Intervista con Daniele Mencarelli: ‘Brucia l’Origine’ e la Ricerca dei Punti di Equilibrio

An interview with Daniele Mencarelli is never just a “simple” interview. After our conversation last year about Fame D’Aria, we meet him again with Brucia l’Origine, a novel where the protagonist, Gabriele, navigates the clash between his past (growing up in a Roman neighborhood) and his present (living in affluent Milan). Past, present, and future become elements of reflection in this controversial story, reminding us of the importance of finding different points of balance in life to stay afloat. Daniele guided us through an exploration of generational dynamics, the value of writing as both a starting point and a fresh start, and the desire to pursue deeply human themes to tell their stories. After all, we write and read in honor of the humanity we face, imagine, and dream about.

Welcome back, Daniele! Once again, you’re offering a novel that explores the intricate facets of the human soul. What inspired the desire to tell Gabriele’s story in Brucia l’Origine this time?

The desire was to portray millennials—a generation I believe is caught and will continue to be caught between countless opposing forces. Beyond the generational theme, I wanted to depict a young man grappling with the difficulties of navigating vastly different worlds in an evolutionary, upward journey. It’s challenging to reconcile the disparate worlds one has experienced. Many people face this: trying to create continuity between their past and present, especially when those realities are so dissimilar.

Gabriele returns to a familial community in Rome, surrounded not only by his immediate family but also childhood friends and the neighborhood where he was born. What does the feeling of “returning” mean to you personally, and how do you experience it?

As I often say, the novel is controversial and steeped in ambiguity. For those at peace with themselves and who have nurtured their inner well-being, returning can be a moment of reconnection with their roots. However, for those who haven’t reconciled their various worlds, returning often highlights the small and large betrayals they live with daily to make those worlds coexist. This is what happens to Gabriele. When these worlds are so fundamentally different, an individual may struggle to establish an equilibrium that allows them to declare to all those worlds:

“I am the same person who inhabits all these worlds. Respect the different versions of me, just as I respect you, who belong to such distinct realities.”

Gabriele lives torn between his past in Rome and his present in Milan. This in-between state gradually erodes him, as you write in the novel, leading him to “cultivate betrayal toward everyone.” Is finding a balance between who you were, who you are, and who you want to be really such an act of selfishness? Sometimes it seems like disregarding others’ judgment and personal freedom are two sides of the same coin. It’s a tough balance to strike.

Indeed, it’s about finding a point of equilibrium between respecting who we are—not out of selfishness but to protect our inner world—and embracing the external demands that push us to be something different. At its core, the novel tackles the theme of disguise: the societal roles others expect us to play and the selves we often betray to fulfill those expectations. Finding that equilibrium is one of life’s great challenges, and maintaining it requires daily reaffirmation.

The various voices in the story and the confined setting of the Tuscolano neighborhood show that talent and dedication are not always enough; luck and fate play significant roles. As a writer, have you ever felt like Gabriele, striving to express your passion and talent every day?

Like Gabriele, I’ve faced the challenge of reconciling disparate worlds, coming from a working-class family in the provinces. It raises a question: Are the worlds Gabriele struggles to harmonize even truly reconcilable? Perhaps their differences are too profound for genuine dialogue. While the class-based perspective of the 20th century is less fashionable today, I believe these divisions persist and may be deeper than ever. For me, like Gabriele, finding refuge in creative talent has been pivotal. Gabriele achieves great success, but success reveals its downsides—something we rarely anticipate. He feels happiest and freest when drawing, much like I do when writing.

This pursuit of passion also carries a sense of responsibility. How has your sense of responsibility in writing evolved throughout your career?

Writing remains central to my life, driven by a sense of responsibility. For me, the testimonial value of writing is paramount. It grounds the motivations that led me to write and still make writing a vital practice in my life: telling stories of those who cannot tell their own. If we use the term “epic” carefully, I consider it essential.

Looking ahead, is there an aspect of human nature you’d like to explore more deeply?

There are themes I’ve yet to exhaust—some connected to specific phenomena. One, for instance, relates to a deeply wounding aspect of humanity that isn’t mental health. I aim to continue investigating humanity, both in its archetypes and in the contemporary phenomena of our era.

Gabriele longs to relive the carefree youth of his past. Do you still feel that sense of wonder, even if in a different way?

Rarely. At 36, Gabriele reconnects with his childhood and adolescence when he returns to his neighborhood and childhood friends. I experience fewer of these moments, but paradoxically, writing takes me back to adolescence. It strips away certainties and reminds me of being an 18-year-old facing a blank page.

Writing for me is not restarting but truly starting over—like an adolescent embarking on a love story, uncertain of its outcome. Writing is where I find new beginnings.

Thanks to Mondadori