The Secret of Santa Vittoria by Robert Crichton

This book made me laugh, a lot, and often. But it also tickled my brain a lot, and it excited me. It’s a rare work to do all three—be funny, intelligent, and exciting. Some of my favorite books and authors do this regularly, and I may have found another favorite book.

As a writer, Crichton’s strength rests in:
—His ability to make the dialogue sound unique for most of the characters. It’s a rare talent and one I always look up to wherever I can find it.
—He uses dialogue to snap off these witty one-liners and then explore opposing views briefly. For instance, “there is no cure for birth.” That’s a brilliant one-liner. I love that.
—As a writer he uses language sparingly, in the sense that the word “fuck” is only used once, which gives it a certain type of power in the novel. He takes care in his use of words, playing to their strengths.
—His language is concise and roundabout. Where Asimov tries for the greatest clarity he can, Crichton plays with words more, stretches sentence forms more, and comes up with a voice that is good to read. He’s not going for direct clarity, he is going for building language in interesting ways.

Then, as a storyteller, I think his skill shows through clearly. He uses humor judiciously—it’s not all slapstick and irreverently punny. But he puts bits of wit and jokes in to lighten the mood, set the overall tone, explain and explore characters. He refrains from overburdening the novel with humor—the notable torture scene has no humor, which is a strong move as a storyteller. The humor successfully assists the novel in its overall arc.

The characters are not characters though. To me, this novel is an allegorical philosophy, all wrapped up in an adventurous comedy. Nietzsche (Von Prum) versus Sartre or Diogenes (Babbaluche) versus Machiavelli (Bombolini) versus Kant (Tufa) versus romanticism (Fabio) versus Engineering (Luigi) versus American Optimism (Roberto). These philosophical allegories play out in the day-to-day of the hillside villagers, as they approach situation after situation. The grand gesture is the rightful province of the post-modern. Organization falls to the duty-bound Kantian. Inward exploration by the Nietzschian leads to self deception. Machiavelli was right about human behavior, but a heartless bastard. Fabio is the frustrated romantic lusting after the romantic gesture. The Engineer gets things done but is only useful on such a narrow scope that he is useless for much of life, and sits drunk all day and nobody minds. And American Optimism can see outside the box easily, but doesn’t ever see the whole picture. There is no traditional winner in this novel, it's more a compare contrast allegory than one with a champion.

These types of tales tend to be organized around journeys where the philosophical protagonist visits arguments in turn on a physical journey. Small Gods, Piers Plowman, Foundation and Earth, The Pilgrim’s Progress—but Crichton keeps his focus on a single place, the small town of Santa Vittoria, instead of traveling all over. And I think this is because there is no real protagonist to the arguments, no champion of the author. Instead, this is an extended compare and contrast of various philosophies and concepts through facing situations that face the townspeople.

The central question is what is life worth. “It is better to live one day as a lion than 1000 years as a sheep,” said Mussolini. And this is the central question of the novel. What do you risk your life for? Work? Your effort to produce? Family? Country? Honor? Duty? Von Prum is willing to give up his life to do his duty. Bombolini the clown tries to commit suicide in order to atone for the wrongs of his past and because his wife has taken his purpose of selling wine from him. The mayor Bombolini risks his life for his people’s life’s work, the hiding of the wine, and most of the minor characters agree. Fabio risks his life for the grand romantic gesture—both in trying to save Bombolini and in joining the resistance. Babbaluche gives his life for the good joke, for the end of his choosing. Tufa, that damaged fascist, thinks that by avenging his honor on his cheating woman, he can atone for what he did to people in the war. If there is a conclusion, I think the conclusion has to be that no one philosophy can explain all of reality, tradition and upbringing underpin every human, and you had better examine what you're willing to risk your life for before it's too late. Is it worth it to sacrifice to live ten more hours, when those hours will be spent uselessly? Why not take pleasure in the here and now, within moderation?

The story is the same, over and over, only the facts are different and the names and the places.

I find this a thoroughly post-modern book: tropes and cliches are both comedically sent-up while simultaneously shown to still retain some power. Like Pratchett, Vonnegut, and Heller, this is a sensational tactic and book. The flipside is that the characters are sketchy, not deep, and they seem to come and go randomly. But reading this as an allegory really unlocked it for me and I love it.