Not even Bompiani knows (or is willing to say) whether Ranucci’s book is a novel or an autobiography

Rome. The main problem, of course, is that he boasts about it. The secondary issue, which has been ongoing for weeks, concerns the nature of his conquests. Are the love affairs of which Sigfrido prides himself true or plausible? Are they verifiable facts, events that actually took place, or the curious artistic licence of an investigative journalist? (A reporter beloved by women, certainly, but more for the heroic promise of truth than for his poetry). The issue is moral, of course, no less than literary. So we knock on the door of Bompiani, the publisher with whom Sigfrido Ranucci published the book "La scelta", and ask the publisher directly whether the bedroom scenes, the tender moments and the kisses with the trainees are to be classified as investigative reporting or as a romance novel (Ranucci had been vague: “You can’t tell one from the other”). Giulia Ichino, the non-fiction editor, replied to Il Foglio. “We’re sorry,” she said. “But we can’t help you.” What do you mean? Can’t you tell us which genre Ranucci’s book belongs to? “We publishers publish books to give a voice to their authors, and it is not our job to interpret them.” Ah. But if that isn’t your job, then what is? “It is not our job to provide further information; we cannot be of assistance to you.” All right, thank you.

So it’s impossible to say whether “La scelta” is journalism or a novel. Is it perhaps ‘new journalism’? “My colleagues at the publishing house and I can only express our solidarity and support for Sigfrido Ranucci”. All right. But solidarity for what? Because if it’s for the attack, that goes without saying. If it’s for the suspension of the summer repeats, “TeleMeloni” is a prophecy that (perhaps) is self-fulfilling. If it’s for nosy journalists, we’re following in the footsteps of Boccia (Maria Rosaria).

It’s not clear what the “solidarity” is for, but it doesn’t matter.

Dear Ichino, please excuse my persistence, but we’d just like confirmation: is the book "La scelta" effectively an autobiography or not? We can see on Amazon that you’ve categorised it under ‘journalism, publishing, newspapers’. It has little to do with fiction, correct? Nothing. Is it perhaps autofiction? No response.

At this point, communication has broken down and our suspicion is that they do not even know themselves. That not even at Bompiani do they know whether the affair with the intern in Milan is true or false. In a hotel where Sigfrido was caught red-handed with his iPad open on a secret chat. The Swiss intern, Karoline, then shouted at him, “You’re a piece of shit”, fled in tears, and was subsequently hit by an SUV (are all men and love like this?). Theirs is a small yet significant story, yet one that nobody knows about.

Meanwhile, on Editor-in-Chief Bompiani’s Instagram profile, we note a post dated 17 October: “This is Sigfrido Ranucci; this is the calling of those who defend freedom of speech; this is one of the fronts we must defend together now more than ever – united, vigilant and in solidarity.” Militant publishing or socially conscious fiction – who knows? As for "Report", perhaps Bompiani is right: freedom of speech exists. So free, perhaps, that it risks becoming a pendulum: one day investigative reporting, the next a romance novel. With one question remaining unanswered: is the "Report" method journalism or a "Harmony" novel? Now more than ever, a choice is urgently needed.