Tangerinn: the pleasure of revealing our roots
An invitation to vulnerability in Emanuela Anechoum's debut novel
Alessandra Navazio
Set between London, Calabria, and Morocco, Emanuela Anechoum’s debut novel explores the tension between the desire to please and the pursuit of authenticity, between embracing one’s double, hybrid roots and seeking an uncertain future elsewhere. Through poetic and incisive prose, Tangerinn urges us to reflect on the joy of vulnerability and the possibility of grounding oneself through sensory experiences
When we think of roots, we always imagine them underground: intricate, deep, and secretly spreading beneath our feet. Yet, there are roots that grow visibly, exposed to the struggles of the surface, those of creeping ivy, orchids, or mangroves. These roots reveal themselves for what they are: vulnerable.
Mina, the protagonist of Tangerinn (Edizioni E/O, 2024), the debut novel by Emanuela Anechoum, has smothered her roots in a desperate desire to please. She no longer knows what “home” means, feeling estranged even from herself, as she rejects her body in a relentless attempt to control her surroundings.
Emanuela Anechoum was born in Reggio Calabria in 1991 and currently lives in Rome. After completing her studies, she began her career in publishing in London before returning to Italy. She has written for “Vice”, “Doppiozero”, and “Marvin Rivista”. “Tangerinn” (Edizioni E/O”, 2024) won the “Premio Letterario Città di Lugnano” (2024) and was a finalist for the “Premio Bancarella” (2024), “Premio Rapallo BPER Banca” (2024), “Premio Alassio Centolibri” (2024), and “Premio John Fante Opera Prima” (2024).
The scent of mint and spices from a small Calabrian village, the sensuality of the places of her childhood, and the death of her father, Omar, mark the beginning of a journey of unearthing roots, one without an end, at least within the novel. This journey continues in the reader’s mind, leaving them to grapple with a profound, final question: what happens if I expose myself? If I reveal my roots to the world?
Mina’s tangle of roots
On the rectangular glass table sits a small branch with petals the same bright orange as the tangerines on the book’s cover. This is the gift from Irene Paganucci and Alfredo Marasti of Millimètrica APS1 to the author, Emanuela Anechoum, before her talk at the Giungla contemporary arts festival2.
While a foggy winter envelops Lucca, the atmosphere inside Casermetta San Regolo is intimate and familiar, perfect for delving deeper into the experience of a hybrid, nomadic generation born between the 1990s and 2000s, constantly questioning what “home” truly means3.
The tangerine tree4 on the cover is the one Mina’s father, Omar, planted before she was born, dedicating it to a twin tree: «tart, slightly askew, but laden with fruit and resilient to winter». Unlike Mina, this tree remains firmly rooted in the ground, in the home garden. But Tangerinn, Tangier, is also the name of the bar Omar opened as a gathering place for people with the same background as him, a reminder of the Moroccan port city, a cultural crossroads, from which he once set out.
Mina, a woman in her thirties, has been living in London for several years, where she moved to work in a literary agency. Raised in an unnamed, isolated Calabrian town, she hopes London will change her, freeing her from the sense of inadequacy she feels towards others and her own body.
«I wondered», Anechoum shared during her talk at the Giungla Festival on 17 November, «how you can become yourself when your parents do not give you clear and defined elements to understand who you are and the place where you are born is left to itself».
Mina feels she belongs nowhere. Her mother suffers from depression, and her father has a past she cannot comprehend. On one side, there is Morocco, which she knows only through her father’s tales; on the other, Calabria, whose social dynamics often feel oppressive.
Her father’s death brings her “home”, where she ends up staying much longer than planned, searching for her identity and obsessively seeking answers outside of herself. Her London friend Liz, her sister Aisha, her mother Berta, the memories of her father, and Nazim, a young man she meets at the Tangerinn bar, only offer her examples of life with which to compare herself. «They represent parts of her», Anechoum explained, «that Mina idealises and categorises. Liz is what she wishes to be and simultaneously criticises: a thin body making all the right social choices. Berta is her own fragility, which Mina shuns. Aisha is a Muslim woman representing Mina’s alternative path, what might have happened had she stayed at home».
In the novel, none of these characters’ stories are truly real; their portrayal is always «tainted», as Anechoum described it, «by Mina’s perceptions: they are her interpretations of events and people. Only in the dialogues, particularly the confrontational ones, for example, with Aisha and Nazim, does the authenticity of the characters come through». Mina resists them because she is unaccustomed to the intimacy of a deep connection. «This, however, is the only way», the author confessed, «to create a sense of home: weaving bonds so tight that one feels rooted».
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The senses that ground us
«There were times when the streets were silent. One night, I crossed paths with a fox. She stared at me, and I stared back. Like me, she was an alien hiding in plain sight»5 , Mina says at the beginning of the novel. «I used to tell myself I could go on losing and reinventing myself forever, without ever really seeking my true self»6. London has not transformed her as she had hoped. From the outset, it is clear that the superficiality of her relationships has driven her to a breaking point, where the desire to please what she considers her idols clashes with her need for authenticity.
Anechoum guides Mina through a journey of growth rooted in the senses, especially smell and taste, leading her closer to her true self and those around her,until she becomes present to herself and takes what pleases her and her alone, such as Nazim. «In the novel, the sharing of taste precedes any kind of relationship, whether familial or romantic», Anechoum explains. From the toasted almonds Nazim offers Mina «with a penetrating, woody, and sweet aroma»7to convey his desire for her with a simple gesture, to the henna-scented hands of her grandmother, where little Mina would nestle as if in a burrow. And above all, the pervasive presence of mint, with its intense fragrance that «made me feel rooted like a mushroom: camouflaged, invisible, yet bound to the ground by thousands of fine roots, by webs of memories»8.
In Tangerinn, the use of spices and the ritual of mint tea hold both symbolic and practical significance: that of bringing the pleasure of being together and building relationships. It is only through the senses that Mina begins to glimpse a sense of belonging and put aside the emptiness that has always defined her. In particular, rituals involving food and scents allow Mina to discover her roots. «Cooking is an act of care, but it is also a physical act, an alternative way of expressing affection», Anechoum emphasises.
«When there are sensory mediums like almonds, mint, or spices, Mina finds it easier to show herself. It is a more instinctive plan, which does not require rationalisation, which is Mina’s greatest struggle».
Her need to please others is a way of covering and protecting herself, while her emotional senses bring her closer to others, transporting her back in time and grounding her in her connections.
In her writing process, Anechoum also drew on memories of her own sensory and physical experiences from her childhood trips to Morocco and her time living in Reggio Calabria. «The more immersed I felt in the atmosphere, the more I was able to give substance to the characters and make them vulnerable», she recounts. «I felt surrounded by my own scents and sensations, in a sort of physical imagination. When I closed my eyes, I could imagine the heat, the salt on my skin, my cousins in Morocco cooking. From there, I expanded on those small memories, creating a thread that was sensual and poetic. There is something deeply mysterious and powerful in a scent that triggers a flashback».
The pleasure of vulnerability
Mina’s root-like connections can only form through sensory mediums, not through the body itself. «The pleasure of one’s own body never fully manifests for any of the female characters in the novel», Anechoum admits, «because I find it hard to imagine, even in real life, a woman who does not face this kind of problem, especially in the small, middle-class societies of provincial areas. This does not mean that female pleasure is unattainable or nonexistent, but there is always an aspect that unsettles us. I confess that I struggle to address this topic neutrally because there is so much anger». Anechoum’s expression darkens for a moment, her previously relaxed and slightly bashful smile fading. «The parts where I described Mina’s shame about her own body were the hardest to write», she explains. «This is because I was recalling specific scenes from my adolescence and the adolescence of people close to me».
The ending of Tangerinn is deliberately left open because the process of learning to show one’s roots is long and requires time. «Sometimes the solution lies in indeterminacy», Anechoum revealed. «I did not want to wrap it all up neatly because life is not like that». Mina’s significant triumph lies in the actions she takes, which increasingly define her desires and her pleasure in existing in the world.
This pleasure also involves asserting her presence more decisively. In the final actions, «there is much more physicality than at the beginning; a direction can be glimpsed, and there is a greater need for contact», Anechoum notes. «Even in the final scene, which takes place in a non-place9, the airport, she is present because she chooses to answer the phone and show herself».
Mina regains her presence in the spaces she inhabits through her senses. By becoming present, she exposes herself like mangrove roots, rendering herself vulnerable. But there is no need to fear this, because, as Emanuela Anechoum concludes, «that vulnerability is the building of intimacy with someone. It is not an exposure to judgment and always requires reciprocity. Mina understands this, finding the courage to ask questions and speak painful truths. And by seeing that people do not run away when she opens up, she begins her healing process».
- To find out more about the Association Millimètrica: https://www.instagram.com/millimetrica_22/ ↩︎
- GIUNGLA is a contemporary art festival held since 2020 in Lucca, a unique opportunity to meet and discuss the relationship between human, nature and technology. ↩︎
- For more: Arianna Dagnino, (2023, 3 luglio). Una nuova generazione di nomadi: storia di chi non ha un lavoro stanziale. The Bottom Up. https://thebottomup.it/2023/07/03/nomadi-digitali-lavoro-precario/ ↩︎
- The tangerine (Citrus × tangerina Yu.Tanaka, 1927) is a citrus fruit in the Rutaceae family, a hybrid of the mandarin with the orange. ↩︎
- From Anechoum, E. (2024). Tangerinn. E/O Edizioni, pp. 44. ↩︎
- Ibidem. ↩︎
- Ibidem, pp. 162 ↩︎
- Ibidem, pp. 170. ↩︎
- To explore the concept of non-place, Augé M. (2024). Non luoghi, Elèuthera. ↩︎
