Voices - Italian

by Chelsea Ohler '14, Psychology Grad Student and First-Time Novelist

I've been writing for years, though I've only recently published my first novel, and for me, one of the most important--and most easily-overlooked--parts of writing a story is world building. It's so important to create interesting settings for a story to take place in, and it isn't always easy. That's why I turned to one of the most frequent pieces of advice writers run into: Write what you know. For me, that advice isn't literal; instead, it means that writers should draw from their experiences to create something new. I draw inspiration from my travels

In my novel Songstruck, I needed to create a seaside castle. The first place my mind went was to a castle I visited on a trip to Italy, Miramare Castle, in Trieste. I loved that castle and happily drew on my memories of it to inspire the setting I needed to create. Similarly, other places I visited on my trip crept into the fantasy world I was creating, even if not all of the details are fully explored in the book. The snow-tipped Dolomites and Venice, for example, are the inspirations for other settings in the world I created for my story.

by Michelina Ferrara '12 (The DePauw, March 9, 2010)

Broken English interrupts the otherwise continuous pattern of Italian. The scent of pastas and a recently-cooked, gourmet, three-course meal fill the air. The bickering of sisters, the howling of a puppy and the exhaustion of the day culminates into the otherwise excited and vibrant aura - I am home.

My father came to America when he was twenty. Clinging to his ancestry and vowing by tradition while pledging his allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, he longed and desired for the American dream.

My mother married my father right out of high school and fell quickly into the role of an Italian woman: strong, unyielding, and yet, subdued. She and my father built their own business upon the foundation of morality and betterment, knowing that in the future their children would benefit from the privilege of an education and a better life.

Being the first born into this family, I needed to succumb to my familial roots, yet learn to be American as well. At times I felt torn, wanting to rebel against traditions so long ingrained, I felt myself abandoning the tradition and customs for a more modern way of thinking. I look back now and reflect, because I know that somewhere in between my rebellion and my traditions, I found myself.

My family, who always advocated education, turned out to be my greatest molder of dreams. Being the first in my entire family to go off to college, I am the fulfillment of my parent's American dream. Plunging ahead, I bring with me the traditions of the past, the knowledge and passion of the present and the willfulness and enthusiastic desire for the future.

Growing up, I was always surrounded by a community that nurtured and embraced my culture and identity. Excited to come to DePauw, and bring that identity with me, I was met with a harsh reality - there was a divided sense of community that was engulfed by a racial identity that I did not inhabit. I was confronted by a choice: minority or majority.

As I explored my Italian ancestry, my darker complexion and features and my own comfort levels, I found that the reality I was experiencing was not just confined to me.

Italians, in their immigration to the United States, by boat or plane dealt with this identity mix-up as well. In fact, when Italians first began their migration pattern to the United States through Ellis Island, they were harshly discriminated against by other groups already in the country. As Italians made a place for themselves in this new country of dreams, they became white. Italians did not fit the blonde, freckled picture of the American at that time, so they aspired and assimilated to such. This identity transformation and exploration was manifesting itself in me at DePauw.

I can recall being asked by a professor my first semester to write a story about my family. I wrote about how family-oriented we were, and how my Nonna would always cook the most amazing Italian dishes that would bring us together for our weekly, cherished Sunday meal.

As I listened to my classmates, I realized that my family was different. The names we used, the words to describe things, the customs, the background, everything. This was extremely intimidating. Why couldn't I just disappear into the colorless reality of DePauw?

Before I left for college my parents told me to remember where I came from and never forget my roots. These words echoed in my head during my first semester as I struggled to define myself among a seemingly culture-less and homogenous population. The struggle of my father over two decades ago, and the struggle of my ancestors came to fruition in Greencastle, Ind.

A first-generation Italian-American woman finding refuge among difference.