Alber­to Vigevani weaves a poignant tale that in less than one hun­dred pages encom­pass­es the gen­er­a­tion of Ital­ians who lived through Fas­cist Italy. He cap­tures the inno­cence of Ital­ian Jews who had no idea what lay ahead as well as the sub­se­quent hor­ror of the Holo­caust that no one thought would touch them. 

It is the voice of the nar­ra­tor — casu­al, warm, fun­ny— that lures the read­er into think­ing that this is a light rem­i­nis­cence: we are reliv­ing mem­o­ries of his mar­riage and hon­ey­moon in 1930s Italy, mem­o­ries rekin­dled by the dis­cov­ery in his attic of a huge, beau­ti­ful trunk, which he names ​“the Gen­er­al.” From the start the trunk is a lia­bil­i­ty, too bulky and fan­cy for the narrator’s mod­est means and mod­est hon­ey­moon. So, we are treat­ed to humor­ous sto­ries about how it is hauled over hill and dale, sto­ries that tes­ti­fy to the inge­nu­ity and help­ful­ness of ordi­nary Italians. 

The nov­el begins, in short, like a com­e­dy star­ring a bum­bling hero, then slow­ly but inex­orably devolves into a trag­ic tale. The effect is to grad­u­al­ly make the read­er feel clos­er and clos­er to the char­ac­ters, espe­cial­ly Aunt Jole and her hus­band, Uncle Gior­get­to. It’s easy to imag­ine our­selves in their shoes. 

The nar­ra­tor admits that he and his wife make a series of mis­takes as World War II looms. They know they should leave for Amer­i­ca. They make plans, arrange itin­er­aries but, in the end, can­not bring them­selves to leave their com­fort­able life in Milan. Aunt Jole and Uncle Gior­get­to are sim­i­lar bun­glers of their lives, and it is their sto­ry that is at the heart of The Trunk. 

Because the author has so grace­ful­ly made it easy for us to iden­ti­fy with these char­ac­ters, their fate res­onates so deeply. 

The end­ing is a stun­ner. The Trunk is a small masterpiece.