I became interested in Italian writer Dacia Maraini when I discovered that she spent the early part of her childhood growing up in wartime Japan. Her father, Fosco Maraini, was an ethnologist and alpinist (re:adventurer) who brought the family to Japan when he got a position at a Japanese university. He and his wife were anti-fascists so when Italy aligned with Japan during the war, the Maraini family were put into a prisoner-of-war camp. Little Dacia of the time was roughly the same girlhood age as my Japanese mother and suffered the deprivations of wartime Japan in startlingly similar ways, I was to discover on reading her biography and talking to my mother.
But I digress ... this is meant to be a review of one of Maraini's novels. I stumbled on this recently translated title of hers while researching her books and was immediately curious about it. I tried ordering the book from inter-library loan from my public library back in the fall of 2023, but they didn't have it. So I was stuck, and didn't feel a srong enough urge to buy the book, until I heard about Marguerite Porete, a twelfth century midieval heretic, at a dim sum lunch I had at Christmastime with other writers and translators of poetry. I had just finished translating with two other translators, a book of 17th century German devotional poetry by Catherina Regina Von Greiffenberg, and was feeling at a bit of a loss for spiritual inspiration.
Reading Porete's Mirror of Simple Souls led me to the Beguines -- that midieval sisterhood of spiritual women who lived communally in towns and cities in continental Europe. I picked up Laura Swan's Wisdom of the Beguines which briefly mentioned Clare of Assisi and was reminded of Mariani's book. I then ordered it at once from Amazon. The title says the book is a novel, but as I got into it, I thought of it more as creative non-fiction as well as a meta-narrative.
How do we come to understand a midieval woman's spirituality in this modern age? Or rather, how did I get so suddenly drawn into this world by acquiring and reading these books about this subject in rapid succession? The midieval spiritual woman's world of self-imposed poverty, celibacy, mortification of the flesh, ritualized living seems a remote call to investigate the truly alien. A remote call, indeed, but still a call. And that is how Maraini starts her novel. A woman named Chiara e-mails the author and asks her to investigate her namesake -- Clare of Assisi (Chiara is the Italian name of Clare) -- for, as Chiara explains, she does not truly know herself and thinks the author might, by investigating Clare tell her, Chiara, who she might be or become.
The author is at first uninterested and annoyed, but Chiara persists by dropping tantalizing hints of what she's managed to research on her own about Clare, until finally the author succumbs to this woman's proddings, and tumbles headlong into researching and writing about the saint.
The set-up of the call by the e-mailer, the refusal and annoyance by the author, and then the slow seduction by the voice into a world strangely other and at turns richly disturbing and compelling is the framework of this novel, and such a framework will be familiar to anyone who has felt in their soul something stirring them to action. For the writer, the action is to read and interpret, internalize and contextualize the testimony and persona of the subject -- Clare of Assisi -- and then write. And for the record, writers, like any other human, can be called and seduced. By the end of the novel, the author feels a little bit like she's been tricked by this e-mailing Chiara but there is something sweet and sly about her, that makes the author soften towards her.
Who was Clare? She was an Italian saint who was one of the first followers of Francis of Assisi and who started a monastic order of women known as the Poor Clares in San Damiano. Maraini expands on this description of course, but not necessarily by creating scenes as some writers do. No, hers is an intellectual and occasionally visceral questioning of this woman's life -- for example, Mariani wonders if Clare had lice, imagining the rail-thin woman with her sisters sleeping on straw mats with stones for pillows and eating nothing but what is provided to them. She ponders the midieval construction of gender, wondering why women desire to become 'brides' of Christ (for wouldn't that make Christ a polygamist in heaven, Mariani muses.) At the same time, Maraini grapples with the mysterious impulses that govern a woman who is called to a radical life of obedience and faith.
The life of faith has its own language -- for example, you are 'called,' and then you must respond to the call, and wrestle with it; eventually you must 'submit' and 'surrender' yourself to it. 'Submit' 'Surrender' 'Obey' -- these words are difficult to process and perhaps even slightly repellent. Especially if you don't bring God into the sentence. And even if you do, the images conjured are more martial than loving. The words also have a ring of defeat to them which made me wonder why Mariani chose the word 'disobedient' to describe Clare when she clearly was not, except to her society, and perhaps this is the interpretation Mariani slyly and provocatively intends with her use of the word.
As I read and puzzled my way through Porete's philosophical and mystical Mirror of Simple Souls and Laura Swan's historical Wisdom of the Beguines, and now through Maraini's novelistic In Praise of Disobedience, I came to an epiphany that was best expressed as below by the novelist. It encapsulated the mental experience for me of reading -- that is, the using of all the faculties of the heart, mind and soul to understand what it means to be a woman of faith.
"There's a fine line between logic and mystery, free will and the complete surrender of oneself. We journey balanced on a thread of logic that mustn't be forced. Surely, Clare had to believe that reasoning was form of presumption, because divine language is mysterious and shouldn't be interpreted in specious ways. Divine will must be experienced, absorbed, received with one's entire self in an act of generous surrender --an act that love alone can engender in the human heart."