In the short story “Wedding Trip” (1936), by the Italian writer Cesare Pavese, a self-dissatisfied man, George, examines his marriage to Cilia. It is a fine work with some terrific small details: Cilia, referring to a landlady, says to George, ‘She thinks we’re only just married.’ “Then [from George’s first-person narration], her weary eyes full of tenderness, she asked me, ‘And are we really?’ as she stroked my hand.”

It doesn’t seem like a marriage, this between a financially poor intellectual and a half-educated woman. By the story’s end, George’s thoughtlessness—he is impelled to be thoughtless—very possibly defeats Cilia. Why is that which constitutes a true marriage less common than it ought to be? I found “Wedding Trip” in The Penguin Book of Italian Short Stories: it is worthy of being anthologized. A gentle but bleak story it is, by a talented man who committed suicide at 41.