Italy Writes and 'Fairy time'.

IT WAS THE EVENING after the summer solstice, yet Rome was already pervaded by a strong Mediterranean heat, the bars and restaurants on the Lungotevere, the Tiber waterfront, animated by the chatter of citizens and tourists. The water of the historic river, which during the day appeared khaki-coloured, 'blonde', as the locals euphemistically say, now flowed darkly under the fifteenth-century bridge of Ponte Sisto. Some reflections of light spread on the waves from the Tiber Island.

I had recently turned seventeen, and it was my first time in my country's capital. We were staying in a small bed and breakfast not far from the Colosseum: I remember my disappointment at seeing that there was almost nothing left of the imposing Circus Maximus, just a large green lawn, and one really had to make an effort of imagination to understand what was there in ancient Rome. I was in awe climbing the marble stairs of the Vittoriano, the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II, first king of unified Italy, commonly known as Altare della Patria (Altar of the Fatherland), a majestic neoclassical building, but also by the bas-reliefs of the nearby Trajan Column, celebrating victory in the military campaign of Dacia, which I had only seen on television before. The Papal Basilica of St. Mary Major struck me with its extraordinary gilded ceiling, opening my eyes to a world of ecclesiastical artistry that went far beyond the confines of the Vatican.

The opportunity to organise, somewhat at the last minute, a trip to Rome had come to us unexpectedly: a few months earlier, through my high school, I had participated in an English writing competition, without any particular expectations. When my English teacher had delivered the news that a student from my school had been selected among the finalists and would be invited to participate in the final awards ceremony in Rome, I was very surprised to learn that it was me. For that occasion, as I was still a minor, both my mother and father chose to accompany me together, which was quite unusual and is among the reasons why I have a peculiar memory of that experience.

Italy Writes was an English-writing competition for Italian high school students organised by the John Cabot University of Rome.

Named after the Italian explorer Giovanni Caboto, the John Cabot University is a private, American university established in 1972 in the heart of Rome. As we entered, I remember being led to a beautiful Roman terrace, just above the famous Trastevere district, one of the most renowned for nightlife in the Italian capital. Aromatic plants from the Mediterranean maquis and citrus trees adorned and perfumed the setting, while the evening was crowded with young faces, with students from JCU's Institute for Creative Writing and Literary Translation, as well as professors, parents and other guests. Between introductions and musical interludes, we were asked to read extracts from our writings to the audience. I was participating in the non-fiction section, and my essay was called 'Fairy time', a reference to Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

My trembling fingers as I was holding that paper in my hands are unforgettable, as are my stooped gaze, my voice broken with emotion, the difficulty of reading and pronouncing English well, for the first time in my life in front of an almost entirely native English-speaking audience. At the time, I had already had some experience in theatre acting with my high school group, so I expected to be better prepared for public speaking: I was wrong. I was not yet linguistically confident enough, and my every unconscious movement betrayed a shyness that had not yet been overcome, especially when addressing people older than me, adults or, even worse, university students. High school had tested me a lot, I was only a mediocre student in Latin and Ancient Greek, the two main subjects of the Italian 'liceo classico'. The summer holidays had just begun.

Immortality. Human beings of all time have always been looking for it, in every place of the globe. From China to Egypt, emperors and pharaohs have built immense palaces and colossal statues precisely with the intention to reach it.

This was the incipit of my essay, which aimed to address the topic of the pursuit of glory and success throughout one's life as a means to achieve immortality. While mainly exploring the vision proper to Ancient Greece, which I knew better than other ancient contexts due to my high school studies, the idea was to build a bridge, a parallelism with contemporary times. I had often heard about the perennial worth of classical Greek and Latin writings, which through the centuries and history, could still speak to us with their values, their morals, their load of wisdom. I argued that just as Greek society was guided by its own positive role models to follow (e.g. Achilles, the hero par excellence) and anyone who did not measure up was shamed and ostracised, so too our society suffers a similar system. Our new models, however, are dictated by Hollywood films, fashion, pop art and commercial music. I would have probably used the term 'influencers' today, which was still somewhat ante litteram at the time.

I guess that, like many teenagers in high school, I felt the theme of adapting to the masses, to the mainstream, to fashions, and of feeling judged and rejected if such adaptation failed, was close to my personal experience and dear to me.

So we have to go back where we started, with the word “immortality”, and now we can ask ourselves why it is so important to reach. Only because it is intrinsic in us being scared by the unknown? Only because we don’t know what there is after death, and it seems that before birth there was nothing?

Questions arise in the writing almost as a stream of consciousness. The essay then takes a quick turn considering the core issue as one of justice, almost social justice: only very few people have the chance, for better or worse, to achieve glory and success in life. If only they were granted immortality, almost as the ultimate goal of existence, then there would be no form of justice. And, I quote from my text, 'even Plato makes Socrates say that we don't know anything about post mortem, but it's good to hope in justice'. I therefore proceeded to question the value of glory in the human sense, fame and riches for the present and posterity, when every present and every posterity will only ever be made by other humans, equally mortal and transient.

What we are looking for is an immortality of soul, is a total happiness and welfare with ourselves, we want to be touched by a light wind that makes us feel harmonious part of the universe.

If the quest for eternity cannot be satisfied by human, earthly, mortal endeavours then glory and success fall like the illusion they are. A screen to keep us from thinking about the emptiness beyond and within us. Hence the hopeful conclusion that love can be the democratic solution to the dilemma: because every human being is given the chance to love and to be loved, and in their unique and personal micro-story enclose the scope of the collective story. Love as a meaningful, tangible form of magic in life: in Shakespeare's words, “Lovers, to bed; ‘tis almost fairy time”.

At the end of my difficult and awkward reading, I was called back for another surprise: my essay had been chosen by the jury, composed of members of John Cabot University and the University of Iowa's International Writing Program, as the winner of the non-fiction category.

I was trembling with emotion when I was called upon to receive the award from the great Joyce Carol Oates, one of the most substantial and pre-eminent voices of American and world literature. Years later, I would keep regretting how I met her too soon for my young age, when my knowledge, even of her impressive work, was too limited to ask her all the questions and have the conversation with her that I would have liked to have. Nevertheless, I retain the encouraging memory of what she, with her presence and her intervention, had represented for that younger version of me: among the olive branches and ancient statues, there was the possibility of leading a creative life, of letting myself be carried away by my own mind and thoughts, exploring them rather than refraining because of adoscelent fears. To continue writing. To try.

You can find out about this event also on the JCU's official website: https://news.johncabot.edu/2012/06/italy-writes-2012-winners/