On Lisbon: of hills and water and sadness

I meant to write this for a long time, but I kept putting it off, cause I’m lazy. It’s almost a year now, and I think it’s about time.

6 kids in an apartment

When I was an exchange student, I had the lucky experience of living with two and a half portuguese guys (one didn’t technically live with us, but ended up spending most of the time at our place) and two italian guys.

As you do, we often ended up talking of Rome and Lisbon.

“Ah, the seven hills city” they would say, referring to Lisbon. Cause, yeah, apparently Lisbon does have seven hills, exactly like Rome.

“dude, of course we know baccalà, it’s traditional” we would tell them.

“Oh man, I hate clubs where you have to stand in the line and then they don’t let you in cause you are not with some girls, or you don’t have the right clothes and shoes” we would both say, and “I’m so happy I don’t get stuck in traffic going to the University, traffic is crazy in my city“, and so on, and so forth.

I kinda had a mental image of a city which, while very different, felt familiar. Still, it took me almost 20 years to finally visit it.

Old cities and new cities

In my mind there is a clear distinction between (european) cities which hit their zenith before or after 1492, the year Columbus got to the Americas, Lorenzo de’ Medici died, and we decided the middle ages had come to an end.

Rome, Istanbul, Athens, Florence, Venice… these cities were great when the mediterranean was the important part of the world, and they seem to be share some undefinable traits. Perhaps ruins and old monuments. Maybe the narrow streets. Maybe just the layers of dust over past greatness.

On the other hand, there’s cities which became rich and powerful once european imperialism started to eat the world, and the cities were rebuilt and modernized with the fruits of that success. Vienna, Paris, London, Madrid. Wide roads, neoclassical buildings, equestrian monuments to kings with exotic plants.

(I am aware Paris was important in the middle ages, London is a roman town, a lot of stuff in Rome is from the baroque era etc.. but this does not change how I feel about things).

My theory is that countries that had a ton of money in the 1700 and 1800 had more chances to tear down old stuff and rebuild, while those that had been sunsetting just gave up.

Lisbon and Lisbon and Lisbon

So in Lisbon, I had the feeling of a new city.

Massive large roads, check. Large square with bronze dude on top of a marble monument, check. Bronze dude on top of a corinthian-style marble column, check. Neoclassical arch with allegories and notables, check.

Turns out Lisbon got a pretty big chance to rebuild in 1755, when the city got destroyed by an earthquake. They also rebuilt using state of the art anti-seismic designs.

But Lisbon is an interesting city, because part of it is lowlands, and part of it goes up on the hills. And you don’t get many large straight roads on hills.

The part of the city that had grown on the hills outside of the old town survived the earthquake, and while it’s been adapted over the centuries, it keeps its own character, which seems pretty different from the rest. Buildings a bit more run down. Streets a bit more rundown. Houses are smaller. A ton of stairs. Graffiti and street art. Cobblestones. Stairs. I liked this part a bit more perhaps.

But the other cool thing that Lisbon has, that sets it apart from most European capitals, is that it’s also a city married to the Sea (note: Istanbul and Athens. Or, well, at list flirting with it. So when you go down to the water, you find yet another kind of city. A city of low buildings, waterfront promenades, and monuments to sailors.

And it is odd to find out that water is not the Atlantic Ocean, but the Tejo river, the Ocean is just a bit further out. The river is weird. I remember arguing with my portuguese flatmates that it was impossible they built a seventeen kilometers long bridge on it. No river is 17km wide. You guys must have built it sideways instead of across.

Well, the Tejo is, when it goes to the estuary. It’s a weird river, and it has an inverted delta: it’s smaller at the point it goes into the ocean, and widens up as you go upstream. Lisbon grew up on both sides of the river, and so they had to put a bridge seventeen kilometers long to cross it. And then you follow the river, and you end up in the ocean, and go explore the world.

A kind of sadness

I was lucky to wait almost a year to write this, and coincidence blessed me with a new Asterix story (I love Asterix!): Asterix in Lusitania. It’s set in Portugal, and the authors made fun of the fact that they have a sad happy music, Fado.

Fado is a sentimental music, often focused on unhappy life, and resignation (the word “fado” is ethimologically linked to “fate” or “death”). But it’s not just sad music, I think. It’s kind of sad, but not sad.

Among the things you should do in Lisbon (eat fish, eat cakes, take the small tram up to hill, go to the museum of azulejos) you should include a Fado concert.

I had the chance to attend one, and it was pretty pleasant, even if my understanding of the lyrics was pretty limited. But there’s a ton of them on the internet, you can find them easily.

I can’t say if Lisboans are happy and sad like that. I don’t know the city enough, and my friends seemed more happy then sad, cause we were young and having a nice time, so I don’t have anecdata either.

But I thin a city that survived an earthquake and kept both old parts, rebuilt parts, and completely modern parts, is probably a bit happy and sad.

Closing words

I think I don’t have many words to say, I loved Lisbon and would love to go back. The city has its own issues with overtourism and is overrun with digital nomads, so maybe visit off-season as I did, and try to be nice to people.

But I mean, that is valid for every city everywhere.

I’ll leave you with words from a portuguese song which is not fado, but I feel represents the city quite well. Here’s a video. Coincidentally, I saw this dude perform, and then found his performance online even tho I didn’t know his name, and he’s just doing a cover. The transmedial world is a very small place.

Anyway, this is the refrain

Basil and moonlight
this is Lisbon
the Fado that sobs
this is Lisbon
the Tejo that murmurs
this is Lisbon
a narrow little street
an old little house
this is Lisbon!

Review: Il sergente nella neve di Mario Rigoni Stern

Conoscevo il titolo di questo libro da sempre. È uno di quei libri del dopoguerra che hanno formato la classe degli adulti quando io ero bambino.

Ho sempre evitato di leggerlo perché, fondamentalmente, ho avuto un’overdose di racconti di guerra, di olocausto, di fascismo etc.. quanto ero bambino. Col senno di poi, meglio averlo avuto, visto come va il mondo di questi tempi.

La scorsa estate avendo finito la scorta di audiolibri che ascolto quando vado a camminare la mattina, ho provato a cercare qualcosa su MLOL – Medialibrary Online, il servizio meraviglioso che permette di accedere a tantissime biblioteche italiane.

Nella mia ho trovato questo libro in versione audio, e ho deciso di dargli una chance. Sono contentissimo di averlo fatto.

Tanti racconti della seconda guerra mondiale sono stati fatti dalla parte dei partigiani, dei deportati, degli alleati, ed è ovvio il perché.

Questo invece è un racconto fatto da un membro dell’esercito italiano durante la catastrofica campagna di Russia, e della marcia di ritirata.

È un libro delicato, quasi rarefatto. C’è tanta umanità dentro, senza la mitizzazione della guerra, ma anche senza dipingerla come un continuo dramma. Perché alla fine, la guerra è fatta da persone, e le persone non sono mai una cosa sola, quantomeno non per troppo tempo.

Ci ho messo tanto a scrivere questa recensione, e il caso ha voluto che nel frattempo leggessi Tapum, che ha una citazione proprio di Rigoni Stern.

Pare che Emilio Lussu, autore di Un anno sull’altopiano, fosse rimasto deluso dalla totale amarezza del film Uomini Contro, basato sul suo libro, e gli avesse detto che lui lo sapeva, che “in guerra qualche volta abbiamo anche cantato..”.

Era un’altra guerra, ma poco cambia.

Certo, leggendo il libro viene da chiedersi quanto abbia omesso l’autore, che si trova sempre “dalla parte dei buoni” quando si incontra con le popolazioni locali, o quando ha a che fare con altri soldati.

Suona un po’ il solito mito degli italiani brava gente, ma è un mito confortante.

Voto 8: uno dei libri che ho apprezzato di più nel 2026.

‘Member GMail Goggles?

Once upon a time, GMail had a functionality called Gmail Goggleswhich was a tool to prevent you from sending emails while drunk§ .

If you sent a late night email, GMail would ask you to solve some math questions (64 * 34 or similar), which either stumped you because you were drunk, or gave you enough forced slow down to regret your decision to send the email§.

So yeah, I’d like that but for SSH. Not because I SSH under influence, but because “activate your brain when you do X” is a generally useful thing.

Still, thinking of this made me realize how far today’s Google is from the company that could introduce a functionality like that§.

I miss old Google.

Mini Review: Tapum di Leo Ortolani

Leo Ortolani è famoso per Rat-Man, il fumetto comico italiano. Io non son un lettore storico di Rat-Man, ma nel corso degli anni mi è capitato di leggere cose scritte da lui, e ho capito perché i suoi fan lo amano.

Leo fa ridere. Riesce spesso ad essere profondo e commovente anche tra le battute, ma direi che non è quella la cosa principale nei suoi fumetti che ho letto.

Questo libro ribalta la situazione: è un libro che parla della battaglia dell’Ortigara, uno degli episodi drammatici della prima guerra mondiale, e quindi è prima un libro commovente, e poi un libro comico.

Si è detto, scritto, filmato tutto sulle guerre, quindi è difficile essere originali, ma l’autore riesce a trovare un suo spazio e una sua dimensione espressiva. I personaggi hanno senso e hanno una loro identità. I dialoghi son sensati, e i disegni sono belli (a meno di non odiare la “maschera” delle facce di Ortolani, che è sempre quella di Rat-Man).

Ci sono un po’ di cose troppo didascaliche per il mio gusto, ma a me questo libro è piaciuto un sacco. Le note a fine libro rendono più chiara la genesi della storia, e quali fossero i riferimenti dell’autore, e li ho apprezzati molto.

Consigliatissimo.

Voto: 8/10, sarà che mi hanno sempre affascinato gli Alpini.

Copilot in vim when using multiple node versions

This is just a quick note to myself and to fellow people who may encounter this issue.

If you use a node version manager such as nvm/asdf/mise, you may have a situation where you need a given version to work with a project, but that version is too old to support Copilot.

This shows up as an error in Vim

Copilot: Node.js too old. Upgrade to 22.x or newerCode language: CSS (css)

Or, if you switch while Vim is already running, with copilot just silently not working anymore.

To solve this “nodejs too old” error, you can put this in your vimrc

let g:copilot_node_command='/opt/local/bin/node22' # or whatever absolute pathCode language: PHP (php)

I rely on the right macports version here but you can just as well use a mise binary

let g:copilot_node_command=/Users/riffraff/.local/share/mise/installs/node/22.22.0/bin/nodeCode language: JavaScript (javascript)

Now just restart vim and all should be good.

HTH, HAND.

Of tinnitus and gratefulness

A few years ago, AS Roma destroyed Barcelona in a thrilling 3-0 in Champions League quarter finals. Around that time, I started hearing a whistling sound in my ear. The two things are unrelated, but that’s why I remember the year.

I went to see my doctor about it, the day Roma was going to play the return leg against Liverpool, she asked me if I had any sort of stress, and I blamed work, cause I didn’t feel like blaming football.

Turned out, I had very high blood pressure, and I needed to make some lifestyle changes and get some pills. I did, and my blood pressure is under control now.

But the whistle didn’t go away, and after many tests, doctors, hacks etc.. I had to accept the fact I have tinnitus (acufene), and I am going to live with it for the rest of my life.

It felt horrible at first. You can’t turn it off, ever. I no longer know how silence sounds. It’s like being unable to close your eyes.

But I am lucky, mine is not too strong, and I can barely notice it if I’m in a room with other people talking, or watching TV, or driving.

Today I was asked about, as someone else started suffering from it, and they’re going crazy. I feel genuinely sorry for them.

But also, this was a good reminder: my problem is not too bad. It sucks, but it could have been so much worse.

I’m very lucky.

On Japan

Japan, my country

I wanted to visit Japan since I was a kid, I finally got the chance as a grown up, I planned my trip… for 2020. COVID19 happened.

I finally managed to travel in 2025, and it felt a bit like going home.

Places and architecture were familiar. Behaviours seemed natural. Signage made sense. Food I’d never tasted was clearly recognizable and appetizing.

It turned out, I had been living in Japan for a long time. Consuming inordinate amounts of foreign pop culture has an effect on you. And I’ve consumed a lot of Japanese content, for a long time.

An Italian childhood

I grew up in Italy in the ’80s, when Japan had become the strongest economy in the world, and Italy was becoming more economically liberal.

We saw Japan becoming dominant first hand through TV. So called “private” TV channels (in contrast to the public broadcasting of RAI) were booming§, and very often they used Japanese shows to fill their programming.

All the kids of my generation grew up watching anime such as Captain Tsubasa, Lupin The Third and many more. We also got some live action such as Godzilla, Megaloman, Ultraman etc.. I suppose TVs bought TOHO stock in bulk. I can’t forget the Megaloman fighting scenes, and his hair-on-fire-attack, which was translated in italian as something like “flame of megalopolis” (see here). There were even anime/tokusatsu hybrids such as the awesome Kyouryuu Daisensou Aizenborg.

Ironically, “cartoni animati” in Italy were mostly identified with western children animation, which does not really translate to Japanese anime 1:1. This meant we got ultra-violent stuff on afternoon programming such as Fist of the North Star. Parents complained, kids loved it.

We also got TV shows (Takeshi’s Castle and Za Gaman), with italian commentary. It was deeply funny.

So, it’s only natural that, when I finally got to the country of the rising sun, it felt familiar. The two-story houses, the trains, the school kids in their uniforms, the monks and mikos, the takoyaki vendors and the ramen bars. Just like I remembered it.

A tourist country

Truth is, Dear Reader, I didn’t have a chance to see the real country. I spent a couple weeks going around popular destinations, and I got exposed to what may effectively be the Disneyland version of Japan.

I am not one to decry the fact that tourists visit popular spots. There’s a reason they’re popular. I’ve lived near Rome all my life, I know how it goes.

people queuing up to take an insta-worthy picture
queuing up to take an insta-worthy picture.

So I don’t mind the touristified version of the sights. But I am aware that it does not reflect the reality of the country outside of those places.

What I found interesting, as a European, is that you get less of a feeling of overtourism due to the presence of many asian tourists. You’re walking around, and thinking “look at that cute couple dressed in kimonos” and it takes a while to realize those are Korean tourists who’re just taking pictures in cool foreign clothes.

It is my understanding that Japan is overrun with tourists, and locals are annoyed by them. I’m not sure there’s a “solution” to mass tourism. I can point out there’s at least one initiative to educate tourists and locals to interact in a positive way.

I’ve gone trough it, and I thought it was pretty obvious stuff. Then I was on a bus where a bunch of tourists (germans, americans, koreans) did not leave a seat to an old lady with a small kid, and it made me realize it wasn’t that obvious.

Try not to be a dick, at home or abroad.

Off the main path, just a little

To be fair, it’s not that difficult to move away from the main tourist crowds. You may have noticed this before, Wise Reader, but quick trips have a problem of prioritization. If you spend one day in Rome, you will go see the Colosseum and St Peter’s Basilica. If you spend three days you may see Saint Paul Outside the Walls. Only if you spend many days, you will have a chance to visit the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, even tho it’s one of the most interesting artifact of rationalist/fascist architecture, and a pretty unique sight.

This is the same in Japan, in my experience. Some people plan to spend 3 days in Tokyo, and that’s barely enough to get off the plane. If you spend a week, you’ll be visiting many places where there’s not that many tourists.

This also works if you get away from the crowd time-wise. I visited a couple temples at sunrise, when the monks do their morning rituals, and the streets are almost empty, and it was a pretty nice experience.

Variety

If you think about it, it’s pretty obvious that Japan is a very varied country.

one floor to 40 floors, in a single block.
One floor to 40 floors, in a single block.

In a short walk you can go from buddhist temples to pachinko parlors, from shopping malls to old micro shops ran by old ladies . Heck, I found a shrine in an underpass. Small houses, skyscrapers, and everything in-between.

Even the people appear to be… weird? I mean, not weird in the sense that they are not like Europeans, they seem to genuinely have a bunch of overlapping subcultures.

Maybe it comes from living in megalopolis like Tokyo? It’s hard to be a rockabilly dancer when everyone around you is a metal head or a b-boy. But if you know you can find your kind of people then you become free(-er?) to be whatever you want. The urbanization offsets the social pressure: on the Tokyo metro, nobody knows your mom.

And talking of moms: one of the things that really surprised me about Japan was the amount of kids going around. Given the messed up demographics of the country, one would expect to see few small kids. But there’s a ton of them! I believe this is mainly caused by kids going to school alone, which is cool.

I also saw something really odd a couple times, a bunch of babies and toddlers carried around in a small cart by women§. I suppose this is some kind of home-nursery delivery system for busy parents, which is kind of cool. Again, Japan is weird, and varied.

In the year 2000 since the 1980

This hodge-podgeity naturally extends to technology. Japan was insanely advanced in the ’80s, what with their fast trains and their computerized things. And they’re still there. What seems to be missing, is that the rest of the world has moved on, and Japan hardly did. This means you still have futuristic trains, and you can use a single contact card to get on public transport everywhere… but you need to pay with cash, cause the machines won’t take a payment card.

Many things in Japan seem to have reached some kind of weird local maximum, often based on the incredible dedication of the average worker. Why automate paying with a credit card, when people can queue up to top up their cards with cash? I suspect this is the reason things like shisa kanko are a thing.

Japan is a country of strong traditions and identity, and, no pun intended, it has in many ways an insular culture.

The country was practically isolated§ from the west for centuries, until the so-called Meiji restoration/revolution happened. The country was opened up and modernized practically by force.

Perhaps mass tourism will represent a new form of forced opening. The hope is that, as the culture survived the 150 years after the Meiji restoration, it will survive the next 150. It would be sad if we lost it.

Family & Future

My kids were, somehow, natural born weeaboo, even tho I seldom consume Japan content near them. The young ones claims that Japan is his favourite country, and the older one bought a “drawing kawaii characters” book last year. By sheer chance, they go to a school where they can learn Japanese as an optional class. This is the weirdest kind of epigenetics I have ever seen.

So my hope is to go back in a few years time, with them perhaps. They’ll be more in sync with modern Japanese culture than I can ever be, cause the future is a different country, much further away than a continent. It will be interesting to be there.

I have more things to say, but I also have things to say about a bunch of other things, and this is getting long enough. I’ll have another article on Japan later, perhaps. Hopefully, before my next trip.

Micro Review: Money for Nothing by Thomas Levenson

I listened to this last summer, but it took me a long time to write something so here it is: the book talks about the first great financial crisis, the South Sea bubble.

The actual full title is “Money for Nothing: The Scientists, Fraudsters, and Corrupt Politicians Who Reinvented Money, Panicked a Nation, and Made the World Rich” which is an appropriately verbose title to talk about the early 18th century.

The South Sea bubble is one of those things that often come up when talking of the issues of the financial system, together with tulip mania and John Law’s bankrupting of France, but I had never actually understood what happened there.

The book explains that, and it does it in a fairly enjoyable way, without being too preachy and showing how disastrous events came about following a lot of reasonable choices and only a modicum of dishonesty. It also explains how innovations from the era have become staples of our modern world (e.g. ideas on how to compute the value of financial investments).

Where the book fails, imo, is trying to connect the events with contemporary developments in science and mathematics. There are connection (Isaac Newton was Master of the Mint after all) but they seem kinda stretched.

Also, in the most important bits, I felt the explanation could have been better, I could not understand, at first, how the South Sea company could make any sense.

The South Sea company was funded as a way for the government to get rid of a bunch of previous debt obligations: the government allowed the creation of a company that could emit shares in exchange for obligations, and the government would grant the company the monopoly of the South Seas trade (notice the plural, and realize this meant slave trade).

The government would get simplified accounting as it now only owes money to the company (and at a lower rate), the company owners would make money, but why would an investor give their government-baked bonds to the company? Well, because they were forced to, but the book doesn’t really explain why they couldn’t be forced even without the company existing?

I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter, since people were eager to do the exchange as they had very little trust in the government, and because soon the share price was skyrocketing, and stonks only go up is not a modern invention.

Anyway, the book does a pretty good job of explaining the situation before, during, and after, and if you have a casual interest in finance or economics, I recommend this book.

Vote: 7+/10, recommended if you like finance, and seeing the world burn.

Guida Galattica per gli Autostoppisti: And Another Thing

NOTA: questo è un post scritto originalmente il 18 luglio 2010, sul mio primo blog che si chiamava “PDI^” e girava su Blogsome, una piattaforma che non esiste più.

È da un bel po’ di tempo che non scrivevo, e dubito di ritornare a farlo con frequenza a breve termine, ma il bello di avere un blog è che puoi scriverci comunque quando vuoi dire qualcosa.

E ho qualcosa da dire.

Ho appena finito di leggere And Another Thing che altro non è che il sesto libro della trilogia della guida galattica.

Solo che nel frattempo Douglas Adams è passato nella prossima vita, per cui il libro non è stato scritto da lui ma da Eoin Colfer, non m’è ben chiaro il perché.

Ora, io ho letto un certo numero di n-logie, in cui gli ultimi capitoli sono stati scritti da altri che l’autore originale, per capitalizzare brutalmente sui fan. Alcuni casi, come la pubblicazione di tutta la roba post-tolkieniana sono tollerabili.
Altri, come la conclusione di Dune, un po’ meno.

Per cui, quando ho scoperto che esisteva un seguito della guida galattica (che finisce con, beh, finisce che non può esserci un seguito) sono partito da un discreto livello di scetticismo.

Eppure, il libro è molto più piacevolo di quel che mi aspettassi.

Genesi di questo blog
Caro Lettore, prima di andare avanti dobbiamo chiarire una cosa: mai notato il titolo di questo blog?
PDI^2 sta per “Propulsione D’Improbabilità Infinita”.
Io non sono bravo a ricordare le cose, e non potrò mai essere un vero fan che recita a memoria i personaggi dei libri o film che ama. Però li amo lo stesso.

La guida galattica per l’autostoppista è non solo uno dei miei libri preferiti.
Nella mia lista di libri senza cui non sarei la persona che sono, è praticamente l’unico che non avrei potuto sostituire con nient’altro.
La Guida è in un sacco di modi il modo in cui avrei voluto vivere.

Quella gioia che c’è in ogni paragrafo, quel fatto che le cose vanno a puttane ogni due minuti però si va avanti comunque che sul pianeta accanto c’è qualcosa di figo e tutti da $DEITY in giù hanno cose di cui pentirsi che però vabè, capita e andiamo avanti.

I Vogon che vengono schifati dall’evoluzione, cercare qualcosa da bere mentre l’universo finisce, i topi che citano bob dylan, il pangalactic gurgle blaster, il robot depresso e le porte che godono ad essere aperte. Non c’è una singola cosa nei 5 libri che non abbia amato (tranne la bistromatic, che era un po’ fiacca).

Il che, ovviamente, ha causato la sua buona parte di problemi per una quindicina d’anni quando la mia risposta di default a ogni domanda è stata “quarantadue”.

Insomma, “And Another Thing” dovevo leggerlo anche a costo di lanciarlo contro la parete dalla rabbia.

E invece, non è stato così.

Scusate per il disturbo

Ritrovare Arthur, Ford, Zaphod e Trillian è stato come rivedere amici che hai perso di vista ma con cui hai fatto un sacco di cose da ragazzino. Certo, non è la stessa cosa ma fondamentalmente rimane un filo che vi unisce.

Ed Eoin Colfer, che io conoscevo solo per i libri per ragazzi della serie di Artemis Fowl (non capolavori, ma godibili) s’è guadagnato rispetto. Secondo me, nel libro si vede che è stato scritto da un altro appassionato. Certo, ci sono un po’ di ammodernamenti di contesto che stonano forse un po’, ma son pure passati trent’anni, e adesso ci troviamo con una versione quasi concreta della guida galattica, anche se gli manca il “don’t panic” e un bel po’ di ironia.

Colfer non è Adams, e la genialità di alcuni pezzi della Guida manca (vaso di petunie anyone?) ma non è un misero pastiche, né una fanfic infima.
Quando l’autore va a ripescare Thor, personaggio che poteva essere completamente dimenticato nel tourbillon di apparizioni dei cinque libri non sembra essere mancanza di idee, ma genuino lavoro nel ricollegare pezzi apparentemente scollegati, cosa che rendeva la guida così deliziosamente “comprensiva”.

Ed il titolo stesso è una perla, essendo una citazione da “So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish”

The storm had now definitely abated, and what thunder there was now grumbled over more distant hills, like a man saying “And another thing…” twenty minutes after admitting he’s lost the argument.

Se c’è una differenza, ma può darsi me la sia inventata io condizionato come sono da informazioni extra-libro, è che la guida era, chiaramente, british. Questo è, decisamente, irish.
Colfer è irlandese, e così è uno dei personaggi nuovi nel libro.
C’è un pianeta, e un continente, che si chiamano Cong, e Innisfree.
E mentre la guida aveva quell’aria di aplomb inglese (di un secolo fa?) di Arthur che cerca il tè in accappatoio su un’astronave, “And Another Thing” ha l’allegra barbarie degli irlandesi (moderni?) che usano parole straniere senza ragione sbagliandone lo spelling.

Il libro è spiritoso, ritmato e ben scritto. Ci sono una mezza dozzina di deus ex machina, solo che se in qualsiasi altro libro uno si sarebbe avvelenato il sangue, nella guida sono, boh, quasi necessari.

C’è anche quel pizzico di coraggio di mettere dentro personaggi/cose/eventi che nell’originale non c’erano e che non stonano, ma senza esagerare.
Inizia che non ti convince, poi pian piano ti prende e poi finisce con un finale che, si è sensato, ma forse si poteva fare di più.

Insomma, non è male, se vi capita, provate a leggerlo, senno chiedetemelo e se posso ve lo presto 🙂

Micro Review: This Immortal by Roger Zelazny

Another classic by Roger Zelazny, and another one I had in my reading list for years.

The book follows Conrad Nomikos, the titular immortal, as he wanders a future Earth which has become a shadow of her former self, with a tiny population and overrun with mutated and alien lifeforms.

Well, I say wander, but actually Conrad is accompanying some aliens tourists on a visit to Earth’s historic sight.

The book is brilliant for coming up with a novel approach to the post-apocaliptic distopia: failed Earth as a tourist destination§, and I loved the protagonist, who is at least a hundred years, but often speaks as if he’s been around for millennia. Conrad is witty, clever, and nasty in the right amount, e.g. he’s having the pyramids of Egypt torn down to basically spite the tourists.

But the story itself is kinda episodic, and while it has a satisfying ending, I didn’t feel the sense of “progression” that I enjoy in books. Also, some things just didn’t make much sense to me, perhaps I didn’t pay enough attention.

Still, the book was a joint winner (with Frank Herbert’s Dune) of the 1966 Hugo Award for Best Novel, so I think you should give it more than a chance.

Vote: 7-/10, I wish there were more stories of Conrad Nomikos