Back then, a departure meant a beginning. More than departing, now it seemed to mean distancing, ‘moving off’. To be dead is to be absent/ To die is to set out towards absence
In Farthest Seas by Lalla Romano is not fiction, and is in fact a memoir with interwoven elegy. Knowing this made the prose make sense. As I began to read I questioned its validity as a piece of fiction, which is how it is being advertised at the current time of writing this review. I can’t even say it is like creative non-fiction. Immediately, this reads as if I’m sitting with an elderly lady who is monologuing for several hours, free-associating, transported to the past, reliving it in the present as if you, the reader, are an old friend, someone who knew all the people in her life. Though clever, it, at times, became an influx of new people who we don’t know, but she assumes we do. This was not an easy memoir to read, and having looked up Lalla Romano after I finished, it made more sense.
But in his long, slow, arduous end he was already situated ‘further out there’, in the rarified, almost unbreathable air of great silences, the one I call of ‘farthest seas’.
In Farthest Seas was published in 1987 titled, Nei mari estremi, with this translated edition (translated by Brian Robert Moore) being released August 26, 2025. This is an ARC (advanced reader copy) review, with thanks to Pushkin Press Classics and Netgalley. The book utilises Romano’s love for culture and feels like performance art in the form of words. It explores the first four years and the last four months of her relationship with her husband, Innocenzo Monti. As this is a translated edition, my review is based on that.
…(so I called to myself his nearing the end). It was like a growing of non-presence. A dwindling of his being there. (‘Being there is all we have,’ I wrote once.)
Romano is our narrator. Her husband is significant and perhaps, the most important person throughout. as the narrative is largely following his life’s decline to death, whilst depicting Romano’s strategy for coping. It is very clear there is a unique love between Romano and Monti, however Romano does not come across as likeable at all. In fact, at times, she was infuriating, both as a wife and a narrator. As a narrator she would constantly refer to culture, the arts. It was hard to determine if she expected every reader to understand the references, or whether it was a way of peacocking – showing off her own cultural knowledge. There was no element of redemption. She would often refer to her own ‘selfishness’ and she could not have depicted it in any other way. ‘I have no trouble admitting that this is part of my own selfishness…’ This is a repeated theme throughout. This unlikeable persona that oozes from the pages is cemented in her afterword, as she dismisses her beta-readers opinions:
Some readers – this was passed on to me, and one even wrote to me – were appalled by certain passages and by my choice of language. After slight astonishment, I dismissed the fact as irrelevant. Actually, it confirmed the necessity of those passages and that language.
I cannot say I know which passages she refers to, however, her dismissal of readers feedback aligned with the arrogance and selfishness of the author throughout the narrative. Furthermore, the inclusion of so many characters made it near impossible to follow, and the introduction to these characters were as if you already knew them, and therefore, sometimes you wouldn’t know whether you had previously met them before or not. It makes you question yourself as a reader – what did I miss?
There is no real atmospheric setting as everything is revealed in the passive voice. You are told, not shown and it’s broken, free-association. Her written style suits her as an author and artist – feeling somewhat experimental at times. It takes time to tune into the passive, disjointed passages, but her depictions were of interest and kept me turning the page. I’m not sure if it was genuine interest, as in ‘what happens next’, or whether it was through sheer stubbornness, the need to know if there would be any redemption to her character. The elegies were just as disjointed as the rest of the prose, with the authors assumption that most of the readers would understand the reference. In translation, over 30 years later, this is not the case, though this is to no fault of the Romano.
The structure was interesting with the first part about the first four years of their relationship together (written after the second part), taking up such a small part, and the second section, about the last four months, certainly being more interesting. Though, I’d argue that during the first part of the four months section, there were still sections referring to their past. That the true last four months began nearly half-way through.
I can’t say I enjoyed this memoir. It was interesting, and the concept had potential, but I didn’t like the passive monologue, free-association, interweaving many characters/people which for me, muddied the clarity in which we, as readers, translate the story. The exploration of death and the path to, the challenges and the seeking of strength and reassurance, are what kept me turning the pages. This is definitely a memoir that you need to sit with and contemplate, probably weeks after the initial read, to really determine one’s true feelings.
