Joseph Luzzi on Finding Inspiration Through His Mother’s Storytelling

In 2011, Joseph Luzzi received a contract to write his first book aimed at general readers, titled My Two Italies. This marked a significant shift from his previous academic work, which focused on more specialized topics. Initially, Luzzi planned to write a cultural history of Italy, covering its ancient culture up to the turbulent Berlusconi era. However, he struggled to find a narrative center for the book. Despite gathering extensive material over years as a student, scholar, and teacher, he felt the book lacked a driving force. The contract even listed the work as untitled due to its uncertain form. Luzzi was stuck for weeks and months, unable to progress until a moment of unexpected inspiration changed everything.

While working in the Bard library, Luzzi fell asleep surrounded by books and dreamed of his childhood home. The dream transported him back to a moment when he returned from school, hoping for his mother’s freshly baked bread or wine biscuits. Instead, he encountered the overwhelming smell of tripe—cow stomach—being boiled by his mother. This vivid sensory memory became the catalyst for his book. Luzzi realized he didn’t need to write the book but rather remember it, letting the stories of his childhood spill onto the page naturally. The smell of tripe, like Proust’s madeleine cake, unlocked a flood of memories that would shape the book’s direction.

Luzzi’s book My Two Italies centers on the smells, sounds, and stories of his childhood, blending Italy’s ancient culture with the American Dream and the struggles of a large immigrant family. The narrative explores the tension between Calabrian traditions and the secular freedoms of American consumer culture. The book’s core idea emerged from Luzzi’s childhood memories, particularly the sensory details of his mother’s kitchen and the stories she shared. This approach transformed the book from a dry cultural history into a personal, evocative account of family, migration, and cultural identity.

Luzzi’s mother, Yolanda Luzzi, became the primary source of inspiration for his book. After the death of her husband in 1995, she wore black mourning clothes for years. Her storytelling, whether during morning coffee or evening dinners in her yellow kitchen or backyard, brought the past to life. Luzzi’s father’s name, P. L. Nato Acri 1923, was carved into the cement steps of their backyard, symbolizing his arrival in the U.S. and the loss of his homeland. Yolanda’s stories, filled with vivid details of her life in Calabria and her struggles as an immigrant, became the emotional heart of the book.

Yolanda Luzzi adhered to traditional Calabrian gender norms, which dictated that women should avoid drinking wine except for small amounts on holidays or saints’ days. Despite this, she would sip Calabrian red wine while narrating stories about her homeland, honoring her late husband. These moments highlighted the contrast between old-world traditions and the new freedoms of life in America. Her storytelling sessions, often held under the family oak tree, were a space where she could reanimate her past and share her experiences in a natural, unfiltered way.

Yolanda Luzzi understood that a great story must first captivate the storyteller before it can engage listeners or readers. Her narratives were not just recollections but performances that brought her past to life. For example, she recounted how her husband trapped her at age fourteen to force marriage, how she arrived in America alone in her twenties to establish her family, and how she mourned the loss of her domineering husband after fifty years of marriage. These stories were as much for her as they were for Luzzi, serving as her sole literary work and a masterpiece of oral storytelling.

Yolanda Luzzi’s reflections on immigration revealed the harsh realities of her journey. When asked why she came to America, she replied in dialect, “Siamo venuti ca per campare più buono perchè c’era la fatiga,” meaning “We came here to live better because there was work here.” The word fatiga (fatigue) underscored the grueling manual labor her husband endured in America, often collapsing from exhaustion at the dinner table. Despite the hardships, she expressed little nostalgia for Italy, stating that only her husband missed it, not her. By the time of the interview, all her family from Calabria had passed away, leaving her with no siblings to miss.

A video interview with Yolanda Luzzi later revealed a stark contrast to her natural storytelling style. In the interview, she appeared bored and uncomfortable, responding to direct questions in broken English. This differed from her animated, poetic narratives shared under the oak tree, where she could freely reimagine her past. The interview felt like an interrogation to her, lacking the organic flow of her storytelling. Luzzi noted that her backyard performances were her true literary work, a spontaneous and unscripted Book of Life that captured her experiences and emotions.