In 2021, the first English translation was published of The Copenhagen Trilogy, a series of memoirs by the prolific Danish writer Tove Ditlevsen. The book became a major bestseller and introduced English speaking readers to an incredible talent, whose work was still deeply resonant decades beyond her tragic death. This month, English speaking readers have been given the gift of a new translation of the landmark Italian-Cuban feminist writer Alba de Céspedes’ Forbidden Notebook. I sincerely hope that a similar phenomenon will occur with the publication of this novel, introducing English readers to a singular talent and culturally significant artist. A citizen of Italy, two of de Céspedes’ novels were banned for political controversy, and she was twice jailed for her work as an antifascist activist. Forbidden Notebook is a fiercely political work about the incendiary power of writing.
The novel begins with Valeria, a mother running errands in Rome, who spots a black notebook while purchasing cigarettes for her husband. The shopkeeper sneaks the notebook to Valeria, who quickly stashes it in her coat, thrilled but also a bit terrified by her transgressive purchase. Valeria becomes paranoid that her husband or one of her children will find the notebook and ridicule her for recording her inner life. Valeria is a martyr to the nuclear family, she works in an office to contribute to her family income, but otherwise her every moment is dedicated to caring for her husband and two grown children, who treat her with an apathy that ranges from light mocking to contempt. Her family sees her as a mom and not a woman, a person with no inner life of her own. At the suggestion that her mother would even keep a journal, her daughter teases: “What would you write, mamma?”
Valeria’s life soon spirals out of control when she becomes obsessed with the dangerous power of the notebook—the only real secret that she has from her family. Recording her daily thoughts also has the unwelcome effect of forcing Valeria to confront her unhappiness: with her marriage, her financial situation, and the behavior of her children. Valeria reflects, “…since I began writing, not everything that happens in our house seems to me pleasant to recall. … Sometimes I think I’m wrong to write down everything that happens; fixed in writing, even what is, in essence, not bad seems bad.” While Valeria is partially thrilled by her new found freedom, she is mostly made miserable by reflecting on her own discontent through writing. The novel builds this tension on the razor’s edge between freedom and self-destruction, as Valeria’s circumstances become more and more desperate.
In her introduction to the novel, Jhumpa Lahiri writes, “Whether or not we choose to read Forbidden Notebook through a feminist lens, it is a radical novel…Women’s words are still laughed at, still silenced, still considered dangerous. De Céspedes vindicates, artfully and ardently, a woman’s right to write—a right that must never be taken for granted. Ironically, the harshest condemnation in Forbidden Notebook is generated by Valeria herself, who both speaks and threatens to cancel herself out at the same time.” The novel’s nuanced portrayal of the ways in which women’s voices are silenced feels deeply current, and de Céspedes’ prose burns with an incredible vigor over 70 years after its publication.
Restored by the celebrated translator Ann Goldstein, who also brought Elena Ferrante to the English speaking world, de Céspedes’ novel whispers in the ear of generations of women with its timeless considerations of female art and autonomy. The text is an unusually rich narrative with a narrative authority that feels altogether staggering—and one can only hope that this is just the beginning of a wave of Alba de Céspedes translations for new readers.