The international press has been obsessed with Elena Ferrante in ways the local Neapolitan press never have been. Some people think they have unveiled her true identity.  Some people think she is a man.  Many people love the books.  Most Neapolitans have either never read them or vehemently despise them.  The reason for this is varied- just as the town of Naples is varied- something that gets lost in the books themselves.  Neapolitans almost unanimously agree that Ferrante writes like someone who has left Naples- particularly the brutal post-war periphery of Naples that was as chauvinist as it was bleak.  There is no subtlety or dimension to this portrait of Naples.  It is simply a place of violence that one must silently endure or boldly escape.