We publish in full the letter from Gianni Firera, sent to Corrado, in which the author recounts memories, emotions, and the importance of a twenty-year friendship.
Dear Corrado,
writing to you today is an act born out of need. It is not only memory, it is not only nostalgia: it is the deep desire to continue a dialogue that for twenty years has never been interrupted. And now, suddenly, it must take another form.
Our story did not begin with a position or an associative role. It began much earlier, in recognizing each other. In understanding that we shared the same outlook on things, the same intellectual restlessness, the same demanding idea of Culture – always written with a capital letter, not out of affectation, but out of respect.
I remember our first conversations, when we spoke not only about books, but about the meaning of books. Not only about authors, but about what those authors could still say to our society. In those dialogues, everything was already there: Sicily, our land, its contradictions, its greatness, its wounds. And above all, there was him, Vitaliano Brancati, who was never just a writer to celebrate, but a critical conscience to preserve.
When we decided to found the Association dedicated to him, we were not creating a cultural container. We were assuming a responsibility. I as president of the Association, you as president of the Vitaliano Brancati Prize: two distinct roles, but a single moral horizon. We wanted Brancati’s thought not to become dust on the shelves, but a living voice, capable of questioning the present.
In these twenty years we have gone through different stages of our lives. We have shared enthusiasms and disappointments, successes and moments of effort. We have debated at length – sometimes heatedly – but always with the loyalty of those who know that discussion is a high form of friendship. Long summer afternoons, endless meetings, sudden phone calls for a last-minute idea: all this was not just cultural work. It was our intertwined lives.
You had a rare quality: you knew how to measure things. When I let myself be carried away by impulse, you brought the conversation back to substance. When the context seemed to become confused or noisy, you found the clear word. You were wise, but not distant. Cultured, but never complacent. Ironic, but never superficial. Your culture was embodied, lived, breathed.
I miss our daily exchange. I miss knowing I could call you and talk about everything and nothing, certain that on the other side I would find you, ready to listen before responding. I miss your ability to fill those empty spaces that inevitably arise in everyone’s life. Spaces that you knew how to inhabit with discretion and depth.
Looking at the photographs of these years – the conferences, the awards, the shared smiles – I see much more than public events. I see a human path. I see two men who believed that culture was not an ornament, but a form of civic engagement. That it was a way to remain faithful to themselves and their community.
Today I feel your absence as one feels the absence of a familiar voice in a suddenly silent room. But I also feel the strength of what we have built together. And I know that every time I speak of Brancati, every time I defend that high and rigorous idea of Culture that united us, you will be there, inside those words.
Our story does not end with your departure. It takes another form. It becomes memory, responsibility, testimony.
I miss you, Corrado. I miss the friend. I miss the companion of the journey.
But I continue walking also for you.
With deep affection,
Gianni