When I read “The Neapolitan Novels” last year, I resonated with the protagonist’s mention of her sister in law, who taught at a university and had a certain view on feminism. She believed it was a trend to go along with, a concept that intellectuals were expected to have.
People who have read many books often tend to force the ideas they read onto themselves, and I have encountered such individuals in real life as well, which always made me feel awkward…
This is also my counter-ideology. We really don’t need to figure out what the left or the right are up to. No cultural classification can fully represent our unique thoughts. That’s why I have always been reluctant to label myself as a feminist or to oppose any particular ideology.
What excites me now is that my idol (just an adjective, no idol worship here) shares this viewpoint and resonates with me so well. Lola told me before that after reading “The Lying Life of Adults,” it felt like a story I could have written, and after reading it, I somewhat felt the same way. Perhaps this isn’t something to be proud of, but why is it that my thoughts align so closely with a woman from Naples born in the 1940s?
In “Fragments,” there is a letter that appears to be from a publishing house requesting Elena Ferrante to write a political allegorical novel about “current Italian affairs.” However, she rejects the request, believing that it would not serve any purpose. She mentions that “a writer, of course, takes certain risks, but there is no risk to life or imprisonment,” assuming that freedom of speech and freedom of the press are protected.
I have been contemplating these matters for a long time. Writers, as outsiders, are prone to shooting off their mouths and easily succumb to the greed of seizing on issues, even giving the impression of relishing in others’ misfortunes (to exploit and gain popularity).
It’s akin to those pundits that appear on political talk shows; I have hardly heard them say anything constructive. Elena Ferrante’s argument is that “you simply nudge the readers who already know what you’re getting at,” implying that readers also choose what they already believe before accepting information. The risks taken by writers are minimal, to the point that they are even exempt from the risk of being disliked.
Ultimately, Elena Ferrante is a more sincere writer. That’s the conclusion I reached after reading her recent works. She refuses to write an article that she cannot face with honesty, declines interviews when she realizes her own vanity in responding to journalists’ questions, and even writes lengthy explanations to clarify misunderstandings (which may not be cool, but it shows her genuine concern). …For these reasons, I feel that this author, who is unwilling to reveal their true identity, is the real deal. It’s somewhat ironic when you think about it.
The director wrote a letter inviting her to the film premiere in Rome, based on her novel. She replied, “You know very well that this request puts me in a difficult position.” A journalist wrote to request an interview, and she asked, “What made you decide to interview me a year after reading the novel, only when it has been adapted into a film? Do you believe in ranking art? Is a well-written work by an unknown author not worthy of coverage?”
Interestingly, the journalist responded, “You’re right, there is indeed such a problem in my industry, but another reason is that I worked for a foreign news agency last year and did not write an arts column for ‘La Repubblica’.” I could tell that after reading the questions sent by the media, Ferrante felt compelled to respond. I suspect she is a very sincere person who cannot ignore a “question.” She is not a cold-hearted person; she doesn’t want others to misunderstand her thoughts, so she often says, “I hope you don’t misunderstand,” after lengthy explanations.
Elena Ferrante’s response to the media is very genuine, and it happens to align with my own thoughts. She says, “I ask for your forgiveness because my answers may be very confused and sometimes contradictory.” I dislike it when someone says to me, “But you didn’t think that way before!” Can’t a person’s thinking change with different circumstances or as they grow older? So, as she says, “I don’t have the courage to express my position in public. In the process of growing up, what I have seen, heard, read, or recorded has shaped who I am today.”—I have actually written this passage in an article before, and reading it now feels like I plagiarized Ferrante!
