Camurri narrates the normality of everyday life: a life made of objects and gestures that became places, spaces and moments in which his characters linger, so close but yet lightyears apart, different, but also so alike; united by unspoken words and tiny fragments of suffered lives. — Il Corriere della Sera

Roberto Camurri gives us a fresco of an Italy where everyone struggles to free himself from an ancient sense of guilt and to find his own place in the world. — La Repubblica

Fabbrico, a small provincial town rooted in Northern Italy’s foggy valley, where everything seems whimsical: a river bank surrounded by woods, green grass covered with blossoming flowers, seasons changing swiftly while the blue sky sets its timid rays that penetrate the cold and broken souls of the inhabitants.

Qualcosa nella nebbia displays a mosaic of characters immersed in gestures and long silences, all of them in search of their identity in an intimate portrayal of everyday life, with a massive burden on their shoulders made of wrong choices, unbearable mistakes, and a heavy destiny that convicts them to misery.

Jack, just a child at the time, loses his beloved dog the same day a creepy family moves into the neighboring house. Years later, Jack is linked by a long friendship to Alice, who will have to face the hardest ordeal when she finds out that Jack is sick. And then there is Giuseppe, who has always been in love with Alice, even if he could only have her in a perverse game of torture, until she decides to leave Fabbrico, a place she doesn’t feel she belongs to.

Camurri handles human relationships with boldness and reticent delicacy, exploring rage, fidelity, pity, honor, timidity, and the sense of obligation. His prose is a restrained voice, a quiet yet torrential music.