What Keeps My Fire Burning
Nadeesha Uyangoda and Elsa Riccadonna inaugurate this year's Fuoco sacro della scrittura, a series of interviews that delve into writers’ hearts, into what keeps them alive and fuels their love for writing.
“The wind of research is what keeps my fire alive” says Uyangoda. Reading books, listening to other writers, hearing their voices, is what allows Nadeesha to understand the relations between different worlds, to create links where there was none before.
On the occasion of the publication of her first novel (Acqua Sporca, Einaudi, 2025), Uyangoda and Riccadonna trace the history of Uyangoda’s relationship with writing. A story of devotion to other authors, of recognition of the models that influenced and shaped her. Zadie Smith, Cesare Pavese, Arundhati Roy, Salman Rushdie and Gabriel García Marquez are just a few of the writers Uyangoda quotes and refers to, stating that reading has always been for her a way to get the creative process started.
Uyangoda and Riccadonna investigate the idea of return. How to go back to your roots and recover a past that was never yours, and yet manage not to oversimplify complex matters? Uyangoda aims for a mixture of respect and freedom, a pathway to her version of the world. In Acqua Sporca she tried to do just that, representing Sri Lanka – her native country – not as it is, but as she remembers it, following Rushdie’s idea that every writer has to find their own “space of freedom”, without being afraid to detach from what’s “real”.
Compromise, responsibility, shame. For a second generation writer, these are still incredibly sensible themes. Uyangoda’s words convey the deepest love for language, and the power it has to shape worlds and create something that can look like magic. The writing process is a sort of inner battle, a constant search for the right words, for balance - with an eye to the reader, of course.
As a writer who started from tackling big themes in non-fiction writing, Uyangoda underlines how switching to fiction was for her a real act of courage. It meant exposing herself and her ideals, without the possible cover granted by the giants who traced a path before her.
Why can't the Italian literary world accept these young writers – second or third generation ones, or with a migration story – into the new canon of Italian literature? A question that needs answers, starting from long-awaited political decisions on citizenship. And even if these changes feel out of reach, readers can always take small steps towards a different (literary) future.