I begin with three diverging assumptions about fascism and its representation in postwar Western culture. They are meant to illuminate how and why Italy’s political and cultural class—now governed by the most right-wing administration since Mussolini—has come to rely on fascism as its central cultural content, and how the prominence of fascism as both entertainment and democratic preoccupation is reshaping how we write books. Whatever the ideological leanings of the writers engaged in this discourse, I argue that fascism has overtaken their ability to engage with past and present in aesthetically compelling or politically effective ways. I wouldn’t call this a syndrome yet, although one day I might.

In contrast to fascism’s well-known fixation on masculinity and male dominance, one of the most striking features within today’s abundant supply of fascist—and by implication, antifascist—tropes is an obsession with the female figure, be it as an accomplice, a victim, or a heroine; in the partisan resistance or the domestic sphere. In light of Giorgia Meloni’s ascent as the Italian Republic’s first female and most politically extreme prime minister, this juxtaposition of fascism and female empowerment has taken on uncanny dimensions.

Assumption 1:

In his much-quoted essay “Ur-Fascism,” published in the New York Review of Books on June 22, 1995, Umberto Eco reflects on the use of the term “fascist” as a slur:

“Why was an expression like fascist pig used by American radicals to refer to a cop who did not approve of their smoking habits? Why didn’t they say: Cagoulard pig, Falangist pig, Ustashe pig, Quisling pig, Nazi pig?”