John Domini, 1951–2025

When always there becomes nevermore, it's tough to write about death, for it hurts only the living, and I'm tired of being hurt. Especially lately. John's passing has him joining a long list of people I've loved and lost in the past six months. I've put off writing this for as long as I could, mostly because I didn't want to believe that this happened and that it would be something about which I would have to write.The first thing I did to prepare for this memorial essay was to search for a picture of John and me in the Piazza Maddelena in Artena, just outside of Rome, some years ago, either before or after we enjoyed a gourmet Sunday dinner made by Rossana del Zio, author and master chef of Italian cuisine. I have searched my photo files, my social media sites, John's social media sites and cannot find it. It's a great shot of the both of us, in short-sleeve, white linen shirts and dark pants, standing against the railing of this piazza that overlooks the landscape beneath us. We are, arm in arm, smiling broadly, a great swath of bright sunlight swipes a blue, cloudless backdrop; why I can't remember if it was before or after our long dinner is because I can't see if there are stains on my shirt, as there usually are whenever I wear white when I eat pasta.Whenever I remember John from now on, it always will begin, not with the first time we met, at an American Italian Historical Association's annual conference, in Denver, 2008, the same week my first grandchild would be born, nor with the first letter I wrote addressed to him as Professor John Domini, accepting an essay he wrote on the novels of Nino Ricci, for VIA in 2001, but in the photograph we took that day he came to visit me in Rome, and Rossana agreed to include him in the meal she was preparing just for me. John, always the great dinner guest, with literary and personal stories that lasted hours, and a taste for the exquisite in culinary concoctions, and Del Zio's dishes had him talking for hours. This is the John I want to remember, but then there's that literary guy who just never stopped working.John was certainly a writer who carefully crafted his writing, but more than writing for himself, he gave his time both reviewing the works of others and eking out essays on a wide range of subjects. He always had something to say about whatever he read or heard. When I needed advice on my novel, he read it and was honest in saying that he was too close to me to be as critical as the task required, so he introduced me to someone who did the work and did it well. In that way, John was connected, not just to others in the field but to those resources that many of us overlook as we ply our trade.Of course, John's spirit will live on through his writing, simply because it's that good, and someone will always stumble upon it as time moves on. I have taught a number of his works in my classes over the years and was looking forward to inviting him to visit my next Italian American lit course that will include his memoir. Here's a bit of what I had to say about it in my Fra Noi review in October of 2022: The Archeology of a Good Ragu: Discovering Naples, My Father and Myself is a memoir crafted with all the sharpened tools of a master writer at the peak of his career. It's not what John Domini tells us about his life, but how he tells us that separates this from other return narratives. Through Domini's careful construction, Archeology becomes more than an autobiography: It's an act of indigenuity. I've taken to using that word when a writer or artist reaches deep into his or her ancestral past, employing language and an exploration of cultural differences to create a sense of what's indigenous to oneself. This is where the value of ethnic diversity lies, even as the tricks and treats of assimilation attempt to bury those treasures. (39)What I have to say about John's other work appears in other reviews and essays, and if you're interested, go find them. I won't bring all that back here. I simply want to say that John left us at the peak of his career; just like that, he's gone, right at a time when I was expecting to read more of what he could produce at this master stage of his life. I won't forget you, John, and through your writing, I'll continue to hear your rich voice and contemplate your words of wonder and wisdom. Arrivederci Giovanni!