La vecchia casa

The novel opens in a mist‑shrouded Milan, where the wan November light softens the city’s bustling streets into a quiet, pastel tableau. Against this backdrop of subdued colors and gentle fog, the narrative follows a solitary boy threading his way through the ancient alleys, his thin gray coat and a bundle of books hinting at a delicate inner life. His cautious steps and fleeting glances suggest a world of shy curiosity, a yearning for connection that feels both tender and slightly melancholic.

Through vivid, almost tactile descriptions, the story paints the old house that shelters the boy’s family as a fragile vessel of memory, echoing the fragility of Murano glass. As the city awakens to a calm, transitional season, the young protagonist’s observations weave together the external atmosphere and his own burgeoning thoughts. The early chapters set a tone of quiet introspection, inviting listeners to explore the subtle interplay between place, youth, and the lingering shadows of the past.