Dentro la follia del mondo (Italian Edition)

Corre avanti per poi tornare indietro; a volte sterza, si ferma improvvisamente.

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Ripercorre i suoi passi. Un'analisi competente e approfondita, appassionata e critica. Sembrano strade, sono La strada di Cormac McCarthy. Reportage di guerra appassionato e schietto; lucido; reale. Un cammino di consapevolezza, rapido e ripido. Un inno implicito alla vita. La descrizione attonita degli accadimenti bellici Siriani.

A condimento, un contorno di situazioni terze , satellitari alla guerra, che con la guerra hanno a che fare, e dalla guerra di altri traggono nutrimento.

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Certi aspetti del giornalismo, ad esempio, immutati nel tempo vedi libro equivalente, del , firmato da Evelyn Waugh In Abissinia. Il saprofitismo di alcuni professionismi descritto, anzi fotografato, in tutto il suo sconcio sapore. Con la franchezza del precariato che non si fa ossequioso. Un libro che si trangugia. Per tanti buoni e sani motivi.

View all 4 comments. As a Syrian I found this book very accurate in many parts, and reflects on how some people are suffering while the others enjoy the luxuries of life, and the contrast in living in such one country. However, the Syrian crises isn't a matter of "Suni-Shie" fight but of thirst for power like many other countries and dictators before, and also the book covers the early days of the Syrian revolution and crisis, therefore it only gives a peak on how this started but not how it involved.

Apr 16, Cirano rated it it was amazing. Francesca Borri ci racconta, finalmente, cosa succedeva e sta succedendo veramente in Siria. Senza pregiudizi, senza quel velo di ipocrisia messo in atto molto spesso dalla stampa "ufficiale" per non disturbare il manovratore. Come per l'Iraq, la Libia, la Somaglia e altri teatri di guerra, anche per la Siria penso si possa tutto sintetizzare nella citazione che l'autrice riporta a pag.

Finalmente qualcuno che ci ha raccontato la soluzione sbagliata. The Italian journalist Francesca Borri texted me last week.

Her message read, "I am just back from the Maldives She was back in Ramallah, while awaiting permission to enter Gaza, and wanted to see if we could meet up. She had a book of hers she The Italian journalist Francesca Borri texted me last week. She had a book of hers she wanted to gift me.

We met for ice cream a few days later. Francesca proudly passed me her newly translated book, Syrian Dust, and we chatted about her coverage of the war in Syria and her work elsewhere. An amazing person she is, to say the least. We parted and on my way to the car I opened the book to read the inscription. Then I read the book! I now know exactly what she meant. Syrian Dust is about the collapse of Syria, but it's more than that. It's about the Syrian people paying the price for all of this madness.

If you have had, like I did, a hard time understanding how millions of Syrians would risk taking their family, or what remains thereof, and cross the Mediterranean Sea by boat to chance making it somewhere, anywhere, read this book. Additionally, Francesca takes on an angle which has become taboo to address, the art and business of journalism in today's day and age. She bravely calls it out, the journalists, the editors, the papers, the fixers, etc. She rightly points a finger at all those so-called journalists who excitingly write about anything and everything from the comfort of their air conditioned newsrooms, never even seeing the places or people they write about.

Francesca, who can now be classified as a war correspondent, is an old-fashion journalist, the few that write from the field, the few that see the eyes of the people thy cover, not only events. My hat is off to her. To give you a tiny taste of her character, she writes: All that matters is you. And what kind of a life is a life like that?

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I end by passing a message to Francesca here: Apr 20, Petra Miocic rated it it was amazing Shelves: This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. Francesca, I don't know where I've read it but it also applies to you: You write like breathing. You write like breathing yet, what you write about is so horrible, so horrifying, so absurd; senseless, that it leaves me exhausted: I can't understand that drive -I'm only a waiter-, the drive to run into a hell while everybody else with a bit of common sense and the possibility to do it is desperately trying to flee away from it, but I thank you.

And I fear for you. Even though I don't k Francesca, I don't know where I've read it but it also applies to you: Even though I don't know you, even though I'll never meet you, even though this book isn't about you, I fear for you. That's the power of good writing. The power to engage other human beings into alien situations, and make them care. That's what you are fucking doing. And I fucking thank you for it. I first encountered Francesca Borri's writing the same way many did — by reading her much-shared article about the second-class treatment of freelancers on the frontline.

And it's exactly this sort of fame which distresses Borri, as she was never the story. It should always have been Syria.

If Borri is still carrying this insidious guilt, she deserves the comfort of knowing that her book will speak to people. And by speak, I mean shout. She captures the complexity and muddied politics of a ruined I first encountered Francesca Borri's writing the same way many did — by reading her much-shared article about the second-class treatment of freelancers on the frontline.

She captures the complexity and muddied politics of a ruined country through a human lens, and the immense suffering and wasted lives are never secondary concerns. Nor should they be. Because at the end of the day, war is always more than right or wrong. It's about people and their stories — and these should never be forgotten.

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2. La guerra dentro by Francesca Borri;
3. Il significato della parola 'Tarocco'!
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This book gives you a unpolished view of what the war in Syria looks like, without any villains or good guys. It is a raw report from the front lines that reflects on the ignorance of the West that has the power to construe the Syrian narrative. Dec 27, MarDe rated it it was amazing Shelves: Questo libro potrebbe davvero turbarvi. This is the most powerful book I have read since Walden. Thank you Francesca Borri for barring witness for those in Syria. Words cannot express the emotions I have after reading this book! Nothing makes sense in the world to allow false politicians to turn a blind eye to the atrocities in Syria.

We all should feel shame. It was hard to read and yet important. I cannot express how important this book is. Please, please read it. It broke my heart a million times over. Description Reviews Read Selection. Having begun to write poetry in childhood, she gravitated toward avant-garde circles in the s, such as Gruppo '70, and lived and studied in Spain. Her most recent volume of poetry, Chanson Turca , was published in She lives and works in Rome. Selected Poems by Francesca Pellegrino. The first reading keeps us on the page as if it's magnetized Unconstrained by the desire to theorize a message, Cristina Annino allows the content of her poems to simply blossom, free.

And it is precisely in these moments that an elegiac and philosophic tone emerges, entrusted to key verses that have a sudden, surprise effect, like when one takes a breath after a period of apnea. This is the author's striking intuition that grants the reader her sharp and unforgettable observations in verse, from which all the rest becomes illuminated, making Annino one of the preeminent and most contemporary Italian poets.

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Entro piano nella casa del folle; no apro le persiane, no tolgo la polvere. Arrivo alla sua camera che ancora dorme nel mattino troppa aria per occhii di dolente marrone pallido. Guardo la nuca rigida e il corpo che no sente neppure il pigiama. Mi siedo accanto e gli porto l'asfalto ripolendolo dal romore, dall'odore del mese, dal peso della gente. I'm careful when entering the madhouse; I don't raise the blinds, I don't get rid of the dust.

I get to his room where he's still sleeping in the morning too much air let in for sorrowful clear brown eyes. I look at the stiffened neck and the body that doesn't feel even the pajamas. I sit down beside him and bring him asphalt cleansing it of sound, of the month's odor, of the weight of people.