Alfabeto Cruciani. The Freedom of the Politically Incorrect: a book like a Ferragosto board game

It’s a shame that Giuseppe Cruciani didn’t include a user guide with his latest book: "Libertà. Tutto Cruciani dalla A alla Z. L’alfabeto del politicamente scorretto" (Cairo, 256 pp, 18 euros). Let’s fill that gap, because it’s one thing to pore over this dictionary on your own – as someone who loves "La Zanzara" and already agrees with its presenter – but it’s quite another to use it for what it’s meant to be: a party game to combat the lethargy of certain August evenings spent in company, where the more diverse the group, the greater the pleasure in turning it into a acrimonious row. You will be able to sever long-standing friendships, nip others in the bud, hurl insults and watermelon rinds, and breathe new life into any dull, grey dinner table. All you need to do is choose a letter and start reading: from ‘a’ for ‘accoglienza’ (hospitality) to ‘b’ for ‘bordelli’ (brothels) and ‘buonismo’ (do-goodism), from ‘l’ for ‘legittima difesa’ (self-defence) to ‘o’ for ‘omofobia’ (homophobia). The game – aka ‘debate’ – will be more fun if you know who’s sitting with you: are they vegan? A feminist? Do they sweep the pavement outside their house during ‘Fridays for Future’ protests before hopping on the inevitable Ryanair flight to pollute the skies at the weekend – but with a water bottle in their rucksack? Depending on who’s present, the resources of this dictionary – which rounds off Cruciani’s trilogy following Via Crux and Ipocriti! – will satisfy specific argumentative needs, stirring up tempers more than a bonfire on the beach.

It is the widespread tendency towards ‘mosquito-isation’ that one can already experience by tweeting or leaving a poorly worded comment on an Instagram post, from which, on the other hand, those who get the hashtag right (‘the triumph of a clear conscience at zero cost and zero mileage’) may benefit; those who show empathy (branded by Cruciani as the ‘unbearable sentimentality’ of Western society); and, above all, those who are properly outraged, because outrage is the “national sport of imbeciles, practised all year round, requiring no special equipment, involving no personal risk and offering an excellent return in terms of self-esteem” – and what’s more: you can do it without getting off the sofa, “all it takes is a thumb and three lines of comment”.

Crucianism is irritating, vulgar and right-wing; it would like to award a medal to the jeweller who opens fire; it supports nuclear power; it regards coming out as a cunning way ‘to attract attention’; it plays the song ‘Everybody viva el duche’, mocks the antifa who cry ‘authoritarian backlash’ when they’re evicted from the community centre where they don’t pay bills or rent but do good deeds (like the Franciscans, Cruciani notes, who do, however, have to pay for electricity and water); Crucianism takes pleasure in causing offence; whilst pretending to feign, it says what many think but do not say because, according to the presenter-dictator, censorship today ‘manages itself’ and there is no longer any need for a body tasked with enforcing it; ‘Crucianism’ is a factory of freaks who have no right to make demands, from the Brazilian with tattoos on his face to Nico Taurus the swinger, from Mauro Zanasi the flat-Earther to the late Richard Benson, who was – as we believe – the world’s fastest guitarist and the greatest poet of the dwarves.

Cruciani is the yang, just as his reluctant radio partner David Parenzo (“who has an unbelievable capacity to endure evil”) is the yin: they are the Batman and Robin of the “utterly wretched, deeply hated and dearly loved” programme which, at 6.30 pm on Radio 24, sets out on its constitutional mission to get on people’s nerves; a programme that “proudly” boasts of never having promoted a song, but at most of having pilloried a few (Bella ciao: ‘finished, dead, useless’) whilst using hard rock merely as a backdrop for Cruciani’s rants. You can target him with any form of body shaming (see dictionary entry) – he never takes offence anyway.

It’s the other side of the Italian moon, the opposite of Zerocalcare’s – by the way, the presenter asks, at what age does one stop being young in this country? – and of certain guests who also frequently appear on La Zanzara, such as Annarita Briganti, the ‘patriarch hunter’, another sport that can be practised even at an amateur level, especially where patriarchy no longer exists.

If the book has worked as a parlour game – optimising the purchase because your (former) friends have changed, and it can always be reused – spare a grateful thought for the masters of Crux: Gianfranco Funari, “the pioneer”, and Franco Califano, philosopher of “Tutto il resto è noia”. If anyone asks you who they were, do not resort to mansplaining. Refer them to Wikipedia, or send them straight home.