In her life, everything always happens in spring. And so Nica disappears on a day in May, severing her bond with Tommaso without explanation—only a brief note left in the place that had been theirs. Of that laconic and fragile woman, volatile and aloof, of her light indifference to the things of the world, of the entirely new passion she had unleashed on him, of her being at once raw flesh and pure spirit, Tommaso is left with nothing but a handful of memories and the regret of never having imagined a future with her. He searches for her everywhere, wandering like a sleepwalker through the streets of Palermo, sweltering and torpid, a city that seems unwilling to give her back—because finding her would mean reclaiming the liveliest part of himself that his desire for her had revealed. His story runs parallel to that of Gelsomina and her daughter Margherita, who arrived like a gift thanks to a vow made to the saint of impossible causes, Saint Rita of Cascia. A woman and a child who live their days in exile from family, in a small house where time does not exist and the sea drinks everything in, until real life breaks in. From that bond—at once a veil that embraces and a yoke that crushes—unfolds a story of flights and returns, of truths left unspoken and freedoms won. In this powerful, hypnotic novel, Anna Voltaggio dares to move beyond the materialism of our times, making room for the sacred dimension even in the most secular lives, with the guilt we all incur and the forgiveness only we can grant ourselves.

"That afternoon, within a matter of minutes, Margherita refuses the sacrifice and betrays. Her mother, the sea, the Saint, the pain from which she was born together with the hope that never dies—a promise that saves no one, but keeps us alive."

“Anna Voltaggio’s writing reveals with elegance crisis, failure, and the most incredible ways of surviving life.” — Giulia Caminito

La nostalgia che avremo di noi is a human comedy, a polyphonic storybook, a stone that, thrown into the water, expands in concentric circles the mysterious substance of desire.

One could say that inside a book like this, in which the form of a novel breaks down and fragments, the ghosts of life move more naturally, allow themselves pauses, play with nostalgia, question time, and the intermittencies of the present. Anna Voltaggio's characters are inside the nostalgia of an unknowable past, they know love only as an illusory form, they live with uncertain tenderness, with desires left unresolved, with feelings to be kept at bay; and they light sudden glimmers on lives about which we do not need to know more than what is hinted at. They explain eroticism without saying it, pleasure without pursuing it, they modulate waiting like an incomplete puzzle, where the missing tiles generate another design, and they show error as the only possible form of freedom. In these pages peopled with lost voices, it seems as if the noise of life arrives from time to time, where the future mixes with the past like a paradox, in a present that renounces nothing and yet goes astray in the face of dreams and desires. In this debut book, Anna Voltaggio closes accounts with memories, desires and obsessions, stitching together, with dry and decisive writing, stories that expose all our incapabilities, all our all too human flaws.