Back Umbertina
Chapters (47)
  1. 1. Cover Page
  2. 2. Title Page
  3. 4. Author’s Note
  4. 5. Dedication
  5. 7. Prologue
  6. 8. Part One: Umbertina 1860 - 1940
  7. 9. Chapter One
  8. 10. Chapter Two
  9. 11. Chapter Three
  10. 12. Chapter Four
  11. 13. Chapter Five
  12. 14. Chapter Six
  13. 15. Chapter Seven
  14. 16. Chapter Eight
  15. 17. Chapter Nine
  16. 18. Chapter Ten
  17. 19. Part Two: Marguerite 1927 – 1973
  18. 20. Chapter Eleven
  19. 21. Chapter Twelve
  20. 22. Chapter Thirteen
  21. 23. Chapter Fourteen
  22. 24. Chapter Fifteen
  23. 25. Chapter Sixteen
  24. 26. Chapter Seventeen
  25. 27. Chapter Eighteen
  26. 28. Chapter Nineteen
  27. 29. Chapter Twenty
  28. 30. Chapter Twenty-One
  29. 31. Chapter Twenty-Two
  30. 32. Chapter Twenty-Three
  31. 33. Part Three: Tina 1950 –
  32. 34. Chapter Twenty-Four
  33. 35. Chapter Twenty-Five
  34. 36. Chapter Twenty-Six
  35. 37. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  36. 38. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  37. 39. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  38. 40. Chapter Thirty
  39. 41. Chapter Thirty-One
  40. 42. Chapter Thirty-Two
  41. 43. Chapter Thirty-Three
  42. 44. Chapter Thirty-Four
  43. 45. Chapter Thirty-Five
  44. 46. Afterword
  45. 48. About the Author
  46. 49. About the Feminist Press
  47. 50. Also Available from the Feminist Press

At the close of the novel, as Tina pieces together the “fragments” (392) of her memory of the trip like the colorful parts of a quilt, Barolini skillfully ties together two important strands of Italian culture: Persephone, who is referred to in the prologue, and Dante, who appears prominently in the final section.34 Tina, who at times sees herself as an incarnation of her Persephone-like mother, must learn to trace her mother’s steps in a symbolic descent into hell. This is a hell from which she comes back, like Persephone, but also like Dante, the pilgrim of the Commedia who returns from his journey to tell the story.35 In Barolini’s novel, Dante does not embody a literary tradition that was truly foreign to Italian American immigrants, but rather represents one gate through which an Italian American woman can begin to explore and incorporate Italian mythologies and histories into Italian American cultural life.

Traveling, which for Tina at first signifies “a reprieve from all the choices . . . belonging nowhere, having no past, no future” (347), becomes the means by which she finds her place, a sense of multiple cultural “belonging,” a connection to her past and a key to her future. It is through Tina that we come to a better understanding of Marguerite’s story, a story that her daughters can learn from the diaries she has left. Like many Italian American women writers, Marguerite is the first college-educated woman in her family.36 In this century, access to literacy has made it possible for Italian American women to write their stories and the stories of their female ancestors, those who first crossed the borders and made the development of Italian American culture possible.

Umbertina explores crossings—geographical, cultural, social, chronological, ethnic—and the ways in which those who cross borders can learn to use their mutable identities as the rich soil for creative and transformative work. In telling the story of the Longobardi women and of the lost—and found—bedspread, Barolini has captured a larger history that could itself easily be lost. Ultimately, the one who ties everything together is the author herself, as she weaves a narrative fabric as radiant, evocative, and powerful as the design adorning Umbertina’s coperta.