– a man – couldn’t go on reading as he started to feel bad about being a man. had sleepless night after sleepless night to finish them, and walked to work the next morning her head still full of Naples B. had a week of violent dreams after she finished the first volume A. read under sodium-orange streetlight while smoking a cigarette outside a pub, unable to break off to go in to the friends waiting inside E. And we couldn’t stop talking about the experience of reading them: S. felt that, impossibly, embarrassingly even, the books captured how she’d gone about finding an intellectual identity for herself. said she had got back in touch with an estranged friend to give her the first volume in the series K. We returned to life too quickly as we spoke: who was your Lila, the childhood friend who effortlessly dazzled everyone? Or – a question not happily answered – were you Lila? S. A re Elena Ferrante’s four Neapolitan novels even books? I began to doubt it when I talked about them with other people – mostly women.
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