The Rarrǝca Festival concluded on Sunday, July 6th, but its reverberations continue to resonate. The social energy unleashed during the two days of meetings generated a perspective of solidarity, awareness, and responsibility. A meeting point of diverse experiences that intertwined to become a story and then a shared memory.
This year's underlying theme was daily, cultural, and identity-based resistance : experiencing places, remaining true to one's values, and being among people. And above all, returning, understood as "restanza" —a neologism charged with meaning, which describes permanence as a form of care and community building.
This is why we want to continue telling you about it, through the uniqueness of the characters who have crossed it, leaving their mark and their identity.
In this fertile space, Sabrina Efyonai's voice has fit in well. Her writing, faithful to her own feelings, has revealed itself to be deeply in tune with the spirit of the festival and the role of literature as a bridge between intimacy and collective reality.
We met her during a break in the event . Her smile and serene gaze on the world around her betray a careful, long-observed experience, a genuine willingness to engage in dialogue and sharing. Invited to present her new novel, Padrenostro (Feltrinelli) , Sabrina Efionayi conversed with Simona Cafaro and Giancarlo Piacci , members of the organizing team, offering the audience an insightful reflection on writing, identity, and the generative power of stories.
Your debut book was " Goodbye Tomorrow , " an autobiographical work that takes the form of a memoir. Was it driven by the need to tell your story or by the urgency to give shape to a broader narrative project? And how did you recognize yourself as a writer from there?
- I came to be a writer, I would say almost by chance. I started, as few people know, when I was much younger: I wrote on an online blog, around 13-14 years old, and there I was noticed by a director of Rizzoli. It was he who allowed me to publish my first novels under a pseudonym. They were romance novels, stories for kids — peers, after all, since I was 16.
- After these first books, between the ages of 16 and 17, I felt the need to change the narrative line, to look for something more personal. I wanted to tell a story that, while not entirely autobiographical, touched on themes that were very close to me, linked to identity. The spark came shortly after the George Floyd case, which, among other things, is the epilogue of Goodbye till tomorrow.
- It was a moment that gave me the push to tell a story that could also speak to contemporary Italy, to that Italy made up of second-generation girls and boys. The writing of Goodbye till tomorrow It was born both from a personal urgency and from a deeper desire — even if I didn't initially think it would become a real path as a writer.
- But then things fell into place perfectly: I met publishers who trusted me, who believed in my way of telling stories. And that's when I realized I wanted to continue writing, especially to give voice to stories that often go unheard.
With “Padrenostro” , after your debut memoir, did you think of exploring intimate themes like those in the first book from a more universal perspective?
- After Goodbye till tomorrow I was convinced that I would have detached myself – perhaps even completely – from everything that was personal. I felt that I had laid bare my story, that of my family, of my mothers. I needed a breath of fresh air, to return a little to the fiction that had preceded that novel. And instead, when I began to work on Our father, it came out almost like a rib of Goodbye till tomorrow.
- The characters are made intentionally unrecognizable, and the setting is in a working-class neighborhood of Naples, Forcella. But in reality Lisa's story, the Caiazzo family... are very close to me. Lisa is, in some ways, a mask that I put on the face and life of the one who was my best friend during adolescence.
The author's words reveal how thin the line between fiction and reality remains. Behind Lisa's story is a teenage friendship marked by an extremely rigid, patriarchal family context, in which the father figure exerted such control that it denied even the right to youth. An experience that unfortunately remains relevant today, and which prompted her to transform it into a story.
What role does Naples play in your writing; is it an emotional or narrative choice? Do you think you’ll set your works elsewhere in the future?
- I have always had a very strong bond with Naples. Even though I was born in Castel Volturno, I lived in Licignano for a long time and my family is Neapolitan. So, between origin and daily life, Naples has always been a constant presence. Not long ago I spoke with a writer who set her book in Naples but without ever mentioning it.
- It was a very refined work, which left the reader free to imagine any other city. Instead, I consciously chose to name Naples, to tell about it openly, with all its contradictions. For me, Naples is a city where beauty continually overlaps with ugliness, generating fascinating and authentic stories. The story of the Caiazzo family, for example, although coming from a more provincial context, I wanted to insert it into an urban setting like that of Naples.
- Naples is a city in constant change, open, modern, but it also preserves closed, deeply traditional environments, where dynamics can occur that seem anachronistic and instead still exist today.
Thinking back to “ Goodbye Tomorrow ,” is there something you would tell differently today, in light of what you wrote in Our Father?
- Yes, absolutely. Goodbye till tomorrow today it seems to me like a very young book, perhaps even immature in some ways. It was a cathartic work, I needed to write that story, but in hindsight I would have liked to take more time to work on it better. I was 16-17 when I started writing, and I had just entered the publishing world.
- With the experience I have gained over the years, perhaps I would address some issues in greater depth and with more tools. Goodbye till tomorrow taught me that a book should not be in a hurry. A book needs to breathe. To settle first in the private pages of the writer, then in the public ones.
Is there a narrative genre you would like to explore in the future?
- I always thought I was far from nonfiction, because I didn't think I had the tools to deal with it with the necessary authority. But today, even if there is a certain editorial saturation on some topics, I feel the need to tell the story of the female condition in Southern Italy.
- A more intersectional feminism, capable of welcoming the voices of women from the South, their love stories, their daily struggles. I believe that today feminism must land on all possible shores — to use a metaphor — and not limit itself to just one type of woman. We need a broader, more multifaceted view.
Sabrina Efionayi perfectly embodies the argumentative substratum of the Rarrǝca Festival. From the story of herself to the stories of others, she authentically returns visible and submerged themes, drawing attention to what often remains on the margins.
And it is precisely in the care with which the protagonists of this debut were chosen — intense, collective, unforgettable — that the profound value of the Rarrǝca Fest lies: the ability to generate listening, memory and critical thinking. With these reports we want to prolong its effect, allowing its voices to continue to resonate and dialogue with our audience.
The Rarrǝca festival brought to light some very important themes, but I found Sabrina's writing a bit difficult to follow. Some passages seem confusing and not always clear. Perhaps more concrete examples would have been useful.