Reading I sessanta nomi dell’amore, beautiful book of the algerin writer Tahar Lamri, that we can show in our catalogue, I fell in love with the imagine of Mangrove.

Know an only tongue,
an only work,
an only custom,
know an only logic is prison.
T. Ndjock Ngana

The Mangroves are plants with roots apparently delicate, almost roots not roots, because they are in surface, they cross the border between earth and water, they serve as bridge among these two elements.
So, also for the foreigner, the language of the guest, is slender root, because it isn’t own language, but important to survive because it allows to with-live.
As the mangrove, the migrant writer sinks his roots in the water, dynamic and mutable element instead that in the solid earth, that is mother and protective.

The publishing house Mangroves picks up the writings of foreign authors that have chosen the Italian language to expressing themselves, striving to go out of themselves from the protected shelter of their own language to tell to the others, first of all with the language. They, therefore, migrate first of all, between languages, that means, also migrate between worlds. Through theirs writings, that recreate our Italian, they delivery us the various worlds where they live.

In this editions there are also the writings of those people which tell territories and sceneries, refusing easy ethnocentric interpretations, diaries and stories made on other reality.

 Silvia De Marchi – direttore editoriale...

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