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So, I've just finished reading Camilleri's final Montalbano novel 'Riccardino'. I won't say anything about the novel - it is what it is - but I freely admit I didn't want to read it, for the simple reason that I didn't want to put a full stop to 26 years of reading. (1/6)
Way back in 1994 I was planning on writing an extended essay on Literature and Mafia, and Roberto Bertoni told me that he'd heard about a recently published novel 'La forma dell'acqua' by a then unknown Sicilian writer called Andrea Camilleri. (2/6)
I read it, didn't find anything useful for my essay topic, but was intrigued by the setting, the language, and, most of all, the humour. Since then, I must have read all of Camilleri's numerous books, from the Montalbano series to the so-called historical novels (3/6)
(of those 'Il birraio di Preston' remains my favourite). Sometimes annoying, certainly repetitive, occasionally brilliant, but always funny (especially in the dialogues), Camilleri's novels have been like a warm blanket, a Christmas treat, a reunion with an old pal (4/6)
I was reading Camilleri novels around the birth of my three children (La vampa d'agosto; La pista di sabbia; Un covo di vipere), and many other milestones along the way. My wife and I get to enjoy the tv Inspector Montalbano series together; (5/6)
even if those streets of Vigata are curiously without traffic, they are filled with Sicilian words and Sicilian accents. All this to say, I'm going to miss my yearly fix. To quote from the final novel: "Minchia! Quant'e' bravu 'stu Montalbano!" (6/6)
