name, Ettore Schmitz). Svevo (shown in the photo) was a Jew who converted to Catholicism and is taken to be the model of Leopold Bloom, the Irish Jew who is the protagonist of Ulysses. Although to tell you the truth, I've never seen the similarity.

If you read Italian, you can find Svevo's works free on the Liber Liber site, here. The books include his most famous novel, La Coscienza di Zeno, which I recommend.