The Curse Of Pietro Houdini: A Novel

It is 1943—World War II is raging across much of Europe, and a fourteen-year-old, who claims his name is Massimo, is found alone on the streets of Rome. Here, Massimo meets Pietro Houdini, an older, mysterious man who is traveling alone, and together they venture to the Abbey of Montecassino, where they seek safety. In these gorgeous, centuries-old halls, Massimo and Pietro live with the monks and develop a plan to try to save Renaissance paintings from falling into the clutches of Nazis. In an unexpected turn of events, their mission becomes one of not just saving paintings, but also of saving themselves and the unlikely friends they make along the way. The Curse of Pietro Houdini is at once a work of historical fiction, a coming-of-age story, a love letter to art and culture, and an adventure packed with hope and humor.

Questions for Discussion

1. In the book’s first sentence, the narrator says that “Pietro Houdini claimed that life clung to him like a curse and if he could escape it he would.” Then, in the final sentence of the book, the narrator claims that “I am the curse of Pietro Houdini.” What do you think the narrator means by this, and what throughout the book and the relationship between Pietro and the narrator support this claim?

2. Why did the narrator cling to Pietro, and how do the trauma/events of Pietro’s past draw him into such a close relationship with the narrator?

3. What was your initial reaction when Pietro shared that, in order to hide the Tiziano paintings from the Nazis, he would paint over them? How does this relate to the theme of beauty growing out of change and destruction?

4. Early in the book, the narrator is terrified of “Pippo,” but learns that Pippo is more a symbol of fear than anything tangible at all. What do the fear of Pippo and the realization of what Pippo is (or isn’t) reveal about the narrator and their journey?

5. We never find out about the narrator’s life between the war and the contemporary moment—why do you think the author chose to leave this out?

6. Pietro, the narrator, and Ada are among the characters who chose to change their names. In what way is the changing of names connected to the act of painting over paintings?

7. In a conversation with the narrator, Pietro claims that he’s “not making a case for Nazis,” that he is “only reminding you that individuals can and often do defy . . . orders, defy cultural expectations.” With this in mind, does reading this novel change the way you think about World War II and how you consider the Allies and the Axis powers? Does the author present one side as good and one as bad?

8. The cast of characters that Pietro and the narrator encounter is such a varied, surprising group. While being unexpected, however, the group demonstrates many forms of love and the goodness of humanity despite their differences and desperation. Was there any particular scene or relationship that moved you the most, and why?

9. Ada and Harald’s relationship is perhaps the most unlikely relationship in the story. How does their friendship point to the larger theme of partnership, growth, and collaboration in the midst of crisis?

10. Polar bears are widely considered to be symbols of patience and resilience, given their survival in a threatening climate. Do you think the orso polare fits this description?

11. In the latter half of the book, Eva witnesses a sexual encounter between Eva and Dino (page 269). It’s Eva’s first time witnessing the power of a sexual intimacy. What do you think of Eva’s response to the encounter, and why do you think the author had her witness it at this particular point in the book (not long before the narrator says goodbye to both Eva and Massimo)?

12. In what ways is this a coming-of-age story? Reflect on Massimo’s transition to Eva, to the first-person narrator, and all of their experiences with violence, sex, tragedy.

13. Why do you think the author chose to end the book in the first person, with the now unnamed protagonist narrating?

14. How does the humor, Pietro’s dialogue in particular, amplify the themes of both hope and despair that echo throughout the book?

Activities for Enrichment

1. Consider the value of alter egos and code names. Have you ever given yourself a nickname or created another version of yourself in your mind? What were the circumstances that led you to do this? Discuss this with the group.

2. As a group, look at images of the three Tiziano paintings that Pietro and the narrator saved. Look closely at the details and discuss why you think the author chose to feature these paintings in particular.

3. Write a short reflection about yourself in the third person, then write a similar reflection in the first person. Share with the group and discuss the experience—what does it feel like to consider your lived experience through the lens of an outsider, and how does that vary from the first person?

Questions for the Author

1. The author’s note (the protagonist’s), states “I am now certain . . . that we are a part of something larger; something mystical and beyond the realm of human understanding that impinges on our stories and our lives.” As the author of this text, having construed this story from a blend of history, research, and imagination, what does this mean to you?

I think we’re all wondering if there’s More, with a capital M. And I think we’re wondering it because in some very fundamental way, this life is not believable. To be this aware, this conscious, this beautiful, this intelligent, this empathetic and connected to everything around us and then . . . it just stops? That is the essence of the anxiety of being human.

When we wonder if there’s More, I act generally carries within it a sense of possibility that is optimistic. If there is More, it will give us meaning and clarity. Questions will be answered, and everything worthy will somehow continue even if in ways we can’t imagine.

And yet.

The quote from above goes on and the thought is not complete without it. “But I also know that being part of something larger does not mean we are part of something good; something just, fair, or virtuous. I cannot reconcile these truths. What it means to me—what it means for me—is there is no bottom when we fall into tragedy.”

What if we are part of something larger, something mystical, something that can explain ourselves to ourselves and make us believe this unbelievable life but the something is not good? Is not optimistic? I wonder this because like Jung I see the coincidence and feel the synchronicity that is almost tangible and beyond the statistical range of possible, and yet I see too the horror. Like the narrator, I cannot reconcile it. But I also won’t ignore it.

2. Language plays an important role in this story—Pietro describes English as “flat and listless,” French as making “claims to beauty,” and German as “a language of time.” Why was it important to you to make language so prominent, almost like a character in itself?

Thought and language are as intertwined as time and gravity, and like time and gravity according to Einstein, thought and language may not even be separable because they may not be two distinct things. Attention to the form and substance of language is to give honor and due to ideas themselves. A story—any story well told—has care for the telling. Aristotle wrote Rhetoric because he knew this, and we’ve learned it since and continue to relearn it. Language is the means by which we think and draw distinctions, and reason, and wonder. Consider: When a person dies, we ask where they have gone. But when a device runs out of electricity, we say it stopped. We don’t ask where it has gone. The very language we use to wonder directs what answers might be available to us. The story is about people who think differently, and so better hearing the language and songs that carry their thoughts can help us to feel their reasons more deeply. Plus, I like it and it amuses me and I’m the first and probably last reader.

3. You live abroad, have traveled a great deal, and have even worked in international relations. How has your own relationship with language affected your writing?

Living away from my native language and the culture that uses it—America—has alienated me from living language and it’s a problem. I wonder sometimes if I write historical fiction in part to remove myself from the struggle—and likely failure—to properly convey the here and now, especially among younger people.

4. There were many sites in World War II where bombs destroyed precious works of art and cultural artifacts (for example, Dresden, Magdeburg, and the Kyivan Cave Monastery). What led you to choose Montecassino as a major setting in this story?

I wrote a science fiction called Radio Life. It was a post-apocalyptic story about a civilization on the rise—long after the fall. It was a story in some kind of dialogue with a 1959 science fiction book called A Canticle for Leibowitz, which won the Hugo and the Nebula. Walter Miller Jr., the author and no relation, wrote about an abbey after the “flame deluge” that was committed to the collection and preservation of knowledge long after all the libraries had been burned and the books destroyed. Miller was an airman in World War II who bombed the Abbey of Montecassino. Even after writing Radio Life I knew I wasn’t done with Montecassino. And the more I probed into the history, the more I knew I needed to write a book that was set there.

5. You are, yourself, the descendent of immigrants. Did this effect how you wrote this story and how you portrayed Ava’s character in particular?

Well . . . sort of. My family is Jewish, and we came from the Pale of Settlement in the late 1800s and early 1900s with other waves of immigrants. My family settled in New England and became New Englanders. We’ve been Americans for some five generations, and my family is buried in its soil. The immigrant experience is not part of my life, but being in dialogue with the past is.

6. How did you approach the research process while writing this book?

My usual approach is to read very broadly and reconnoiter without intent for a while. I come to learn by indwelling, and I get a sense for the place, the time, the mood, the conversations, the emotions, the spirit of the thing. In that process I begin to form questions and an agenda develops. It usually as something to do with a timeline and what happened where within it. In this case it was the summer of 1943 to the summer of 1944 in the lower half of Italy and especially at the Abbey and along the German’s winter line. At that point I learn the personalities and characters and central tensions of the period that can be dramatized and within which a story can be crafted. Once I know my story (because research does not produce a story), I can then learn purposefully and make sure my story has both richness and integrity. I always learn amazing stuff along the way, some of which simply has to be shoehorned into the story no matter what.

7. Was it difficult at all to include so much humor in a story that features so much war and destruction?

Strangely, no. Life goes on.