This book is about two different but parallel experiences of isolation: that of a distinguished, homosexual professional, Doctor Fadigati, and that of the young Jewish student who feels an affinity with the doctor because of the imposition of the racial laws of 1938 (which banned Jewish Italians from practising professions). The backdrop, as in all Bassani’s novels, is Ferrara, whose provincial, enclosed society finds a renewed strength in fascism and a new vigour in sanctioning repressive legislation. But though this collective acquiescence drives Doctor Fadigati to suicide, for the young man it constitutes the complex moment which forms his consciousness. He recognises that the persecution of Fadigati is another form of the persecution directed at him, and the solidarity he develops with the doctor forms the core of the novel.


Bassani’s skill as a writer finds full expression in this book, in which the voice that denounces the ideology of fascism is amplified into a more profound reflection on man and his relationship with evil. The blame that people attribute to what is different, their lack of charity and tolerance together with an appetite for oppression, are the themes inscribed in the story of the doctor whose glinting gold-rimmed spectacles give the book its title.

‘After a hard day’s work he liked to feel himself in the crowd: the gay, noisy, neutral crowd. Tall and fat, with his soft hat, his yellow gloves and, in winter, his long loose cloak lined with opossum and his walking-stick hooked into the right pocket beside the sleeve, between eight and nine in the evening he might be seen anywhere in town. Sometimes you might be surprised to see him standing in front of a shop—window in Via Mazzini or Via Saraceno, peering intently over the shoulders of the man in front of him. Often he stood by the stands of knickknacks and sweets that spread in dozens along the south side of the cathedral, or in Piazza Travaglio, or in Via Garibaldi, staring silently at the unpretentious goods on show. But the narrow, crowded pavements of Via San Romano were those that Fadigati liked best. By those low doorways, smelling acridly of fried fish, salted foods, wine and cheap rope, and crowded with girls and soldiers, boys and cloaked peasants, it was strange to see his gay, lively, satisfied look, when you met him, and the vague smile that lit up his face.’ p15 (I. Quigley tr.)