3.5 out of 5 stars
A copy of this was provided free of charge from the publisher in return for an honest review.
Home is as much a metaphysical thing as it is a physical building. For those that choose to make their home in different places, and in particular different countries, where they call home is very much dependent on the moment. I was born in Surrey, but I have felt more at home in Dorset since we moved here 20 years ago.
Thea Lenarduzzi has a similar dilemma. Her family are originally from Italy and the various generations have shuttled backwards and forward between the UK and Italy over the course of four generations. In this book, she blows away the dust from these family memories and tries to understand how it has shaped them as a family and her, as a person.
She sits down with her grandmother, or Nonna as she calls her and starts the process of recording the stories of family members past and just still present. This cyclic motion between the Fruili in Italy and Sheffield and Manchester happened over two generations and has defined her as a person and a full European citizen.
I cling to Nonno for support. My mind moves around his land like a ghost haunting a house that it considers its own. Or a vampire hovering on the threshold, hoping to be invited in.
I did like this intimate and intricate family memoir. Lenarduzzi meanders through her family history whilst being centred around her grandmother, Dirce. I like the way we can see a vast swathe of European history and the wars that punctuated the twentieth century through the prism of this family. Her prose is beautiful sometimes, but occasionally it felt like we had peered in a little too far into her family life. I can recommend this if you want a story of a family that has spread far and wide like the seeds from a Dandelion clock.
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