Porto Vecchio (E. Davide) - Review by Maria Teresa De Donato

 

Porto Vecchio – A Novel by Eleonora Davide
Review by Maria Teresa De Donato

After Il Fiore del Carso (= The Flower of Karst) and a subsequent hiatus from historical novels set in Irpinia and the Kingdom of Naples, Eleonora Davide returns to Friuli Venezia Giulia, the ancestral land of her father’s family.

The pull of her roots is powerful. Eleonora wants to understand, to know, and to discover what truly happened—and why so many people abandoned that magnificent land to relocate elsewhere, whether within Italy or overseas. What was it that her father might never have revealed to her?

This need to better grasp a picture that is as fascinating as it is complex and dramatic brings her into contact with Mr. Italo Radović. Unlike those who left, Mr. Radović was born in that land, stayed there, and spent his entire life there.
Mr. Radović places his full trust in Eleonora, symbolically handing over the memories of a lifetime—memories that, by his own admission, "come to mind... in a bizarrely random fashion" (Davide, 2025, p. 20). He opens up with complete honesty, beginning with a question:

  

What is Truth?

(Gospel of Saint John 18:38)

 

In keeping with this, he explains to her that “The only thing I have managed to understand... is that no human mind is structured to conceive of the truth... in its entirety” (p. 4).

What he reveals to her, therefore, is merely his truth—that is, how he perceived and processed the whole experience. The novel, which hovers between fiction and reality, takes the form of a reportage in its first section—featuring questions the author, in her capacity as a journalist, puts to her subject, Mr. Radović—as Eleonora (and perhaps others besides her) seeks the truth through the answers her witness provides.

Eleonora arrives at the meeting with Radović—then ninety-seven years old yet still remarkably lucid—well-prepared and armed with specific questions. By her own admission, images kept surfacing in her mind: “images of nameless people and faceless names, while [her] bond with that place [Trieste, in particular] grew ever stronger” (p. 3). Since her father’s disappearance, her interest in that land—and her desire to find answers to the many questions she harbored—had intensified.

During the meeting, Mr. Radović’s memories pour forth like a rushing river, bringing to life a perspective on history that encompasses not only his own life and that of his family and acquaintances but also History with a capital H. This version bears little resemblance to the accounts found in school textbooks.

Thus, Mr. Italo—born in Trieste “on March 9, 1925, the third year of the Fascist era” (p. 4)—recounts his family’s origins: how his parents met, fell in love, and married; the Fascist era when Slavic surnames were Italianized and how his own changed from “Radović” to “Radini” for a time; and the discrimination faced by borderland ethnic groups at the hands of German Nazis, Italian Fascists, and Tito’s Yugoslav Communist partisans alike.

Mr. Italo’s account is detailed and precise in its descriptions, recollections, explanations, and chronology of the events that unfolded in Friuli Venezia Giulia—and, above all, in Trieste and the surrounding border areas.
In the narrative of events in Trieste, Porto Vecchio (= The Old Port) holds profound personal, historical, and symbolic significance. To use Radović’s words, it “represents both a starting point and a destination... And perhaps also a passage, a transit, an initiation into adulthood. Today, that place preserves the history of all this... it guards the memories of those who passed through it...” (p. 6)

The refugees from Istria, Dalmatia, and Fiume knew this reality well, having experienced it firsthand. Not only were they forced to abandon their wonderful and deeply loved homelands, but they also had to leave behind all their possessions, which were piled up in Warehouse 18 of Porto Vecchio (= the Old Port).  Many of them likely harbored the illusion that, sooner or later, they would return to retrieve their belongings for use in a new home—something that, sadly, never happened.
Mr. Radović’s memories remain vivid and detailed. The author describes in great detail the history and development of the thriving port of Trieste, the Cosulich family’s Austrian Navigation Company, and the Cantieri Navali Triestini (Trieste Shipyards)—alongside which a full-fledged industrial village, Panzano, was built to house the workforce. This village, or citadel, “soon became a model, precisely because of its internal organization... [featuring] a building... reserved for bachelors and a series of structures... made up of apartments housing eight families each, with independent toilets. A luxury for those times.” (pp. 8, 9)

In the second part of the publication, the author shifts gears; the narrative moves beyond simple reportage to take on the tone of a spy story. A picture emerges of the international intrigues and espionage activities—conducted either openly or behind the scenes—by officials from the nations involved in the two World Wars and the post-war era, highlighting the tragic consequences certain decisions had on the local populations.

Borderland ethnic groups were the hardest hit by discrimination, persecution, and atrocities committed against them by the Austrians and the Germans of the Third Reich, by Italian Fascists, and by the Communist partisans of Marshal Tito’s Yugoslavia.

Overnight, the lives of thousands of people were swept away. Agreements were struck behind closed doors by government officials from various nations—particularly Italy and Yugoslavia—as well as the Anglo-American Allies. With a mere signature, borders were drawn between what would henceforth be considered Italian land and what would, conversely, become Yugoslav territory. The demarcation line between the two countries—Italy and Yugoslavia—completely ignored the reality “on the ground” for the border populations inhabiting lands such as Istria, Dalmatia, and Fiume: a reality defined by mixed families, properties handed down through generations over the centuries, and, in some instances, even areas occupied by cemeteries.

The atrocities committed by members of law enforcement, the military, and intelligence agencies in the countries involved shattered the lives of millions of people. Regardless of whether they survived and emigrated or not, they paid a staggering price for the rest of their lives: being uprooted from their homelands and, in many cases, losing loved ones, possessions, and even their cultural identity.

Added to this is the horror experienced by the thousands of people who were tortured, killed, and thrown into the infamous foibe—the deep karst sinkholes that dot the region.

The possibility that the authorities deliberately concealed explosive situations to prevent certain truths from coming to light is a particularly intriguing aspect of this novel. Equally striking is the sobering realization that political interests generally prevail over the community’s interests.

Written in a fluid, concise, journalistic style, Porto Vecchio is a complex work rich in historical references and details. While fictionalized, these elements offer a broad picture of the country and the reality faced by the border populations of Friuli Venezia Giulia—and Trieste in particular. Although it depicts painful experiences, the book stands as a valuable historical testament spanning the period from the end of the First World War to the present day.

Eleonora Davide deserves great credit—thanks to her in-depth historical research, the testimonies she gathered, and her vivid imagination—for creating a literary work that goes beyond standard school textbooks. It reveals uncomfortable truths—often left unspoken by victims and deliberately ignored or even covered up by those in power—that have indelibly and unequivocally shaped the lives of millions of Italians and others.

I highly recommend this book, especially to lovers of history and historical fiction.