Leopard, The

Before the classic Italian movie “The Garden of the Finzi-Continis” (1970), there was Di Lampedusa’s literary masterpiece, which spans the years from 1860 to 1910. It has a wistful, end-of-an-era atmosphere permeating it: the doomed aristocracy going down grandly to meet their certain demise. It’s a sort of Sicilian Downton Abbey, and you never want it to end. There are much worse ways to spend a year of your life than by becoming a diligent student of the Mediterranean. You would want to read deeply in Homer’s “Iliad” and Virgil’s “Aeneid” if you have a taste for antiquity; perhaps Suetonius’ “Twelve Caesaras” if you want a rollicking but trashy and contemporary history. And you would read Paul Theroux if your taste runs more to modernity, and “The Alexandrian Quartet” of Durell, the (relatively) modern Greek poems of Cavafy, Paul Bowles for North Africa, and so on. For Southern Italy, Levis’ “Christ Stopped at Eboli”, and for Sicily, certainly Di Lampedusa’s “Leopard”. “The Leopard’s” cast of characters is rich and legendary. Don Fabrizio, the Prince of Salina, is an autocratic and blustery voluptuary, but he is also a dreamer and an accomplished astronomer whose world of wealth and privilege he can see coming to an end in the modern times. He is impossibly haughty but also surprisingly tender and sentimental. Father Pirrone is devout and precise, an unyielding advocate for the Church and its teachings and privileges, who is regularly humiliated by the Prince in having to accompany him to Palermo on adulterous business. Tancredi is the adopted ward and favorite of the Prince, who prefers him to his biological children; he is a hopeless romantic and an enthusiast for revolution and for sweeping away altogether the old order that feeds and shelters him. Princess Stella, the wife of the Prince, is brittle, long-suffering, devout and devoted to her eccentric husband and her rather vapid children. Paolo is the Prince’s son and heir, and is naturally and painfully jealous of his father’s preferment of Paolo. The voluptuousness, the richness of life, the fantastic ease of corruption and vice, the sensuousness of the food, the sea, the beautiful landscape and even the overwhelming an enervating heat of the Mediterranean sun, all combine to brew an astonishing human stew. It has been regularly and brilliantly written about by novelists and poets – see especially Cavafy, Bowles and Durrell, mentioned above. This book describes the end of the Italian feudal era, beginning with the Italian Resorgimento in the late 19th Century. The warrior Garibaldi and his Red Shirts sweep southward through the Italian peninsula and finally land in Sicily. Chaos ensues, and Palermo falls. The Prince and his family retreat to his country estate in the hills, where they are protected by Tancredi’s revolutionist connections. The Prince’s daughter Concetta loves Tancredi, but he is smitten by the ravishing and wealthy Angelica, so Concetta is furious. The plot begins to play like a Verdi opera, but with wonderfully sly humor, always dry and shrewd, and staying well away from melodrama. The novel borrows from the historical drama of Stendahl and the emotionalism of Flaubert, and gives them a modern Italian gloss of irony and humor. It was written in in the middle of the last century, after the Second World War, and published just after the author’s death; it was his only book. But just listen to this wonderfully evocative prose, describing for example the Sicilian dawn: “Venus still glimmered, a peeled grape, damp and transparent, but you could already hear the rumple of the solar chariot climbing the last slope below the horizon; soon they would meet the first flocks moving toward them torpid as tides…” Two passages merit special attention. The first is in chapter 5, two-thirds of the way through the book, where Father Pirrone delivers a surprisingly brilliant monologue and goes on to defuse an alarming family bombshell with great finesse. The second is chapter 7, “The Death of a Prince”, which wonderfully and with humane sympathy tells of Don Fabrizio’s final hours. This is not only a great novel but an important work of literature and is worthy of a larger audience of serious readers.

This is an historical novel that is considered by many to be the best novel written by a Sicilian author. The novel is set in Sicily in 1860 and onward into the twentieth century. The story revolves around one particular family whose patriarch is a prince. The author used his own family history as a foundation. The author died before the work was accepted for publication. The story is now widely celebrated. I agree with another reviewer that, for me, the story started slowly. It took me awhile to warm up to the novel. However, by the end I enjoyed the novel, particularly the final two chapters. The second to last chapter about the death of one of the characters, I found very poignant; so much so that I reread it immediately, something I almost never do. As an American, I had always felt that my knowledge of Italy between the fall of the Roman Empire and World War I, was poor. Some time ago I began to repair that by reading numerous histories of Italy, Sicily, and Mediterranean history. I did all of that prior to reading this fine novel. I am really glad that I did so. I think a lot of this story would have had less meaning to me without having done that. There are many historical references in this story that in the past would have meant little to me. I only mention that in case your background is like mine. I feel certain that some detailed knowledge of Italian history really added to my enjoyment of this book. Thank You...

Eye-opening account of Sicily. Seems historically accurate. Beautifully written like most Italian novels...flows like a gentle stream. Complex and memorable characters. I bought two more for gift giving. After writing this review, I plan to read it again. Your request for a review provided me with a great flashback!! I will never lend my copy since I'd be afraid of losing track of it. I'm having small built-in book shelves installed in a small room in my house for my favorite books. This is definitely going on the book shelf.

The Leopard is one of those rare books that feels both heartbreaking and eye-opening at the same time. Reading it, you can’t help but feel the quiet sadness of change—the fall of old traditions, the passing of time, and how even the most powerful must face the reality of fading away. But within that tragedy is also something deeply human and beautiful. Prince Fabrizio is such a rich, complex character—flawed but wise, proud but painfully aware of the world slipping through his fingers. Lampedusa's writing is just stunning. The imagery, the inner reflections... it feels timeless. You really learn something about life, power, and letting go. I also watched the new Leopard series on Netflix, and honestly, it’s such a great companion to the novel. The visuals bring the story to life in a different way, and it’s fascinating to compare the two. But if you really want to understand the heart of this story, I’d say: read the book first. It lingers with you long after the last page. Highly recommend both the book and the series. They complement each other in the best way.

il Gatto Pardo (The Leopard) by Giuseppe di Lampedusa seems to be listed as a classic piece of Italian literature. Personally, I did not find it to be as "classic" as I thought it might be. The story line follows the ending days of a Sicilian "Don" and his time period during the onsalught of the "Italian unification" (Risorgimento)which was basically forced upon the Sicilians by Garabaldi in the 1860's. The authors descriptions of the lifestyles of those, rich and poor was extremely descriptive, and of course interesting. However, somewhere along the line, my interest in the story faded like the world around Don Fabrizio. The story of Don Vito Corleone in the "Godfather" seems to paralell the same basic familial structure of wife, daughters, and sons (however,not in the Gangster sense). Don Fabrizio eventually realizes that the times are quickly changing as is his power, and yet...there is nothing to do but accept it. Perhaps, I am not Sicilian enough to have appreciated the true message and story line quality of this book, but, "The Leopard" just seemed to loose it's spots for me.

…plus c'est la même chose, though I have no idea how that famous French epigram translates into Italian. This is a relatively short “epic” novel, epic in the sense of covering the lives of an upper class / ruling Sicilian family over half a century. It was written by an author I had never heard of: Giuseppe di Lampedusa. I’ll admit that I am “underweighted” in my reading of both Italian literature and history. I would never have read this excellent novel if not for the urging of a former fellow Amazon reviewer, who declared the novel one of his ten best reads of the year. The novel commences in 1860. It is the year before the end of Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, a bit of a misnomer for a creation of the Congress of Vienna in 1814, which placed the Kingdom of Naples (which was the southern half of the “boot” of Italy) and the Kingdom of Sicily together under one rule, that of a Bourbon, in Naples. Di Lampedusa depicts the life of the Salina family, an upper-class landowning family, with some minor titles. Setting the tone of the patriarch’s life, di Lampedusa says: “Between the pride and intellectuality of his mother and the sensuality and irresponsibility of his father, poor Prince Farbizio lived in perpetual discontent under his Jovelike frown, watching the ruin of his own class and his own inheritance without making, still less wanting to make, any move toward saving it.” Garibaldi is coming! His intentions are to unify all of Italy, for the first time since the Roman Empire. Some soldiers will die in order to change the color of the flag. Farbizio is a supporter of the Bourbon order, but his nephew, Tancredi, switches sides, joining the Garibaldi forces, in the realization that he will save his class and inheritance. As he tells his uncle: nothing will really change. Aside from the battlefield, Tancredi assures the place of the Salina family by marrying the daughter of the newly appointed (and enriched) mayor. Love and lust, and the competing rivalries these invoke, among both men and women, is incisively depicted as well. And then there is also that most unholy alliance of the Catholic Church with the upper classes, in order to keep the lower ones, every so properly, as they see it, in their place. The author places this 50 years in the context of history, going back to the many invasions Sicily has sustained, always ultimately thwarting the designs of the invaders, with minor accommodations. He also went forward in history, noting that a particularly attractive ceiling was destroyed by a bomb, in 1943, that was made in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A reasonable and informal index of the value of a book to me is how many passages I underline (or in the case of my Kindle, on which I read this novel), highlight. In my scheme of things, “blue” highlights are at the top of the scale, trumping “yellows.” The following are five blue highlights: “…the abolition of feudal rights has swept away duties as well as privileges; wealth like an old wine had let the dregs of greed, even of care and prudence, fall to the bottom of the barrel, leaving only verve and color.” “Don Fabrizio…provoked a strange sensation in Salina, woven from the warp of the crude cotton of sensual jealousy and the woof of silken pleasure at his dear Tancredi’s success…” “…the first months of a love-match with the frenzies and acrobatics of the senses approved and encouraged by all the hierarchies of angels, benevolent though surely surprised…” “…the few hundred people who made up ‘the world’ never tired of meeting each other, always the same ones, to exchange mutual congratulations on still existing.” “I’m seventy-three years old, and all in all I may have lived, really lived, a total of two…three at the most. And the pains, the boredom, how long had they been? Useless to try to make himself count those; all of the rest: seventy years.” The last time that I thought about the “Kingdom of the Two Sicilies” was when I memorized the results of the Congress of Vienna for a high school history test. This outstanding novel, more than half a century later, has provided much deeper insight into what that answer was all about. 6-stars.

The Leopard is a story by Giuseppe di Lampedusa and tells the gripping tale of the rapid and decaying descent of the Sicilian aristocracy in the 1860s. The old ruling class is being threatened by an approaching wave of revolution and liberal ideology, and di Lampedusa using this quite masterfully to unwind his story about the ending of the old and the ushering in of the new. Giuseppe di Lampedusa, a prince in his own right, wrote this book when he was well into his fifties; he had survived World War II, and was now facing similar changes in Italy as the Don Fabrizio faced in Sicily. The story, at times, is actually a pretty brutal read. My familiarity of Italian politics and history is quite little, I’m sad to say, but it never really detracts from the pretty sweeping thrill of political change and revolution. The prince who is seeing his power and class weaken by the day in 1860’s Italy, is desperate to continue his decadent life of luxury that is believed to be God-given. His appetites are the epitome of 19th century aristocracy with his sexual escapes and monstrous mansions, but he is soon brought face-to-face with the new face of the republic. Don Calogero represents the upstart middle-class filth that is quickly ascending up Italy’s social ladder, and he sees fit to have his beautiful daughter, Angelica marry Prince Fabrizio’s penniless nephew Tancredi. This is disastrous for the Prince to imagine, but it helps his family and his place in changing shape of Italian society. The book keeps a steady pace about daily life and desires, and does a terrific job with bringing certain elements like the garden and church to the reader’s forefront. The problem with the book, to me, is that it has a tendency to go to deep into mundane daily rituals; for every breathtaking scene of political intrigue and suspense, there are too many scenes of the Prince reminiscing about old sexual flames and lost virility. Also there is the problem of taking the liberty that the majority of people have at least a working knowledge of Italian politics. I mean, the book refers constantly to Garibaldi and his revolution, but never explains who the heck this guy is. These issues never completely destroy the flow of the book, however, but they do enough to make it seem really dry in certain stretches. I recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the mystique and change of the 19th century, or also to anyone who has affection for Italian unification stories. I for one found some of the political stories to be quite intriguing, and can speak highly of the quality of the book’s detail.

Not literate in Italian, I read this English translation probably 40 years ago. I have never forgotten it. Aside from wonderfully drawn characters caught up in the revolutionary tumult of changing eras, the novel is one of the most beautifully written books I have ever read. This is truly a masterpiece, and deserves a place among the greatest novels of the 20th century.