Who is the ghostwriter Elena Ferrante
In an intriguing case, a Neapolitan prose writer, arguably the most internationally recognized contemporary Italian author, has been consistently publishing successful works since 1992, all while maintaining a shroud of anonymity. All these years, she has concealed her identity behind the pseudonym Elena Ferrante, protecting her privacy like a treasured possession. She has never met a journalist face-to-face or allowed herself to be photographed. The only personal details she discloses are her gender and her origins, suggesting that her artistic freedom grows in direct proportion to her personal obscurity. With the exception of a rare live interview given to the editors of this year’s Paris Review, her few media interactions have been conducted in writing. Literary figures like Zadie Smith and Jhumpa Lahiri celebrate her work, but Ferrante herself remains elusive, a ghost writer in the truest sense. Following in the footsteps of Salinger and Pynchon, she shies away from the public eye, and like them, she has gradually become the stuff of legend.
Ferrante’s novels are dominated by the theme of how women are moulded by their societal contexts, and how they grapple with their multifaceted roles while striving to retain a sense of individuality. The female experience is the bedrock of her work, often depicted as a far from idyllic journey marked by violence and humiliation. Greek readers were introduced to Ferrante’s distinctive voice by a small publishing house, Perugia, which in the 1990s was championing contemporary Italian prose. In 1997, they published her debut novel, “Brutal Love” (ed. P. Skondras), a tribute to her mother. Ferrante has revealed that by the age of 15, she was already penning stories about courageous girls navigating challenging situations, drawing inspiration from male authors. She chose to emulate the likes of Defoe, Fielding, Dostoevsky, and Tolstoy, rather than Jane Austen or the Bronte sisters. It took her some time to consider any of her writings worthy of publication. However, from her very first novel, she demonstrated her ability to craft an intense, enveloping atmosphere with her prose, whether she was exploring patriarchal Neapolitan society or the sexual repression of her heroines, creating a palpable sense of threat that extends even to the reader.
“I’ve already done a lot for this story: I wrote it. If the book is worth anything, that should be enough. I won’t participate in talks and presentations, even if I’m invited. I won’t accept any awards, if they’re offered. I won’t promote the book, especially on television, either in Italy or abroad… If you’re not willing to support me in this, let me know, I’ll understand.”
Sandro and Sandra Ferri of Editioni E/O, one of Italy’s most reputable publishing houses, recall receiving a letter from Ferrante on the eve of the release of “Brutal Love”. In it, she made her intentions clear: “I’ve already done a lot for this story: I wrote it. If the book is worth anything, that should be enough.”
“I will not participate in discussions or presentations, even if invited. I will not accept any awards bestowed upon me. I will not promote my book, particularly not on television, either in Italy or abroad. I will only consent to written interviews and prefer to keep those to a minimum. I am firmly committed to this, for my sake and for my family’s. I hope not to be pressured into changing my stance. I understand this might pose some difficulties for the publisher. I have immense respect for your work, and I took an immediate liking to both of you. I do not wish to cause any trouble. If you decide not to support me henceforth, please let me know. I will understand.” In the same letter, Ferrante, according to her editors, insisted: “I believe that books, once they are written, do not need their authors. If they have something to say, they will find their readers sooner or later; if not, they won’t…”
After a decade of silence, in 2002, another of Ferrante’s novels, Days of Abandonment – one of her most widely translated works today – was published in Italy. Two years later, it was published in Greece under the guarantee of Agra (ed. S. Papastavrou). I recall being captivated from the very first paragraph: “One April afternoon, right after lunch, my husband told me that he wanted to leave me. He did it while we were clearing the table, the children were quarreling as usual in the next room, and the dog was dreaming, growling beside the radiator. He told me he was confused, that he was having a tough time, that he felt tired, unfulfilled, even impoverished…” Olga, an aspiring writer and narrator, stands stunned by the sink after fifteen years of unproductive family life, confronting her worst fear: that she might become like that pitiful woman from Naples, the “poor woman” from her childhood, who used to disrupt the neighborhood with her distress over her unfaithful husband.
Marital betrayal has provided literature with both masterpieces and lesser works of fiction. How does one innovate when writing about something so commonplace? The author known as Elena Ferrante has chosen to channel the voice of a modern-day Medea, documenting, at a breakneck pace, a forsaken woman’s flirtation with insanity, delving deeper into her psyche. Devoid of frills and melodramatic embellishments, Days of Abandonment portrays a woman who is both devastated and combative, not just towards her ex-partner but also towards herself and her own children. Yet, in the end, the prevailing tone is one of peace and optimism.
Over time, more novels have joined Ferrante’s initial works. Her work began to be translated into English, reaching a wider audience and earning prestigious accolades like the international IMPAC and the Italian Strega, all while her identity remained a mystery. It is a testament to the power of literature, demonstrating how some books can stand tall without the need for authorial crutches. However, recent events in the United States suggest that a veil of mystery can sometimes enhance their allure.
The novels that catapulted Ferrante to success in the Anglo-Saxon world are the four books that comprise the Neapolitan tetralogy: “My Brilliant Friend”, “The Story of a New Name”, “Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay”, and “The Story of the Lost Child”. These novels trace the lives of two charismatic friends, Elena and Lila, from their childhood in a Neapolitan slum to their adulthood, far removed from the misogynistic and violent environment of their hometown. Is it possible to escape one’s past? Ferrante suggests it’s not, as she explores the internal struggles these intelligent, ambitious, and educated women face growing up, haunted by their traumatic memories. Centered on female friendship, complete with the inherent antagonisms and rivalries, the Neapolitan tetralogy is a sweeping mural, a human mosaic that reflects the social, ideological, and cultural shifts in southern Italy from 1945 to present day.
The first volume was pitched to various Greek publishers, but was met with caution due to the ongoing crisis. However, the surge of positive reviews and discussions about the Ferrante phenomenon eventually broke down the barriers. “L’amica geniale”, as it is originally titled, will be published by Pataki in 2016, and if successful, the subsequent volumes will follow. Dimitra Dotsi, who was tasked with the translation, asserts that “once you start reading it, you become addicted, it’s impossible to put down. Elena and Lila are cut from the same cloth as Olga in ‘Days of Abandonment’, but Ferrante doesn’t just focus on their mental world. They are surrounded by dozens of secondary characters – their names alone fill pages! – weaving numerous parallel stories into the novel that, rather than disorienting you, captivate you. The plot begins with Lila’s mysterious disappearance, leaving no trace behind, and her writer friend’s decision to reconstruct their shared history in a book. The first volume covers their childhood and teenage years, culminating in Lila’s marriage at sixteen. As soon as you finish it, you can’t wait for the rest.”
According to Dotsi, just as the buzz around Ferrante was beginning to fade, her international success sparked even greater curiosity among Italians. Rumors abound: some suspect she is a man, specifically the Italian novelist Domenico Starnone, others believe there’s a whole team behind her, while some point to the Ferris couple, her publishers on both sides of the Atlantic. However, nothing has been confirmed.
Last spring, in an interview with the Paris Review, Elena Ferrante admitted that her initial choice to remain out of the public eye was due to shyness. She confessed, “I was afraid to come out of my shell.” Over time, however, she developed a deep-seated hostility towards the media. This resentment was not only triggered by the media’s tendency to judge literary works based on the author’s non-literary glamour, but also because they often feel compelled to invent the author’s persona when they aren’t physically present.
