La didascalia nella quarta di copertina è “un libro che accompagna altri libri”. E probabilmente ho preso in mano questo libro troppo presto, in quanto i primi tre libri della Ferrante non li ho letti; ma mi rifarò. Il libro raccoglie i carteggi e le lettere tra l’autrice ed i suoi editori ed i registi che hanno portato al cinema i suoi libri, Martone e Faenza; le lettere con alcuni giornalisti italiani, tra cui Goffredo Fofi; e alcune interviste su importanti riviste nazionali e internazionali rilasciate sempre ed esclusivamente per e-mail. La prima evidenza è la straordinaria capacità di utilizzo della lingua italiana della Ferrante; scrivere bene è frutto di esercizio, di impegno, costanza, letture; scrivere così è un dono, la manifestazione di un talento. Nel libro tre sono gli elementi prevalenti: il ruolo delle donne nella letteratura, con un approccio interessante, ma che alla fine risente della cultura femminista che ancora non riusciamo a lasciarci alle spalle; Napoli, l’odio e l’amore per una madre terribile e generosa al tempo stesso, attraente nella sua repellenza, assorbente nelle sue asperità; il terzo tema, alla fine quello prevalente, è il rapporto tra l’autore e l’opera. La Ferrante ha scelto di non apparire e di lasciare che i suoi libri vivano di vita propria. Il mistero sul nome dell’autrice, sulla sua identità è, a mio avviso, argomento da salotti letterari e supermercati. Per chi legge il piacere è nelle pagine. ( )

No sé si al terminar de leer esta fantástica recopilación de material, después de acabar con cierta tristeza este viaje, me ha quedado claro lo qué es esa frantumaglia. Sin embargo, estoy segura de haberla sentido muchas veces. También estoy segura que, de un modo u otro, Elena Ferrante se ha convertido en una de mis mejores amigas, como en su momento lo han sido Lila y Lenù.

Crítica completa en: https://alibreria.com/2018/02/20/la-frantumaglia-de-elena-ferrante/ ( )

Frantumaglia verscheen aanvankelijk in 2003 en gaf vooral commentaar bij de eerste werken van Ferrante. In deze editie van 2016 zijn nog twee grote hoofdstukken toegevoegd, met commentaren op de latere werken, waarbij natuurlijk vooral de Napolitaanse romans. Bijna altijd zijn schriftelijke vragen van lezers, recensenten of collega-schrijvers de leidraad voor de antwoorden van Ferrante.
Al van bij het begin springen de vragen eruit over haar keuze om anoniem te blijven, en die vragen blijven voortdurend terugkeren, soms zelfs met een denigrerend-beschuldigende ondertoon. Ferrante reageert daar altijd beleefd op, al is haar onderliggende ergernis naar dat voortdurend peilen naar haar identiteit ook wel duidelijk. Dat is natuurlijk begrijpelijk, maar het maakt dat in dit boek toch behoorlijk wat herhaling steekt, (ook over andere thema’s trouwens), en dat is ook voor de lezer af en toe ergerlijk.
Maar daartegenover staat dat Ferrante in Frantumaglia toch wel geregeld een interessante inkijk geeft in de manier waarop ze haar boeken schrijft, vanuit welke achtergrond en inspiratie. En ze diept regelmatig ook bepaalde inhoudelijke aspecten van haar boeken uit. Op die manier is Frantumaglia een absolute aanrader, want het gebeurt maar zelden dat een auteur toelichting geeft bij eigen werk op een manier die veel dieper gaat dan het loze gekeuvel in de media.
Overigens valt doorheen de jaren (de eerste antwoorden dateren van 1991, de laatste van 2015) wel een opvallende evolutie te merken in de antwoorden van Ferrante: in het begin is ze redelijk aarzelend en ontwijkend, en doet ze geregeld ook minnetjes over haar eigen talent, maar geleidelijk aan zie je haar zelfzekerheid toenemen, en begint ze echt toe te lichten waar het haar om te doen is. Op het einde vallen vooral haar ferme feministische statements op (niet verwonderlijk natuurlijk voor wie haar werk kent). Haar toon deed me heel hard denken aan Marguerite Yourcenar, in het interviewboek “Les yeux ouverts”, ook zo’n schrijfster die haar teksten voortdurend herwerkte en doordacht en die ook behoorlijk wat over de vrouwelijke conditie heeft geschreven. Als dat geen referentie is! ( )

FRANTUMAGLIA is a collection of letters, interviews, and other correspondence between the author Elena Ferrante, her editors, and fans/journalists/artists. It was at the suggestion of her editors in fact, Sandro Ferri and Sandra Ozzola Ferri, that this book even came to fruition. It chronicles the time from when her first book, TROUBLING LOVE was published in Italy (1992), through the publication of the final installment in the Neapolitan Quartet, THE STORY OF THE LOST CHILD in America in 2015. All of the writings were originally in Italian, but have been translated into English here.

For fans of Ferrante's work, this book gives insights into the themes she has explored, as well as some recommendations of authors whom she finds inspiring and formative. For readers who are new to Ferrante, this correspondence demonstrates the thoughtful and precise way she utilizes language. Her writing style isn't particularly poetic or fluid, but is incredibly well-crafted. She puts so much thought and care into every phrase, and that is part of why I find it so addicting to read.

Because this book includes transcripts of decades’-worth of interviews, there are some recurring questions. The most frequent one regards the author's identity. It is widely known that Elena Ferrante is a pen name, and the user of that nom de plume has taken great pains to ensure that her true identity is concealed. She does not take part in any in-person or audio interviews, and requires all correspondence to be funneled through her editors. Because of this, the media (especially the Italian literary media) have made it their mission to "uncover" the true identity of Elena Ferrante. As recently as October, 2016 (long after FRANTUMAGLIA was published) an Italian article was published that purports to have uncovered Elena Ferrante's true identity, going so far as to obtain (through what means..?) financial documents that show unusually large transactions between a publisher, an author, and a translator - to give weight to the claim. In what universe do people care so much about the identity of an author that they would go to such extremes? To what extent is an artist allowed privacy and the choice of a non-public life?

This cult of discovery is troubling on many levels. First, once one releases a work of art into the world, is that person then obligated to have any further involvement in the work? There seems to exist, in some perspectives, an umbilical connection between a work and its creator, that the personality branding of the person who wrote the book must carry some weight on the book itself. I also wonder how much attention there would be if the pen name of the author was masculine - Emilio Ferrante, let’s say. There runs an undercurrant of sexism here – suggesting that this writer must be revealed because it is so difficult to believe a woman capable of creating such a vivid and expansive world. In a culture where fame is seen as the pinnacle of a career, for someone to eschew such recognition may be difficult to understand.

Over and over again, interviewers make comparisons between her and famous Italian authors, and ask if she and those other authors are the same person. She never answers these questions, nor gives any particular details that might clarify any part of her identity. In fact, she, at one point, tells her editors that she may follow writer Italo Calvino's lead and freely answer questions…but not with the truth. That is part of what is so interesting about FRANTUMAGLIA - you can try to read the personal into her answers, but ultimately what matters is the creative process and its products. Wondering whether characters, descriptions, or plots in any of her stories are autobiographical is a waste of energy. She believes wholeheartedly that the author's job comes to an end once the writing is complete. It shouldn't matter who the author is, as long as the story explores some greater truth. ( )

I've read the whole Neapolitan quartet and a few other of her books, but this was truly boring. I could summarize all the countless letters and interviews in one sentence: Why Ferrante wants her identity to remain private; or Why the true identity of the author has no relevance for her fictional work. ( )