For Tommaso, who is almost twenty-one and shuns the challenges of his age, Positano is both a welcoming shelter and an eternal regret, almost a curse.
With its pastel-colored houses faded by the sun, it is the place where he and his parents Viviana and Bruno spend an entire month every summer, made up of rituals that are unchangeable yet capable of revealing, from year to year, the passing of time. It is the sea of great expectations and friendships never born, the one where, even now that Tommaso has become a man, he does not have the audacity to brush against Annarosa, to give her a memory of the August they lived together.
It is, finally, the place to find the courage to leave: after twelve years, Grandma Tullia's house must be left, cleared of objects and memories, and they will never be able to return. Marco Raio's La stagione is a narrative debut surprising in its ability to renew in us the nostalgia for an eternally lost paradise, that of suspension on the edge of youth, on the threshold of a summer laden with promise and yet ready to wound us to death. And it is remarkable how, more than sixty years after La Capria's masterpiece, once again the melancholy splendor of the Amalfi Coast is the ideal backdrop, vivid and metaphysical, chosen by a young writer to tell us about a season of life that will not return.