When my grandmother (half of my namesake) was in college, she had a copy of Carlo Collodi’s Avventure di Pinocchio. Her copy, a 1932 edition published by D.C. Heath and Company, was intended to “introduce to the students of Italian one of the greatest masterpieces of Italian literature for young people,” noting that it was written in the “purest Tuscan” and “suited for the gradual acquisition of a practical knowledge of Italian” because of its “large number of everyday words and idiomatic expressions.” The editor’s preface also notes that it is written not just for young boys and girls, but “for everyone who has not lost the feeling for poetry.”
Earlier this year, my aunt gave me my grandmother’s copy, and I was moved to see her name on the inside flap—her maiden name—and her marginalia throughout the book, written in her perfect and careful cursive. Around the same time that I received this, I learned that Well-Read Mom and Wiseblood Books were collaborating to publish an edition of Pinocchio with commentary from the Dante scholar Franco Nembrini. It seemed that I needed to read Pinocchio’s story since it kept appearing in my life. Marcie Stokman, founder of Well-Read Mom, agrees. In a note at the beginning of the new edition, Stokman says she has heard it said that “You don’t find a book, a book finds you.” As I came to see, reading Pinocchio’s adventures and Nembrini’s insightful commentary on it, this is all the more poignant and true because Collodi’s story is the story of the prodigal son, of a false understanding of freedom, of a father who loves his son and gives him everything. This book found me, and many other readers, as a reminder of the love of God the Father.
What I remembered of the wooden puppet boy’s story was very little. Having never actually read it before, I only recalled watching the Disney cartoon version, and the fact that Pinocchio’s nose grows when he lies. I remember the cold fear that that might happen to me. However, this is hardly the focus of the story and certainly a less interesting detail. Many people might also associate Pinocchio with his cry of “I want to be a real boy!” In some ways, this is what the story is actually about. This desire—to be real, to be true, to be fully alive—is not just Pinocchio’s desire, but it is the desire of the human heart. For this reason, it could not be more relevant for us today. While it may seem unusual for Well-Read Mom and Wiseblood Books to offer this English-language edition of Pinocchio with Reflections on a Father’s Love from Nembrini, I think this is the reason they have chosen to do so.
The wooden puppet boy’s adventures hold a mirror to our own lives and all the ways we have misunderstood what it means to be free or happy or to discover who we are.
Nembrini points out at the beginning of his commentary that although Carlo Collodi grew up immersed in Catholic culture, he became involved with the political and intellectual movements of the mid-1800s in Italy that were anti-clerical and anti-Catholic. Eventually disillusioned by these ideals, Collodi started to write for children (thinking adults were past the point of saving from corruption). Published episodically, Collodi originally ended the story with Pinocchio’s death, perhaps as a warning for the consequences of disobedience, but the children reading the story knew better and clamored for the true ending. It is this added-on ending that makes the story truly remarkable, and this is also what Nembrini’s commentary helps readers to understand. Nembrini, a father of four sons and a teacher who has started schools and served on the Italian National Council of Catholic Schools, is most well-known for his book, Dante poeta del desiderio (Dante, poet of desire). His passion for Dante and literature turned into a TV show, and this led to his discussion of Pinocchio.
In the edition published by Well-Read Mom and Wiseblood Books, Collodi’s account of Pinocchio’s adventures is presented in their original episodes. Following each episode, or chapter, is Nembrini’s commentary on it. He begins by showing readers how the story starts much like the story of creation, and then how it also parallels the story of the prodigal son. He also points out the resonance this has for modern readers. Colleen Hutt, Director of Literary Evangelization at Well-Read Mom, offers a note before the text in which she states, “Human beings share a common origin: we did not make ourselves—we have been created.” Part of the struggle plaguing so many people today is that they do not see or understand—or perhaps accept—this. Yet, we are “made, named, and loved” into existence by a gracious God, as Hutt says. Nembrini shows how this is what we see in Pinocchio’s story too.
This recently came up in a homily for Trinity Sunday from Fr. Mike Schmitz as well. He explains that in Roman culture, a natural-born child could be un-claimed. If the child had what was viewed as a defect, or if the child was a gender that was not preferred, the child’s father had the legal right to reject it. However, an adopted child could not be rejected in this way. We hear in Scripture, “You received a spirit of adoption,” and this should mean something to us, Fr. Mike notes. We have been claimed and can never be abandoned. We are adopted sons and daughters of a loving Father who claims us as his. He is a dad and not a master; not an abstract idea, but a person who wants to enter a relationship with us. Fr. Mike mentions Pinocchio in his homily, saying that Geppetto makes the marionette in his image and likeness, as a beloved creature. Yet for Pinocchio to become Geppetto’s son, something must change in him: he must share the same nature. This is what Pinocchio desires too—to be not just a marionette, but a real boy.
At our baptism, we are made adopted children of God. In order to live up to our nature, we also desire to be true sons and daughters of God. How do we do this? Our lives are the way we attempt this. Like Pinocchio and the prodigal son, however, we often make choices that go against our nature. Geppetto gives Pinocchio his life and his freedom; no sooner does he have legs and is taught to walk, but he escapes. Nembrini points out the way this is like original sin, especially the sin of pride, which believes, “I need no one; I can do this alone.” Particularly in our youth, we misunderstand what freedom is.
Pinocchio continues to use his freedom for his own needs and interests, but when this inevitably leaves him in distress, he is met with mercy. Geppetto gives Pinocchio new feet when his are burned; God the Father wants us to be healed and whole, Nembrini says. Geppetto gives Pinocchio his own breakfast and his own coat when Pinocchio needs them. Like the father in the prodigal son story, everything he has is given to Pinocchio. Yet, after this, Pinocchio sells what has been given to him for a passing pleasure. In various ways and through various characters, Pinocchio encounters the temptations of the world and forgets his origin and nature—how he is made to be.
Eventually, Pinocchio meets a character who Nembrini views as Mary, his true mother. She reminds him he is made to be good. Nembrini notes that the Italian word Collodi uses, perbene (per il bene), does not mean just good, as in well-behaved. It actually means “for the good.” It takes some trial and error for Pinocchio to grasp this, as it often does for us. Nembrini, commenting on this, asserts that “a ‘good boy’ is one who finally understands and begins to live at the level of his desire, his nature.” When he does live this way, by sacrificing for others, he is transformed. No longer a puppet, he becomes a real boy, a true son of Geppetto. Nembrini views this as a glimpse of the resurrection that awaits us. He also offers a way for us to live perbene in our own lives. Bearing witness and living according to our nature, he declares, “does not mean tacking on additional tasks to the things we do already. It means that our lives are evidence of the mercy we have received, and the world around us changes for the better.” Rather than resenting that someone made us and we did not create ourselves, we live with gratitude for all that has been given to us and we use what we have received for others.
Nembrini claims, “Literature speaks by answering the questions we ask it.” Revisiting the adventures of Pinocchio in this beautiful edition from Well-Read Mom and Wiseblood Books, then, is a chance to ask questions such as: What is freedom? How do I live according to my nature and for the good? The wooden puppet boy’s adventures hold a mirror to our own lives and all the ways we have misunderstood what it means to be free or happy or to discover who we are. Just as the children reading the original installments of Pinocchio knew, death is not the end. There is a greater, truer ending—for Pinocchio and for each of us.