By Carmela Cattuti
Genre: Historical Fiction
Join
Angela Lanza as she experiences the tumultuous world of early 20th century
Sicily and New York. Orphaned by the earthquake and powerful eruption of Mt.
Etna in 1908, Angela is raised in the strict confines of an Italian convent.
Through various twists of fate, she is married to a young Italian man whom she
barely knows, then together with her spouse, immigrates to the U.S.
About the Author
Carmela Cattuti started her writing career as a writer for the
Somerville News in Boston, MA. She is a writer, painter, and yoga instructor in
Boston. After she finished her graduate work in English Literature at Boston
College, she began to writer creatively. As fate would have it, She felt
compelled to writer her great aunt’s story. Between the Cracks and The Ascent
have gone through many incarnations and will become a trilogy. The Ascent is
the second novel.
Get in touch
On Facebook: www.facebook.com/carmelacattuticreative
On Twitter: www.twitter.com/ccattuti
On Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18388553-between-the-cracks?from_search=true&qid=yTWIA2W8AV&rank=1
Excerpt:
A cross from Italy’s mainland sat the city of Messina like an
indomitable fortress. Proud of its solid presence, Messina was the travelers’
first encounter with the island of Sicily. The earthy colors of the buildings
and landscape signaled to the visitor or returning Sicilian that Messina and
its people belonged to the island, not to any outside political force or
cultural tradition. The clang of the donkey-drawn carts and the voices calling
out to customers to buy wares in the market added to the music of the city’s
sounds. Visitors marveled out loud at the cathedrals and ancient art work
throughout the city, but the locals walked and spoke softly, especially near
the narrow slits between the buildings. Visitors delighted in the snake-like
movement of the streets. The streets seemed to lead directly to a famous church
or street market but then would slowly veer off in a different direction. They
seemed to be designed to intentionally confuse. The city offered no help in
arriving at a specific destination. Ancient buildings were so close together
that air barely squeezed through. Residents believed that between the buildings
old mysteries sat, holding the true essence of Messina. Whenever one of the townspeople walked close
to the openings, there seemed to be a whisper, not a sound you could hear with
your physical ears but heard in your mind. The whisper seemed to convey a
yearning that had been imprisoned for hundreds of years. When this happened,
people scurried past, heads down, attempting to get away from the whispers in
their heads.
Angela ran down the hot cobblestone street and fell, scrambled
to her feet and ran, then fell again. She threw herself on the street and
screamed a long scream that echoed off the ruins of the ancient churches. A
timeless scream that would always and forever be heard. Her city, Messina, was
a massive graveyard. She searched for her family—her mother, sister and
brother. She yelled their names into the air, into demolished houses. She
screamed at bodies crushed or run through by fallen beams. Other bodies were
caught between the open earth and the street. They were the souls in hell that
she had seen in paintings, forever in agony, never at peace.
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