Tag Archives: Italian-American
John Fante
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
Grandmother
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
No Man’s Brooklyn
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.
My Unreal Family
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