So, late summer is here and I’ve officially entered my Gothic era. Between heavy essays, Italian classics, and books that have been sitting on my TBR for way too long, my bookshelf has taken a pretty dark turn.

Here is what I’m currently reading and planning to dive into before the season ends.

Let’s see how many I actually manage to finish!

Late Summer TBR:

1. Malombra — Antonio Fogazzaro

Currently reading. Well, what can I say...I don’t want to repeat myself, as I’ve already talked about this book ad nauseam. If you want to know how it’s going, I recommend checking out my previous articles and notes. But long story short: I’m madly in love with it and savoring it slowly, like a fine wine.

Marina is simply iconic, and I utterly adore Fogazzaro’s prose. What strikes me most is how every element feels so alive: the surrounding nature, the grand palace, even the small boat Marina uses to cross the lake feel like characters in their own right. And the rest of the cast? So vivid, so painfully human.

There are some truly spectacular, unforgettable passages here. Many of which I’ll definitely be sharing with you in upcoming articles, especially within Underlined & Overthought.

2. Fosca — Iginio Ugo Tarchetti

The same goes for this other Italian Gothic jewel.

So similar yet so different from Malombra, but just the same mind-blowing pleasure to witness before my eyes. I’m loving this one as well, and you’ll understand why if you take a look at the plot. Can’t say I’m taken off guard by this combo of books since, as I’ve already said before, I’ve officially entered my Gothic era. And I’m experiencing only bliss so far, I don’t wanna wake up from this eerie dream.

3. The Hour of Our Death — Philippe Ariès

I’ve just started this monumental study on human mortality through the centuries. I love how it draws on literary examples and historical events: there’s a deep focus on the Middle Ages, alongside clear references to the Victorian era.

Of course, I know it spans across all ages, but since Ariès was a medievalist, I imagine the Middle Ages will serve as the bridge for many of these concepts. I’m certain I’ll discover that so many of our beliefs and customs regarding death derive from there. Shall we bet?

I already know this one is going to take me a while, and I intend to savor every page.

Subscribe now

4. The Sickness Unto Death — Søren Kierkegaard

Another recent start. I stumbled upon this book by chance while tidying up the overflowing bookcase in my new house (spoiler: they’re not all mine...I wish! They belong to the owner, who kindly leaves them for me to “keep” and read while I live here.) Anyway, I’ve always been fascinated by philosophy, but I’ve never sat down to read anything specific, just studied concepts randomly, and when I saw that there’s a bit of everything here...I don’t know, the title immediately spoke to me. Maybe also the author’s name; I like the sound of it. And obviously the book’s theme. It seems everything spoke to me…

5. The Book of the City of Ladies — Christine de Pizan

I’ve been wanting to read it for...ages! Okay, obviously not literal ages... haha, otherwise I’d be almost Christine’s contemporary. Wow...can you imagine? Anyway, I found it used in perfect condition, and now I finally own it, so I don’t want to put it off any longer. Also, as a medieval enthusiast, how could I not read this classic?!

6. Giovanni’s Room — James Baldwin

Okay, finally a short book! A one-sitting read that will devastate you for a lifetime, I imagine...that’s the vibe, right?

After seeing it for months all over Instagram, when I was still using it (spoiler alert: I haven’t used it for a couple of months and I’m thriving!), I’ll finally be able to understand why everyone is going crazy for it.

Hopefully, I won’t be disappointed.

7. The Leopard — Tomasi di Lampedusa

Well, I have to admit, this is one of those classics that has crossed my path so many times over the years that I’ve lost count. And every time I flipped through it, I’d move on. Since the new TV series came out, I promised myself I would read it, also because it is one of the classics of Italian literature and I remember reading it in school, but we are talking about years ago and honestly...I don’t remember it very well.

8. The Secret History — Donna Tartt

Realistically, I plan to read this between September and October, right between the two seasons, and as a primer for the fall season. I don’t think it needs any introduction; it’s almost considered a classic by now... I’m late to the party, but...as I always say, better late than never! I can’t wait. Then, I'll finally be able to join one of the craziest loyal fandoms on Tumblr, which is the real caveat for me to pick up this book (I’m kidding, of course…but also, not really).

Of course, given the density of some of these texts, I won’t cross every single one off before the season turns...but I love letting these heavy, beautiful atmospheres bleed into one another.

Have you read any of these, or do we share any of these on our TBRs right now? Let’s talk in the comments.

If you’re enjoying Literaria, consider upgrading to a paid subscription to support my writing! It gives you full, unrestricted access to the complete archive built over the past two years: including all previous book reviews, personal essays, thematic reading lists, and exclusive notes.

Subscribe now

P.S. Not ready for a monthly or annual commitment? I’ve also set up a small tip jar on Ko-fi ☕ A simple way to drop a tip and fuel my next reading stack whenever a free post helps you out.

Either way, subscribing (even for free!) means the world to me.

Thank you so much for reading! 🥀

Previously on LITERARIA:

“The sun [...] was showing itself the true ruler of Sicily; the crude brash sun, the drugging sun, which annulled every will, kept all things in servile immobility, cradled in violence and arbitrary dreams.”

The Leopard – Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

There is a specific kind of madness that only late August brings.

When we think of summer reading, our minds usually picture light beach paperbacks, smutty romances, or poolside thrillers. But when the heat turns palpable and exhausting, the days become still and interminable, and all we can smell is sweat and impending storms, literature shifts too. In the ancient world, these were called the Dog Days: a period associated with lethargy, sudden fever, and bad omens.

Oppressive heat has always been the ultimate catalyst for psychological unrest. It makes four walls feel claustrophobic, passions dangerously sharp, and the boundary between reality and hallucination razor-thin.

This is my kind of genre. So, I definitely enjoyed myself when turning this list into a clinical map. Yes, a journey to track the symptoms of the progressive unraveling of the mind during excruciatingly hot summer days. (Disclaimer: obviously not in a scientific way; I’m so on the opposite spectrum of where a doctor would be. It’s just for fun!)

Great. Now that we are on the same page…grab your trusty popsicle, close the shutters, and let the delirium take over.

Literaria is a sanctuary for dark aesthetics, gothic literature, and decadent prose. Step inside to claim your keys to the Vault, unlock the complete archives, and join the only madness worth cultivating.

Subscribe now

The anatomy of summer delirium

Stage I: first symptoms.

The heat sets in. Four walls begin to feel like a trap, and the glare of the sun becomes unbearable.

• Giovanni’s Room – James Baldwin

In a small Paris apartment, David is torn between the safe, conventional life expected of him and his hidden love for an Italian bartender. Driven by guilt, his refusal to accept himself leads to a devastating betrayal.

• The Stranger – Albert Camus

On a blindingly hot Algiers beach, an emotionally detached man commits an inexplicable killing, setting off a chilling collision with a society obsessed with moral rules.

• The Yellow Wallpaper – Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Confined to an upstairs nursery in a rented summer mansion for a prescribed “rest cure,” a young woman becomes consumed by the sinister, shifting patterns of the room’s wallpaper.

• We Have Always Lived in the Castle – Shirley Jackson

Merricat Blackwood lives isolated in a grand estate with her sister after their family was poisoned. During a hot, tense summer, the hostility of the surrounding village threatens to break their fragile sanctuary.

• Il Gattopardo (The Leopard) – Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

Set against the suffocating summer heat of Donnafugata, a Sicilian nobleman grapples with the unification of Italy and the irreversible extinction of his elite way of life.

Stage II: contagion.

The fever enters the bloodstream. Indolence, luxury, and moral cynicism begin to rot your soul.

• The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald

Amidst the stifling heat of a 1920s New York summer, Jay Gatsby’s romantic obsession reaches a devastating breaking point: a single, suffocating afternoon where lavish illusions shatter, and tragedy becomes inevitable.

• The Talented Mr. Ripley – Patricia Highsmith

Tom Ripley travels to a sun-drenched Italian coastal town, where his envy of a wealthy heir’s careless lifestyle turns into murder and identity theft.

• Bonjour Tristesse – Françoise Sagan

Seventeen-year-old Cécile spends a lazy, sun-filled summer on the French Riviera manipulating the adults around her, unaware that her cynical games will lead to real-world tragedy.

• The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde

In a lush, heavily scented London studio during a warm summer, Dorian Gray makes the fateful wish that seals his eternal youth while his soul rots in the dark.

• The Secret History – Donna Tartt

An inseparable group of elite Classics students at an isolated Vermont college slips into hedonism, ancient rituals, and moral corruption, triggering a dark spiral that ends in murder.

Stage III: nocturnal delirium.

Sleep becomes impossible. Night falls, but the fever keeps the mind wide awake and hyper-obsessed with your desire.

• Tales of Mystery and Imagination – Edgar Allan Poe

Premature burials, sinister obsessions, and unraveling sanity: Poe’s masterclasses in gothic dread explore what happens when the human psyche turns into its own nightmare.

• Confessions of an English Opium-Eater – Thomas De Quincey

Part memoir, part gothic fever dream, De Quincey chronicles the terrifying beauty of his laudanum addiction: mapping endless architectural labyrinths and dark, hallucinatory visions of the mind.

• The Dead Woman In Love (Clarimonde) – Théophile Gautier

On the night of his ordination, a young priest is seduced by a vampire courtesan, splitting his life between pious days and voluptuous, nocturnal fever-dreams.

• The Monk – Matthew Lewis

In the suffocating vaults of Madrid, a holy monk is seduced by demonic forces, tumbling into an abyss of lust, black magic, and irreparable ruin.

• Rebecca – Daphne du Maurier

A young bride arrives at the grand coastal estate of Manderley, only to face the sinister housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, and the haunting legacy of the woman who came before her.

Stage IV: the acute crisis.

The peak of the illness. Love or whatever you are searching for manifests as a physical disease, and obsession completely overrides your sanity.

• Malombra – Antonio Fogazzaro

In an isolated palace on the lake, a proud noblewoman discovers a hidden letter left by her ancestor. Convinced she is reincarnated to exact revenge, Marina is slowly consumed by a feverish obsession.

• Fosca – Iginio Ugo Tarchetti

Torn between a healthy love and a fatal attraction, a young officer surrenders to Fosca: a sickly, ghastly woman whose consuming passion becomes a terrifyingly contagious illness.

• Il Piacere (Pleasure or The Child of Pleasure) – Gabriele d’Annunzio

Set in the opulent salons of late 19th-century Rome, Andrea Sperelli is torn between two contrasting women, consumed by an obsessive pursuit of pleasure and beauty that hollows out his soul.

• Les Fleurs du Mal (The Flowers of Evil) – Charles Baudelaire

Capturing the dark heartbeat of 19th-century Paris, Baudelaire transforms existential dread, morbid desire, and city shadows into lush, intoxicating poetry.

• Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert

Trapped in a dull marriage, Emma attempts to escape her mundane life through romantic fantasies and secret affairs, with tragic consequences.

Stage V: terminal collapse.

The final stage. The fever inevitably wins, leaving behind irreversible ruin and inescapable death.

• Picnic at Hanging Rock – Joan Lindsay

On a scorching Valentine’s Day in 1900, a group of Australian schoolgirls embarks on an excursion to Hanging Rock. What begins as an idyllic summer picnic quickly dissolves into an eerie, inexplicable nightmare.

• Atonement – Ian McEwan

In the summer of 1935, a thirteen-year-old girl’s vivid imagination and misinterpretation of adult passions lead to a lie that shatters two lovers’ lives, launching a decades-long journey of guilt and atonement.

• The Virgin Suicides – Jeffrey Eugenides

In a quiet, suffocating American suburb, the five Lisbon sisters meet tragic, self-inflicted ends. Their story is pieced together years later by the neighborhood boys who were hopelessly obsessed with them.

• The Great God Pan – Arthur Machen

When a brain operation meant to reveal the hidden realm of Pan goes horribly wrong, an ancient, corrupting presence infiltrates Victorian London, driving respectable men to ruin and suicide.

• Wide Sargasso Sea – Jean Rhys

A lush, devastating prequel to Jane Eyre that exposes the tragic story of Antoinette Cosway: a Creole heiress undone by tropical isolation, betrayal, and a marriage that destroys her mind.

Spread the fever. Share this map with a fellow restless mind and let the dark side of summer claim them too.

Share

My personal journey

Right now, I am immersed in the suffocatingly lush prose of Fogazzaro’s Malombra, and the impossible chills that almost every single passage of that book can arouse in me whenever I pick it up. I’m reading it alongside Tarchetti’s Fosca, another intoxicating tale similar to Malombra…but also strangely different in a way. I will elaborate on this sometime soon.

Proud to say that this time I have read most of the books mentioned in this article. Only 10 I’m yet to tackle to complete the list, and I can’t wait to give them a go, one by one. And I’ll definitely start with Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room, Lampedusa’s The Leopard (because I want to watch the TV series), and Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. Then, I'll focus on Wide Sargasso Sea, The Great God Pan, Picnic at Hanging Rock, Tales of Mystery and Imagination, Madame Bovary, The Monk, and Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. (Not all will be read soon or before the end of the year, but at least I know what to prioritize from now on whenever I'm in the mood for this kind of book).

As for the others, they are all among my absolute favorites, so I will never stop recommending them.

Well, I hope some of these titles will keep you “sane” (I know, pretty counterintuitive…) during the hot, sticky days till we finally reach the holy autumn breeze we are all praying for.

Have you already read any of these books? Or do you have other delirious gems to recommend? Let me know in the comments below.

Yours in obsession,

Nicole.

🥀

If you’re enjoying Literaria, consider upgrading to a paid subscription to support my writing! It gives you full, unrestricted access to the complete archive built over the past two years: including all previous book reviews, personal essays, thematic reading lists, and exclusive notes.

Subscribe now

P.S. Not ready for a monthly or annual commitment? I’ve also set up a small tip jar on Ko-fi ☕A simple way to drop a tip and fuel my next reading stack whenever a free post helps you out.

Either way, subscribing (even for free!) means the world to me.

Thank you so much for reading! 🥀

Previously on LITERARIA:

«You cannot step into the same river twice.»

— Heraclitus

Sometimes a single fragment of a book sets off a chain reaction.

A few days ago, reading Heraclitus, watching Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey, and navigating a personal situation all converged on one single theme…the illusion of going back.

One question kept surfacing: can we ever truly return?

Here is the quick rabbit hole those thoughts led me down...

The River, Nostos, and Nostalgia

Heraclitus had already made it clear ages ago: the water of a river is constantly changing, and so is whoever chooses to step into it.

Nothing remains still.

Yet, the human mind continues to feed its obsession with Nostos (νόστος): the Greek word defining the return home, the journey toward one’s origins, the reclaiming of a starting point.

But what happens when the drive toward Nostos meets the reality of Heraclitus’s inexorably flowing river?

Nostalgia is born. A term composed of nostos (return) and algos (άλγος, pain/grief).

Contrary to popular belief, it is not an ancient word: Ulysses never used it to describe his longing for his homeland. It is a modern term, coined only in 1688 by an Alsatian medical student, Johannes Hofer, as an actual medical diagnosis to describe the physical and paralyzing suffering of Swiss soldiers far from home. Only at the end of the nineteenth century did the word leave the clinics to enter literature (from Carducci to Fogazzaro in Malombra), transforming from a disease of the body into a “disease” of the mind, a bittersweet feeling of melancholy and regret: the suffering felt upon realizing that the place, the time, or the person toward whom we are traveling no longer exists in the form we had left them.

Subscribe now

The Dissonance of Re-cognition

We do not return to the same past version of ourselves, or to an old relationship with the same dynamics and approach of years before. Because in the meantime, the situation has changed: the place, the habits, the people. We are different, just as the world we inhabit mutates, and consequently, so does the other person.

So…we cannot actually make a return to origins, a return home as if nothing had changed or happened in the meantime.

It is a re-cognition.

A new form, a new approach, a new world, a new outcome.

It is an integration between the old and new self, between what was and what is now; between what we recognize as familiar and what we must re-cognize: meaning to rediscover anew, not from scratch, but still integrating what we already know about a person and merging the two images that inevitably overlap once we have found them again.

And dissonance is created: uncomfortable, sweetly unsettling.

A spectre staring straight into our eyes, whose essence we recognize, but whose contours we now struggle to trace.

Integration and the Myth of the Analog

Consequently, it is true: we cannot go back—not if “going back” means re-accessing the old version of ourselves, of the other person, of the place, or of the situation in question. We will never be able to recreate and relive things in the exact same way.

But this does not mean we cannot write a new version, make an update.

An integration, precisely.

It is like the rush to return to the analog: we will never be able to recreate the conditions of the ‘90s. The surrounding world has transformed, and so have we. It is impossible to live that way now that we know ‘the future’ (that is, the reality we have grown accustomed to and the shift our lives have undergone over the years).

This does not preclude us from creating a new version.

Yes, we can be nostalgic for pre-digitalization and want to take refuge in the total denial of smartphones, social media, and constant connectivity, and go back to using paper and pen, calling instead of chatting...

The fact remains that, one way or another, we will come into contact with the digital world once outside our nostalgic bubble.

And besides, that world is now rooted in us: we know Netflix, Amazon, and Reels exist, so we can never live as if we were in the ‘90s—when we wandered physical aisles, waited weeks for mail orders, and discovered new trends only when the latest issue of Vogue hit the newsstands.

Still, we can integrate the two worlds and create a new version.

Things don’t necessarily have to be mutually exclusive.

The Return Toward Oneself

The same holds true when reconnecting with someone from our past: we must forge a relationship that, while rooted in familiar soil, integrates and accepts who we have both become.

A return is never just to a place or a person. It is a return toward oneself, the version of us that once inhabited that world.

That is the great deceit of nostalgia: making us believe time stood still, waiting for us. But the river kept flowing. And the only way not to lose everything is to stop chasing who we were, and start re-cognizing who we, and they, have become.

Perhaps the true journey was never about reaching the original shore, but about having the courage to step out of the current and meet whoever is waiting for us today…including ourselves. We don’t have to erase what was; we have to allow it to update.

Over to you: Have you ever experienced that bittersweet re-cognition with someone from your past? Did you try to force the old version back, or did you manage to integrate who you’ve both become?

Share your story below.

Leave a comment

P.S. A quick side note: if you enjoyed this post but aren’t looking for a monthly or annual subscription, I’ve set up a small tip jar over on Ko-fi!

It’s a simple, no-strings-attached way to support Literaria or fuel my next book stack whenever a free essay or reading list helps you out. No pressure ever, but if you’d like to leave a small tip, you can find me here:

Buy me a coffee ☕

Previously on LITERARIA:

Literaria is a sanctuary for dark aesthetics, gothic literature, and decadent prose. Step inside to claim your keys to the Vault, unlock the complete archives, and join the only madness worth cultivating.

Subscribe now

In my last article, I immersed you in the discovery of a branch of Italian literature that has remained buried for too long, even here in our country, let alone abroad. And right in those days, I was busy packing up parts of my life to move them from one apartment to another, a new home for my body and mind. I spent days emptying boxes, cleaning the new space, and pondering where to put my things and which new corners to let them breathe in. It was hard; among other things, it was scorching hot, which unfortunately is continuing, and it made everything even more exhausting. But, finally, here I am, now ready to unleash my creative mind for you again!

You can’t imagine how much I love the new home...or maybe you can, because by showing it to you, you’ll surely understand. Knowing my love for vintage, all things antique, my obsession with curated visual aesthetics...well, here I have it all and perhaps much more.

What I didn’t anticipate was that the studio where I’m writing this (yes, I finally have a room of my own…Virginia would be so proud!) would be the last to come together. Because it took far longer than expected, I couldn’t fully tune into what was happening inside me. But now, sitting here in the quiet, surrounded by my books and the soft light filtering in, it finally hit me…and it’s quite something. A strange, sweet thrill. I genuinely feel like a writer.

Amid all this, I read very little, if anything, during the busiest and most intense days of settling in, and only once things were complete did I really get back into it.

It’s been interesting...

Well, I have to say that my reading year is going a bit slow and fitful compared to last year...I certainly won’t read 40 books! Furthermore, unintentionally, it’s turned into my first year without reviews since I’ve been curating this space on Substack. I know, shocking!

I’ve been thinking about it a lot and want to expand on this topic, but I’ll do it another time.

In this article, I want to give you a reading update and tell you about what’s been on my bedside table lately.

So, let’s dive in!

• Malombra by Antonio Fogazzaro

For those of you who follow me closely, it won’t be a great revelation that this book is taking hold of me, just like its protagonist. Marina is iconic.

The claustrophobic atmosphere of the lakeside palace, the summer heat, the compelling and witty dialogues between the characters, which at times even create hilarious dynamics, the author’s velvety and expert touch... everything makes this book a masterpiece. I’m halfway through; I haven’t finished it yet, but for me, it already is. And I could tell after just a few pages. The shivers that run down my skin every time I read a passage are inexplicable. It’s never happened to me before.

As I said in a previous article, this book even has the merit of convincing me to embark on the adventure of writing something of my own. And it’s thanks to writers like Fogazzaro, who writes divinely, and who made me rediscover my love for baroque writing…sumptuous yet fluid, a small ecstasy for the mind…that I’m even trying to write my own gothic novella with that same attention to detail, playing with prose not out of whim but out of passion, describing places and people as if they were the extension of each other and their most merciless mirror.

In short...I’ve fallen madly in love with it.

• Fosca by Iginio Ugo Tarchetti

Along with Malombra, this is another gem of Italian Gothic literature from our dedicated reading list. It’s famous and even inspired movies, but for me, it was a brand-new discovery. And what a discovery! It’s been an incredible novel so far (I’m already 100 pages in), featuring the kind of writing I adore: rich, voluptuous, and sharp. Unlike Malombra, this time we are thrown directly into the protagonist’s mind through a first-person narrative, sharing his sweet, unsettling descent.

I’m really enjoying its short chapters (often just a couple of pages, sometimes only one) and the almost episodic way Giorgio recounts his troubled bond with Fosca. Interestingly, the woman who gives her name to the title isn’t our narrator; we don’t experience her torment directly, but through Giorgio’s perception. We watch as their interactions shatter his fragile peace, leaving him torn between Clara, the radiant, healthy woman he left behind, and Fosca herself.

Fosca is literally illness personified: a woman utterly lacking physical beauty and consumed by “hysteria,” yet possessing a sharp intellect and a magnetic, razor-like sensitivity. She is ravenous for love. The bond that forms between her and Giorgio quickly turns into a morbid, almost vampiric vortex: as she draws vitality from his pity, she literally drains his health and sanity, dragging him down into her own feverish delirium.

To call it mind-blowing would be an understatement. It is a deeply unsettling read, yet impossible to turn away from, and as a reader, you find yourself practically caught in the very same murky fever that afflicts the main character.

Subscribe now

• Racconti della Scapigliatura milanese (Tales of the Milanese Scapigliatura)

It was truly a sign of fate: I found this used book exactly a few days after publishing my Italian Gothic reading list. So far, I’ve read these first three stories:

Narcisa by Luigi Gualdo

I totally adored this little novella. It’s a delicate and melancholic portrait of the obsession with the ideal. The protagonist possesses an extraordinary, almost inhuman beauty that makes her incapable of adapting to the banality of bourgeois reality. Gualdo thus weaves a story of disturbing magnetism, where beauty, tragedy, and a ghostly love merge in an inexorable and tragic isolation.

La lettera U (The Letter U) by Iginio Ugo Tarchetti

Pure, disheveled paranoia and psychological horror. The story follows the protagonist’s mad obsession with the vowel ‘U’, which he considers demonic and the culprit of all his misfortunes. Tarchetti transforms a simple letter of the alphabet into a terrifying obsession, showing how easily the mind can slide into total madness. Incredible!

Una partita in quattro (A Game in Four) by Antonio Ghislanzoni

This was such a fun read. It’s a brilliant and cynical satire of bourgeois hypocrisy. The story unfolds through the conversations of a group of bored long-time friends who confess their bizarre love affairs. With an ironic and pragmatic tone, Ghislanzoni portrays love as an unpredictable and grotesque role-play.

• La signorina di Maupin (Mademoiselle de Maupin) by Théophile Gautier

I started this a couple of weeks ago and was immediately hooked after just a few chapters…it is written so divinely! However, I’ve decided to put it on hold for now. I really want to finish Fosca and Malombra first; otherwise I’ll have way too many novels open at once and risk making a complete mess in my head.

By the way, Gautier is the same author of Clarimonde (or the dead woman in love), which I read, absolutely adored a few months ago, and already wrote about in a previous article!

• Dell’Origine di Eraclito (On Origin / Fragments by Heraclitus)

I have to admit, I stumbled upon this book completely by chance, and it couldn’t be more out of place alongside the rest of my dark, gothic readings, haha!

Yet, it’s turned out to be such a surprising find. Since it’s essentially a collection of philosophical fragments and aphorisms, it’s remarkably easy to read…you can just pick it up, dip in and out, and nibble on a few thoughts here and there. But don’t let the short format fool you: it’s packed with absolutely mind-blowing concepts that really force you to pause and reflect.

• A Lover’s Discourse by Roland Barthes

Yes, I am still reading this book after months. In my defense, I’m savoring it very slowly. I don’t read it continuously; sometimes weeks pass without me turning a single page. But don’t let that fool you: I am absolutely loving it. It’s truly brilliant, dissecting the state of being in love in a way that is quietly devastating.

A quick heads-up about what’s coming next…

From now on, I’ll be sharing reading updates and snippets straight from my reading journal much more frequently! Think deep-dives into specific quotes, the fascinating rabbit holes a single book can send me down, lists of cool vocabulary words I stumble upon, and all kinds of unfiltered literary detours.

To give these posts the home they deserve, I’ve created a dedicated section on my page called Underlined & Overthought.

In fact, the very first article in this new format is already on its way: I’ve spent a few of my precious brain cells dissecting one specific, mind-blowing line from Heraclitus...but you’ll have to wait until next time to read all about that!

You don’t need to do anything: I’ve automatically opted everyone in, simply because in the past these would have been standard posts mixed in with the rest of Literaria. Now, they just have their own cozy, highlighted space.

Of course, if you ever feel like this specific format isn’t for you, you can easily tweak your subscription settings on my profile and unsubscribe just from this section.

But honestly? I have a feeling you won’t want to!

Now over to you!

What is currently resting on your bedside table? Have you stumbled upon any unexpected treasures lately, or are you lost in a dark, atmospheric read like me? Tell me everything in the comments. I’d love to know what’s keeping you company!

Leave a comment

Previously on LITERARIA:

Literaria is a sanctuary for the restless mind. Subscribe to unlock the Vault, gain full access to the complete archives, and support the independent research that brings these maps to life.

Subscribe now

When we think of Gothic, our minds instantly fly to rain-slicked Victorian London, isolated English moors, or decaying old American manors. We hardly ever think of Italy, which in the common imagination is all sunshine, vineyards, sea, and Renaissance beauty. In my last article, I talked about Malombra, and it was precisely through that masterpiece that I discovered just how rich and deep Italy’s Gothic tradition truly is. In fact, Malombra has been completely taking over my thoughts lately, serving as a massive inspiration while I write my own Gothic novella.

Beneath the postcard surface, Italy hides a crazy, suffocating, and entirely unique Gothic tradition. Here, the Gothic doesn’t necessarily need ruined castles: it thrives in the claustrophobia of Alpine valleys, in the baroque palazzos of noble families now in ruins, among the mists of our countryside, or in the eerie silence of monastic libraries. It is a genre that digs into…

Read more

Have you ever read a book that didn’t just entertain you, but completely took over your mind?

Well, it is happening to me right these days. And the book in question is Malombra by Antonio Fogazzaro.

A book discovered thanks to the wonderful from the archivist journal, who shared it months ago, and as soon as I saw the cover, I was petrified by it.

Upon reading the plot, I thought, oh, yes…that’s exactly what I was looking for! I bought it and brought it home. However, I left it to gather dust for weeks!

Typical, right?!

Anyway, a few days ago, I saw it there, continuing to throw little glances at me from the bookshelf, incessantly calling me with a melodious and urgent song: “Nicole, you must read me...”. I admit I tried to resist the temptation. I thought of doing like Ulysses and shielding myself somehow just not to give in, but sometimes the call we hear coming from afar doesn’t come from outside; it’s an echo of something that is already pressing …

Read more

It is a chaotic period, as I already anticipated in my recent posts. Paradoxical at times. But these first months of the year have truly put me to a hard test with reading. And yet, I persist.

After finishing Interview with the Vampire, I lost myself in a desolate land. Yes, I read other interesting things, but nothing that gripped me the way Rice did...and so I wandered, passing from one book to another, risking putting out my love for reading. Truly, even days would pass without me getting close to a book, not even by mistake. I feared the worst.

Then, on a dreary June day that didn’t seem to promise anything good…Malombra by Antonio Fogazzaro arrived. Yes, my new love.

Started yesterday...and already “it has bewitched me body and soul”.

And let me tell you, forget Darcy saying it to Elizabeth (as iconic and 'omg wow' as that line is) for what this book is doing to me…it's a massive understatement. This is so much more!

It is entering righ…

Read more

This week, Literaria takes a step back to recharge.

My mind is currently consumed by the invisible weight of logistics, planning, and preparation for an upcoming move…suspended in that strange, wearying limbo between the space I am about to leave and the one I have yet to inhabit. Wh…

Read more

A few days ago, I stumbled upon a hidden gem of 19th-century Gothic literature: Clarimonde, or The Dead Woman in Love by Théophile Gautier. I am currently reading it, and it has completely cast a spell on me.

To be completely honest, I am actually enjoying it even more than Carmilla. It resonates much more deeply with me, especially because of its narrative style and execution. Here, the first-person perspective is not just a device to recount a mystery; it is a portal that throws you directly into the protagonist’s mind, amidst his fractures, his obsessions, and his feverish dreams. I realized some time ago that this is my absolute favorite narrative style: I need to inhabit the deepest thoughts of the narrator, to feel the psychological weight of their choices.

Gautier paints this psychological split with a velvety, ghostly sensuality, exploring the double life of a young priest: chaste and …

Read more

I stumbled upon this sonnet by Dante Gabriel Rossetti the other day, completely by chance, and it left me spellbound. I find it dangerously beautiful.

In this specific piece, which belongs to his masterpiece The House of Life, “Might-have-been” is the cruel personification of all denied potential. For Rossetti, this specter doesn’t simply wipe out the past; it turns our memories into ghosts. It holds up a mirror before our eyes to show us what a bond could have become if time hadn’t broken it, transforming past happiness into a lingering, intolerable shadow.

Throughout the entire work, the author desperately tries to find a way to freeze time (through art, love, and perfect moments), but in the end, he surrenders to the evidence that time destroys everything. This sonnet, arriving almost at the very end (number 97 out of 101), is the exact moment wher…

Read more

While you navigate the map of 25+ summer books I shared on Friday, I wanted to let you step a little closer into my personal sanctuary.

These are the specific titles that will keep me company in the coming months: those destined for my bedside table. Some are unfinished stories waiting for the right night to be completed; others are recent discoveries that are constantly on my mind, an ancestral call impossible to resist...and so, they too will likely end up on my private shelves sooner or later.

Read more

Summer isn’t meant for “dutiful” books. It’s meant for those titles that have the strength to compete with the blinding sun or to give meaning to the melancholy of a sudden thunderstorm.

This isn’t a universal ranking of the “best books of the year,” nor a definitive guide to the perfect summer books out there. It is, quite simply, a box of memories. These are the books I have loved, the ones that marked my past summers, and that I choose to share with you today.

Are thousands of masterpieces missing? Certainly.

But in these lines, you will find only what has passed my personal litmus test: that ability to cling to the skin like the heavy humidity of a metropolis in mid-August. It thickens around you, clouds your mind, and yet, you cannot do without it.

Read more

My mind, lately, is an open construction site.

Between the imminent move and a sort of identity crisis regarding my style, that unsettling feeling of no longer recognizing yourself in the wardrobe you’ve built over the years, my focus has shifted from the printed page to a search for the aesthetics of my new space and an analysis of what is no longer working in my personal style.

I’ve realized that when our external world is in flux (literally moving between boxes and new walls), it’s only natural for our daily “armor” to falter. This is likely why I can’t seem to stay focused on a single thing for long; I am always running. But it’s a mental race, a slalom between one logistical task and the next, decorated with obstacles along the way. I have no choice but to keep running, jumping from a contractor’s quote to a devastating quote by Barthes.

This cross-country race through the labyrinths of my mind is also why I’ve finished so few books in recent months. I simply…

Read more

Words fail me today. I only slept three hours, and I feel the full weight of weeks spent juggling the logistics of a new home and curating Literaria. I love both, but this weekend wasn’t a moment of rest; on the contrary, I feel completely exhausted and empty.

To make matters worse, I woke up around 3 a.m. from a nightmare, one of the most intense, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I found myself scrolling through Instagram, a desperate attempt to distract myself from the disturbing images. It’s a hollow way to spend the night, yet sometimes it’s the only way to get through it. I know, I could have read...but, to be honest, my brain wouldn’t have been able to process what I’d read.

Rather than force an analysis I don’t have the strength to write, I’m sharing a visual archive of dreams and nightmares that speak for me.

I’ll also leave you with the words of Anne Sexton, a woman with a rare ability to give complex, intense, and vibrant form to even the mo…

Read more

In that grate separating the two lovers and in the token passing through the metal, I saw the readings I’ve been doing these days materialize. I thought of the contrast between Le Goff’s sacred body and the desiring body of Barthes’s Fragments, but it was Anne Carson, with her Eros the Bittersweet (which I just started), that gave me the key. From the very first lines, one is overwhelmed by refined revelations about love and desire.

Carson begins with an intuition of Sappho, the first to define Eros as “bittersweet” (glukupikron). It’s not a question of time (the sweet first, the bitter after) but of a paradoxical simultaneity: Eros is an experience of pleasure and pain that occurs at the same time. Eros invades us from the outside; it is an enemy that breaks our will a…

Read more

Lately, the Middle Ages have started knocking on my door again. It’s a cyclical obsession, a ghost I thought I had laid to rest years ago, only to find it watching me patiently from behind a row of English and Italian classics and lit-fiction novels read over the last two years.

I spent the afternoon dusting off my medieval collection: those volumes that built my imagination for years, giving shape to my vision of the Middle Ages and making me fall in love with a period so rich in paradoxes and, therefore, so fascinating. There is something deeply cathartic in the “long Middle Ages” Jacques Le Goff spoke of: a world not made of darkness but of vivid dreams, symbolic monsters, and archetypes that still shape how we perceive reality today. Just think of the very idea of “romantic love” or our conception of time and the body: many of the tracks on which our modern sensibility travels were laid down right within the walls of a s…

Read more

I’m continuing my reading of Barthes. Every now and then, I open A Lover’s Discourse and read a short passage. The book is structured in a way that makes it easy to dip in and out, savoring just a short or long sip...depending on our daily cravings.

Today I want to share with you the fragment I just read, leaving you to reflect on it and provoking you with a little philosophical question, why not?

This passage is haunting and powerful, and it also magically connects to Fowles’s The Collector, which I was talking about in yesterday’s ephemera.

So, what can I say...a question of synchronicity?

See you in the comments!

Read more

Fresh back from Milan, I started reading John Fowles’ The Collector. It’s a book I’ve had on my TBR for a while, one that’s always intrigued me. The moment I saw it on the shelves of the American Bookstore, I absolutely had to pick it up. The first thing I noticed was a French sentence in the preface, which immediately caught my attention and prompted me to do some research.

And...it was my undoing! A whole world opened up before me. It was like crossing a portal that took me back to the origins of what has always fascinated me: the Middle Ages and their harmonious contradictions.

The quote in question is taken from the ancient poem La Châtelaine de Vergy, an anonymous short 13th-century romance of courtly love in Old French, and it is: “que fors aus ne le sot riens nee“.

It roughly translates to “no one born knew of it except them” or “not a soul knew of it but themselves”.

Read more

I returned from Milan with my mind full and my body taking its toll. I bear the physical signs of days spent walking and walking to see as much as possible in the few days I had. So my feet are begging for mercy. And even a slight backache...yay!

It’s the paradox of desire: the beauty we so stubbornly seek always ends up hurting us a little. But...it was worth it.

Milan is truly a jewel. It amazed me.

I don’t know why, but since I was little, I’ve always had preconceptions about it and have always snubbed it a bit...perhaps because the emphasis placed on its brilliance, especially here on Italian TV programs, often tends to overshadow other beautiful Italian cities that deserve a spotlight, like my beloved Turin.

In the last few days, a sudden and unexpected resonance—the note and article on Eros & Thanatos that I shared almost as a whisper—went viral, traveling through thousands of screens and bringin…

Read more

There is a legendary list that Joan Didion kept taped to the inside of her closet door in Hollywood. It was a cold, almost clinical inventory, born during her years as a contributor for Vogue: 2 skirts, 2 jerseys, 1 sweater, stockings, cigarettes, bourbon...and a typewriter. Specifically, her faithful Olivetti Lettera 32, which she carried everywhere like an extension of her body. It wasn’t just a list of things; it was a survival strategy written to avoid succumbing to chaos.

Read more