Italy's rapid economic growth in the 1960s and 1970s was accompanied by another almost unnoticed phenomenon: the purchase of pianofortes. Upwardly mobile Italian families imported saloon-bar uprights and boudoir grands by the thousand-new and second hand, majestic Steinways and obscure east European marques-to stand in front rooms from Bolzano to Bari.
Untuned and often unplayed, most of these status symbols are now falling apart. Talk to an Italian piano tuner about these orphaned instruments and you are likely to receive a lecture on Italian cultural priorities: "Ask for 2m lire to refurbish a piano and you are turned down flat; but the same people will spend twice that much for two weeks in the Caribbean."
Cervelli d'Italia (Brains of Italy), Riccardo Chiaberge's caustic critique of the state of Italian science, education and the arts, takes up this theme early on: "We've jumped from illiteracy to television without passing through the civilisation of the written word. It is hard to find books in most houses; newspapers sell few copies, the curtain rises on half-empty theatres."
Cervelli d'Italia was published just before the new centre left government won the election in April, but it should be required reading for Walter Veltroni, Italy's new deputy prime minister and culture minister. Veltroni, a cinema buff, has already expounded his ideal of a cinema in every small town, and is pressing for cultural affairs to be brought under a single authority. Critics accuse him of wanting to create a version of Mussolini's "Minculpop."
Chiaberge claims that this sort of ideological sparring, combined with bureaucracy and corruption, has nearly extinguished the life of the mind in Italy over the last five decades. The author, a commentator with Corriere della Sera, is admirably even-handed in his criticism. Christian Democrats, communists, bureaucrats, arts impresarios, entrepreneurs and trades unionists-all come under attack.
One of Italy's problems is complacency. For many people, the country is art. According to Unesco, Italy is home to between two thirds and three quarters of the west's artistic heritage. And this is the time of the year when tourists queue for hours outside the Uffizi and pay over the odds for an unsatisfactory seat at Verona's open air opera.
When the patrimonio is threatened by accident, terrorism or decay, benefactors are almost always ready to step in. Short of war, Italy's artistic heritage is an asset that will never really depreciate. But living with revered icons does not in itself inspire reverence. Italians live with the Pope, but their birthrate is one of the lowest in Europe. Off the tourist trail, many Italians turn out to be negligent custodians of the art and architecture which in many other countries would be the object of protection orders. In the prosperous north, for example, it is not unusual to find ugly modern villas, neat behind their security gates and well-tended gardens, alongside crumbling 17th century castelli.
Chiaberge's book is a merciless dissection of the way culture has been hijacked by vested interests and rule books. One of the most embarrassing examples he cites is the extraordinary occasion last summer when Riccardo Muti, artistic director of Milan's La Scala, had to accompany the cast of La Traviata on the piano because the orchestra called a last minute strike.
This sort of bureaucracy and bloody-mindedness makes it impossible for brilliant scientists, inspired teachers, or innovative arts administrators to realise their projects.
Academics at all levels learn to play the system. The most important book in Italian schools, Chiaberge observes, is not the works of Dante or even a humble science text-book, but the Compendio della legislazione sull'istruzione secondaria-a 1,600 page summary of the five volumes of laws applying to secondary education in Italy.
In the circumstances, it hardly comes as a shock to learn from Istat, the state statistics institute, that last year 45 per cent of Italians aged between 15 and 24, and 60 per cent of all Italians, did not read a single book.
There are some hopeful signs. Last year, the Ronchey reforms prompted the second successive annual increase in visitors to state-run museums and historic sites, and income is at an all-time high. The system for buying museum and gallery tickets has been simplified, too.
But Chiaberge concludes grimly: "In a couple of years Korea will have more graduates than us, and Chinese entrepreneurs will be coming here on holiday... Instead of tormenting our school children with extra homework, why not send them all to hotel and catering college? At least they'll learn how to become good waiters."
Cervelli d'Italia
Riccardo Chiaberge
