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A masterpiece - that this was Morante's first book beggars belief. A harmony of the daily-life concerns of verismo and the inner life of the mind, a novel of family and place and character...much darker than La Storia, not fanciful like Arturo's Island, closer in theme in some ways to Aracoeli: the complexity of mothers and sons, mothers and daughters. Rich, insightful, unsparing; I do understand how the earlier translation might want to shorten it, as the story does not rush to its conclusion...but I'm so grateful to NYRB for making the entire text available.

Only in the final pages does Morante seem to shy away from the bleakness that has felt, til then, like her inevitable conclusion. It is an odd and interesting moment, more affirmative than you'd've expected just ten pages back. It's also incredibly effective -- like a zooming-out from the close-quarters vision in which we've been living.

Morante is one of the twentieth century's best and this is necessary reading.