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I Am a Red Dress: Incantations on a Grandmother, a Mother, and a Daughter
By Anna Camilleri
Arsenal Pulp Press, 256 pages

Anna Camilleri's collection, I Am a Red Dress, is based on her experiences at home with her family in Toronto's Little Italy, and populated by colourful, tragic and dangerous characters. One of the most memorable, though, is the red dress, a symbol of celebration that her mother vows to wear upon the death of her father, Camilleri's grandfather.

That a sad event would be celebrated with such vibrancy is the centre of a story so intense that Camilleri had to divide it into manageable bits — some stories are from childhood and beyond, some are short meditative pieces, and others are retrospective analyses of the events of her life.

"I broke the only rule that bound my family together: started with don't, ended with can't. I did speak." What Camilleri spoke of was repeated sexual abuse by her grandfather from the age of five, not only of her, but of her mother. It was a secret so tightly held by her grandmother and her mother that she couldn't be absolutely sure it had taken place until long after it occurred. Well after she left Toronto to begin a new life in Vancouver, and just as she was beginning to come into herself as a writer and performance artist, Camilleri had her grandfather, by then rather an old man, jailed for his transgressions. Although she had found a way to cope with her past, taking this action against him on behalf of her female bloodline turned the red dress from symbol to reality, and began the healing process.

At her best, Camilleri tells her story from a child's perception. She sweetly tells of her deep love and sense of connection with her tireless Nonna, her empathy for her mother, who just can't seem to fit into her own skin and whose outlandish style is gossip fodder for the neighbourhood women. She talks cryptically but sympathetically about the disappearance of her troubled uncle, and the way in which her family protects his reputation to the outside world. And as with most Italian stories, there is food, chaos, mystery and an undercurrent of violence and emotional wounds.

"Because of the violence that has been at work in my family for generations, I can't name one relative who believes that he or she is loveable, worthy of kindness, deserving of care, attention, gentleness." Camilleri's story of abuse took strength to live; even more, in a family so fractured by secrets, it took courage to tell. Like it or not, the family history is now out there, at least from her perspective. This can't be easy to do and then face the relatives.

In her prologue, she explains that her grandfather is a character in her story, not the subject. "The story is a lexicon between my grandmother, my mother, and I — the stuff that mythology is made of — mother, maiden, crone. Grandmother notices a red dress. Mother imagines wearing a red dress. Daughter becomes the red dress. The redress." Though it may have been her intention to keep him a mere character, her grandfather's darkness permeates every single, sad and hopeful word. One is not quite convinced she has moved beyond these events.

This is also evidenced by the fact that much of the book has been either published elsewhere or performed live by the author in an attempt, it seems, to exorcise the memories from her consciousness. What results is a collection of disparate pieces of art that seem unfinished, like a kind of therapy workbook. And it's obvious she's not finished with it yet. While art as catharsis is certainly not new to literature, Camilleri might have kept in mind that a story as compelling as hers is better when dramatically rendered, not retrospectively recounted.

It can't be argued, however, that Anna Camilleri is a powerful writer with a gripping story. We definitely need to hear more from her.

Carla Lucchetta is a Vancouver-based freelance writer, TV producer and contributor to the anthology Mamma Mia: Good Italian Girls Talk Back.