Tag Archives: Italian-American

Buon Compleanno, John Fante!

Posted on April 8, 2025 by John Biscello

(John Fante, April 8th, 1909-May 8th, 1983) Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, stubbornly planted there, the chinked chains of immigration clanked and rattled, Marley-style, tightening round your throat, as you butted … Continue reading →

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The Last of the Coojettes

Posted on November 21, 2024 by John Biscello

She was the Last of the Coojettes. That’s what Rob called her. Rob was my mother’s cousin. My father’s nickname for Rob was The Moron. Rob worked as a postman. My father worked as a truck driver for Budweiser. Rob … Continue reading →

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Dust in the Wind

Posted on November 13, 2024 by John Biscello

A musician named Sam introduced me to Ask the Dust when I was in my early twenties. It was exactly the book I needed at the time. Sam had heard me read at the Vault, a house-based, performance space in … Continue reading →

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Fante and Bandini

Posted on November 12, 2024 by John Biscello

Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, stubbornly planted there, the chinked chains of immigration clanked and rattled, Marley-style, tightening around your throat, as you butted your head against the scabby base of … Continue reading →

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Brooklyn for Reel

Posted on November 25, 2019 by John Biscello

Video recording of a reading from my novel, No Man’s Brooklyn, as part of “Italian Good Fellas Night” at SOMOS (Taos, NM). In this scene, father and son pay a visit to Atlantic City, where gambling, drinking and storytelling play out … Continue reading →

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John Fante

Posted on April 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, Denver, CO, April 8th, 1909, the chinked chains of immigration had you by the throat and bowels, pinched your nerves as you butted your head against … Continue reading →

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Grandmother

Posted on January 15, 2018 by John Biscello

   She was short, a spud of a woman, who in the summer looked like an overbaked potato.    Her hair was a mushroom-cap, a helmet-poof petrified by copious amounts of Aqua Net hairspray. My grandmother was sweet, exceptionally sensitive, … Continue reading →

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Mary

Posted on December 7, 2017 by John Biscello

      It was a scorcher. One of those ovenbake summer days where you feel like you’re huffing fur.    I had decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood, and re-acclimate myself.    As I walked down the block … Continue reading →

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No Man’s Brooklyn

Posted on June 14, 2017 by John Biscello

I have started working on my new novel: No Man’s Brooklyn.  A return to the bones of childhood, and to tangled roots. A return to the gritty lore of Bensonhurst.  

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My Unreal Family

Posted on February 3, 2017 by John Biscello

   At times I feel like I invented them, along with the rest of my childhood. Which, in a sense, I suppose I have. They are who they are they are, regardless of my perceptions and analysis, yet  I have, … Continue reading →

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