When I heard that “Strega Nona” is turning 50, I did what any self-respecting book lover would do: I heated up a bowl of pasta and paid the signora a visit.
I remembered Tomie dePaola’s Caldecott Honor-winning picture book for the same reasons you might: oodles of noodles pouring out of a cauldron, threatening to overtake a Calabrian village rendered in soothing earth tones; panicked locals; the titular grandmother sorceress who saves the town.
These are the ingredients that made “Strega Nona” a classic, and the reasons it’s the toast of classroom parties today. (Hello, parent boiling pasta before work and shoving it, still steaming, into a Ziploc bag. I see you!) As for Strega Nona herself, she remains a timeless style icon. Show me a woman who doesn’t covet well-knotted scarves and toasty capes and I’ll show you Miranda Priestly.
But the character who caught my eye on my anniversary reading hasn’t inspired a postage stamp, a TikTok trend or a D.I.Y. Halloween costume. He received a nod in a 1975 New York Times review of “Strega Nona” merely as a catalyst for his boss’s heroism. Later he landed his own pair of books, but not before serving as the butt of the lesson for the bulk of Generation X.
His name is Big Anthony, and he’s the awkward, galumphing antihero who makes “Strega Nona” possible. Yes, he causes a boatload of trouble. I still think we should give him a second chance.
We meet Big Anthony on the fourth page of the book, after we’ve seen Strega Nona kibitzing with girls who want husbands and men who have warts. She has a practice to run — witchcraft meets homeopathy — and she’s not getting any younger. In modern times, Strega Nona might pull a policy for long-term-care insurance out of her apron pocket. In medieval times, she posts a help-wanted flier in the town square.
“And Big Anthony, who didn’t pay attention,” de Paola writes, “went to see her.”
Hat in hand, eager to please, Big Anthony looks like the kind of guy who addresses you as ma’am even after you’ve invited him to call you by your first name, which Strega Nona most certainly has not. She rattles off a no-nonsense job description: “You must sweep the house and wash the dishes. You must weed the garden and pick the vegetables. You must feed the goat and milk her. And you must fetch the water.”
There is a caveat, however: “The one thing you must never do is touch the pasta pot.”
We know where this is going, but let’s recap for the kids who, ahem, weren’t paying attention the first time they heard this story. While Big Anthony is going about his chores, he spies Strega Nona crooning over her cauldron, which miraculously fills with pasta. He misses the part where she blows three kisses so the spaghetti stops multiplying.
Naturally, when Strega Nona zips off for a girls’ weekend with Strega Amelia, Big Anthony tries his hand at the enchanted pot. He invites everyone in town to bring their forks, platters and bowls to Strega Nona’s cottage. We can see the pride on Big Anthony’s face — dePaola was the master of downward-facing eyelids — as guests line up for the feast.
There’s plenty of pasta for everyone. Until there’s too much — way, way too much. Spaghetti swirls out of the house and into the street, a nightmarish, glutinous river. As the villagers try to stave it off with mattresses, furniture and doors, Strega Nona serendipitously returns: “She sang the magic song and blew the three kisses and with a sputter the pot stopped boiling and the pasta came to a halt.”
In my memory, the book ended here. I’d forgotten how the townspeople turn on Big Anthony. The men shout, “String him up.”
But Strega Nona says, “The punishment must fit the crime,” and she hands Big Anthony a fork: “Start eating.”
When I was in my orange Toughskins jeans era, this sounded like bliss; the only thing better than all-you-can-eat spaghetti was a bottomless ice cream sundae.When I was in my please-go-to-sleep-so-I-can-have-a-moment’s-peace era, it sounded like just deserts: a “consequence,” if you will, for not listening.
Now I see the hellishness of the punishment, and its excess. Poor Big Anthony! He made a mistake and, hand to heart, he regrets it. Maybe Strega Nona could have imparted a more valuable lesson with public forgiveness. After all, what did her charge take away from punitive pasta consumption except a too-full stomach? (Here dePaola the artist fumbles, unless he intended for Big Anthony to look pregnant.)
I’m aware that “Strega Nona” is a fable — equal parts “Sweet Porridge” by the Brothers Grimm and “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” by too many contributors to count (and most famously starring Mickey Mouse). But, really, did this sincere young man deserve to be scorned and humiliated?
The first thing we learn about Big Anthony — he “didn’t pay attention” — lands now in a way it didn’t when I was listening to “Strega Nona” on the floor of my school library, or while turning the pages for my own children. This time, dePaola strikes a match of compassion across my formerly flinty soul.
I won’t go so far as to suggest that Big Anthony might have had A.D.D.; far be it from me to diagnose a fictional character (or anyone, for that matter). At the very least, he could have used some understanding.
In “Big Anthony and the Magic Ring” (1979), we once again catch wind of our friend’s lackluster attention span:
“Anthony,” said Strega Nona, “whatever is the matter? You’re sleeping late. Your chores are half-done, and every time I look at you, you’re gazing into space and sighing.”
“Oh, Strega Nona, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” said Big Anthony. “Everything in my head is fuzzy.”
He nabs a gold ring that transforms him into Handsome Big Anthony, able to dance the tarantella all night long. Disaster strikes (or does it?) when a mob of desperate ladies — Maria, Concetta, Clorinda, Rosanna, Theresa, Francesca and Clotilda — chase him up a tree. Readers can draw their own conclusions about the moral of the story.
Almost 20 years later, dePaola gave us “Big Anthony: His Story,” a prequel of sorts following the town’s scapegoat from babyhood until the day he walks through Strega Nona’s door. From that moment on, Big Anthony is a reliable foil. And Strega Nona can be depended upon to rescue him from whatever scrape he finds himself in, even if she does so with the air of someone who would resurface a half-empty glass of milk leftover from dinner.
Next month, dePaola fans can look forward to “Where Are You, Brontë?,” the maestro’s final completed book, written before he died in 2020. Charmingly illustrated by Barbara McClintock (whose oeuvre includes the “Adèle & Simon” books), this weeper features the ultimate sidekick: a loyal dog.
It’s hard to imagine “Where Are You, Brontë?” in the regular bedtime rotation, focusing as it does on the death of dePaola’s beloved Airedale terrier. Nonetheless, it’s a worthy, sensitive resource for a family coping with the loss of a pet. For me, staring down my youngest child’s high school graduation, with our family dog’s collar now in a shadow box in the living room, it was a lot to take. But, like “Strega Nona,” the book is a reminder of the joys of companionship, even if the aftermath is bittersweet.
Which brings me back to Big Anthony, who is a gatherer of people in addition to being a guy who can’t pay attention. He pays dearly for his swagger, having disobeyed an elder and thrown an unsanctioned party. But look how happy everyone is before it all goes wrong — neighbors and nuns, peasants and royalty bumping elbows as they twirl their spaghetti.
Had I been among the masses, I’d like to think I’d have appreciated Big Anthony’s impulse to bring people together. Maybe this is his magic song, imperfect but important. And maybe, 50 years from now, we’ll have learned how to come to the table (or the pasta pot) without rancor or recrimination. We can only hope.
Elisabeth Egan is a writer and editor at the Times Book Review. She has worked in the world of publishing for 30 years.
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