F.K. Clementi is the author of the new memoir South of My Dreams: Finding My American Home. Her other books include Holocaust Mothers and Daughters. She is an associate professor of English and Jewish Studies at the University of South Carolina.
Q: Why did you decide to write this memoir?
A: I sat down, wiped my tears of rage, and began typing my
book as soon as I heard the news about the Access Hollywood tape, in 2016. I
too have been a woman “grabbed,” attacked, humiliated, probably laughed at in
private between-men-only conversations, and left discarded, thoughtlessly like
trash on the side of a road.
The news stirred flashbacks I had long ago repressed, pushed
in a subconscious dungeon from where, I thought, they’d never resurface.
The tape emerged in the context of a presidential election
battle, characterized by a foaming hatred for women, climaxing in a national
death-wish against the Democratic female presidential candidate.
It seemed that in order to cater to the needs of this
irrational and incurable misogyny, the course of history was going to be
derailed. And eventually, in November of that year, it was.
My childhood in Rome, Italy, had been framed in a climate of
misogyny, antisemitism, homophobia, racism, and Mafia-style clientelism. A
bouquet of immoralities that I now saw reflected in the agenda itself of
America’s right-wing politics.
At that point, it became an existential urge for me to
narrate my path to becoming American, because while each path is unique to each
person, mine was probably also not uncommon: not uncommon, that is, among
women.
When little girls of my generation dreamed fame and success
for themselves, they weren’t told that these come at a price specific to their
gender. Not just the universal combo of hard work, self-education, and some
ineffable God-given qualities.
In 1970s Italy, girls grew up to become women
programmatically grabbed by the pussy and promised passage into the world of
their dreams only in exchange for certain favors in nature they were never
going to reveal, let alone denounce.
I reacted to this state of affairs the only way any sane
person of means would: I fled. And what did I discover elsewhere? That in
France, England, Poland, Israel, and America, the same dynamics were solidly in
place.
The question of how I fit into this country, or whether I do
at all, became pressing in 2016. And two election cycles later, today, as 2024
comes to an end, my memoir is being published perhaps to answer the question:
Will I ever belong here? And what role will I play in the making of
my America?
Q: The writer Julie Metz said of the book, “Yes, parts of
Clementi’s story are harrowing, but there are also surprising moments of dark
humor that leaven her quest to find the place where she can be truly free, in a
room of her own.” What do you think of that description, and what do you see as
the role of humor in the book?
A: Mine is a hybrid narrative nestled somewhere between
Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary and Zola’s J’accuse, and quixotic Fania,
the protagonist, is part Yentl (just not lucky enough to be motherless), part
Portnoy (without a penis to get in the way of her humanness), and fundamentally
everything Nora Ephron’s heroines aspire to be but without the connections to
get a table at Masa or an OpEd in the Sunday New York Times.
Fania is not particularly lucky, and the only way to
describe her path (which is my life) is through humor. Julie Metz’s description
is right on the mark.
It is very rare to find humor in a literary genre that
traditionally focuses on stories of struggle, personal pain and trauma—as my
memoir certainly does as well. Humor helps mitigate even the most
heart-wrenching episodes, and it also underlines the irreverence and
subversiveness of this narrative.
My life is marked by an irreparable trauma, yet I believe
that laughing at myself and the world won’t take away from the difficulties I
experienced: it makes them simply more bearable, to a certain extent.
Q: How was the book’s title chosen, and what does it signify
for you?
A: Strangely, I had originally intended to title the book
Liberty.
I love that English language is so much richer than Italian,
to the point that it has multiple words for certain important concepts that in
Italian can be expressed only by one word: for example, liberty and freedom (in
Italian we only have libertà to signify both concepts), or alone and lonely
(another great nuance that isn’t present in my language).
Liberty meant so much to me, personally, and as a symbol for
what America stands for. However, as my friends here pointed out, the word
liberty has been coopted by the conservatives and it makes everybody else
recoil.
I saw their point, but for a long time I refused to give it
up. You know, it’s like once you’ve decided the name of your baby… and have
used it for a few years… it's hard to suddenly rename the child. Eventually I
did and I am so happy to have received this important feedback.
It was sheer agony to come up with a different title,
though: Excruciating! I took a notepad and jotted down a few options: 12 to be
exact. My editor was waiting, and I was running out of time.
I took a break, went for a walk (I do most of my thinking
while walking) and stumbled upon a new idea.
As I write in the book, only once in America, I learned the
expression “to go south”… which I’ve always found super funny. And what else
has my life been, if not a freefall, always away from my goals, often in the
exact opposite direction from where I was heading… invariably and literally
south?
I had already sent the first 12 options to my editor—whose
response was kind but lukewarm. So, I wrote again, without much hope: “Sorry
for bothering you with yet another option. How about South of My Dreams?” The
editor answered within seconds, in all-caps, followed by loads of exclamation
marks. He loved it!
Q: Especially at a time when immigration is in the news,
what do you hope readers take away from your story?
A: I am an expat. Mine is the story of an unconventional
“immigration” to America. This is not the typical narrative America is
accustomed to hearing about itself. Not your classic from-rags-to-riches
trajectory but, surprisingly, the other way around.
I left a loving posh environment in the heart of Rome
(think Garden of the Finzi-Contini, if it helps) and came to pursue a Ph.D. in
Jewish Studies at Brandeis University, happy as a lark to begin a new adventure
that appeared full of promise and opportunities. (I had seen all the Hollywood
movies about the American Dream: it had to be true!)
Most of all, I was thrilled to have found a way to leave
behind a corrupt society that, especially for women, held no promises but often
demanded demeaning compromises. A world marred by violent misogyny and
antisemitism.
As soon as I landed at Logan airport, I discovered that
reality in this new world was very different from what I had expected America
to be.
The resulting book is the merciless and comical account of a
disillusionment. One hundred years after Mary Antin, I offer my version of what
it means to become American today.
I hope the readers will learn something about the way in
which America appears to the eyes of a newcomer and that they will be able to
laugh with me at some of its strange idiosyncrasies.
What can I tell the American public about immigration? Well,
every immigrant has a different experience.
However, all hosting countries (be it America, France,
England, or any of the traditional meccas) make the same mistake: people think
that every single thing an immigrant leaves behind is awful and that what we
find in the new place is better than what we knew before, in the "old
world."
This couldn’t be further from the truth. All immigrants
carry in their hearts distant traces of childhoods or adult lives full of sweet
memories: foods, home, family, friends, the comfort of one’s native tongue.
I believe that no matter what pushes you away from your
motherland, there are things you are forced to leave behind whose absence from
your life will make your heart bleed forever.
But the immigrant is expected to bow his or her head, be in
awe of America, abstain from criticizing: and as a symbol of loyalty to the new
homeland, one has to disavow one’s origins.
I wish people had more compassion for the real sacrifices
migration, expatriation, exile entail. Problem is, that because of the
pressures the newcomer lives under, he or she very rarely voices the truth
about this ancient and heartrending experience.
The fear of being accused of betrayal, of hearing “If you
don’t like it, go back to where you came from!”, of being deported, is always
threatening the newcomer’s freedom to tell it as he or she sees it.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I am working on my second novel. Novel writing is such a
relief after agonizing for years over one’s own real-life misery! I love making
up stuff about nonexistent people who won’t get hurt by invented circumstances.
No more “Can I say this? Will such and such person be able
to handle hearing what I think of him/her? Am I remembering this correctly? Did
it really happen?!” and “It’s just too painful, I can’t anymore!” Now it’s
just: “My protagonist has an evil colleague who is bad to her. I’ll have her
kill him.” Such fun!
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: There is so much more than what made it into the book!
But perhaps, to know all, you’ll have to wait for my next memoir. I received
some personal information from my mother, recently, that bowled my world over.
Fania’s crazy life is still unfolding.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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