A Review of This Isn’t Italian Romance by Teo Eve

The story itself is simple and straightforward, yet the novel offers profound observations on Italian and British culture, as well as identity, tradition and sexuality. Eve tackles these difficult topics with delicacy and subtlety.

Our hard-headed protagonist settles in a sleepy village on the outskirts of Benevento, choosing not to teach in more cosmopolitan, hedonistic, metropolises such as Naples, in a bid not only to access a more authentic Italy, but also to shield herself from the vices of the modern world which she perceives to have plagued her academic career. In addition, to save money, something all recent graduates will surely relate to, Sophie opts to rent a room in a rural family home, hoping that the isolation will offer her a chance to reflect and plan for the future.

While most of the reader’s time is spent in rural Campania, a significant portion of the book takes place in the imaginary village of Cuspide. Taking inspiration from southern Italian villages devastated by earthquakes in the 1980s, Cuspide is split in two: old and new. This contrast serves as a metaphor for Sophie's inability to reconcile her modern, liberal outlook with the country's deep-rooted traditions.

This clash of modernity and tradition is also embodied by Sophie’s complex relationship with Federica, the daughter of the family that Sophie is living with. A young woman of similar age to Sophie, Fede (or Freddie as Sophie calls her, due to an initial misunderstanding) appears to represent the glamorous dolce vita lifestyle that Sophie desires. The two bond quickly and their relationship spirals into a deep connection which slowly bubbles over into romance, despite Fede’s best efforts.

Meals, which play an integral role in Italian life, quickly become the stage for much familial drama. Subverting the imagined Italian dream, the dinner table is an arena for conflict. Eve’s use of light and dark, as well as their ability to draw on established metaphors, builds a teetering tower of drama which is subsequently toppled by the tension of the meal.

Another central pillar of Italian life is religion, and as the church makes its presence known in more and more obvious and invasive ways in this book, supernatural elements come to the fore. Having been talked up by Fede’s family, a trove of strange, quasi-magic events and characters begin to rear their heads. An owl almost causes a car crash, an ominous scorpion sting, the sudden appearance of an all-seeing priest – whenever the integrity and traditions of rural Italy are threatened, there is always some kind of divine intervention. The fabric of this society is interwoven with a belief system rooted in pre-Christian fantasies folded into an unfamiliar brand of Catholicism. Sophie questions how these belief systems can coexist, once again misunderstanding Italy's beautiful hypocrisies.

During my time in Italy I experienced many of these cultural peculiarities first-hand, and Eve does a great job of translating them for an English audience. Moments like the intimate card game of scopa or the picking of vegetables with Fede’s father for dinner that evening resonate deeply with me and reflect my own experiences in the country. These moments feel personal and warm, perhaps owing to Eve’s own Italian heritage, and add to an already convincing portrait of modern Italy.

These moments also serve the book's central thesis: this is an authentic Italian romance, not a romantic one. Eve offers a gritty, tactile portrait of an Italian love story and all the difficulties that come with it.

When the darkness, tragedy and tension of Cuspide becomes too much, the author transports us to more picturesque, romantic locations such as the coastal oasis of Amalfi, offering both the reader and Sophie some respite. Eve's vivid, lemon-scented coastline illustrates the vast differences between the tourist-laden towns of the Amalfi Coast and the very different Italian experience of Cuspide.