First book by Laing that I've finished from cover to cover, and it makes me what to return to her previous ones that I didn't invest enough time and or attention to. I've always been intrigued by her work, and this was very promising on paper, and ultimately I found it to be absolutely brilliant. A very rewarding read, informative, engaging and brimming with beauty in every sense of the word. Very glad to have read this one in advance. Looking forward to read more of her work very soon. Not for film enthusiasts only, dare I say it doesn't even matter if you like Pasolini or not. Laing's prose will pull you in either way.

It is no secret that I adore Olivia Laing' writing. I appreciate their talent to weave together different stories and entertain, educate and enflame in their exquisite non-fiction prose. I was hesitant to read a novel by them, as I was not sure if what I appreciate about their writing would translate well into the world of narrative structure and character development. Having read The Silver Book, my only question is: why couldn't this be a Laing non-fiction book?

It has all the ingredients of an excellent Laing text - evocative atmosphere of the world of 1970s Italian cinema, problematic gay men doing problematic things, uncompromising political clash of the left and fascism rearing its ugly head. The book is at its very best when Laing goes on some sort of a short tangent about Elizabeth Taylor or Maria Callas or one of the myriad iconic mid-20th century personalities who were somehow connected to the core story of the making of Salo, Pier Paolo Pasolini's controversial version of the Marquis De Sade's 120 Days of Sodom. The story of Pasolini, Danilo Donati (Italy's visionary film costume designer), the memory of Salo (the Italian puppet state created by the Germans for Mussolini when he was ousted from power in Italy proper) and the explosive politics of 1970s Italy is ripe for a classic Laing treatment.

What killed it? Having to pack all these things into the format of a fictional novel with fictional characters and character arcs. Although most people in the narrative are real, we follow a dreary gay love story of Donati and a young Englishman called Nicolas, who gets entangled in the world of Pasolini, Fellini and the broader Italian cinema scene of the 1970s. Both Nicholas and Donati are flat and uninteresting characters, but as Nicholas is the point of view third person narrator, we are forced to spend the entire runtime of the book seeing things from his (boring) perspective, leaving very little space for Laing's free-flowing generosity of tangential details. Whatever they are trying to talk about, we are ultimately yanked back to Nicholas and his uninspiring and unoriginal personal struggles which we've seen in every low-effort gay drama ever. He is such a colourless and dull character that I found myself skipping some of the text in a vain attempt to entertain myself reading this book. Such a shame, the topic is fascinating, but the specific story Laing chose to tell is not.

If you enjoy the films of Fellini and Pasolini, you will find the insights and stories in this novel hugely enjoyable. If you know nothing of the films of Fellini and Pasolini (as I do), you will find this novel illuminating and captivating.

This is the story of Nicholas, a young art student in London, who flees, panic stricken after a breakup with his lover, to Rome where he is picked up by Danilo Donati, a top costume designer, working at Cinecittà, the Italian Hollywood. The time is 1974 and soon Nicholas is assisting Danilo at work and in his bed. We’re with them as work is planned and made for Fellini’s ‘Casanova’ and Pasolini’s ‘Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom’.

This novel is plot-lite in that it reads more like a piece of creative non-fiction rather than as a typical novel with character arcs and plot points. This doesn’t detract from its readability and this book is not without incident. Nico and Danilo have their relationship ups and downs and there is intrigue about missing rolls of film.

The author has an innovative way of writing that can be challenging but is always readable. Dialogue is almost always without quotation marks and is embedded with paragraphs. Sometimes the point-of-view changes within a paragraph so you have to work hard to know who’s speaking. However once you have become accustomed to this, the story does flow and begins to take on the quality of a stream-of-consciousness.

If you have an interest in Italian cinema of the 1970s or indeed, an interest in how cinema is made, then this novel is well worth considering. It’s a lighter read than might be expected but with some big issues around the politics of the time thrown in.

I’m grateful to Penguin Random House and to NetGalley for making a pre-publication copy available so that I might make an honest review.

Set during in Italy's Years of Lead, marked by atrocities and violent clashes between the extreme left and right, Olivia Laing’s novel follows Nicholas who has fled London for Venice. After a chance encounter with renowned costume and set designer, Danilo Donati, he finds himself working first on Fellini’s Casanova, then Pasolini’s Salò, a reimagining of De Sade’s The 120 days of Sodom played out against the backdrop of the eponymous republic where Mussolini was installed by the Nazis, a site with personal resonance for both Danilo and Pasolini. When Casanova resumes, Danilo and Nicholas return to Rome where the delight of finishing the film is interrupted by news of Pasolini’s brutal murder. There’s a convenient confession, but no one really believes the confessor.
Laing folds her research seamlessly into this elegantly constructed, immersive novel. Just as Pasolini used Salò to draw parallels between fascism in the 1940s and the political violence of the 1970s, Laing implicitly does the same with the Years of Lead and our own time while telling Nicholas and Danilo's love story. We see events from Nicholas’s perspective, a naïve yet worldly young man, often ill at ease but entranced by the all-consuming world of cinema and its creators. Laing's descriptions of sets and costumes are strikingly evocative while her cool precision lends a distance to some of the more graphic descriptions of Pasolini’s work making it all the more effective, not least in the brutality of his murder which still remains unsolved. The blurb uses the word ‘noirish’ presumably for the mystery of what’s brought Nicholas to Italy but this is much more a beautifully executed novel of ideas wrapped up in an homage to Italian cinema which sounds a loud warning about our own times.

The Silver Book is the story of Nicholas, a young English artist, and Danilo, a costume designer for Italian cinema. The two meet in Venice, then Danilo brings Nicholas to Rome and introduces him to the world of cinematography. The story follows their relationship within the sphere of cinema; it is an evocative story, both emotional and sensual.

The author has cleverly interspersed into the story a recounting of the murder of Pier Paulo Pasolini, an Italian poet, film director, writer, actor and playwright, who was brutally abducted, tortured and murdered in 1975. Pasolini was at the time exposing corruption and violence within Mussolini’s fascist state. Laing is the author of four books of nonfiction, each mixing cultural criticism and memoir with elements of biography and travel writing. It is not unexpected therefore that these themes are encompassed within this work.

This is a captivating story, it is however a slow burn and would not appeal to lovers of fast paced action stories. I would recommend the book to readers who enjoy modern contemporary fiction with a focus on emerging cinema in the 1970’s. Please do note that there are some quite graphic descriptions of the physical relationship between the main characters that some readers may consider offensive.

This was a real treat. Already keen on Olivia Laing’s writing, I found The Silver Book to be moving and thought-provoking and improvement on her first novel, Crudo, which was also very good. It centres on an affair between Nicholas, the rather shadowly delineated central figure, and Danilo Donati, celebrated film designer during the period when Pasolini’s Salo and Fellini’s Casanova were being made. There’s lots of fascinating insights into film-making and politics in 1970s Italy and a sense that a lot of research has gone into making this novel work quite effortlessly. There are also plenty of warnings for our present. Like a queer version of Jonathan Cole’s excellent Mr Wilder and Me, this is really very good indeed.

Olivia Lang's latest novel takes us to the world of Italian cinema in the 1970s, specifically to the Cinecittà studios, where Pasolini and Fellini are making movies. Into this milieu wanders Nicholas, a young man disillusioned with British life, and in love with what Italy can offer - a hedonism not known back home. He meets and falls for Danilo Donati, a costume designer working in the studio. Rich and evocative, Laing's prose consumes us with it's beauty, and submerges us into this lost world with ease. It may have helped that I am very familiar with and also in love with this same period of Italian cinema, so none of the references went over my head. For someone not so familiar, you will certainly appreciate the detail and gain a sense of the mystery and majesty of the time.

This is a wonderful novel which I devoured in one sitting.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for the ARC.

There's an interesting story here, a fictionalising of the real murder of Pier Paulo Pasolini while he was filming his Salò, a film which drew on Sade's 120 Days of Sodom as a way of exposing the corruptions and violence of Mussolini's fascist Republic of Salò (1943–1945). Pasolini was outspoken in interviews highlighting what his film was doing and implicating not only the fascist state, supported by Nazi Germany, but also the complicity of the Catholic church and the CIA in their rabid crusade against communism. Laing takes this real story, including some missing reels of film which were suggested to have been a lure to get Pasolini to his place of murder, and adds in a queer young man, the lover of the real-life Danilo Donati, who won an Oscar for the costume design of 'Casanova'.

While there is fascinating detail on what happens on a film set in this period, I found the writing style oddly sterile, holding me at arm's length: the 'told' style with few scenes or dialogue ('The date is last November. You didn't tell me about this, Nico says. I was living here then. I hardly knew you, Dani says. And you didn't know anything about Italy. You hadn't even met Pasolini') almost feel like notes to the novel this hasn't yet become.

Laing's non-fiction is so intimate, so involving, so emotive that I expected something similar from her fiction - this, however, feels cold, a bit shallow and superficial - I felt like an on-looker throughout watching the action in a detached and disinterested way through a window.

The Silver Book by Olivia Laing is a compelling and atmospheric read that plunges you into the dazzling yet shadowy world of 1970s Italian cinema.

Set against the backdrop of Venice and Rome during the turbulent Years of Lead, the story follows Nicholas, a young English artist on the run, who becomes entwined with Danilo Donati, a masterful costume designer working with Fellini and Pasolini.

Laing’s prose is rich and evocative, capturing the magic and menace of Cinecittà studios where film and reality blur. This is part love story, part thriller, and part meditation on the delicate line between illusion and truth.

Nicholas’s hidden secret drives the narrative towards an unexpected and poignant tragedy, adding layers of complexity to the relationship at its heart.

The book’s strength lies in how it explores power, identity, and artistic creation with sensitivity and insight. It may not suit those looking for a fast-paced thriller, but for readers who appreciate mood, depth and a touch of queer romance, it is a rewarding journey.

Olivia Laing’s ability to weave real history with fiction invites reflection on the costs of beauty and ambition. A captivating and thoughtful read that lingers long after the last page.

Read more at The Secret Book Review.

I was intrigued by the title and the cover of this book, but the story was not for me. It was too dark and graphic.

Thanks to Netgalley for an ARC of this intriguing book. Set in the 1970s film world which is likely to be quite alien to people this is a queer love story with some very dark undertones. I am unfamiliar with the two films talked about and only know about the Marquis de Sade by repute having never read any of his works. I really liked the characters of Nicholas and Danilo and their relationship felt real and authentic. At the time homosexuality, certainly in the UK was known about and not illegal but very much frowned upon, certainly in my 1970s world. I expect the film world at that time would be very alien to most people and certainly the two films being produced in this book were highly controversial. There are some great one liners in the book that made me stop, reread and think about. I certainly benefited from reading about de Sade, 120 Days of Sodom, the film based on the book and Casanova beforehand. Fellini’s use of de Sade’s book as an anti-fascism tool was unexpected.
The book is explicit in places. I had no problem, but some people might.
Overall I think it’s a thought provoking read and a great book for book discussion.