Reeds in the Wind • Grazia Deledda

There are countless well-known classics offered on every corner in various editions, which I read with pleasure and which are usually very good. And then there are the unknown books that fly under the radar, whose authors I’ve never heard of, that are only briefly displayed in bookstores (if at all), appearing inconspicuously somewhere on the tenth page of search results before quickly disappearing again. Finding good books of this kind — that is the true art. And that is the achievement of a good publisher: discovering such hidden gems and reissuing them in high quality. Reeds in the Wind is one of those books, in my opinion. I had never heard of the author or the book before, but both the blurb and the overall presentation immediately appealed to me. Whether this book really is a hidden gem, or whether it will end up gathering dust in the depths of my bookshelf in complete obscurity, you’ll find out in this article.

Reeds in the Wind is set in Sardinia and tells the story of the servant Efix and an impoverished noble family. All that remains of the once-wealthy household are the three adult daughters, who lead a simple life in their old and dilapidated estate. Gradually, the reader learns about a tragedy that occurred years ago, one that brought about the family’s downfall and continues to haunt them in the present. When the aunts’ nephew returns from the mainland, all those involved must confront this past.

Grazia Deledda, born in 1871 in Sardinia, came from a wealthy family and grew up on the Mediterranean island. A classic by an Italian woman author is not something I come across often — in fact, I haven’t read a classic written by a woman in quite some time. That alone made this book intriguing. The blurb also promises outstanding descriptions of nature, which is exactly my kind of thing. Indeed, the reader is treated to some beautiful depictions of the Sardinian landscape, which Deledda weaves into the narrative with her clear style and her keen eye for color, flora, weather, and the island’s unique charm. These descriptions, as frequent as they are, form an essential part of both the characters and the culture of Sardinia. This lush island, with all its colors and nuances, is deeply connected to the people Deledda portrays and reflects their nature on another level.

The world stretched wide before him like the valley after a storm wind, when the mist rises and fades again. The castle against the blue sky, the ruins where the grass quivered with dewdrops, the plain below with the rust-colored patches of rushes — everything was filled with the sweetness of childhood memories, of things long lost, longed for, wept over, and then forgotten, but rediscovered in the end when one no longer thinks of them or mourns their loss. (p. 253)

I found the people in this novel particularly fascinating. Deledda portrays a society that seems almost archaic, shaped by pagan superstition and a folk Christianity permeated with numerous festivals and rituals. In the afterword, Federico Hindermann notes that the story feels timeless. While there are many clues suggesting that the novel takes place in the early 20th century, while reading, one might rather think it is set in the late Middle Ages. The characters are constantly attending Christian festivals, but these events are so deeply infused with superstition that one gets the sense of encountering a culture still intellectually simple and steeped in tradition. The inhabitants of the small, village-like communities are depicted as typical rural islanders — self-centered, withdrawn, concerned primarily with their own interests, and living simple lives. This is particularly evident in the protagonist, Efix. Early in the book, there is a festival scene that vividly demonstrates how deeply rooted these people are in their ancient cultural patterns.

I could only partially empathize with the characters. Deledda gives them realistic depth, yet they remain trapped in their faith built entirely on tradition and superstition, a mindset that determines their actions and their lives. This is also the book’s strength: it provides a glimpse into the cultural reality of the Sardinian islanders of that time — a literary rarity and one that earned Deledda the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1926. Such a window into the thinking of a past culture is something I find quite fascinating from time to time, and it reminded me of the Pellisquadre in Horcynus Orca.

The language is neither overly simple, as is often the case with novels written in the early 20th century, nor are the sentences complex or cumbersome. The book reads smoothly, and there are occasional beautifully phrased sentences that make for a pleasant reading experience. The nature descriptions have a certain roughness — not as flowery or poetic as in some other works — but they still hold their charm. Vivid landscapes formed in my mind as I read, though only a few passages truly captivated me.

It took me a while to really get into the story. The author takes her time introducing the characters and the society, and especially at the beginning, the pace is very slow. This is actually necessary, because the individual characters and their ways of thinking become important as the story progresses. In the middle of the book, I was completely absorbed, wondering where it would all lead and how the story would unfold — that was exciting. Toward the end, however, the pacing slowed down again, and I found it a bit too sluggish.

The annotations are truly excellent, providing detailed explanations of the festivals, rituals, and settings. They clearly demonstrate how profoundly the old folk beliefs influence the plot and the characters’ thinking. This adds great value to the book and is another success for Manesse Verlag. I found the afterword quite good — informative, though it could have been a bit more extensive. After finishing the book, I was left with a few questions about the story, and some interpretative commentary would have been interesting.

I also found the editorial note fascinating, which explains the textual foundation of this edition in detail. The book was first published in 1913, with the initial Manesse edition appearing in 1951, and thus the translation by Bruno Goetz is quite old. Instead of commissioning a new translation, Jochen Reichel reworked the text, comparing it with the 1913 original. This included linguistic sharpening for clarity, the reconstruction of deliberate tense shifts from imperfect to present during perspective changes, and standardization of place and character names (for instance, Noëmi became Noemi). Additional annotations were added, along with numerous other revisions detailed in the editorial note. In line with current translation practices, the goal was clearly to stay as close as possible to the original and to recreate the same linguistic effect on the reader as found in the Italian text. I have read a few of Manesse’s Maupassant translations from the 1950s, and even without later revisions, they were of remarkably high quality.

In terms of design, the book meets the usual high standard of the new Manesse classics. The dust jacket is made of pleasantly sturdy paper and is beautifully designed. I love the pattern reminiscent of ceramic tiles — it reminds me of the Azores, where similar tile-making traditions exist. It has a wonderfully Southern and slightly old-fashioned charm. The book itself features the colorful thread stitching typical of the series, matching the board cover, which I also find delightful. It comes, of course, with a ribbon bookmark. Typographically, it follows the clean and modern design of the new Manesse classics line. The one major drawback, however, is the lack of a cloth cover. Without the dust jacket, the book suddenly looks quite plain, and I really miss the beautifully colored linen bindings of the older Manesse world literature editions.

Conclusion: Reeds in the Wind will stay with me primarily because of its characters, who are deeply shaped by pagan superstition and a strong Christian faith. The story, along with the characters’ decisions and thoughts, and the depictions of festivals and rituals, offers a vivid insight into the mindset and culture of the Sardinian people at the beginning of the 20th century. The nature descriptions harmonize beautifully with the narrative and embed the protagonists in a distinctive landscape. Linguistically, the reader gets a solid novel — not exceptional or particularly poetic, but written with a simplicity that suits the story and portrays the characters authentically. The novel is entertaining and at times gripping, though the beginning and end are quite slow and somewhat drawn out. The dust jacket design, ribbon bookmark, thread stitching, and typography are again very well done, and the revised translation also convinced me. The missing cloth binding, as with other books in Manesse’s new classics series, remains a minor disappointment. Overall, this is a beautiful and worthwhile book — not a masterpiece, but one that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Book information: Reeds in the Wind • Grazia Deledda • Manesse Verlag • 448 pages • ISBN 9783717525240