Her Side of the Story by Alba de Céspedes (tr. Jill Foulston)

Last year, the Italian-Cuban writer Alba de Céspedes secured a spot in my books-of-year with Forbidden Notebook – a candid, exquisitely written novel in which a middle-aged woman in post-war Rome finds a release from marriage and motherhood by keeping a secret journal. This year, she looks set to repeat this feat with her immersive, richly-textured 1949 novel Her Side of the Story – at once a blistering portrayal of the constraints, frustrations and realities of life for women trapped in a patriarchal society and a vivid coming-of-age story giving voice to the female experience in 1940s Italy.

The granddaughter of the first president of Cuba, de Céspedes was born and raised in Rome, and her first marriage, at the age of fifteen, ended in divorce after just five years. While working as a journalist in the 1930s, she was politically active, lending her support to anti-fascist activities for which she was imprisoned twice. I mention these things because they are relevant to Her Side of the Story, which follows its central protagonist, Alessandra, from her adolescence in Rome to early adulthood, taking in the rise of fascism in Italy, the impact of WW2 and anti-fascist activities. These acts of resistance are spearheaded by Alessandra’s great love, Francesco, a university lecturer and prominent member of the anti-fascist movement. It’s a fascinating story, echoing Natalia Ginzburg’s marvellous novel All Our Yesterdays in style and themes.

Her Side comes with an interesting framing device, but this only becomes fully apparent as the narrative draws to a close. Nevertheless, it’s clear from the outset that Alessandra – who narrates the novel – is reflecting on her life thus far, charting her journey to date. As the narrative unfolds, we see how Alessandra’s early years are marked by the death of her older brother, Alessandro, who drowned at the age of three, robbing their parents of a much-feted child. While Alessandra can never live up to the unfulfilled promise of her dead brother, she must also contend with an unsettling darkness within her, almost as if Alessandro’s spirit is driving her blackest thoughts.

De Céspedes excels at portraying the crushing realities of life for Italian women in the late 1930s/early ‘40s, offering us a coruscating critique of this oppressive, patriarchal society.

They [the women] would wait, preparing their trousseau, and trusting in the hope of love and happiness. Instead, they found life draining–-the kitchen, the house, the swelling and flattening of their bodies as they brought children into the world. Gradually, beneath an appearance of resignation, the women began to feel angry and resentful about the trap they’d been lured into. (p. 22)

The suffering that life inflicts on the female body is a prominent theme here, touching on the shock of adolescence, the repeated violations of sex, the ruptures from childbirth and the indignities of old age.

While Alessandra’s father – a simple man from country peasant stock – is spiteful, crude and controlling, her mother, Eleanora, is more emotionally attuned to the world around her. In short, she is a compassionate, graceful woman with an artistic flair, and naturally Alessandra adores her.

Having sidelined any ambitions of playing the piano professionally, Elenora is now reduced to tutoring children alongside her designated roles as wife and mother. Nevertheless, like many women in her apartment block, she finds herself drawn to another man – an artistic soulmate by the name of Hervey, whom she meets while teaching piano to a wealthy family in the city. While other Roman women willingly take lovers as a release from domestic oppression, Eleanora is more romantic, falling for Hervey and the values he embodies.  

We finally understood the reason for the silence that fell over the deserted courtyard every afternoon. Released from their thankless tasks and making a brave stand against the dull life they had to live, the women fled the dark rooms, the gray kitchens, the courtyard that, as darkness fell, awaited the inevitable death of another day of pointless youth. The old women, bent over their sewing, stayed behind like pillars, guarding those neat, silent houses. They didn’t betray the young women: rather, they helped them, as if they were members of the same congregation. They were bound by a silent and long-standing scorn for men’s lives, for their cruel and selfish ways, in a repressed bitterness that was handed down from one generation to the next. (p. 21)

This initial section of the novel ends in tragedy – a tragedy for which Alessandra feels partly responsible. Sadly, her father supports this view, making their home life untenable. Consequently, Alessandra is packed off to her father’s sizeable family in rural Abruzzo, where she finds solace and beauty in the natural world while fighting fiercely to continue her studies. Alessandra’s powerful grandmother, Nonna, initially opposes her granddaughter’s aspirations, envisaging a life of marriage, motherhood and domesticity instead. However, after some lobbying from Alessandra’s uncle, Nonna ultimately relents, demonstrating an understanding of her granddaughter’s determination, even if she doesn’t agree with its direction.

The rhythms of this simple, rural life are vividly evoked as the women immerse themselves in cooking, cleaning, childrearing and sewing while the men see to their farms. Land ownership is a sign of status here, but it’s not an ambition Alessandra recognises or aspires to. In short, she wishes to break the cycle of oppression, escaping the traditional expectations of marriage and motherhood, a life solely dedicated to the needs and whims of men. Rather, she sees her future as being entwined with her mother’s (and maternal grandmother’s) artistic pursuits. Having observed Eleanora’s love for Hervey, Alessandra believes passionately in the existence of romantic love, but it’s a myth or fallacy that ultimately dictates her fate…

When Alessandra rejects the prospect of marriage from a local farmer – a transgression compounded by her brutal strangling of a prized rooster – she is dispatched back to Rome to care for her father. This move coincides with the encroachment of war, heightening the sense of anxiety in this tense, febrile city.

The real danger of war, in fact, seemed to lie precisely in the fear and inertia that, like a dense fog, gradually and inexorably overtook us, robbing us of our faith in the future. (p. 235)

Even in the depths of Abruzzo, Mussolini – repeatedly referred to as ‘the arrogant voice on the radio’ – proves an ominous presence in people’s lives, infiltrating their world as the country prepares for war.

Back in Rome, Alessandra meets the great love of her life – the charismatic writer and academic Francesco Minelli, an active member of the anti-Fascist resistance – through a mutual friend. Francesco is everything Alessandra has been looking for, and she falls deeply in love with him, blissfully unaware of his political affiliations, initially at least. Marriage soon follows, but the honeymoon period is short-lived. With her romantic ideals and aspirations, Alessandra hopes Francesco will be as emotionally invested in their marriage as she is. But her husband’s focus lies elsewhere, dictated by the demands of his anti-fascist campaign, leaving little time for Alessandra’s dreams and desires. Even her perilous efforts to support the resistance – transporting bombs amidst the vegetables in her bicycle basket while Francesco is in jail – fail to win his praise.

At twenty-one and a year into her marriage, Alessandra is left feeling disillusioned and unappreciated. In truth, she wishes to free herself of her love for Francesco but is unable to achieve this. Meanwhile, Francesco is striving for freedom of another sort – ideological or political freedom from the heinous fascist regime.

…I would have to accept my marriage, the loneliness it brought with it, its decline, the end of the romantic plan through which we had invented ourselves. I had to have the courage to live behind the wall [of Francesco’s shoulders in bed at night], as Claudio lived behind barbed wire. But I didn’t have that sort of courage, just as Francesco didn’t have the courage to accept the annihilation of his own moral freedom. (p. 408)

This intimate portrayal of Alessandra’s inner life gives the novel its undeniable power. Every thought, incident or emotion is vividly conveyed, offering readers a rich insight into Alessandra’s feelings as she navigates the challenges life throws at her. The settings too are brilliantly evoked, from the urban poverty of wartime Rome to the wildness and natural beauty of the countryside in Abruzzo.  

The wide valley was embraced by a chain of hills and mountains, which were tinted pink or yellow depending on the position of the sun in the sky. And in the light of the sun they looked benevolent and welcoming. But other miserable hamlets emerged on the mountainside like mushrooms, or warts, cut off by creeks and valleys, their bell towers rising from the center like a howl (p. 169)

De Céspedes also finds time for a little humour, particularly in her wryly amusing descriptions of rural life. 

Nonna was alone in the dining room, apparently sleeping. Her eyes were closed, her hands on the armrests, and she was resting upright, like some majestic horse. (p. 152)

So, in summary then, another thoroughly immersive rediscovered gem of Italian literature from this powerful feminist voice. It’s also a fascinating insight into women’s lives in Italian society during the rise of fascism. One of the most compelling aspects of Her Side is just how candid it feels, especially for a novel first published in 1949. De Céspedes artfully illustrates how the cumulative impact of multiple humiliations and frustrations can suddenly erupt, driving the most sensitive of individuals to desperation – the passing down of trauma through the generations is also significant here. Interestingly, the novel contains a noticeable undercurrent of darkness throughout, which might explain why Elena Ferrante holds de Céspedes – and Her Side of the Story – in such high esteem. Fans of Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels will find much to enjoy here. This freshly translated version, beautifully produced by Pushkin Press, comes with a thoughtful afterword by Ferrante herself, shedding further light on the significance of certain scenes.

(My thanks to the publishers for kindly providing a review copy.)