Clelia Farris' Vegumani: a seed that doesn't sprout

As a self-proclaimed solarpunk, I'm always keeping an eye out for new publications by Italian authors. So my attention was caught by Vegumani, written by Sardinian author Clelia Farris and published by Future Fiction in summer 2022. One of the novel's editors is none other than Francesco Verso, pioneer of the genre in our peninsula, author of many Italian anthologies and founder of the above mentioned publisher.

Expectations

Even before opening the book, the reader has a clear idea of what they want to see: a future reclaimed, told from the perspective of an author whose origins are always further away from the mainland and that very few have managed to successfully convey (Grazia Deledda, Michela Murgia). A future that deals with the very present conflicts of water shortage, infrastructural uncertainty and a never-solved fracture between Italy, which has used the island of Sardegna as a minerary and military colony for centuries, and the Sardinian traditions that have always lived their own life in popular legends.

Plot

A Sardinian village faces desertification and a persistent drought, against which the villagers have only found temporary solutions: water rationing, precision agriculture and shelter from the lethal sun. Despite these measures, many begin to look for alternatives; roads to the North, more temperate and with better living standards, where living doesn't lock one in a struggle against the surrounding environment.

The plot is centered on a sunscreen, invented by the main character Gazania, which temporarily turns skin into photosynthetic bark and extends roots that can take nutrients from the soil. There are drawbacks, however: who uses it lulls into a non-communicative state of elation for days and neglects all biological and social functions.

Despite the very interesting premise, this is immediately undermined by the fact that Gazania has invented this sunscreen before the story begins; we're not told much about its discovery, only that many in the village are already using it. Gazania is then trying to talk people off the concoction while she conducts further tests to learn about its properties. With a scientific background myself, reading about a character that not only uses her fellow citizens as guinea pigs but that also needs to study her own invention before safely spreading it does not look very professional, realistic or solarpunk.

Many other solarpunk themes are barely mentioned. One that struck me was the potential conflict within Astarte, the food cooperative where Gazania works, which faces the harsh choice between reducing production (since many workers are relocating North) and asking those left to work more for the same compensation. Sadly, this conflict is not explored and fades into the background in a few pages.

Or also: when a wheat field is set on fire, the community does not come together to investigate and find the culprit or put measures in place to prevent such mishaps from happening again. Instead, the culprit spontaneously confesses in the span of ten pages, putting aside any possible inquiry on how would a solarpunk society deal with such disruptive events.

The characters, beside the protagonist Gazania and the antiwork Asfodelo, are easily forgettable and often not very realistic. Main culprits are the two kids, initially presented as lively but cute, only to then run into the desert for no apparent reason, thus forcing the entire village to set out to bring them back, and Nonna [lit. Grandma], which suffers from the usual Uchiha Syndrome: an ambiguous character that flips between positive and negative according to what plot twist fits the story better.

The Seitan Pork

Of the many shortcomings such an approach to solarpunk has, I have to dedicate a paragraph to the most infuriating part: the Seitan Pork.

“Where did they find a pig?” Gazania asked. Metis smiled and whispered to her ear: “It's seitan.” *Gazania inspected the white and tender meat in her friend's dish: it really looked like animal meat. “Amegilla prepared the dough and Xilo modelled it. Skin is made of thinly spread mopur.” The guests chewed enthusiastically, but Grandma, further away, had pushed off the cork tray and suckled on a mygale's roasted leg.

I want to immediately state that veganism is not the infuriating part: I respect such life choices. But in this case we're in a drought-stricken island where water is rationed to the milliliter; producing 1kg of wheat requires around 650L of freshwater (without taking into account the need of dedicated monocultures, generally harmful for the landscape and fertilizer-hungry). In order to turn it into seitan, the yield halves (1kg of flour gives 500g of seitan), and he process requires a long kneading under running clean water; which takes us to a freshwater cost of around 1400L per each kg of seitan. In comparison, 1kg of pig meat requires 1850L of freshwater, without taking into account the positive externalities of having pigs in a farm, known as prime organic waste disposers. It's not about animal ethics: for a village with severe water issues, mimicking a pork with seitan is still a massive waste. But this is never taken into account; drought is rarely part of the choices, only part of the setting.

This might look like a nitpick, but I think it's a crucial example to show how the book never gets deep enough to explore the meaning of the elements at play; it always stops on the surface, just like the floral names of the otherwise flat characters. A list of futuristic “eco-things” that never explore the material reality of a place that struggles against a condition that billions of people face today, and that at the same time fail to inspire the reader to a future capable of overcoming these obstacles.

Conclusion

I can't not say that I feel profoundly disappointed by this book.

Beyond the shallowness of the themes at play, the Sardinian heritage I had expected to see is barely perceivable. The plot isn't particularly convincing; very often I had the impression that events simply happen around Gazania and she rarely has the chance to make choices that really impact the fate of her community for the better.

This does not mean there are no positives, which need to be highlighted as well: first of all the author's vast knowledge of the botanical world, wonderfully conveyed through dialogues and descriptions. These are two of the strong points of the novella, always vivid, realistic and genuine.

Perhaps with excessive selfishness or bitterness, I would like to see more depth by the Italian authors within the genre. Italy (like Greece and Spain) is especially prone to all kinds of extreme events, many of which are already happening in these years; we should be on the forefront of these stories and experiences for the rest of the European audience. I expect more of these elements and less performativity in solarpunk coming from our language and lands.

To Clelia Farris and Future Fiction I ask: try again. The premises were great, but don't stop at the skin; be the roots that hold this book up and be brave enough to go deeper.