As narrator, David is confessional and nostalgic. Much of the novel reads as his attempt to relive his broken relationships—its events take place mostly in the past. The work strikes this wistful vein as David imagines seeing “Giovanni again, as he was that night, so vivid, so winning, all of the light of that gloomy tunnel trapped around his head.” Fixed towards the past, David attempts to retrace his footsteps and history.
For all his repression, David tries his best to make an even-handed inventory of his former emotions as well. Not much distance separates narration from the story itself—David shares his thoughts on the night before Giovanni’s execution—but he reflects on his own misdeeds with surprising poise and thoroughness. His psychological self-evaluation is clearheaded and precise. “With this fearful intimation there opened in me a hatred for Giovanni which was as powerful as my love and which was nourished by the same roots,” he realizes. Elsewhere, his emotionless precision reads like carelessness. His dispassionate stance looks out at the bleakness of his present. David apathetically predicts that tomorrow’s train “will be the same, the people struggling for comfort and, even, dignity on the straight-backed, wooden, third-class seats.”
The result of this nostalgia and impassive reflection is tragic clarity. With its lyrical lines, David’s story reads like an elegy for the past that mourns his missteps and forgone joy. It makes his moments—such as that afternoon where Giovanni “never seemed more beautiful”—more touching, and also more tragic.