By Curzio Malaparte
This is often the 1st unexpurgated English variation of Curzio Malaparte’s mythical paintings The Skin. The ebook starts in 1943, with Allied forces cementing their grip at the devastated urban of Naples. The someday Fascist and ever-resourceful Curzio Malaparte is operating with the americans as a liaison officer. He takes care of Colonel Jack Hamilton, “a Christian gentleman . . . an American within the noblest feel of the word,” who speaks French and cites the classics and holds his nostril because the males travel the squalid streets of a urban in ruins the place liberation is barely one other notice for desperation. Veterans of the disbanded Italian military beg for paintings. an extraordinary specimen from the city’s recognized aquarium is served up at a banquet for top Allied officials. Prostitution is rampant. The odor of demise is everywhere.
Subtle, cynical, evasive, manipulative, unnerving, consistently wonderful, Malaparte is a perfect artist of the unreliable, either the product and the prophet of a global long past rotten to the middle.
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Extra resources for The Skin (European Classics)
Those 'Italian brides' would score a tremendous hit in America. " "To hell with you," Jimmy would say, spitting on the ground. "II va te caresser la figure, si tu insistes," Jack would say. "Yes, I know. Jimmy is a nice guy," I would say, laughing to myself. It made me feel sick at heart to laugh in that way. But I should have been happy, truly happy, if all the American soldiers had one day gone back to America arm in arm with all the little dwarf women of Naples, Italy and Europe. * * * * The "plague" had broken out in Naples on October 1st, 1943?
An American negro was a goldmine. The owner of a negro slave possessed a sure income and a source of easy gain. He had solved the problem of making a living, and often grew rich. s, who understood nothing about the affairs of Europe, nourished an inexplicable aversion to the traffic in negroes. s the negro-trade was held in high honour in Naples. There was not a family, however, poor, which did not possess its negro slave. A negro's master treated his slave as an honoured guest. one of those vast beds which occupy a large part of every Neapolitan basso.
The flabby skin hung from the tips of their fingers like a glove that is too big. Colonel Palese began to speak, "Here is your new commanding officer," he said, and while he spoke I looked at those Italian soldiers with their uniforms that had been taken from British corpses, their bloodless hands, their pale lips and white eyes. Here and there on their chests, stomachs and legs were black spots of blood. Suddenly I realized to my horror that these soldiers were dead. They gave out a faint odour of musty cloth, rotten leather, and flesh that had been dried up by the sun.