Once upon a time there was... “A king!”, will say my little (pardon) ... my young readers. No, they won’t! They’ll cut me off. Because they know quite well that nowadays you can’t start a story this way. Nowadays, it’s inadmissible, totally unacceptable. Not even a love story. Not even if the she in question is eighteen years old and a virgin. Well then, what? Well, these are the pages of the young lady’s personal diary where you will read adventures and misadventures of love (always in respect of the unplucked flower, of course), browse through narcissuses and poppies, clods and yokels, high school and university students, apprentice sorcerers and patented ... nice guys, and so on and headlong amidst the most disparate (desperate?) (dis)appearances of the extraordinary comédie humaine that contemporary society is. In the end, though, do we get to know who she chooses? Sure, we do! He’s a lot closer than you imagine. You’re sure to know him, he’s in all the newspapers ... Once upon a time, there was a president. Aaahhh ...

The Author

Silvia Valerio was brought by the stork some 18 years ago, and immediately fell in love with fairy tales and Greek legends. She began to keep a notebook of very convincing children’s poetry, later joined by a more balanced satirical divertissement. She temporarily abandoned these gracious occupations to devote herself to the more serious matters that primary education had in store for her. Then she went to upper school believing she would breathe the atmosphere of ancient Athens or, at least of Thebes. Naïve. Now she has resumed her original occupations and in her free time practises anthropology, tends her personal hortus conclusus, and has a collection of disillusions.