19th Edition

AND NOW?
STORIES, VISIONS, AND BOOKS ABOUT THINGS THAT END.

Cagliari and other municipalities on the island from October 2th to 6th, 2024

Conceived and organized by the Children’s Bookstore Tuttestorie, and designed in collaboration with the writer Bruno Tognolini, the Tuttestorie Festival is aimed at an audience of girls and boys, young people from 0 to 16 years old, with a space for in-depth exploration and education dedicated to adults. The program includes meetings with international guests, including writers, illustrators, artists, storytellers, musicians, actors, dancers, scientists, and journalists.

From the EXMA and schools in Cagliari, the festival will travel to Carbonia (with classes from the SBIS Library System), Isili (with classes from the Sarcidano-Barbagia di Seulo Library System), Assemini, Decimomannu, Elmas, Villasor, Decimoputzu, Siliqua, Vallermosa, Villaspeciosa for the Bibliomedialibrary Library System, and in the municipalities of Gonnesa, Monastir, Quartu Sant’Elena, Ussana, and Villanovaforru.

Encounters, workshops, performances, narrations, performances, exhibitions, and special events in 2023 will be dedicated to the theme of THE END.

We will start, as we do every year, with the “MOTHER DOUGH”, the map created with Bruno Tognolini and Nicoletta Gramantieri, which we will use as the track for our journey, opening ourselves to changes and shifts.

Mother Dough

This festival will celebrate Endings. Indeed, the Endings, which for children exist and flow, with their Meanwhiles (those in which one wonders “what now?”) and their new Beginnings: many, joyful or sad, harmful, or fruitful, important. And a children’s book festival talks to children with books about important things.

Endings happen, in time and space, well cut or blurred. In time, ice cream ends: I can buy another, but that one is over. The game ends: there may be overtime, maybe later a rematch, but that one is over. The book ends: we can reread it, sometimes sequels come, but that one is over. The day, on the other hand, does not end well cut: there is sunset, twilight, evening, then quietly comes night. Childhood comes to an end, but not abruptly: there is adolescence, where one is still half-child and half-teen; then always even as an adult, whether one wants to (and knows it) or not, the child remains, like the smaller circles in the center of a cut log. If by someone’s misfortune the child does not remain, his/her life is a hollow log, brittle in the wind.

When in space, Endings can be short and clipped or long and blurry. The house ends: beyond the door begins the outside, everyone’s place. But if beyond the door begins the garden, the house is finished and the garden is an outside: but it is not everyone’s. A sign says here Tuscany ends and Latium begins: but the landscape we see continues the same. A border says here Italy ends and France begins: but a fox passes by quietly, neither noticing nor caring that it is in France. And if there is a wall with barbed wire, humans and foxes do not pass, but birds do. Sardinia, on the other hand, suddenly ends up in the sea: but even there for the flamingos that go to winter, and for the planes that go to travel, it is not a problem.

For living things, too, there are Endings, and even those in time and space. In space: from feet to hair, from snout to tail, or down to skin, feathers, scales, where we end and the world begins. And in time? Death, where, however, it is a problem to say “what now?” No one knows. It is humanity’s best kept secret. And here it depends on how you see it, such a giant secret: whether it is a terrible, dark door, or an endless possible adventure.

These, along with a million others, the Endings in life. And in stories?

There the Ends are different depending on the families, which in stories are called genres.

In horror for example, the End is often twofold, cheating. All resolved, we relax: and there comes the blow. He was not dead, he was not vanquished, there is an heir. There comes a new ending, often a very short one, which says: beware, you are not safe, for evil cannot be defeated.

In the detective story, on the other hand, the Ending is restorative: it puts everything back in order, but not the way it was before. The evil is defeated, the bad guy is in prison, but even the good guys are no longer the same: so, for them, maybe different, even though the story is no longer being told, the story continues.

In adventure novels, the End is the return home, whether real or metaphorical. One goes far away, to the elsewhere, where there are trials to be faced, worlds to be discovered, defeats and victories and draws: and eventually one returns. But even here it will not be as it was before: return forward, not back.

In coming-of-age novels, the End is stated: formation. Growth, which never ends, as we know, but passing through trials and failures, dreams and ambitions, achievements and renunciations, leads sooner or later to a wider heath: so-called maturity, where one can come to terms with reality.

In fairy tales, the End is always a moral, an explanation. Do you see human, do you see child? Learn. Lambs must always beware of wolves, and being a fox sometimes does not suit.

In fairy tales the End is often redemption: the beautiful moment of the revenge of the small, the weak, the unfortunate, who have been oppressed by bullies and now the scoundrels pay for it.

In fantasy the End is again defeat of evil, perhaps sometimes temporary, but less important: what matters is the mind-boggling journey to get there.

In science fiction, the End does not exist, because it is the genre that tells of the infinite. Its Ends basically say only this: beware, here this story ends, but Ends do not end, because things can go in other ways, in infinite worlds and for infinite times.

And still more and more, and so how many? How many Edings tell stories?

More or less, than life stories? Or as always, the same ones? So what? And now?

Now come on: end of the Mother Dough. Now we need to have the Festival of Endings.

So let’s get started.

Colletta #dinecessitàtribù

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