Gideon Lewis-Kraus sul New Yorker fa un ritratto di Francesco Costa e di quel buffo paese conosciuto come Italia.

My wife, long accustomed to such bureaucratic snares, produced a scan of our son’s birth certificate. The process of obtaining an Italian passport, she explained with a series of complex hand gestures, was so arcane and so onerous! Our two-year-old was born in the first year of the pandemic, she went on, and you know how Italian administrative procedures were: you had to go to one office to get this form, and then another office to get the proper stamp, and the consulate in New York seemed only to be open for such services on every third Wednesday.