Escape by Dominique Manotti Page A

certainly not an award for picking tourists’ pockets on the streets of Rome. If I want answers to those questions, he replies, I can talk to his lawyer, who is also the publisher’s lawyer.
    So it’s back to talking about literature, nothing but literature. Very well. I get straight to the point. Given that he spent his youth in the streets and prisons of Rome, where did he learn to write in a language that is so simple, so effective and sometimes so moving? Was it in books, and if so, which ones? Which authors have influenced him? That earns me a wan smile.
    In his family home, there were no books, so he didn’t read any, and still today, the sight of a well-stocked bookcase makes him feel anxious. He learned to write in prison, not in books. Learned to listen, first of all, he says, to listen to the political prisoners talking about their hopes, their exploits, their defeats. Learned also to love the language those men spoke, which was magnificent because it was resonant with passion and despair, and that is what made it absolutely fascinating. As a result of listening, he absorbed their way of telling a story. He thought about all those prisoners when he began to write. And it was easy. He insists, ‘The words came all by themselves.’ But why write? At this, Filippo Zuliani becomes animated, drops his aloof air. ‘Why? To allow those people an existence, a life.’ He hesitates, thencontinues, ‘And also to understand my own life. Maybe above all. Literature is life, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you often say in your articles?’
    Life? His life? I won’t be any the wiser. He seems to be steering the entire conversation to focus only on literature, on the novel, and to divert attention from his own experience. It is hard to imagine that a book that draws so heavily on current affairs and has such richness is not inspired by real life. Filippo Zuliani won’t say, but… The main thing is that Filippo Zuliani has written a real ‘American-style’ novel, sweeping in scope, inspired by a chaotic existence, and as hard-hitting as a punch in the stomach. A must-read.

16 May
    The publication of
Escape
and the reviews in the French press make the Italian refugees anxious and angry. The Sunday afternoon meeting is likely to be crowded and difficult for Lisa, thinks Roberto. Reviving the pain, the wrench and the shock of Carlo’s death a year on, when the wounds are still raw … she is strong. Perhaps this will be the opportunity for her to reach closure, but he doubts it. He drops by to see her in the morning, with a selection of Sicilian pastries. Lisa is lounging around, demoralised.
    ‘This novel breaks my heart.’
    ‘I’m sure.’
    ‘The character who everyone calls Carlo isn’t the man I knew and loved. A man of passion, of conviction, a poet. Portrayed as a gang boss. He never took part in armed action. I did, you know I did, Roberto, with all that implies. I’m paying for it, I don’t ever want to talk about it again. But not him.’
    ‘Lisa, I know what you’re going through and I’m here.’
    ‘He’s assassinating Carlo a second time. A public execution. I wasn’t expecting it. Nobody had the foresight to warn me. When I found out that Cristina had put Filippo in touch with the publisher, without having the decency to say anything tome, I decided never to speak to her again, which doesn’t make life easy at work, as you can imagine.’
    ‘We’re going to talk about the novel at the meeting this afternoon.’
    ‘Without me.’
    ‘You have to come.’
    ‘No way. Last year, when I wanted to try and find out how Carlo had been assassinated, I asked for their help. Nobody lifted a finger, Giovanni told everyone I was paranoid, and no one has been in touch with me since then. I’m not prepared to forget that. And I’ve made no headway in my investigation into his death.’
    ‘This book is going to have political repercussions – we should all discuss it together.’
    ‘Political