Despite it being set in Italy during the First World War, this is a gentle story that pulls you into the lives and struggles of three young foreigners who come to Italy to report on the conflict as Austria invades northern Italy.
Rebecca Quinn and her husband are Australian war correspondents sent to the seaside village of Brindisi on the Adriatic Sea to report on the war for newspapers back home. When Jack is assigned to sail with Albanian smugglers who are part of the resistant movement out to destroy the Austrian army, she is left alone in this strange land trying to make a name for herself as the first ever woman war correspondent writing about the Australian, French, British and Italian soldiers fighting to defend the Italian coastline and beyond. With obstacles to overcome trying to prove her worth in this male dominated field, she eventually teams up with an American-Italian photographer whose grandmother owns the trattoria where Rebecca dines each night.
At first the new duo are cautious with one another, but as the war progresses and their reputations increase, they find themselves in dangerous situations and needing to rely on one other more than would be usual due to the period of time and the circumstances they find themselves in.
The novel’s title is Rebecca’s column heading for her stories sent back home, and the setting and underlying storyline kept me turning the pages late into the night.
I really enjoyed her writing style and several descriptive nuggets peppering so many pages, like this one…
‘The church was small, whitewashed, dazzling with sunshine so that the dust motes glowed golden in the air like small blessings. She genuflected, head bowed to the Tabernacle and its red lamp; the swish of her skirts sent a sussuration around the high ceiling, as though the rafters were whispering back to her, bringing her into a partnership with the walls, the ceiling, the golden dust. Into a kind of peace, where she could leave worry behind for just a moment. She turned her face up to the Cross above the tabernacle and prayed for Jack’s safety, but the act of praying for him brought all the worry back. For a moment she felt so alone, so abandoned, the tears fell onto her cheeks and trailed down. “Our father, who are in heaven…“
…
A woman, praying before the altar, standing straight and tall. Sunlight from a rose window above the tabernacle caught her face, so that she was standing in a nimbus of light, her profile pure and clear. She looked like an angel, but angels didn’t cry, and the shaft of light caught the tears on her cheek. Sandro was struck by that curling in his gut that happened whenever he was presented with real beauty – not of the woman, but of the whole scene. Some perfect balance of elements that called out to him like the note from a bugle, which grabbed him by the throat and demanded to be immortalised.’
That delightful word-picture took me back to a thrilling two-week driving holiday my husband and I took around central and northern Italy back in 2009, and now many of our adventures have ended up on the pages of my first series, albeit happening to fictional characters in a tender love-story that began on the stage of a dusty old theatre in Brisbane.
And two little personal gems was firstly a reference to Rapallo, a gorgeous little town on the Mediterranean Sea near Genoa, where my husband and I spent two perfect nights looking out to a small stone fortress on the bay. ‘It was built in 1550 for defensive purposes after the plundering and destruction of the settlement by the corsair Dragut, who enslaved many inhabitants. Used for a long time as a prison, it has been restored and is now a prestigious venue for exhibitions and conferences.’ (Ref: Hello Rapallo)
The other was her descriptive prose about the backstreets and canals of Venice. I was back there again, staring in fascination just like Rebecca does, picturing all over again the rows of crumbling palazzos with water lapping at their brightly painted plasterwork and latticed windows and small balconies lining the upper stories; the rabbit-warren of cobbled lanes lined with multi-story homes; tiny trattorias tucked away down alleyways offering meals to tourists and locals alike; the breathtaking spectacle of miniature arched stone bridges fording a myriad of canals; and the shiny curved shape of polished black gondolas ferrying passengers back and forth on the Grand Canal.
One other reference that drew my eye as a keen ‘The Sound of Music’ fan is that Captain Von Trap is mentioned as a famous Austrian U-Boat Lieutenant during WWI - something I knew from the movie, but hadn’t really thought about as far as reality was concerned.
This was a delightful story and I give it a thoroughly deserved 4.5 🌟 out of 5.