7 Books Like Voices in the Evening

Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Meek One (also published as A Gentle Spirit) is a slim yet deeply introspective work that explores the troubled marriage between a pawnbroker and his young wife. Set against the backdrop of 19th-century Russia, the narrative retains a haunting resonance for modern readers as it conveys the quiet turbulence that assails marital relationships. Filtered through the voice of a self-absorbed narrator, The Meek One is far from an optimistic tale. Through its bleak conclusion, Dostoevsky reveals how love can become the site for spiritual, emotional and psychological violence.

Annie Ernaux's The Young Man defies the cultural taboos surrounding age and intimacy. It stands as a breathtaking reminder that love is, above all, a personal journey of self-discovery—one that possesses the ability to transform us in unexpected ways.

In many ways, this sort of book has gone out of style since it was published in the 1960s.

It’s an opinionated and ambitious portrayal of the Italian psyche and culture. Barzini looks at his fellow Italians with a dispassionate eye and a healthy sense of irreverence, uncovering their foibles, hidden beliefs, superstitions, and great strengths as a culture.

For me, Italy is an eternal paradox. Just when you think you’ve worked it out, something happens that makes you do a double-take. This book helps you understand that paradox has been part of Italy’s identity since the very beginning.

Among the greatest family memoirs of all time. Novelist, Natalia Ginzburg (née Levi) grew up in a big family in Turin between the wars. Her Jewish father was a famous and famously irascible scientist, her mother a charmer from the well-to-do bourgeoisie. The last of five, Natalia gives a sparkling picture of the loves, friendships and conflicts between her older brothers and sisters as Fascist Italy drifted toward war. Impossible not to laugh and cry, while at the same time getting a sense of the deeper forces driving Italian life.

“COMES over one an absolute necessity to move.” Has there ever been a more appropriate opening line to any travel book? D H Lawrence moved to Sicily right after the First World War and from there got the itch to board a ship and visit Sardinia to the north with his wife Frida. He was hoping to find a primitive, pre-modern society, where men were men and women were women. He did indeed find them and was appalled. But delighted too. It’s hard to think of a book with more fun in it, more self-mockery, more pathos, and more poetry. Not to mention the descriptions of Sardinia. To die for.

This was the first book I read about Basilicata, and it is essential for anyone interested in Southern Italian roots. Written in staggeringly poetic language, it offers a sad but beautiful introduction to the culture and history of the region, which is hardly ever written about and barely even visited, even by Italians.

During WWII, Levi was sent as a prisoner to Basilicata as punishment, to work as a doctor among the peasants there. The book taught me about the feudal farm system still in place there well into the 20th century, about its inhospitable landscape, and its isolated, poverty-stricken population – my ancestors.

It set the bar high for me to write my own memoir and continues to inspire me. The title refers to the fact that the train line only went as far as Eboli – that Christianity and civilization stopped short of Basilicata.

This bible of Realpolitik is another how-not-to-lead classic.

Although Big Mac believed he was offering sound advice to his generic “prince,” his prescription was famously amoral and situational and offered to those who had only one interest: to gain and maintain power at all costs. Since those ends justify any means to their attainment, the prince is advised to use such tactics as flattery, lying, bullying, threatening, and “confusing men’s minds.” Do anything that works.

The prince uses his subject to achieve his ends, not theirs. He is all about himself. Sound familiar?