Andrea Camilleri (1925–2019)

In this extended essay, Camilleri looks at the typical southern-Italian phenomenon of componenda, or informal agreement, a vital ingredient of the way brigandage and organised crime have always functioned, especially in Sicily. There's a recognised tariff for selling stolen property back to its owner (in the best traditions of Jonathan Wild, as he notes); when the young Camilleri, on his way to take an exam at the university, got a night-time ride to Palermo in one of his father's show more fish-trucks, he saw for himself how the truck was stopped by armed men on the road and an agreed quantity of fish handed over as a fee for safe passage.

But what really prompted this book was his discovery in the papers of an 1875 commission of inquiry into crime in Sicily of references to what's bizarrely called a Bolla di componenda, a "deed of unwritten agreement", a document sold annually by parish priests that granted indulgence for a specified amount of crime (for the fee of 1.30 lire, you could have stolen property up to 32.80 lire; if you'd stolen more, you had to buy extra certificates). Naturally, the copy of the Bolla that was meant to be attached to the proceedings of the commission is missing, and Camilleri can't find one anywhere else ("you never will", his friend Leonardo Sciascia tells him), but there are references with corresponding details in other contemporary accounts of Sicily.

Camilleri is fascinated by the way the clergy still managed to get involved in organised crime despite all the restrictions they put on things like the sale of indulgences after the Reformation. Somehow, the Bolla is worded in a way that gets around the rules. He quotes the wonderfully named military commander, Lt.-General Avogadro di Casanova, in his (apparently ignored) evidence to the commission as saying that all that is needed to wipe out crime in Sicily is to get rid of the priests and aristocratic landowners and pay the peasants a fair wage... show less

Riccardino is the last installment in Andrea Camilleri’s celebrated series of Inspector Montalbano novels, published posthumously after the author’s passing in 2019. The book opens with a young man shot in the street in front of his friends by an unknown gunman who speeds away on a motorcycle. Salvo Montalbano is brought into investigate and it quickly becomes clear that the obvious “crime of passion” motive that some interested parties are promoting is dubious. Indeed, when he gets show more lobbied heavily by a high-ranking clergyman, various politicians, a mafia boss, conflicted spouses, and his own superiors, the Inspector becomes convinced that there is more to the case what lurks on the surface.

While the central mystery is certainly entertaining, the most intriguing element of the novel is the meta-fictional mischief that the author brings to the table in telling the story. As he tries to go about his job, Montalbano is distracted by onlookers who know who he is because they watch the television series based on his own past cases that have appeared in novels written by Camilleri! (This is quite possibly intended as an homage to Cervantes’ Don Quixote, in which Quixote and Sancho endure a similar fate.) In fact, the Inspector soon begins to second-guess himself and wonders how the televised version of himself would act instead. Even more meta, though, is that Camilleri inserts himself in the story (as “The Author”) and frequently consults with Montalbano on various aspects of the case as it unfolds, a situation which figures prominently in how things are resolved.

The story of how Riccardino came about is just as interesting as the story told in the novel itself. As Camilleri relates in two different Author’s Notes, he wrote this book in 2005—which would have been less than half-way through what ended up being the entire series—but specifically intended it to be Montalbano’s finale. That is noteworthy because it means the reader gets not only a good mystery that is in mid-series form but also a well-thought out (if somewhat unconventional) conclusion to the journey of a group of characters that have become beloved by so many. While the playful artistic device that Camilleri employs in telling the tale does leave a few threads hanging, it is nevertheless nice to see an ending that was contemplated rather than one left to chance.

As a final note, I should add that my rating for this novel is more of an expression of joy and satisfaction with the entire series than it is for this volume alone. I have now read all the Montalbano mysteries and, having caught onto their existence early, I have done so in the order they were released over the years. That means that, by now, Salvo, Fazio, Catarella, Augello, Livia, Adelina, Enzo—and even the likes of Ragonese, Lattes, and Bonetti-Alderighi—have become old friends. And like any friends that go away after a long time spent together, they truly will be missed. show less

Da Camilleri c'è sempre qualcosa da imparare. Qui un episodio storico, romanzato quanto volete, ci rivela le gesta degnissime di un volontariamente dimenticato viceré spagnolo di sesso femminile nella Sicilia Secentesca. In soli 28 giorni di governo ad interim Doña Eleonora dimostrò più capacità, con le sue leggi a difesa dei poveri e dei deboli e con il repulisti ai danni dei dignitari corrotti, di tutti i suoi predecessori e successori messi assieme.
Poi i personaggi sono sempre show more Camillereschi, piaccia o non piaccia. Ci sono tutti i cliché à la Montalbano, dall'onesto silente alla bellezza femminile sfolgorante alle macchiette di contorno. A me, piace.
E, sia detto per inciso, Eleonora e il suo alleato dottore sono un capolavoro di androginia Joyciana tradotta in pratica letteraria. Una ventata di frischizza. show less

I libri di Camilleri su Montalbano si assomigliano un po' tutti, basati come sono sempre sugli stessi personaggi, sul loro dialetto e sui loro tic, eppure non risultano mai noiosi, perché questi personaggi non sono mai stereotipi.
Questo romanzo pesca, nelle sue premesse, nel mondo della finanza, o meglio della truffa finanziaria, e finisce con un deja vù di Faulkner.
E, come spesso accade nei romanzi di Camilleri, non sono i grandi criminali a uccidere, ma i piccoli mostri che incontriamo show more ogni giorno sulla nostra strada. show less