The Other Profile, by Irene Graziosi. Translated by Lucy Rand.

Irene Graziosi
Irene Graziosi
TT

The Other Profile, by Irene Graziosi. Translated by Lucy Rand.

Irene Graziosi
Irene Graziosi

By Lovia Gyarkye

Kevin Systrom, a founder of Instagram, recently confessed that the platform he helped create had lost its soul. Gone are the days when friends and family shared photos with earnest and eager passion. Now, influencers reign supreme. No one is real. It’s “terrifying,” Systrom said on the journalist Kara Swisher’s podcast. “It’s this race to the bottom of who can be the most perfect.”

Maia, the sharp-tongued protagonist of Irene Graziosi’s debut novel, “The Other Profile,” already knows this. She thinks of Instagram profiles like vision boards — evidence of aspiration, not reflections of reality. Her own page counters the trend with an ascetic banality. She prefers not to be perceived.

Maia’s a depressed graduate school dropout living in Milan with her boyfriend, Filippo. He was a professor at the university where she was enrolled, and their courtship was a sweaty encounter of grief (Maia’s, after the death of her sister) and desperation (his). Now, their relationship is sustained by mutual ambivalence. Filippo wishes Maia would do more than eat gummy bears and watch Olivia Benson solve crimes on TV. Maia hates that Filippo dragged her away from Paris and into a city where he is respected and she is unknown.

Maia eventually gets a job — first as a bartender and then as an assistant to an influencer named Gloria, a teenager with millions of Instagram followers. “I’ll need someone who can help me in the public transition from being a high schooler to being ... something else,” Gloria tells her. As part of the job, Maia not only recommends books, writes speeches and composes social media captions, she is also expected to be Gloria’s soul.

Graziosi, the founder of a cultural YouTube channel and magazine, is particularly attuned to the language of the chronically online. Her novel, which is translated from the Italian by Lucy Rand, is at its most nimble when Maia observes influencer culture. The sponsored events, brand meetings and vague clichés about self-love are fodder for her acerbic judgments and acid humor. Gloria’s world is filled with frauds and Maia loves to call them out.

The pair’s relationship enters dangerous territory when Maia finds herself first obsessed with, and then consumed by, Gloria. A mandate issued by Gloria’s manager about her client still haunts me: “You have to give her a personality,” she tells Maia. “That’s how she works; she’s an empty vessel.” As Gloria extracts more and more from Maia, I kept waiting for the novel to make good on the suggestion of psychological thrill. But the stakes of Maia and Gloria’s increased mutual dependence hardly simmer. Graziosi divides attention between this parasitic bond, Maia’s failing relationship with Filippo and how Maia mourns her sister Eva.

Graziosi tries to knit these threads together to add layers of suspense and mystery, but her language struggles to keep up with the demands of the story. There’s an overreliance on direct exposition to carry us through scenes, which undercuts the charm and acuity of Maia’s wry voice in the novel’s early pages. It also softens any tension. Impatience creeps in as nervy prose is replaced with colorless revelations like: “I’m sometimes caught out by how much I’ve changed, even since the previous week. I can’t say precisely what these changes are.”

“The Other Profile” lumbers around, depriving us of specificity as it submits to cliché. By the end, I wondered what Maia, with her lacerating opinions, would think of this fate. How she might feel to know that the intensity of her relationship with Gloria had been tempered by the same hazy sentiments she once mocked. Maybe she’d shrug or, considering the way Systrom now feels about Instagram, maybe she’d find it kind of terrifying.

The New York Times



In Senegal, the Bastion of the Region’s Francophonie, French Is Giving Way to Local Languages

A man sits outside a stationary store with French signs in Dakar, Senegal, Thursday, Oct. 3, 2024. (AP)
A man sits outside a stationary store with French signs in Dakar, Senegal, Thursday, Oct. 3, 2024. (AP)
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In Senegal, the Bastion of the Region’s Francophonie, French Is Giving Way to Local Languages

A man sits outside a stationary store with French signs in Dakar, Senegal, Thursday, Oct. 3, 2024. (AP)
A man sits outside a stationary store with French signs in Dakar, Senegal, Thursday, Oct. 3, 2024. (AP)

For decades Senegal, a former French colony in West Africa, has been touted as the bastion of the French language in the region. Leopold Sedar Senghor, the country’s first president and a poet, is considered one of the founding fathers of the concept of Francophonie, a global alliance of French-speaking countries.

But many say a shift is underway. While French remains the country’s official language, inscribed into its constitution, its influence is waning. It is giving way to Wolof, the most widely spoken local language — and not just on the street, where the latter has always been dominant, but in the halls of power: government offices, university corridors and mainstream media.

As the French president hosts the annual Francophonie summit north of Paris, Senegal’s president is not attending in person. He sent the foreign minister as his representative instead.

“Wolof is on the rise because Senegalese people want to be seen,” said Adjaratou Sall, professor of Linguistics at the Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar, who began researching the Wolof language in 1998. “They want to detach themselves from the colonial heritage and reclaim their own cultural identity.”

There are 25 languages in Senegal. Six of them have the status of national languages, but Wolof is largely dominant. Out of the population of 17 million people, over 12 million speak Wolof, compared to around 4 million French speakers.

But like in most former colonies, French has traditionally been the language of Senegalese political and cultural elites. The vast majority of schools across the country and all universities are French speaking. All official documents are issued in French. With the education rate in Senegal at around 60%, this excludes a large part of the population.

President Bassirou Diomaye Faye, the youngest elected leader in Africa, was voted in six months ago on an anti-establishment platform, and his rise reflected the frustration of the Senegalese youth with the traditional, elderly political class. He has made a point in making all of his official speeches in both languages, French and Wolof, and pledged to give local languages the primary role in schools, with French introduced later.

The shift comes as most West African nations are rethinking their relationship with France, which is losing its clout in the region. In some cases, like in Burkina Faso and Mali, which are ruled by military juntas, the divorce with the French language has been abrupt: They dropped French as the official language and banned many French-speaking media outlets.

The decline of French in Senegal has been more subtle. But to a careful observer, the signs are everywhere: More and more billboards are either bilingual, or in Wolof. Although all university courses are still conducted in French, Sall said that professors and students speak Wolof to each other in the corridors, which would have been unthinkable when she started working. Some Senegalese writers are publishing their books in Wolof, and not in French.

“Surely, the nationalism which began to take root with the new government is playing a role,” said Fall. “But another important factor has been the revolution in the media, which started with Sud FM.”

Sud FM, the first private radio station in Senegal, started broadcasting programs in Wolof in 1994. The morning news program in Wolof now has over 2 million listeners, said its director, Baye Oumar Gueye.

“We replied to a real need: providing information to the population, who does not speak French,” Gueye said in an interview in his office. “They can now participate in the exchange of information.”

He added: “The use of the French language is decreasing. When you want to reclaim your sovereignty, the first thing is to have your own language.”

El Hadj Aip Ndiaye, who has been driving a taxi in Dakar for the past 45 years, said he remembers well the launch of Sud FM. “Everyone listened to it,” he recalled.

Ndiaye, who did not go to school and speaks a very limited French, said he listens to the radio everyday from 5 a.m. until midnight, as he drives across the dusty roads of Dakar in his yellow, rickety taxi.

“Before, all the news on the radio was in French,” he said. “I could not understand it. But with news in Wolof, you can understand what they are saying. You understand the world better, and you can take part in the conversation.”

“People are now proud to speak Wolof,” he said. “Before, when you spoke Wolof, you were judged as a peasant. But now, even our president speaks Wolof a lot, so people are not afraid to speak it.”

But even the biggest proponents of Wolof do not want a revolution. Fall, the linguistics professor, said she dreamed of university courses being held in Wolof, and children being taught in their local language, whether it would be Wolof, Serrer or Peul.

“We will get there, but it's a process,” she said. “And we need French as well. It is the language of openness, which allows us to communicate with others in the region.”