Abstract
This article proposes an analysis of characterization in the narrative production of Alessandro Perissinotto. In particular, it aims to establish a relation between the construction of problematic identities and implications of socio-historical relevance. The increasing difficulty of dealing with individual identity in narrative suggests a comparison with Italy’s shared memory and several contemporary topics of social interest. Such psychological conditions as the Electra complex, burnout, bipolar disorder, and the projection of one’s personality on a doppelgänger evince the difficulties of the study of identity in the contemporary novel. The internal struggle of the character overlaps with social perceptions of mental illness, drug addiction, and recent immigration, as well as the legacy of fascism and terrorism on today’s Italy.
In his 2013 novel, Le colpe dei padri, Alessandro Perissinotto proposes an interesting reflection on the consequences that a shocking discovery has on the identity of the protagonist. As the successful manager Guido Marchisio struggles in his attempt to coexist with his double, Ernesto Bolle, the narrator discusses the implications that uncertain identity has for the character: Quando parliamo della nostra identità, noi parliamo della nostra storia o, per meglio dire, della nostra memoria, del modo in cui, attraverso il ricordo, noi diamo un senso alla nostra biografia. Se la nostra memoria viene arbitrariamente mutilata, o ingannata, la nostra identità cambia, ma se quella stessa memoria viene recuperata, la parte di noi che avevamo abbandonato torna a comporre il nostro Io non come qualcosa che ‘eravamo’, ma come qualcosa che ‘siamo.’ (Perissinotto, 2013: 167) [When we talk about our identity, we talk about our story or, more precisely, our memory, the way in which, through memory, we make sense of our biography. If our memory is arbitrarily mutilated, or misled, or tricked, our identity changes, but if that same memory is recovered, the part of us that we had abandoned comes back to compose our Self not as something that we ‘were’, but as something that we ‘are’.]
The author’s interest in dual or uncertain identity reaches its climax in Le colpe dei padri, but it dates back to the crime fiction that Perissinotto published in the latter half of the first decade of this century, in which controversial representation of the self is embodied in the character of psychologist Anna Pavesi. As the therapist studies the personality of her patients, the clinical aspects of her analyses coincide with her role as a private investigator, and the resulting ambiguity makes the character unsure of what function she actually performs in society: Continuavo a raccontare agli altri e a me stessa quella bella fiaba: ero una psicologa, non un’investigatrice, una che si occupava di educativa territoriale, una che, al massimo, cercava di capire perché succedono certe cose, perché qualcuno scompare, perché qualcuno ammazza qualcun altro; di certo, non una che inseguiva i criminali. Eppure, sembravo essere rimasta l’unica a credere alla bella favola; gli altri, quelli che mi conoscevano e anche quelli che pensavo non mi conoscessero così bene, erano certi che il mio unico mestiere fosse ritrovare persone che si erano cacciate nei guai, guai grossi, guai dove c’era sempre qualcuno disposto a farti la pelle. (Perissinotto, 2008: 5) [I kept telling others and myself that nice fairy tale: I was a therapist, not a detective, someone who addressed territorial education, someone who, at most, tried to understand why some things happen, why someone disappears, why someone kills someone else; certainly, not someone who chased criminals. Yet I seemed to be the last one left to believe in the nice fairy tale; the others, those who knew me as well as those who I didn't think knew me that well, were certain that my only job was to find people who were in trouble, big trouble, trouble where there was always someone who was willing to get rid of you.]
One important example comes from L’orchestra del Titanic (Perissinotto, 2008). The case of Aurora, a young woman affected by bipolar disorder, ‘quel male che non si nomina, che si nasconde agli altri e a se stessi, per vergogna’ (Perissinotto, 2008: 11) [‘that disease that one does not mention, that is kept hidden from others and ourselves, with embarrassment’], juxtaposes the clinical multiplication of personalities with an attempt to reconstruct the real identity of the character, accused of murdering a man in her hotel room in Tunisia. Because Aurora is confined to a hospital, only Anna can prove her innocence, by studying her psyche. The character who seemed to be the culprit is actually the victim of a scheme organized by her boyfriend Ermanno, who exploits the vulnerabilities in Aurora’s personality in order to murder a staff member at the resort, Jonathan, who has recorded a series of sex tapes with several hotel guests. In this novel, the characterization of Aurora as a person of multiple and uncertain identities triggers a series of considerations about topics of social interest: the perception of illness in our society, the exposition of the female body, and the dialogue between different cultures as Western society and Maghreb meet at the Calypso Hotel. Even the setting is characterized by dual identity: Westerners have recreated a phony, paradisiac microcosm that does not affect the local economy positively, because Tunisian employees are exploited and even blackmailed by hotel managers. The orchestra on the Titanic is said to have played music as the ship sank; in the same way, the resort does not stop offering entertainment after Jonathan is found dead, which transfers the ambiguity of identity from characterization to the construction of the setting, now distinguished by the simultaneous presence of grotesquely opposite elements: revelry and mourning.
The problematic identity of the characters symbolically reflects the difficulty of establishing an undisputable truth through detection in the novel, which implies the necessity to change the point of view of the protagonist. Because Aurora is affected by bipolar disorder, her family and the Tunisian police take her guilt for granted. It is easy, then, for Ermanno to kill Jonathan and make everyone believe Aurora is to blame. As Aurora abandons herself to desperation, even she convinces herself of her guilt and of having repressed the memory of the murder: ‘Faccio cose che scompaiono dalla mia mente’ (Perissinotto, 2008: 50) [‘I do things that disappear from my mind’]. With her stubborn attempt to understand Aurora’s personality, Anna is the only character who analyzes clues from a different perspective, and this eventually allows her to re-establish the correct interpretation of events.
The construction of both the identity of the self and the setting follows a similar pattern in L’ultima notte bianca (Perissinotto, 2007). Opposite traits in the personality of Germana, a social worker in Turin, take the form of the psychological condition known as burnout: the excessive concern she feels for drug addicts transforms her initial enthusiasm into cynicism, and the character loses faith in her optimistic approach to drug-related issues.
1
In this identity, introduced through antithetical elements, negative and aggressive traits prevail: Germana murders Franco Avidano, a drug dealer who has repeatedly negated her efforts by offering free heroin to patients in rehab. As in L’orchestra del Titanic, L’ultima notte bianca is based on a misconception between the roles of culprit and victim: Anna considers the possibility that Germana has been murdered, but she eventually realizes that Germana’s psychological condition has turned the social worker into an assassin. As a typical character of noir fiction, Germana embodies a sense of justice that, through the use of violence, bypasses the law and its bureaucracy, and the end of the novel shows how these developments have in turn influenced the detective. In a mutual understanding of the dangers that social workers face in their attempt to assist strangers in an urban setting, Anna allows Germana to escape, to abandon the city and build a new life abroad. This unexpected turn in her investigative approach leaves a deep mark on the identity of the protagonist, who cannot recognize herself at the end of the story: Anche le vittime hanno i loro diritti. E di nuovo il dubbio: anche quando si trasformano in carnefici? Rifletto sulle parole di Germana: seppellire i propri ideali è burnout? Se sì, credo di dovermi aggiungere alla schiera di quelli che si sono bruciati, di quelli che non ce l’hanno fatta. (Perissinotto, 2007: 175) [Victims have their rights, too. And again, the doubt: even when they turn into executioners? I reflect on Germana’s words: is burying one’s ideals merely burnout? If it is, I believe I should add myself to the multitude of people who got burned, who did not make it.]
In recent years, Perissinotto has shifted from crime fiction to novels that more directly address issues of historical and social interest, and problematic identities have increasingly become central to the construction of his protagonists. In Per vendetta (Perissinotto, 2009), the characters of Efrem and Alicia believe beyond any doubt in the legitimate use of violence against evil: the two intellectuals refuse to perform a merely explanatory function in society, and they take direct action when they avenge the victims of Argentinian fascism. 2 Efrem, an Italian professor temporarily lecturing in Argentina, falls in love with Alicia, the most brilliant of his students. Alicia plays the dominant role in the relationship, and her quest for personal identity is the engine of the novel. The psychological trait that distinguishes her is the Electra complex, an obsession with the paternal figure that she has lost. Alicia rejects her natural father and develops a fixation with Raul, a lover from her mother’s youth. The connection between personal identity and social reflection in the novel comes from the historical background of the events: Raul is one of the dissidents who was abducted and disappeared during the Argentinian Dirty War, and Alicia is now seeking revenge against Tino, the priest who sold Raul to the police. The two paternal figures represent, for Alicia, two different worlds: her real father embodies capitalism, while Raul symbolizes rebellion, justice, and the physical passion he shared with Graciela, her mother. In an attempt to blot out her mother for an ideal possession of Raul, Alicia’s mind generates a series of false memories, events that she has never actually experienced but that nevertheless connect her to the object of her desire. In particular, Alicia fixates on the moment that Raul was abducted, a scene she never witnessed. This particular trait of her personality finds confirmation in Jung’s studies arguing that, when not resolved before adulthood, the Electra complex can cause serious neurotic disturbance in the adult. The false memory that Alicia has constructed hinges on her sexual attraction to Raul: according to Jung, the libido ‘produces feelings and phantasies which unmistakably show the effective existence of the complex’ (Jung, 1915: 69–70).
Her dominant personality allows Alicia to depict her personal vengeance as a matter of justice for all the victims of fascism: only in this way can she involve Efrem in a cause in which he has no personal reason to participate. Although affected by a psychological disorder, Alicia maintains total control of the events she has planned and, in the end, Efrem takes the blame for the murder of Tino, sacrificing his future in the name of their love.
3
This element of awareness and schematic organization reflects one of the most important aspects of the myth of Electra, which distinguishes this character from her male counterpart, Oedipus. Electra is: [s]ober and calculating in her preparation for matricide. She is aware and awake throughout her drama, the maker of her own destiny. Because of his blindness, Oedipus cannot be held responsible for his actions; he cannot make judgments and participate consciously in the social fabric of the family. In contrast, Electra can be held responsible for her decisions, must indeed be called to account for matricide, which will always be a horrifying atrocity, an incomprehensible crime. (Scott, 2005: 171) L’Italia è un paese perduto, senza possibilità di riscatto, moralmente annientato. Qualsiasi impegno laggiù è inutile; stiamo sprofondando in un medioevo senza ritorno. Ho raggiunto il limite. Ho cominciato con l’indignazione per l’immobilità della classe dirigente, per le continue ingerenze della Chiesa nella vita politica e, a poco a poco, la mia sensibilità si è fatta più acuta: alla fine mi bastava accendere la televisione per avvertire fortissimo il desiderio di non essere più italiano, di rinnegare un Paese che delega cantanti e ballerine a discutere del suo futuro. Ora sento che potrei davvero bruciare il mio passaporto. (Perissinotto, 2009: 20) [Italy is a lost country, with no possibility of recovery, morally annihilated. Any form of social commitment is useless there; we are drowning in a dark age with no return. I have reached the limit. I started with indignation for the entrenchment of the upper class, for the repeated interference of the Catholic Church in political life and, little by little, my sensibility has become sharper: in the end it was sufficient to turn on the TV and feel a strong desire to no longer be Italian, to repudiate a country that delegates singers and dancers to discuss its future. Now I feel that I could really burn my passport.]
Perissinotto gives the connections between characterization, identity, and history strictly contemporary connotations in Semina il vento (Perissinotto, 2011). A positive story of integration is ruined by the close-minded environment of Molini di Badallo, an imaginary small town in Piedmont administered by the Lega Nord party. A foreign setting is still present in the first part of the novel: in Paris, Giacomo Musso falls in love with Shirin, a French woman of Iranian origin. When they marry, the couple settles in Molini, Giacomo’s hometown, where he works as an elementary teacher. This job offers the first reflection on the role of identity in this novel: the people of Molini have funded a private school, which allows them to promote their local traditions and their dialect, and, albeit unofficially, gives them the opportunity to isolate their children from immigrants. The identity of the small community is only superficially welcoming, and what seems an idyllic environment soon reveals a harsher culture rife with intolerance and contempt.
Shirin is the character whose identity changes most dramatically throughout the story. At the beginning of the novel, she is a strong supporter of the separation between Muslim religion and Middle Eastern identity, an atheist who refuses any association with Western images of Iran in the wake of Khomeini. As a French citizen, she has likewise distanced herself from the stereotypical image that Europeans hold of Middle Easterners. The radical change in Shirin’s identity results from two episodes in which she feels abused: the right-wing administration in Molini prohibits her participation in local cultural events, and she herself vehemently confronts the police over a woman’s right to wear traditional Muslim clothes. The clash between character and setting implicates Italian society in the final years of berlusconismo, as the perception of Shirin in the local community easily goes from friendly inclusion to accusations of terrorism. 4 Shirin’s crisis of character is more complex than mere problems arising from a clash of cultures, considering that she initially opposes injustice with common sense and does not try to impose a different belief system on anyone. The protagonist embodies the identity of second-generation immigrants, who legitimately consider themselves European citizens, but the ostracism Shirin receives in Piedmont reveals the hollowness behind Western rhetoric of individual rights and tolerance. Shirin’s embrace of Muslim fundamentalism is not motivated by an actual religious conversion, but rather offers an opportunity to be part of a community that shares her uneasiness at being considered different. In her transition to suicide bomber, Shirin embraces a group that does not actually share a common cultural origin; as the members of the group accept the difference for which they are always blamed, they become proud of it and construct a new, shared identity based on their status as outsiders. The characterization of the protagonist follows the identity that the citizens of Molini project upon her; Shirin becomes exactly what they accuse her to be, a dangerous terrorist, but only as a reaction to offenses received.
Marginalization emerges as one of the leitmotifs in the narrative production of Perissinotto. In the trilogy of Anna Pavesi, marginalization was related to strictly clinical issues (mental illness and drug addiction), while in Semina il vento social exclusion is a consequence of racial intolerance, and motivates a crisis of identity that, once again, the character solves with the use of violence.
From the point of view of the narrative construction of the protagonist, characterization reaches its most interesting and complex level in Le colpe dei padri (Perissinotto, 2013), in which the device of the double serves as a socio-historical reflection on the blue-collar movement, the anni di piombo, and the legacy of the 1970s on today’s Italy. 5 The novel is a reflection on the possibility of recreating multiple personalities in fiction, with several references to the history of the double as a character. After a stranger remarks how much he resembles Ernesto Bolle, Guido Marchisio develops an obsession with his imaginary doppelgänger. From the little information that Guido can collect, Ernesto is his opposite double: while Guido is a manager from a wealthy Turin family, Ernesto spent his childhood on the outskirts, in the Falchera neighborhood that housed immigrant workers in the 1970s. In literature, there is usually an element of the fantastical about the device of the double, embodied by a perturbing ambivalence, a juxtaposition of familiar and unfamiliar features that raises questions about the identity of the protagonist. Physical resemblance goes together with stark differences in the biographies of the two characters; this reality concerns Guido but also propels him toward the discovery of his alternative identity. The fantastical elements are increased by a series of coincidences, Jungian synchronicities that put Guido’s rational approach to life in crisis. The character believes there is meaning behind the recurring appearance of a number corresponding to the license plate of the truck that almost killed him. 6 In his job as downsizer at Moosbrugger, the protagonist is accustomed to the cause-and-effect relations of his actions; he rationally plans the removal of assembly lines, considering strikes and union uprisings as acceptable costs in the struggle to improve the company’s bottom line. 7 This rationality is overturned by the perturbing (to Guido’s psyche) presence of a double. Guido cannot conceive of the existence of Ernesto, but the possibility that he might is so fascinating that Guido cannot stop looking for him. In a character who relies on exterior appearances (Guido drives a luxury car and dates an attractive woman) in order to reinforce his self-esteem, the idea of a look-alike teases a narcissistic tendency to admire himself, and his attempts to find Ernesto gain more and more importance. 8 If, at the beginning of the novel, the mysterious identity of the double merely distracts Guido from his duties at Moosbrugger, the search for Ernesto gains primacy by the book’s latter stages, reversing Guido’s hierarchy of priorities.
The outcome of his inquiry is even more surprising than Guido expects: he is, in fact, Ernesto. As a child, a violent car accident robbed him of his memory, and his parents. He was then adopted by a bourgeois couple, who, by welcoming him into their privileged life have stolen and kept his real identity secret, but his original nature now emerges to demand its space in his personality. With this revelation the device of the double transitions from the realm of the fantastical to the world of experience and, as often happens with contemporary depictions of doppelgängers, the perturbing element is explained and elaborated through rational thinking. The doppelgänger fascinates the protagonist because it symbolizes the possibility of a different destiny, an alternative set of decisions and opportunities that have never been explored (Freud, 2003: 143). Even though Guido accepts the presence of Ernesto as the logical consequence of his past, the accompanying loss of certainty engenders a conflict over which identity should prevail, and when. As Beatrice Laghezza has observed on the simultaneous presence of different identities, Se la copia non aderisce più al suo modello, la sagoma originaria del personaggio vede compromessa non solo la propria autorità ma il diritto stesso di esistere perché il doppio, differenziandosi da lui e rendendosi indipendente, ne disconosce il primato, ne vanifica l’autorità. (Laghezza, 2011: 37) [If the copy no longer adheres to the original, the original shape of the character sees as compromised not only its own identity but also its right to exist, because the double, making itself different and independent, repudiates the original’s primacy, casting its authority into doubt.] L’immagine che si trovò a contemplare fu quella del suo volto in un ovale ancora incorniciato dall’opacità del vapore: i suoi occhi sembravano più diversi del solito e il neo sul suo zigomo destro più rilevato, più scuro; da molto tempo non si osservava con tanta attenzione. Chissà se anche il fantomatico Ernesto, di quando in quando, si sorprendeva della sua particolarità? (Perissinotto, 2013: 28) [The image that he was contemplating was a face in an oval shape that was still framed in the opacity of vapor: his eyes looked different than usual and the mole on his right cheekbone was more obvious, darker; he had not observed himself with such scrutiny for a long time. He wondered if the mysterious Ernesto, every once in a while, was surprised by his own peculiarity?]
Even more importantly, the personality of Guido/Ernesto is the result of the simultaneous presence of opposite traits, and the character embodies the opposition between good and evil. From this perspective, Le colpe dei padri certainly borrows much from 19th-century literature and the tradition of the romantic, as opposed to the realist, novel, realism referring ‘not merely to the possible, but to the probable and ordinary course of man’s experience’ (Hawthorne, 1851: III). Following increased scientific interest in Dissociative Identity Disorder, writers popularized the multiplication of personalities with such novels as Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886), while also providing inspiration for 20th-century comic books based on the physical and behavioral transformation of average characters into superheroes. Guido’s recognition of his real identity also establishes a connection with the traditions of the gothic novel, and Guido’s first visit to the Falchera carries some of the uncanny elements that are central to the mysterious settings of that sub-genre. In comparison to the strictly realist approach followed in the novels of Anna Pavesi, Le colpe del padri invites a reflection that is not limited to what happens in real life. Through the device of the double, the narration is open to a series of alternative scenarios including what could have happened in the cultural and political fractures in the 1970s, and the uncertain identity of the protagonist mirrors differing positions on Turin’s labor history.
The personality of Ernesto can only emerge entirely when with his childhood friends from the Falchera; because his identity is not bureaucratically registered, it would be otherwise impossible for him to find a legitimate place in society. Ernesto is a character of the past, who lives thanks to the memories that very few people have kept. Without these memories, it would not be possible for Ernesto to emerge, and he actually comes back to life after an old man from the Falchera, Peppino, mentions him. His characterization is so strictly related to memory that ‘se non lo conosce Peppino, Ernesto non esiste’ (Perissinotto, 2013: 52) [‘If Peppino does not know him, Ernesto does not exist’]. The short-circuit in Guido’s consciousness comes from the awareness that Ernesto is not his double: he is the original identity of the character and, as his real grandfather tells him, ‘Guido Marchisio non esiste. Guido Marchisio è solo il nome che stampano sotto le tue foto sul giornale. Tu sei Ernesto Bolle, anzi, se mio figlio si fosse deciso a fare le cose per bene, tu ti chiameresti Ernesto Aymar’ (Perissinotto, 2013: 133) [‘Guido Marchisio does not exist. Guido Marchisio is the name that they print below your pictures in the newspaper. You are Ernesto Bolle, or, if my son had decided to do things the right way, your name would be Ernesto Aymar’].
The characterization of the protagonist allows the double to transition from a narrative device to an opportunity for socio-historical discussion. Guido and Ernesto are not just two separate identities coexisting in one body: they represent opposite points of view on the history of industry and labor in the city of Turin. Capitalism and proletariat coincide in one character, and Guido acknowledges that, without the car accident that erased his memory, his destiny would have been radically different: Ernesto’s parents were two runaway terrorists who died while a police car was chasing them. Now that he is an influential manager, Guido is the victim of intimidation and threats, with methods that resemble the atmosphere of the 1970s: he has become what his biological parents despised most, and he starts to acknowledge Ernesto’s right to emerge as the legitimate keeper of their shared identity. As with the transformation of Alicia and Shirin in the previous novels of Perissinotto, the inner crisis of the protagonist must be resolved through the use of violence: Guido/Ernesto attempts to shoot Jean-Marc Morani, the manager who has orchestrated the delocalization of the company and whose ruthless methods embody the origin of the conflict between workers and industry. The moment of the shooting is the climax of the novel, the precise instant in which Ernesto becomes fully realized outside the limited range of the Falchera. The problematic relationship between the character and his parents, a recurring aspect in the narrative production of Perissinotto, is also resolved in the attempt to murder Morani. Throughout the novel, the protagonist obsesses over the idea that his real parents were capable of killing. Guido lives in conflict with his adoptive family, but he also despises his biological father and mother because they exposed their child to extreme risks. When Ernesto prevails as the dominant personality, he wants to become the son his parents would have been proud of: as he shoots the ruthless manager, the connection between narrative characterization and social struggle reaches its peak. Embodied by Ernesto Bolle, the proletariat of Turin enters the offices where blue-collar workers are despised and affronted, but the bullet misses Morani, giving Ernesto the opportunity to spend his reacquired existence as a free man, not as a convicted criminal. Ernesto has accepted violence as a solution for the crisis of the character, but he will not be held responsible for ‘le colpe dei padri’. He has proved allegiance to his family’s ideals, and he now replaces Guido as an independent person, no longer affected by any ideological legacy: Ritengo piuttosto che quel gesto sia giunto in una sorta di ‘pienezza dei tempi’, nel momento in cui era giusto che Guido, al culmine dell’umiliazione, morisse per lasciare posto a Ernesto; un Ernesto in grado finalmente di compiacere i suoi genitori, ma che, in fondo, non rivendicava la ‘giustizia proletaria’, bensì la sua semplice libertà, il suo diritto a esistere. (Perissinotto, 2013: 267) [I rather believe that gesture arrived in some kind of ‘fullness of time,’ in the moment when it was right that Guido, at the peak of his humiliation, would die to leave his place to Ernesto; an Ernesto finally able to satisfy his parents, but who, in the end, did not claim any ‘proletarian justice’, but simply his freedom, his right to exist.]
Analyzing characterization in the narrative production of Perissinotto indicates how his construction of problematic identities reflects a difficult interpretation of contemporary Italy itself. All the characters examined here experience inner crises that correspond to historical events and vexing social issues. Throughout the novels discussed, the problematic identification of a character has been used to address mental illness, substance abuse, new immigration, fascism, terrorism, and notions of truth and justice. The violent ending of every novel reflects the impossibility of a peaceful solution to the crisis of the character, whose only escape is the physical elimination of the antagonist. In the transition from narrative to real life, these violent solutions warn about the difficulty of dealing with the socio-historical implications that emerge from this analysis. As long as the nation is unable to discuss its past and face new challenges in a constructive way, the risk of a clash between its opposing identities will remain.
Footnotes
Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or not-for-profit sectors.