Lit/Pub #IV - The Wake Up Issue - Spring2024
The magazine of Professor Andrea di Robilant literary class at The American University of Rome. "Last year’s issue of Lit/Pub was about the slow return to a post-Covid world. This year, the initial theme was dreams – time to get on with it and think about the future. But the more we discussed what to put in the issue, the more it became apparent that a lingering wariness was still in the air, even a certain complacency. Hence the exhortatory title – The Wake Up Issue – which Isabella Klepikoff has deftly captured in the design of this year’s cover: a wolf resting by a Roman fountain. He looks to be resting, but his lively green eyes tell us he is stirring back to action."
The magazine of Professor Andrea di Robilant literary class at The American University of Rome.
"Last year’s issue of Lit/Pub was about the slow return to a post-Covid world. This year, the initial theme was dreams – time to get on with it and think about the future. But the more we discussed what to put in the issue, the more it became apparent that a lingering wariness was still in the air, even a certain complacency. Hence the exhortatory title – The Wake Up Issue – which Isabella Klepikoff has deftly captured in the design of this year’s cover: a wolf resting by a Roman fountain. He looks to be resting, but his lively green eyes tell us he is stirring back to action."
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Sidetracks<br />
Shirtless on the Corso<br />
By Joey Colianni<br />
Cold and tired, I pause and peep into the shop window. I had been tacking back and forth<br />
aimlessly on Via del Corso for three days looking for a new wardrobe. An array of colorful shirts are<br />
hanging in the display. Tidily written descriptions are pinned to them. I recognize the same style of<br />
Italian handwriting that I’ve seen on old family recipes. <strong>The</strong> store feels familiar. <strong>The</strong> subtle white<br />
lettering on the entrance reads ‘SCHOSTAL.’ I push open the glass door and go inside.<br />
<strong>The</strong> soft glow draws me into a new world of fineries. <strong>The</strong> lively chatter and charm perk me<br />
up as shoppers and sales ladies casually buzz about. Some with armfuls of pajamas, others inspecting<br />
the textiles’ fine weave. Large globular pendants hang from the tall ceiling. Like a rich honeycomb, the<br />
shelves are filled with shirts in every cut, cloth, and color.<br />
It is warm in the store. Not warm with the sweaty hustle-and-bustle of other stores in the<br />
centro storico – warm in a cozy way. A dog about the size of a bread loaf is napping in the corner. A<br />
well-dressed Italian woman lists an extensive order of shirts for her husband. I’m asked if I need help,<br />
and I recite the sentence that I’ve been practicing: “Cercando per camicie.” In an instant, I’m being<br />
fitted for shirts.<br />
“Did the airline lose your luggage?” the bespectacled head shopkeeper asks.<br />
“No, I’m just really bad at packing.”<br />
Weeks ago, everything I owned was spread across tables, countertops, and chairs in my basement<br />
as I packed for Rome. Carefully, I chose a few items from every stack and tucked them away in<br />
my luggage. “Pared down, minimalist,” my sister said. “I’m impressed.”<br />
<strong>The</strong>re was even room to spare; enough for a box of Milk Duds and the granola bars that my<br />
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