{"product_id":"ilaria-or-the-conquest-of-disobedience-isbn-9781635425635","title":"Ilaria, or The Conquest of Disobedience","description":"\u003cb\u003eKidnapped by her troubled father, a young girl navigates life on a road trip across 1980s Italy in this stunning, cinematic English-language debut.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne day in May 1980, 8-year-old Ilaria gets into her father’s car after school. As they stop at a series of highway hotels, traversing the north of Italy, the child thinks of her mother and promises herself not to cry anymore. She learns to drive and to lie, discovers Trieste, Bologna, a boarding school in Rome, a sunny rural life in Sicily.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThanks to the games they play, the hit songs they sing at the tops of their voices on the road, and the kind people Ilaria meets along the way, the kidnapping almost seems like a normal childhood. But her father drinks too much, nervous in a cloud of cigarette smoke. If he takes her by the hand, she thinks it’s better not to pull it away. Ilaria observes and feels everything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn gripping, precise prose, this poignant novel takes us inside the mind of a little girl who must grow up on her own.“A propulsive coming-of-age story set against the political violence of Italy’s Years of Lead…Zalapì sketches a clear and sensitive portrait of her young narrator…This leaves a mark.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A nuanced portrayal of a child’s lost years with a flawed and irresponsible parent.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The story captivates the reader with a precision as minimalist as it is disarming.” —\u003ci\u003eVogue \u003c\/i\u003e(France)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A deeply moving novel about family love and its contradictions, the end of innocence, and the disobedience of a young girl looking for freedom.” —\u003ci\u003eElle \u003c\/i\u003e(France)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A story tinged with dread but, above all, bursting with sensitivity.” —\u003ci\u003eLe Monde \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eGabriella Zalapì\u003c\/b\u003e is a visual artist of English, Italian, and Swiss origin who lives in Paris. Trained at the Haute école d’art et de design in Geneva, she draws her material from her own family history, taking photographs, archives, and memories and combining them in a disturbing interplay between history and fiction. Her debut novel, \u003ci\u003eAntonia\u003c\/i\u003e, won the Grand prix de l’héroïne Madame Figaro and the Prix Bibliomedia.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAdriana Hunter \u003c\/b\u003estudied French and Drama at the University of London. She has translated more than ninety books, including Marc Petitjean’s \u003ci\u003eThe Heart: Frida Kahlo in Paris\u003c\/i\u003e and Hervé Le Tellier’s \u003ci\u003eThe Anomaly \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eEléctrico W\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the French-American Foundation’s 2013 Translation Prize in Fiction. She lives in Kent, England.\u003cb\u003eMAY 1980\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAged eight, I like the sensation of my upper body dangling free, the contact of my knees hooked over metal. I like the moment when I close my eyes tight, let go of the bar with my hands, and feel the giddiness thrill through me. When my hands are flat on the black asphalt, that means I’ve overcome my fear. And that’s when I picture my favorite gymnast, Nadia Comăneci. She has her arms spread wide. Victory.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI adopt this hanging position whenever we have recess or I’m waiting for Ana, my sister. When she left me this morning she said, See you back here \u003ci\u003eon time\u003c\/i\u003e, okay? Or I’ll go home alone. “Here” is at the foot of the steps, near the metal rail that separates the parking lot from the schoolyard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIlaria! Get down from there! We’re going to Chez Léon. Come on, move it!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI recognize Dad’s voice. Surprised, I lift the bottom of my dress that’s blocking my view. Those are definitely the tips of his shoes, that’s definitely his impatient voice. I swivel around the bar, land on my feet, and smooth down my dress.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAna’s about to show up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo, no. Change of plan. Mom’s picking her up from school and we’re meeting at Chez Léon. Come on!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI take his hand, it’s clammy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSince our parents separated and Dad moved to Turin, we meet at a restaurant once a month. It was Mom who came up with the idea. She prefers neutral territory. She says they fight too much at home. And it’s true, they do hold back at Chez Léon. Even if Dad does clench his jaw and Mom stares into space, pretending not to care.\u003cbr\u003eNo, Dad still hasn’t found a job. When he says “Nope-no-work” his voice is always sad, tired. Mom turns away slightly to hide her smile and Dad gets mad. He uses the word “humiliation” a lot. Luckily, the waiter comes over and puts down plates of perch fillet or bowls of meringue with whipped cream. Thanks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter dessert, Ana and I get up from the table and go out to the small beach where we choose pebbles. We practice skipping stones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDid you see? \u003cbr\u003eWhat?\u003cbr\u003eDad took Mom’s hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo get to Chez Léon we go through the village of Hermance, cross the French-Swiss border, and keep going along the road to Yvoire. Dad has a navy blue BMW, a 320 coupe.\u003cbr\u003eTell me if you see a phone booth. He lights a cigarette. There! He stops, gets out, and produces some coins from his pants pocket. His back pressed to the glass, the creases in his shirt making \u003ci\u003ev \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003ew \u003c\/i\u003eshapes. I wait, lower my window to let in some air. The leather seat no longer burns the backs of my thighs, it even feels soft when I stroke it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInside the phone booth, Dad’s talking loudly. He raises his voice some more and turns around. His eyes meet mine. I can tell he’s upset from the way he’s moving his hands. He’s bolt upright. That’s worrying.\u003cbr\u003eWhen he comes back, he says Mom changed her mind and doesn’t have time for lunch. We’re going to spend the weekend together. What about school? You can skip school for just a few days . . . It’s not that big of a deal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad’s voice is sharp. I count on my fingers: Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Four days. What about Ana? I want to protest, but when Dad’s cranky it’s best not to say anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe starts up the car with a lurch and stabs out his cigarette. His forehead is covered in sweat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMont Blanc Tunnel, French-Italian border, arched ceilings in the tunnels, hairpin bends in the Valle d’Aosta, carsickness. We stop under a sky weighed down by a layer of gray. The landscape is metallic. I throw up by the side of the road and Dad hands me a white cotton handkerchief. Let’s go get a drink, it’ll do you good. A few kilometers farther down the mountainside, in the gas station’s bar, Dad’s face is pale. It must be the neon lights. He pays the woman at the checkout for two slices of Margherita pizza, a whiskey, a coffee, and a lemonade. I hate lemonade but don’t say anything, my mouth is dry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDo you sell tokens for the phone? \u003cbr\u003eHow many?\u003cbr\u003eMaybe twenty.\u003cbr\u003eThe checkout assistant carefully counts out the yellowish tokens and hands them to Dad.\u003cbr\u003eThe booth is outside, on the left.\u003cbr\u003eHer nails are very long and covered in very red varnish. I follow Dad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat are those tokens?\u003cbr\u003eI need them to make calls. You can’t put actual money in phone booths in Italy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBetween Geneva and Turin, Dad makes several calls. Five in all. Whenever he sees a gas station he stops. Are you glad you’re spending the weekend with me? Did you lose your tongue? What are you thinking about?","brand":"Other Press","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233264480485,"sku":"NP9781635425635","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781635425635.jpg?v=1767729806","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/ilaria-or-the-conquest-of-disobedience-isbn-9781635425635","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}