The novel black, gothic, horror and crime to be a bit 'of time have opened the roads leading to the women's fiction: from Salvatori, certainly the best pen, the Fassio, the Comastri-Montanari, Teodorani and so on, we have witnessed a gradual increase in the number of women writers in spite of genres (and sub) by definition male.
In reality there is no sexual variation, or diversification of writing: novels written women seem to be written by men, and we're not really sure whether it's a compliment ... As evidence of this, this novel by Barbara Baraldi, already the author for the "yellow" Mondadori, which seeks to carry out the traditional themes of black twisting the narrative form, timing, point of view of the narrator.
In classic country where everybody knows everybody, a catalog of human samples intersect in a very dark history in which students incocainate, pushers, failures of all kinds spend their lives. Coagulating point of the story is Marcello, chronically unemployed, with a huge Oedipus complex, which do ambirebbe The writer, a mother can not be bullied. The novel row away quickly, written as a film script with a text reduced to a minimum but with an overabundance of dialogue (often unrealistic, such as those between the girls) and with different flashes but interesting ending up losing their way.
The final compacts stories, promote a sense and is covered with a sneer, but the overall impression is that of a writer who has thrown a novel. Especially since (and return to the starting point) would be expected that a woman's hand to write female characters not rescued from cliché today's generation and with the weight of a male, but rather than explaining the motivations with the psychology of a woman. Instead (and this is the paradox) Who is best painting is the man. Paradox? Maybe yes, maybe no.
Francis Emery
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