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Writing about Luigi Pirandello, English, Italian

I’m reading Eleven Short Stories or Undici Novelle by the Nobel Laureate Luigi Pirandello. It is a dual language book, and for a lover of Italian and of short stories, a rare piece of indulgence.

What I love about the book is not just Pirandello’s masterful storytelling, somewhat reminiscent of Chekov, but also the lyrical quality of the Italian, when I read it just after the English version. With English you have to make an effort to make your lines sound lyrical, spoken Italian is music itself.

Writing about Fake, Over-the-Top Venice

I am not writing about Venice, but about The Venetian, a casino hotel in Macau.

I have been here since yesterday, and so far, I’m quite taken with the experience, attracted and repelled at the same time.

The casino, of course, is out-of-bounds for cameras, so I have no pictures. To me, the overwhelming first impression was of a colorful fish market, only without the stench and the noise.