Books like A Valley in Italy — picked by fans

In many ways, this sort of book has gone out of style since it was published in the 1960s.

It’s an opinionated and ambitious portrayal of the Italian psyche and culture. Barzini looks at his fellow Italians with a dispassionate eye and a healthy sense of irreverence, uncovering their foibles, hidden beliefs, superstitions, and great strengths as a culture.

For me, Italy is an eternal paradox. Just when you think you’ve worked it out, something happens that makes you do a double-take. This book helps you understand that paradox has been part of Italy’s identity since the very beginning.

Origo was an English woman married to a wealthy Italian.

They were living on their estate in Italy (Tuscany) when Mussolini came to power and soon allied himself with Hitler. Her personal account of how they, both anti-Fascists, lived during this very difficult period brings history to life. They often put themselves in harm’s way by helping others hide from Fascist pursuers.

This was Calvino’s first novel when he was just in his early twenties, and long before he became known for his explorations of fantasy, fable, and magical realism.

He tells the story of a cobbler’s apprentice in a Ligurian town who becomes involved with a band of partisans during WWII. This brotherhood, who take on assumed identities by day and fight for Italy’s freedom up in the mountains by night, provides a story of second family for the protagonist, Pin, as he comes of age during a tumultuous time.

I love how we see the flickerings of who Calvino will become as a writer with this early foray into realism.

This is one of the funniest and truest books about Italy!

The English novelist Tim Parks captures modern-day Italy through the lens of life on a single street in Verona, where he lives with his wife. He brings the entire neighborhood to life with a cast of characters that are colorful to say the least.

He also captures what it’s like to be a foreigner in a country where you weren’t born and whose essence is constantly evading you. Nonetheless, he shows us that it’s possible to find a true sense of belonging and home among the ragtag parade of your neighbors.

So much about this true story was evocative to me at a time when I didn’t yet understand anything much about the real Africa.

Kuki’s perfect prose through adversity and new beginnings had me right there with her in an entirely different world where ordinary people were experiencing extraordinary things.

I read this book over and over again, with joy and tears, before finally making my own move to live in the wilds of Africa.

As the Annals opened my eyes to Roman history, Highet’s book opened them to Latin poetry and the Italian countryside. Still at school, still doing only basic Latin, not Classics, and still to travel outside the U.K., but very interested in English poetry, Highet’s introduction to Catullus, Virgil, Propertius, Horace, Tibullus, Ovid, and Juvenal revealed a whole new world to me.

Highet’s autobiographical interpretation of their works is now very much out of date, but profusely illustrated with fine photographs, his book presented them to me as real people living in and influenced by real landscapes. I was also taken by Highet’s efforts to catch the feel of Latin verses in his translations. Horace’s ‘Hail, Bandusian spring, clearer than crystal pure’ is still fixed in my memory.

Superbly written, heart-stopping, action-filled. It’s the story of highborn 18-year-old Cassie Brougham, who on the day before her marriage to a viscount she has loved for years, is abducted by 34-year-old Anthony Wells, the Earl of Clare, who has been watching her since she was a child all the while believing she is his perfect mate. 

Though Anthony’s intention is marriage, that doesn’t stop him from rape to claim her, nor imprisonment, first on his yacht and then in his Italian villa, as he tries to persuade her to marry him. The plot is intricate and intriguing with lots of action and lots of mystery. The characters are richly drawn, including the hero who has a noble side notwithstanding his selfish and brutal act of taking another man’s bride.

I like historical novels with strong female characters, even unsympathetic ones (maybe especially unsympathetic ones), but if I am not going to throw the book against the wall, their lives and values need to be true to those of their time.

The Maria of the title is one of the best examples I know of a slightly difficult and strong-minded woman who is fully a product of her world, in this case, the world of Norman adventurers of the eleventh century who carved out domains for themselves in southern Italy against opposition from Muslims and the pope in Rome.

Her life is constrained by the expectations of her class and gender and a marriage she does not want, but she is a survivor, and she finds her own way to exert power.

This is a much-needed antidote to the navel-gazing tendencies of American criminal justice thought.

Reading contemporary treatments, you might almost be fooled into thinking that certain types of police controversies have a specifically American – or at least modern – origin. They don't. In fact, the peculiar challenges of policing and its inevitable discontents might even be universal.

Certainly, they were present at an early stage in medieval Italy, long before the first English "bobbies" ever dawned a uniform. Use-of-force controversies, weapons prohibitions, reluctant witnesses, hostile crowds, simmering beefs among local gangsters: it's all here. Roberts' medieval world so eerily resembles our own when it comes to law enforcement that one ends up surprised to encounter any differences at all.

Here's one, though: medieval town dwellers did not have cell phones with which to film the cops misdeeds. Instead, they hollered for notaries to scribble records on the spot.

I was immediately caught by the novel’s premise: a medical examiner mystery set in the Middle Ages!

When King Henry I faces threats to the Jews under his protection because of a spate of murders of young children, he sends to Italy for a “master of the art of death,” only to receive Adelia, a woman. I was enchanted by Adelia’s courage, intelligence and wry humor as she searched for the killer.

I wallowed in the lush description, the tight plot, and the often contentious exchanges between Henry and Adelia. The final confrontation with the killer has all the stark graphic horror of a well-constructed film, and the fate of the killer’s accomplice is a masterpiece of terrible justice.

I do want to warn you, though; once you finish reading this, you’ll want to binge every following text in the series!