Mark Coenen

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Mark Coenen

Who is Mark Coenen?

4 children, 1 grandchild, 1 wife. Likes cycling, Italy, Jeroen Brouwers and FC Barcelona, although not necessarily in that order. 33 years of operational and management experience in broadcasting (TV, radio, digital, print), strategy and change management. Producer of many programmes: The Palace of Lies (Peeters/Matthysen), Studio Kafka, Hang the DJ (de Dewaele Broeders), Collage (Luc De Vos/Frank Vanderlinden...). Was involved in Studio Brussels, Donna and Canvas. Has been on his own professional feet since May 2014, something he really enjoys. Since then, works for many, but not for everyone. Is a columnist at De Morgen and writes for Humo. Writes books: “Italy for Idiots” (about the adventures of buying his house in Italy) and “All men are simpletons” (about men and simpletons). Is an advisor for production houses, publishers and broadcasters. Goes to pick up his granddaughter from nursery every Thursday.

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    Italy for idiots

    I wrote a book. It's called “Italy for idiots”. Where the idiot in the title is the main character. That’s me. In which a man, survivor of many mid-life and liver crises, seeks his happiness in Italy and finds it, but not quite. Based on a roughly true story: mine. In 2010, my wife and I went mad: after a holiday in the lovely Marche region, we felt we wanted to buy a house there. This resulted in a deeply human and sometimes hilarious adventure in which friendship, a war over an olive harvest and 1,000 tea bags play an undeniable leading role. And where the author and his family learn that it is the same everywhere, but in Italy with better weather. Meanwhile, the author also got cancer: a person could become melancholy with less reason. The keynote is interspersed with striking photos, life wisdom and nonsense, which people need to survive wherever they live. Suitable for returning holidaymakers, optimistic misanthropes and Italy lovers who are a bit tired of the pressure of Tuscany.

    All men are simpletons

    This book was preceded by 62 years of research. Research by a man. That man is no one less (but also no more) than Mark Coenen. The lineage to which Coenen belongs purely by chance proves more and more clearly the assertion that is the title of this book. And that’s putting it mildly. Who better to illustrate that than Mark Coenen himself, who has spent his life trying to be a real man, one with many qualities, some of which are amiable, some debatable and most downright laughable. Those who read this book or attend the keynote will agree with that wholeheartedly afterwards. His wife already agrees, but she has insider knowledge. The genesis of the average man is explained in a keynote full of enchanting anecdotes, worldly facts and wisdom (sometimes of questionable quality), tough analyses and corny jokes. Let yourself be mansplained on why it is a good idea to climb Mont Ventoux, if not all in one go, why a man has to be a feminist or else there is something wrong, and why political animals are threatened with extinction. Everything in this book is vanity and chasing the wind: you can take it seriously, but you can also have a good laugh about it. Both about the vanity and about the wind.

A wonderful example of how, protesting against your own sensitivity, you expose your heart in a jesting and tongue-tied manner.

Benno Barnard

Writer, about “All men are simpletons”

Rarely have I read a book of which I thought: See, I could have come up with that myself.

Mark Coenen

Author of the same, about “Italy for idiots”

background

The fact that his first name is synonymous with the region is a coincidence. Mark Coenen just happened to pass through Le Marche after – Oh, Belgian cliché - a holiday in Tuscany. Like many poolside dreamers with a beer, the words came out with a sigh: "Why don’t we buy a house here?" Once, for an interview, we ourselves sat at that swimming pool in the village of San Venanzo. We understood those words, but we still don't have a house there. In "Italy for idiots", a book by Mark Coenen (among other things ex-Studio Brussels and now, in addition to being a columnist, also head of journalism at PXL Hogeschool, you can read why he did buy one. “It is better to regret something you have done than something you have not done,” he writes. My other motto is: I don’t have to do anything. I had to turn 55 before that.” There are already a lot of books written by people who discovered paradise. Peter Mayle's "A Year in Provence" was one of the first in more modern times. Earlier, Karen Blixen wrote “Out of Africa”. That was about colonial Kenya. Mayle's compassionate story caused such a rush that he ran away from his village of Ménerbes. Nostalgia is one of the driving forces of this fine book. Not the nostalgia of wallowing self-pity, but that feeling you learn from. “Italy for idiots” is different. Of course Coenen writes with humour, self-reflection and love for his village, the crumbling road, the neighbours called Beppe and Cecilia, about the nonno who shouted “Non mi piace!” and spat out the gazpacho that Coenen's wife served. He writes about the administration, about the delights of ‘la cucina povera’ and the motorised ant that is the Fiat Panda. But, unlike many, the observations don’t become clichés. That can only come through wonderment. But mostly through love. 'Amore', as in 'That's Amore' which the Riccardo Foresi quintet plays at the market in his village one evening. But also 'amore' from a saying in the cemetery of Penna San Giovanni: ‘La nostalgia è l’amore che rimane.’ Nostalgia is the love that lasts. Nostalgia is one of the driving forces of this fine book. Not the nostalgia of wallowing self-pity, but that feeling you learn from. In Le Marche, the writer finds Jesseren, his mother's village in Limburg. “She has been dead for twenty years, ten years after the death of her only daughter. My sister took up cycling 31 years ago and she's still not come back. She lost her way. And herself. And we her, and she us.” He says goodbye to his father and reads the mail from a doctor who diagnoses prostate cancer. How can anyone stay cheerful then? The doubt is extinguished with Italian wine and Beppe's words: ‘Due amici, zero prostate.’ It doesn't stop there. Not the nostalgia, but not life either. Coenen writes about Jeffrey, a boy from Nigeria who came to Italy by boat, lives in Macerata and travels 50 kilometres every day by bus to put trolleys in place at the supermarket in Sarnano. Wifi and social media are grateful. "Perhaps indignation is the recipe for eternal youth." Italian history passes by and Coenen casually spoons in insights about leaving the beaten track (“But whoever is unhappy in Flanders will also be unhappy in Le Marche”, he warns), people over 50 in the VIP tents of festivals and the importance of sex when you are 61. If you read carefully and take a closer look: life isn't all that idiotic.

Rik Van Puymbroeck

De Tijd, 01/10/2019, about “Italy for idiots”

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