On the dark side or the last days of fascism – Edmund White in NYRB (in 2011):

‘Nearly everything about Curzio Malaparte—who wrote Kaputt and The Skin, two of the most memorable books about World War II—was bogus, starting with his name. He was born in the town of Prato in Tuscany in 1898, the son of an irascible German (and Protestant) father, Erwin Suckert, and a Tuscan mother. Originally the future writer was dubbed Kurt Erich but quickly that difficult Teutonic name was Italianized into Curzio. When he was in his twenties and already the author of a few published works, he decided to change his last name from Suckert to Malaparte because that sounded more Italian (in that way he was like Ettore Schmitz, who became Italo Svevo). Malaparte was also obviously an allusion to Bonaparte, the dark side of the good.’

(…)

‘Malaparte’s active complicity with Mussolini was fairly constant and had started much earlier, in 1924–1925, when the dictatorship had first been declared. Giacomo Matteotti, a socialist deputy who was vocal in his denunciations of fascism, had been kidnapped and murdered. Mussolini (either correctly or incorrectly) had been blamed for the assassination—and many Fascists abandoned the party, outraged by the illegal, high-handed violence. Despite this forceful attack on his regime by members of his own party, Mussolini, supported by the king of Italy, now usurped parliamentary power and declared himself the sole ruler of the country. Malaparte, in a cool act of opportunism, testified in court on behalf of Mussolini at this crucial junction. The writer probably expected “Muss” (as he called him) to be grateful, but if so he failed to understand how short the dictator’s memory could be.’

(…)

‘In fact that was the most fascist thing about him—his admiration for brute power in whatever form it came. Otherwise he did not subscribe to right-wing nostalgia for the past or a veneration for the altar and throne, nor was he an anti-Semite or racist. He was in favor of syndicalism and belonged to the labor wing of the Fascist Party.’

(…)

‘It’s not quite clear whether these books are novels or works of nonfiction. In both there is a narrator named Malaparte who seems to be vouching, as an eyewitness, to the veracity of the often mythopoetic things he observes. If there is someone important in the vicinity, we feel sure that that person will invite Malaparte to dinner; he always has access to the rulers and deal-makers. The characters in these books will explain their often indefensible beliefs and actions to Malaparte in paragraph after paragraph of highly articulate dialogue.’

(…)
‘What sort of man was Malaparte? He usually had a mistress but never married, even though Mussolini made it clear that unless he married the dictator would never appoint him ambassador (Malaparte’s fondest wish). He liked men and could be a regular guy with them, but he could not sustain a friendship with a man. He seemed even less capable of becoming close to a woman, though he was famous as a womanizer. His dog was his dearest friend. Calling him a narcissist seems warranted since he wrote a book called A Woman Like Me and built a spectacular house cantilevered out over a cliff in Capri called “House Like Me.” He seemed a narcissist in that he could spend three hours every day doing his toilette. One critic said of Malaparte that “at every wedding he wanted to be the bride and at every funeral the dear departed.” An enemy said, “He loved his mother and luxury hotels,” though in fact he was fairly stoic and certainly courageous (he fought some twenty duels and was severely injured in several).’

(…)

‘Although Malaparte only met Mussolini five or six times face to face, the two men were obsessed with each other. Perhaps Malaparte dramatized this obsession best in his friendship with the dictator’s glamorous son-in-law, Galeazzo Ciano, and Mussolini’s daughter Edda. In Kaputt Malaparte devotes an entire long chapter, “Golf Handicaps,” to the last idyllic days of the Fascist elite, with Count Ciano’s world right out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald story of boating and cocktails and adultery and beautiful clothes.’

Read the article here.

He was a fascist before he became an antifascist.

But his books are beyond doubt. This might not be accepted by all readers but I prefer Malaparte to Céline.

Interestingly enough the names of Erich Maria Remarque and Isaak Babel are not mentioned. I’m not sure if Malaparte has read Babel, but it’s very well possible that he read Remarque and he was influenced by him.

The last days of fascism, go to Pasolini for that, or Fitzgerald indeed. From Long Island you can see Europe, it has been said, I guess you can also taste fascism on the island.

And he loved his mother and luxury hotels, what else do I need to say?