On first reading this book, it felt like nothing more than an easy read about growing up in Naples. On one level, it’s exactly that. Never while I was reading this did it feel like a lot of work.

As I read, though, I began to realize just how much artistry there was in making for this easy to read. While this is a story about growing up in Naples, it’s so much more.

I had a very different childhood than the one described here. A key part of Ferrante’s art is making her characters relatable while also bringing Naples in the 1950s to vivid life.

Ferrante’s story is very aware that we are born into other people’s stories. those stories influence and inform our own stories. She describes growing up and slowly coming to understand that parents, teachers and other adults have their own stories much of which are hidden just out of view. We see children, over and over, wanting to escape the stories their parents have imposed on them.

This is also a ok about books and falling in love with them. Ferrante describes an intense and shared relationship with a book that is read to tatters, memorized and internalized. She describes the elation of discovering new books. She chronicles the slow and arduous process of becoming a writer.

Above all, this is a tender and honest book about friendship. It’s about the fierce love and intense jealously of having a close friend. It’s about the pain of seeing them grow in a different direction than you while simultaneously wanting to establish your own identity. It’s about the enduring impact that a close friend has on your life. It was impossible to read this without thinking about my own best friend: how much I miss him and the part he played in helping me become the person I am today.

If you’ve ever had a very close friend, this book is for you. Reading it will never feel like hard work, but you will come away enriched by the experience.