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Don Zancanella is the author of two novels, Concord (Serving House Books, 2021) and A Storm in the Stars (Delphinium, 2022). He's the recipient of an O. Henry Prize and his collection of short stories, Western Electric won the Iowa Short Fiction Award. Animals of the Alpine Front was inspired by his family's history in Italy and his wife Dorene's work with a dog rescue organization. The novel is based on the author's family history. His relatives came from Italy to the western U.S. to work in coal mines. Don splits his time between Boise, ID and Albuquerque, NM."This plainspoken account of the personal and social costs of war displays great empathy for those swept up in its maelstrom."—<i><b>Kirkus Reviews</b></i><br /><br />"Evocative. . .Zancanella describes the invaders with striking surrealism and portrays battle scenes with unflinching realism."—<b><i>Publishers Weekly</i></b><br /><br />"I love novels that dig into the corners of history to tell us stories we need to know. <i>Animals of the Alpine Front</i> does that with breath-taking skill. Don Zancanella writes beautifully, with heart and soul, as he brings the First World War on the Italian border alive with strong, vivid characters searching for mercy and love amid the ugly chaos of war."—<b>Alyson Hagy</b>, author of <i>Scribe</i> and <i>Ghosts of Wyoming</i><br /><br />"I was captivated by the struggles of young American, Carlo, and Italian, Teresa, to survive and find happiness amid the horrors and chaos of the First World War’s less-explored Italian Front. As Teresa discovers the animal welfare work of an eccentric Englishman, we hope the spark of humanity may light their future in this riveting tale."—<b>Helen Simonson</b>, <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author of <i>Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand</i> and <i>The Hazelbourne Ladies Motorcycle and Flying Club</i><br /><br /> <i>Animals of the Alpine Front</i> is a wonder. Even as his characters cross oceans and mountains, Zancanella paints with the finest of brushstrokes. Reading this novel is like taking a magnifying glass to a giant canvas and discovering in every square inch an intricate portrait or landscape, fully realized."—<b>Molly Patterson</b>, author of <i>Rebellion</i>
Having left her mother and cherished dog Allucio, in Ulfano, Teresa works as a domestic servant in a large villa in Trento. She survives the Great War in the occupied city by banding together in a makeshift family with the other servants of the owners who have fled to escape the occupation. Carlo, an American still new to Italy and who speaks barely passable Italian, is just finding his footing in Trento when he’s dragged from bed at his boarding school, along with his classmates, and conscripted by the invading Austrian army. In a comical twist of fate, Carlo’s childhood near the Colorado gold mines motivates his captors to place him with a company of miners tasked with digging entrenchments and bunkers and building a massive fortress out of stone and ice, even as blizzards rage and artillery shells fall from the sky. Out of sheer loneliness, Carlo writes letters to Teresa, the girl he met only once in Trento. After the war, Carlo returns to Trento and reconnects with Teresa. Times are unsettled, as soldiers and those who fled the war flood back to the city and signs of the impending Influenza epidemic appear. With so much chaos, tradition gives way to new ideas, so neither worries about the consequences of their growing attachment. However, the same independence that has them dreaming of a future that didn’t exist when they were children, may pull them apart forever.
The soldiers were speaking German, so Carlo couldn’t understand. He tried instead to guess their meaning by watching how the other boys behaved. Everyone was grabbing their clothes, clumsily putting a leg into a pair of trousers, searching for their shoes. Then an idea came to him. Still without his shirt on, he went to the small box where he kept his valuables. From it, he removed the documents showing him to be an American citizen and thrust them toward the nearest soldier. The man read the papers, ripped them in half and tossed them on the floor. Suddenly, one of their teachers, Brother Leonardo, appeared, his eyes bright with panic. “You can’t do this,” he shouted. “They are students and not even Austrian. They want no part of your war.”
The soldiers ignored him and shoved the boys—eleven including Carlo—toward the stairs. But Brother Leonardo wasn’t ready to give up. He rushed at one of the soldiers and grabbed him by the arm. The soldiers glanced at each other as if to determine how
to manage this inconvenience. Suddenly, one of them drew his pistol and struck Brother Leonardo on the side of the head. He moaned and fell to his knees, blood streaming down his face. The boys looked on in horror; their scholarly, soft-spoken teacher appeared to be badly hurt. Yet Brother Leonardo got his feet again and stumbled toward the man who’d hit him. As he lurched forward, another soldier leveled his rifle and shot him dead. It happened so quickly. The sound was deafening. Everyone stopped moving and held their breaths. Carlo’s mouth went dry and a stab of pain passed through his head. He shut his eyes briefly; when he opened them, nothing had changed.
At last one boy spoke. “You didn’t have to do that.” The soldier holding the gun replied in words of German even Carlo could understand: “Yes, I think I did.” Never had Carlo been so terrified. He feared the boy’s remark would be considered impertinent and that it would lead to further violence. But the soldier with the pistol said, “Let us proceed. We have a long way to go.”
Outside, four more bewildered students huddled together. A woman who worked in the school’s kitchen stood beside them and protested, asking the soldiers to explain on
whose authority they were acting. “An order of general mobilization has been issued,” one of the soldiers told her. “It’s all quite legal and no further explanation is required.” Minutes later all fifteen boys were loaded into the back of an open lorry idling on a nearby street. They were still settling onto the rough plank seats when the lorry pulled away.