Tell me the title and author of your favorite books dealing with southern Italy. I always love to find good reads through recommendations!
Italy
BOOK REVIEW: The Lady Queen by Nancy Goldstone
Nancy Goldstone touches on my favorite era of southern Italian history–the Angevin period–in her book The Lady Queen: The Notorious Reign of Joanna I, Queen of Naples, Jerusalem, and Sicily. Goldstone’s lively prose brings Joanna to life and immerses the reader in the challenges and triumphs of her exceptional reign of nearly forty years.
Joanna was born in 1326, during the rule of her grandfather, Robert the Wise. Joanna’s father died when she was two years old, leaving her heiress to the kingdom. Soon afterwards, her mother died, and Joanna was raised in the court at Naples.
At 17, she became Queen when her grandfather died. Threats to her rule came from within and without her kingdom, persisting through four marriages, and Joanna faced them with courage. Goldstone engages her readers as she presents background and historical context which add significance to Joanna’s accomplishments.
The book is written for a general audience, but the endnotes, bibliography, and detailed index provide guidance for further study of the reign of Joanna and the lives of those who influenced her. If all history was written like this book, a lot more people would be interested!
According to her website, www.nancygoldstone.com, she is working on a book about Joan of Arc which is expected out in 2012. The Lady Queen was published by Walker Publishing in 2009. I can also recommend the book Four Queens, which touches on southern Italy. In Four Queens, Goldstone tells the story of four daughters of the Count of Provence who all became queens during the 13th century. One of them, Beatrice, married Charles of Anjou who later became King of Naples.
Goldstone shares her enthusiasm for Joanna in a YouTube video which also appears on her website:
Driving to L’Aquila
In early March of 2004, after two weeks of studying Italian in Sorrento, Vern and I rented a car to drive to L’Aquila, high in the central Apennines, researching some of the settings of the novel I was writing. Set in the late 1200s, the novel included the coronation of Pope Celestine V, who was crowned in L’Aquila where he had founded the Santa Maria di Collemaggio monastery.
The forecast called for snow in the mountains, so we insisted on having some tire chains for our rental car when we picked it up in Sorrento in the morning. The rental agent reluctantly rounded some up for us. By mid-afternoon , as we climbed into the mountains, we were glad to know we had those chains.
With lots of snow-driving experience behind us, we weren’t concerned with the first couple of inches of snow, and just kept driving. Finally, though, when the snow was approaching six inches deep, we pulled off under an overpass to put the chains on.
Guess what? They didn’t fit our tires.
In the dark, with the snow still falling thick around us, we wondered if we would be able to make the last hour or so of the trip. There wasn’t much traffic on the roads, and we didn’t have a cell phone with us to call for help if we needed it.
As we sat in the car talking it over, we heard heavy truck traffic on the overpass, and then down the ramp, headed toward L’Aquila, came a snow plow. Just what we needed! As we started the car, a second plow followed the first one, pulling out onto the road ahead of us. And then a third!
We felt like a special escort had been arranged just for us, and though the speed was a little slow, we followed the plows all the way to L’Aquila’s city gates. From there, we had to make our own way through the snowy streets to our hotel.
The following morning, a Sunday, we walked through a foot of fresh snow to the monastery church of Collemaggio, whose pink and white façade I had seen in many photos in the course of my research on Pope Celestine V. The banner photo on this blog was taken that morning.
Rapini and all her cousins!
I stopped by Nash’s Organic Produce stand a few days ago, and thought I saw some rapini, a vegetable I discovered in Italy, and have sprouting in my own garden as I write this. It is also called broccoli rabe or raab, and a few other names too.
The recipe for this Rapini and Penne Pasta is online at the Live It Up Vegan blog.
But no. It was not broccoli rabe, but cabbage rabe that I saw, and another display of kale rabe. I took home a couple of bunches of cabbage rabe, and with one bunch made a yummy mess of greens for a side dish. Very simply, it was sautéed in olive oil, with some minced garlic. Salt and pepper as you like.
The second bunch worked well sauteed with some chopped bacon and onion, a little olive oil, as a topping for some pasta. I would have tossed on some pine nuts if I had some on hand. A sprinkling of parmesan worked well with the flavors.
But back to rapini. Like broccoli, it is part of the Brassica genus, and though it is often called “broccoli rabe”, it is more closely related to turnips and mustard, and does not form heads.
Some people find the bitterness of rapini too strong. It tends to be milder when younger, just as its cousin arugula, which can be very bitter if picked late in the season. Rapini can be boiled or steamed to reduce the bitterness, but some of the nutrients will be lost.
A variety of recipes for rapini can be found online, so check out your farmers’ market or supermarket, and give your palate a little trip to Italy!
Bonus Post: The Sicilian Girl
Celebrating 400 views of The Italian South! Thanks to all who have checked it out. I appreciate your comments.
A few days ago I watched the movie The Sicilian Girl, an Italian movie based on events in Italy about twenty years ago. The fictionalized story of Rita Atria, from her childhood in a Mafia family in Sicily, through her turning to the police in hopes of avenging the murders of her father and brother, is told in gritty detail.
I loved it!
For one thing, listening to the Italian language encouraged me–I haven’t forgotten everything I ever learned about Italian! To help with what I did forget, it has English subtitles.
The story has plenty of tension and action, and provided a different point of view for the events than news reports offer. The conclusion is tragic but satisfying.
If you’ve seen the movie (or when you have), share your comments here! Did you like it? Why or why not?
And thanks for reading The Italian South.
BOOK REVIEW: Head over Heel
Head over Heel: Seduced by Southern Italy by Chris Harrison, 2009, Nicholas Brealey Publishing
Head over Heel by Chris Harrison, recommended by theitaliansouth.com
Australian writer Chris Harrison captured me first with his opening quote from Luigi Barzini: “In the heart of every man, wherever he is born, whatever his education and tastes, there is one small corner which is Italian… ” In my family, there is a low-brow version of Barzini’s sentiment: There are only two kinds of people in the world—Italians and those that want to be. This book made me glad I am a little Italian. It also strengthened my urge to return to the sunny Italian south.
Harrison’s memoir draws us into Andrano, the village in Puglia he moved to after a love-at-first-sight encounter, and long distance romance with an Italian woman. In Andrano he learns to tolerate being wakened by the amplified voice of the vegetable seller roving through town in his truck, and to navigate the governmental obstacle course for residency and a driver’s license.
His stories rang true with my own experiences in southern Italy’s small towns, and colorful detail brings them to life: the festivals both religious and gastronomic (he favors the latter), the tragicomedy of nearly every interaction with the local carabinieri, and the challenges of teaching English to the most apathetic students.
Personal relationships have their own challenges, and Chris and Daniela discover when they move to Milan for work, and live with her brother. Daniela’s father wanders in a fog of Alzheimer’s disease, and her mother cares for him. Her family doesn’t always understand Chris and his Australian ways.
Entertaining all the way through, Harrison’s book also carried me back to Italy as I read. The south, and Puglia, are not often the subject of such books, and for me this added to the appeal. I found myself reading excerpts to my husband, and thinking of various friends who might also enjoy reading the book. You might enjoy it too–I recommend it!
Earthquakes in L’Aquila
Earthquake damage at Santa Maria Paganica Church in L'Aquila, 2009.
When I first visited L’Aquila in 2004, I wandered through the city looking at churches. Though many of them had medieval origins, almost all were now decorated in Baroque style, heavy on the cherubs and gilded trims. Some thoughtful person or committee (and I thank you, whoever you are) had undertaken a signage project in L’Aquila, and almost every church had a sign—sometimes even in English—outlining the history of the church.
The reason for the almost universal Baroque décor became clear as we read, for the third, then fourth, and fifth time, that “after the terrible earthquake of 1703, the church was rebuilt…” during the following ten or twenty years.
Naturally enough, those churches were rebuilt in the style current in 1703, and not their original style. Aggravating as it was to my medieval mind, nearly every church in town had been remade Baroque.
The city of L’Aquila was founded by Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Sicily, and completed in 1254 by his son. I knew many of those churches had medieval origins, and my main reason for visiting was to see the monastery church of Santa Maria di Collemaggio. (You can see its beautiful pink and white façade in the banner photo above.)
Fortunately, Collemaggio was not destroyed in 1703, and its Romanesque layered arches and portals welcomed me as I explored it. I paid my respects to Pope Celestine V, one of the subjects of my research for several years, whose body lies in a glass case there. He is also known as Saint Peter Celestine, or Peter of Morrone, and he founded the church in the 1270s and was crowned pope there in 1294. I did notice that part of the interior of Collemaggio had a Baroque style, and wondered if that was a result of earthquake damage.
The 1703 “terremoto” is reputed to have killed 5,000 to 10,000 people and destroyed nearly every building in L’Aquila. In a terrible case of déjà vu, in April of 2009 the mountains under L’Aquila shook the city to rubble again. More than 300 people died, around 1,500 were injured, and 65,000 became homeless due to the destruction.
Once again, most of Santa Maria di Collemaggio survived. If you search on Google Earth for “Santa Maria di Collemaggio” you’ll see a village of blue emergency tents erected on the wide lawn in front of the church’s pink and white façade. The dome collapsed, but the rest of the church and monastery stood the test. The remarkably clear satellite photos used by Google Earth for L’Aquila were taken just a few weeks after the earthquake, so you can see other collapsed roofs as you scan around the city. The most telling series of photos I have seen (warning: some graphic content) of the 2009 earthquake damage is at this website: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/04/the_laquila_earthquake.html The photo above comes from this collection.
In a December 2010 article in The Free Press (Rockland, Maine) columnist Chuck Marecic describes the downtown area of L’Aquila: “On a recent walk through the city, I saw temporary wooden braces reinforcing the windows, doors, and walls of nearly every building. The town’s Duomo (cathedral) looks fine from the outside, but the inside has collapsed. Chain- link fences separate much of the city from its inhabitants. Here and there reconstruction projects are evident. However, for the most part the city stands mute and abandoned except for the teams of firefighters who continue to inspect the “red zone” to ensure public safety and the scores of visitors who have come to bear witness to the devastation.”
I cried when I read about L’Aquila, and I’m not sure I’d want to join the ‘disaster tourism’ there, though it may provide some financial stimulus to the community. The city’s past fascinates me, but the future is very cloudy.
Pasta!
One of the big surprises for an American visiting Italy for the first time: pasta and its many forms and finishes.
I hesitate to use the word “sauces” for fear of conjuring the image of jars of store-bought spaghetti sauce, or the thick tomato sauce my uncle used to serve when he owned a restaurant in Anchorage, Alaska in the 1960s. Dishes the size of serving platters, piled with spaghetti, a few baseball-sized meatballs, all buried in a thick sludge of his home-cooked tomato sauce. Enough for a family of four, if you planned to have a little dessert.
Tasty, yes. But Italian? Not so much. I saw no pasta in Italy remotely like it.
Instead, the traditional second course of Italian meals, pasta is served in more modest portions, keeping in mind that the antipasto has already taken the edge off your hunger, and the main meat course is yet to follow. And pasta is served with a variety of vegetables, bits of meat, nuts, oils—often there is not a tomato in sight!
Soon after I came home from Italy in 2004, I bought a cookbook called Four Seasons Pasta: A Year of Inspired Recipes in the Italian Tradition, written by Janet Fletcher.
Thank you, Janet! I cooked from her recipes two or three times a weeks, allowing me to savor my Italian experience for months longer than I might have without it. I enjoyed things I would never have put with pasta before. Artichokes, peas, beans, radicchio, arugula, kale.
Janet Fletcher acknowledges the help of the Peduzzi family of Abruzzo, and many of the recipes originate in the Italian south. Check out more about her recipes and books at www.janetfletcher.com.
One of my favorites, perfect at this time of year, is Spaghetti con Asparagi ed Uova, or Spaghetti with Asparagus, Fried Eggs, Black Pepper, and Pecorino. This one-dish meal serves two.
Ingredients:
1 pound asparagus
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
½ pound spaghetti
2 eggs
3 tablespoons freshly grated aged pecorino cheese, or toasted bread crumbs, plus more for topping.
Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat.
Holding an asparagus spear in both hands, bend the spear gently. It will break naturally at the point at which the spear becomes tough. Repeat with the remaining asparagus. Discard the tough ends. Cut the trimmed spears on the diagonal into ½-inch pieces, leaving the tips whole. Put the asparagus in a baking dish or on a baking sheet big enough to hold them in a single layer. Toss with 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and season with salt and pepper to taste. Bake until sizzling and tender, about 15 minutes.
While the asparagus is baking, add the pasta to the boiling water and cook until al dente. About 2 minutes before the pasta is done, heat a skillet over moderately high heat. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. When the oil is hot, break in the eggs, season with salt and pepper to taste, and cook, without turning, just until the whites are barely firm. The yolks should remain runny.
Drain the pasta and return it to the warm pot. Add the asparagus and any oil in the baking dish, then add the eggs and any oil in the skillet. Toss well, breaking up the eggs as you toss. The runny yolks will coat the spaghetti with a creamy sauce. Add the cheese or bread crumbs, then add a few grindings of black pepper. Toss again and serve immediately in warm bowls, topping with additional cheese or bread crumbs.
I’d love to see comments from anybody who gives this a try!
Southern Italy calling!
In February of 2004 I visited southern Italy for the first time, promptly taking the wrong train on the Circumvesuviana line from Garibaldi station in Naples. We intended to follow the coastline past Pompeii to Sorrento. Instead, my husband Vern and I listened to the incomprehensible dialect of a thickset and mustachioed fellow traveler urging us to… what was it? From his gestures and expressions (because we could not understand a word he said) we realized he was directing us to get off the train, go back and take a different train. By the time we figured that out, we had chugged halfway around the backside of Mount Vesuvius. At last another man took pity on us and explained our error, using slow, careful Italian. He offered to help us transfer at the end of the line, facilitating our tour around the mountain, the sentinel of the Bay of Naples.
In Sorrento, we studied Italian for two weeks at SorrentoLingue, a language school where I shared an “advanced beginners” class with a young Japanese woman who spoke no English. We were forced to communicate in Italian, our only common language, and despite limited vocabulary, we described to one another our hometown festivals, favorite foods, and experiences with romance.
History sits right on the surface in Italy. Baroque churches, medieval palaces, the remains of Roman villas, and Greek temple ruins surrounded us. It’s easy to imagine digging up ancient urns in your flower garden, or finding a Roman theatre in your basement, as one Napolitano man did. That theatre is now one stop on a fascinating “underground Naples” tour.
We enjoyed three months in Italy in 2004, combining language study, research, and some personal travel. We visited the Calabrian village where my great-grandmother, a shoemaker’s daughter, an old maid at twenty-one, married a lace-maker nearly thirty years her senior, who had come back after twenty years in America to find an Italian wife. The people of Scigliano displayed wonderful hospitality to my mother, sister, husband, and I during a four day visit, and we met distant cousins with whom smiles and clasped hands took over when our languages failed us.
I continue to read about the Italian south, to research and write another novel set there. I also dream of returning, tackling more Italian language, and eating more of the incomparable food. And did I mention the wine? Vern and I set a challenge for ourselves: How low did the price have to go to find a bad bottle of wine? We could not do it. Even spending just two or three dollars on unlabeled bottles in dusty village shops, the wine was always acceptable, and often very good. The Italians, we concluded, simply wouldn’t put up with bad wine.
The Italian south still draws me in through books, food, other blogs, and history. I hope you’ll join me here for a taste of it.
The Italian South 