I think a lot about time, especially spacetime. The ways it can be bent, altered, and compressed. This transformation happens within our souls, not just in Einstein’s general relativity.
I spoke with Paolo Giordano, the internationally acclaimed Italian author of The Solitude of Prime Numbers. In this conversation, he reflects on the experience of writing the novel that brought him multiple literary awards, his views on time as a nonlinear construct, his fascination with Iranian cinema, and social changes in Iran—especially the resistance of women and the loneliness of modern individuals. This dialogue offers an insight into Giordano’s literary worldview and intellectual concerns as reflected in his work.
As a writer with an academic background in physics, do you believe your scientific training influenced your writing – especially the emotional depth explored in The Solitude of Prime Numbers? How do these two fields—science and literature – intertwine and affect your creative process?
I was 23 when I wrote The Solitude of Prime Numbers. At the time, I was in my first year of a PhD in particle physics. My days were filled with formulas, equations, numbers, science, and mathematics. My mind was constantly absorbed in these subjects. I often wrote my stories late at night when my brain was somewhat fatigued from calculations. So, there was no clear boundary between science and my writing. Science naturally entered the narrative. In a way, I haven’t really changed that. I’ve studied science extensively. Maybe the focus has shifted somewhat, but I still move freely between the two realms. For example, as I answer your questions, I’m in Trieste, where I’m teaching a course on science communication and storytelling. I’ve been doing this for ten years. Often, my story ideas emerge from perspectives I discover in science. When I hear people talk about the division between “two worlds” or “two cultures,” I understand what they mean, but that divide has never been part of my own experience.
You and some fellow Italian writers, like Niccolò Ammaniti, seem particularly drawn to portraying children as central characters. What draws you to tell stories from a child’s perspective?
In my case, it’s closely connected to the theme of loneliness. My interest in writing about children has slightly diminished over time. But I still observe children closely. We tell ourselves many lies about childhood. It’s a magical time, yes, but it’s also terrifying, vulnerable, sensitive, and defenseless.
What inspired you to write The Solitude of Prime Numbers? Was there a specific moment or experience that sparked the story?
I think the essence of that book was already within me. It wasn’t as though I had the narrative or the characters fully formed in my mind, I really had nothing at first and reached it slowly. But the overall mood of the novel was already there. It was a part of me. I simply let it coalesce around certain events and a distinct storyline.
The title of your novel refers to the unique, solitary nature of prime numbers, and you use this as a metaphor to depict the isolation and complex relationships between your characters – especially Alice and Mattia, whose emotional struggles align with modern conversations on mental health and loneliness.
Well, I suppose we all embody the qualities of prime numbers at certain points in our lives. Some people, like Alice and Mattia, display this quality more intensely due to their unique experiences and personalities. The Solitude of Prime Numbers primarily explores trauma and its impact on our ability to connect with others. Is our society becoming increasingly lonely? I can’t say with certainty. It probably depends on which society you’re measuring. But overall, I do think there’s a real threat in that direction. We’re losing opportunities for face-to-face encounters and genuine socializing. COVID had a very negative impact on this, and digital technologies are also damaging, but they’re not the only cause. There’s a broader socio-economic trend that fosters isolation. I’m very familiar with that feeling because I’ve always struggled to establish deep connections with others. But those very struggles are also a form of connection. Real concern begins when there is no longer any tension or friction.
When I read novels or watch films, I often imagine alternative endings. Were you ever tempted to change the ending of The Solitude of Prime Numbers or envision different conclusions?
Not really. I think it is exactly as it should be.
What is your view of time as a flexible and nonlinear construct? I’m especially interested in your thoughts on the curvature of time and how that might affect our understanding of free will and destiny. For example, many mystics believe that the curvature of time allows for reaching profound awareness – say, in one night – that otherwise would take a lifetime. I hope I’m making sense. Since you studied physics, I was curious to ask.
That’s a beautiful question. I’m not sure I have an equally beautiful answer, but I do think about time a lot, especially about spacetime. The ways it can be bent, altered, compressed. These things happen within our spirit too, not just in Einstein’s general relativity. I love literature more than any other art form because it alone is free from the constraints of spacetime (and financial limitations). For me, and many others, time is the essential substance of literature. For example, the pandemic was a fascinating distortion of spacetime. I’m currently exploring how to express that in a novel and what kind of language and narrative framework would capture it best. I don’t know what the result will be.
Environmental crises and climate change have become central issues in recent years. One proposed solution is the promotion of vegetarianism and veganism, along with the gradual dismantling of the livestock industry. What is your view on this?
I think I agree with you. Although we know there are significant issues within agriculture as well. Our diet alone isn’t the only solution, and no single solution is enough on its own. Addressing the environmental crisis requires a comprehensive set of actions and a fresh perspective. My son is a vegetarian, and I admire him for that. Personally, I’ve just made some modest adjustments to my diet. My latest novel, Tasmania, explores the contradictions we face in life. Having a strong moral conscience – especially when it comes to the environment – doesn’t always lead to the right actions. It’s nearly impossible to behave 100% ethically, and so we live in ambiguity. And I think I like that about people.
You and your wife have been together for years. What’s been the key to maintaining a lasting relationship?
With her physical presence and voice beside me, it’s hard to even imagine waking up, let alone writing, without her. She’s my bridge to the world in many ways. In the end, at least for me, it’s really that simple.
When I requested this interview, you mentioned having a deep emotional bond with the people of Iran. How familiar are you with Iranian literature, culture, and cinema?
First of all, I wish I could visit Iran freely. Unfortunately, as we recently saw with the arrest of my colleague and friend Cecilia Sala, this isn’t a safe time. So, we have to observe Iran from afar – through the news and through art. I am fairly familiar with contemporary Iranian cinema. I try to watch every film that comes out of your country. I deeply admire the efforts of artists, actors, and crews who remain committed to art even under such difficult circumstances. Many of them risk their lives. But what fascinates me even more is the political and social evolution in Iran, especially the resistance of Iranian women.
Iranian students who migrate to Italy often speak of challenges in the job market there. Is there truly an employment crisis in Italy? Would someone face serious challenges finding work after graduating?
It’s difficult for me to give an accurate answer. I don’t have reliable data. Based on personal experience, I’d say it’s not very easy, but certainly possible. I suppose it depends greatly on the type of job someone is seeking and their educational background. While I was living in Turin, I had an Iranian neighbor, a young woman who was an architect. She used to talk to me about the difficulties of advancing her career in Italy and eventually moved to the Netherlands. But again, I don’t think my perspective is particularly relevant or authoritative. I sincerely hope we can continue to strengthen the dynamic exchange of people, especially young people and their ideas.
Thank you for this conversation.
Thank you very much, Shiva. Goodbye.