The novel America

Let's imagine two things: America to be a person, not the name of a continent, and to be he, not she. So we're dealing with America Berti, a thirty-year-old man whose experience can be packed into a trouser pocket. Simple as "sorry" and withdrawn as a calm sea. America Berti, that thirty-year-old man with a big name and modest demands. To ride his bike around, to fish, to play with his stepdaughters and after the postman's visit, to spend hours alone with the letters that no one knows from whom and where arrive.

Let's now imagine that we are in Italy, on the other side of the Adriatic Sea, and somewhere between Brindisi and Monopoli is hidden the little Tintinio, a place that is not on a geographical map, and there gravitate so many unique personalities that deserves the attention of the world.

When those two things come together – the strange habits of an introverted man and the curiosity of a provincial living of the daily chatter – is created a work that carries the charm of stories that are remembered for a lifetime.

America is a novel about the intoxicating attraction of the unknown, a novel about love and friendship, about the search for home, about the impossibility of forgiveness, about the absurdity of forgetting, about absence as fate and, above all, a novel about the utopian (un)power of the word.