cheryl6of8's review
3.0
I picked up this book at the beginning of the pandemic here, thinking I would travel vicariously since I could not go anywhere physically. But the situation drained me of the will and attention span to read. I re-read the introduction several times and just left it sitting on the dresser, staring at me. Even when life began again, despite COVID, and I was able to read, the thought of this book mocked me, containing the wonders of Italy which I was unable to access. I picked up shorter books about Italy thinking it would inspire me to finish this book, but it didn't.
I finally picked it up again in August 2021 -- 14 months after I first started. And I have been doggedly reading it ever since, probably more intensely than I ought to have. Truly, the selection of essays and memories and thoughts and journeys on these pages are meant to be explored individually. The manner in which I read the book was too concentrated, leaving me with some passages I dreaded and disliked but finished and others that I adored and was sad to move on from. My reactions to each were colored by the other.
Some of the better adventures included understanding the Italian factions as teenage siblings in Venice, experiencing the Italian spirit of acceptance as a black American man, learning the "roots" of one's surname in Northern Italy, and the poignant memories of an American mother whose very young son was murdered by brigands on a road in Sicily and inspired the Italian people by donating his organs. All of the flavors of Italy are here - the food and the soil and the Roman ruins and the passionate people and the art and even the vices such as a brothel in Naples. It is a well-rounded look at the wonders of Italy and the mundane. For all that I am glad to be done with the book (nearly 400 pages), a part of me is wanting to pick up a mystery by Donna Leon or Andrea Camilleri, because I will never be done with Italy.
I finally picked it up again in August 2021 -- 14 months after I first started. And I have been doggedly reading it ever since, probably more intensely than I ought to have. Truly, the selection of essays and memories and thoughts and journeys on these pages are meant to be explored individually. The manner in which I read the book was too concentrated, leaving me with some passages I dreaded and disliked but finished and others that I adored and was sad to move on from. My reactions to each were colored by the other.
Some of the better adventures included understanding the Italian factions as teenage siblings in Venice, experiencing the Italian spirit of acceptance as a black American man, learning the "roots" of one's surname in Northern Italy, and the poignant memories of an American mother whose very young son was murdered by brigands on a road in Sicily and inspired the Italian people by donating his organs. All of the flavors of Italy are here - the food and the soil and the Roman ruins and the passionate people and the art and even the vices such as a brothel in Naples. It is a well-rounded look at the wonders of Italy and the mundane. For all that I am glad to be done with the book (nearly 400 pages), a part of me is wanting to pick up a mystery by Donna Leon or Andrea Camilleri, because I will never be done with Italy.
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