Can a melodrama be still written? Is it possible to adapt the musical structure and the language of other times to a novel? This is the courageous bet attempted by Eduardo Savarese. In the story of Simone, a teenage affected by muscular dystrophy, everything seems to be unlikely and almost exotic, but page after page the protagonist’s condition reveals all its painful limitations and contrasts: his forced inertia and his desire of growing up, his need of being loved and his difficulty of expressing himself, his innocence and the weight of the fractures caused to his familiar relations. His illness isolates and divides, makes the movements of those who surrounds him nicer, pollutes the dynamics of feelings. His mother has a tired, neurotic and hysteric voice, the voice of those who would like to go on living but can’t do so. Pierotta is the depressed and unstable little girl with whom Simone duets. A professor of quantum physics, Filippo Pittari, is the brilliant baritone who strives to keep a message of balance and hope, performing a parental role. In this little solar system that obeys only to laws of science, there is a real soprano, the famous Lea Hertsbush, the only one to blatantly sing off-key in public. Simone hasn’t stopped to chase the hug of Thomas, his father of Syrian origin who abandoned him. He wants to know if he is a deserter or a hero, and if it’s true that noone of us is able to escape our fate. The final act is reserved to the two of them, with the background of a snowy Jerusalem. Because, like Julian Barnes wrote, only the melodrama goes straight to the aim. And it reminds us of the essentiality of life.