My first night in Turin, I thought of all the things I could be doing in this north Italian city, if I was there strictly for tourism. I could have gone to the Cathedral and seen a digital display of the Turin Shroud (the real thing is hidden away from prying eyes), or visited the National Museum of Cinema, housed at the Mole Antonelliana, that magnificent, spired tower – a failed synagogue – in the city centre. I could have drunk Barolo wine or Vermouth (another Turinese product), striking up conversations with the local Piedmontese to find out if they really are as cold, correct and altogether un-Italian as other regions in Italy often claim them they are.
But I was in Turin strictly on the trail of Primo Levi, the scientist, writer and concentration camp survivor – who hailed from this city and, till his death 38 years ago today, spent nearly all his life here, juggling the twin demands of chemistry and literature. In
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