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Dec 10, ISBN All Angel wanted was to be movie-star blond, change her name, and get as much attention as her prettier older sister Lina. Now Angel is nearing thirty, penning Catholic greeting cards for a living, and still jealous of her sister, who has a house in the suburbs, two kids, and a husband who loves her.

Italian translation of 'dream'

So Angel does the next best thing: She answers a personal ad. Dirk Diederhoff is blond, teaches at Vassar, and is definitely not Italian. Nor is he the thrill-a-minute lover and soul mate Angel prays for. But as Lina, recklessly embarked on an affair of her own, would tell her: There are no perfect tens out there — only men who want you to talk to them in Italian during sex.

She lives with her husband and daughter in Florida. Ciresi mixes the tragic and the comic aspects of love in hilarious fashion. The dynamic between the two sisters, Pasqualina and Angelina, continued to intrigue me. I decided I wanted to write a series of scenes from their lives. On a more abstract level, this book grew out of my long-standing interest in American immigrant literature. Q: How does your book explore, in particular, the Italian-American experience? A: Sometimes I Dream in Italian is a coming-of-age tale that traces the childhood and early adulthood of two sisters who dream of being anything other than who they are—which, in this case, happens to be Italian-American.

Their attempts to "Americanize" themselves through their relationships with men fail precisely because they are so bound to their past. Q: What is the significance of the title? A: About three-quarters of the way through the book, Lina Lupo asks her younger sister Angel if she ever has weird dreams. Angel feels Italian to the core, but when she visits Italy, she can hardly put two sentences together; her German-American boyfriend a student of languages gets taken for the true Italian.


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A: Well, what can I say? Like all sisters, they love each other; they hate each other—sometimes both in the same moment. I hope that readers, no matter what their ethnic background, will be amused and saddened to see how sibling relationships bring us joy and grief. Q: What are you currently working on? Remind Me Again Why I Married You is set in and takes a humorous look at why a warring husband and wife might choose to stay together in the age of divorce. Read An Excerpt. Paperback —. Add to Cart. Also by Rita Ciresi. Product Details. Inspired by Your Browsing History.

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Minnie Darke. Not the Girl You Marry. Andie J. The Starless Sea. Erin Morgenstern. Spun Out. Lorelei James. Elsey Come Home. Susan Conley. The Adults. Caroline Hulse. I ride the subway to the edge of Brooklyn, almost to the end of the line. I love this trip. I go out of the house, leaving behind the rest of my life. I forget, for several hours, the other languages I know.

Each time, it seems like a small flight. Awaiting me is a place where only Italian matters. A shelter from which a new reality bursts forth. I am very fond of my teacher. Although for four years we use the formal lei , we have a close, informal relationship. We sit on a wooden bench at a small table in the kitchen. I see the books on her shelves, the photographs of her grandchildren.

Magnificent brass pots hang on the walls.

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At her house, I start again, from the beginning: conditional clauses, indirect discourse, the use of the passive. With her my project seems more possible than impossible. With her my strange devotion to the language seems more a vocation than a folly. We talk about our lives, about the state of the world. We do an avalanche of exercises, arid but necessary. The teacher corrects me constantly.

As I listen to her, I take notes in a diary. After each lesson I feel both exhausted and ready for the next. At a certain point the lessons with the Venetian teacher become my favorite activity. As I study with her, the next, inevitable step in this odd linguistic journey becomes clear. At a certain point, I decide to move to Italy. I choose Rome. A city that has fascinated me since I was a child, that conquered me immediately. The first time I was there, in , I felt a sense of rapture, an affinity.

I seemed to know it already. After only a few days, I was sure that I was fated to live there. I have no friends yet in Rome. In Rome, Italian can be with me every day, every minute.

It will always be present, relevant. It will stop being a light switch to turn on occasionally, and then turn off. In preparation, I decide, six months before our departure, not to read in English anymore. From now on, I pledge to read only in Italian.