It appears from Adam Begley's review of Rachel Cusk's latest book, "The Last Supper, a Summer in Italy," that another book with a different title, but the same subject could easily be written and perhaps savoured with more relish than this.I for one would thoroughly enjoy a summer read that would transport me to Tuscany, the land of good food, Italian centrality and easy, imaginary access to Florence, Rome, Milan and Bologna.
If I could rent a small house in Lucca, I would feast on good pastries at mid-afternoon, excellent gnocchi at night, and fulsome red wine every day.
In fact, such a trip sounds like something to consider more seriously than a fantasy read.
I love Italy for reasons I can and can not comprehend and have often fantasized in the past living in the Italian countryside all year round.
And as for the food, it is nearly always excellent.
I remember having lunch in Bologna centuries ago that can still be called up on my salivary glands in an instant. I stepped off a train from Firenze to Amsterdam just for that meal.
I can remember with equal spontaneity eating a 500L meal at a student trattoria in Roma that made its own sauce that tasted like fresh tomatoes from the garden.
In addition to having some of the finest art on the Continent, Italy still gets my vote for food, family, hospitality and style.
Do I write the book?
Or just go to Tuscany?