Alla scoperta dei segreti perduti di Bologna

I’ll admit: I approached this expecting another romanticized tour of Italy’s ‘red city,’ all tortellini and towering libraries. Instead, Baraldi handed me a crowbar and said, *‘Start prying.’* The book’s strength lies in its *unflinching* specificity—like the chapter on Bologna’s 16th-century ‘poisoner nuns’ (yes, *nuns*), where Baraldi cross-references apothecary ledgers and Vatican correspondence to build a case that’s equal parts *The Name of the Rose* and *CSI: Renaissance*. De Marchi’s narration is a revelation: she doesn’t just read the footnotes on Bolognese dialect—she *performs* them, her cadence dripping with irony when describing how the city’s elite dined on peacock while peasants starved. The production’s use of binaural audio in key sections (the echoing *Sette Chiese* pilgrimage route, the claustrophobic *Carceri* prison) is immersive without gimmickry. That said, two quibbles: First, Baraldi’s obsession with the *dark* risks overshadowing Bologna’s lighter genius—where’s the joy of its jazz clubs or the subversive humor of its street art? A chapter on, say, how the city’s anarchist bookshops defied Mussolini would’ve balanced the gloom. Second, De Marchi’s pacing stumbles in the denser architectural sections (the *Palazzo del Podestà*’s measurements, really?). Still, these are minor grips. By the final chapter—where Baraldi ties Bologna’s medieval waterways to its modern resistance movements—I was left with the eerie sense that the city’s past isn’t just *haunting* its present, but actively *shaping* it. If you’ve ever stood in Piazza Maggiore and felt the weight of unseen eyes, this audiobook will tell you *whose* eyes they are.