Feltrinelli: “The Maranza people need to be understood. Did they knock our shelves over? Who cares?”

Rome. They are Feltrinelli’s Black Panthers. “They’ve knocked over two of our bookcases?! Who cares!” Forget about Maranza. For two days we chased after Carlo, the son of Giangiacomo and Inge and the Leonard Bernstein of our century. The publishing house’s CEO replied: “I only give written interviews”. We then called the switchboard, where we were told: “Carlo Feltrinelli is grateful for the readers’ affection. End of message.” We subsequently spoke to the editorial director, Gianluca Foglia, who referred us to the managing editor, Barbara Nardi. After several refusals, emails and requests to call back later, we finally spoke with the head of communications, Massimiliano Tarantino, who explained the group’s position to Il Foglio. “The bookshop that was ransacked is in Turin,” he said. In Porta Nuova, yes. “But I can tell you that the incident was entirely coincidental.” In what sense ‘coincidental’? ‘The lads went in simply because they were being chased by the DIGOS, because they were terrified of the police; that’s why they vandalised the place. They did it, yes, but only because they were acting on impulse.’ We, too, in fact, thought that such impulsive individuals could not possibly harbour such deep hatred for a Feltrinelli. “They don’t hate us.” No. Besides, if it had been a political act, they certainly wouldn’t have attacked a left-wing stronghold. “Of course not. They’d have broken into an American bank or perhaps a Mondadori!” Exactly. Although our own Andrea Minuz – you’ll know him – wrote in X that the Maranza crowd often can’t tell Feltrinelli from Decathlon. “And that’s actually quite laughable. But believe me, it was a completely random incident.” No doubt about it. “And besides, by focusing so much on the lads who knocked over two bookcases, we’re looking at the finger rather than the moon.” But the finger, meanwhile, is thoroughly fractured. “They knocked them over. But who cares?” Well, anyway. “Excuse me, but what are we supposed to say?” Perhaps it’s because we’re fond of your bookshops, from Largo Argentina to Viale Libia, where we often bump into Christian Raimo. “We’ve put up a sign outside the shop in Turin, and that’s enough.” And what does it say? “That the booksellers extend their warmest thanks to their fellow citizens.” And what about the shoplifters? “It’s not a question of thanking them, nor of condemning them.” But…? “But of understanding them.” Is that Feltrinelli’s position? “Yes. We believe the phenomenon is social and cyclical.” Meaning? “That it’s much bigger than the damage to a single bookshop.” I see. We hope that all shopkeepers, from Milan to Turin, will be as forgiving as you are. “No books were stolen from us.” They stole Nike and Vuitton. “Not a single book went missing.” That is why, on Instagram, it is Saviano defending them, not Arnault. “These young people have raised an important issue.” Status symbols and virtue signalling. “We were broken into, yes, and we were shocked. But the damage cannot be reduced to a single pane of glass.” What is the damage? “The damage is to the younger generations. Not just Italians, but Europeans first and foremost.” I wonder if Carlo will organise a reception at the foundation’s headquarters then. The one designed by the marvellous Herzog & de Meuron at Porta Volta. “What we’re trying to do now is to broaden our perspective, not narrow it. We won’t be complicit in any narrowing of perspective.” How will you broaden your perspective? “We’re trying to take a critical look at certain things. We’re trying not to stifle the debate. And we certainly won’t be crying because they’ve knocked over two books.” It’s our Park Avenue.