Friendship without trivia, without subterfuge. Few of us can count friends on the fingers of one hand, in the deepest concept of friendship, in its meaning free of all interest and strengthened by dealing. In short, the affection beyond any other bond from which some kind of reciprocity emerges.
What is narrated to us in this book between Pietro and Bruno brings us back to the essence of who we were, to that friendship that we sometimes struck up, to those ties that we tie even with blood.
Growing up doesn't have to always mean abandoning paradises. As long as you are able to maintain that or those friends with whom you locked that unbreakable affection, you can grow up reconciled with your childhood that saw you leave.
An emotional and transcendental reading, a not deep but light understanding of the magic of destiny that comes and goes, that claims you as part of another person and that only with it do you find meaning again as you wander through the world.
Pietro makes his way between cities, forging one of those futures won by hard work and tenacity. Bruno stays among the mountains of the Dolomites. But they both know that there, between high peaks, extensive meadows and deep gorges, they have a time stopped waiting for them to share with God or with anyone their appreciations about the past and the future, about parents, about love, about the guilt and dreams that are achieved from the ambition that seems so great or from the simple admiration of the great ancient rocks that dwarf everything a man can aspire to.
A novel that makes its way around the world like an inextinguishable echo between mountains.
You can buy the book The eight mountains, the surprising novel by Paolo Cognetti, here: