The Tuscan Child

by Rhys Bowen

Dear readers, I do hope you enjoy reading THE TUSCAN CHILD as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was not an easy story to tell—one of suffering, loss, bravery and sacrifice. My next book, THE VICTORY GARDEN, has a similar theme: a story of love, of loss, bravery, and personal triumph in the face of war, only this time it is World War 1. This was a senseless, horrific war that took away a whole generation of young men in England and made me think of how women were called upon to do things they never thought themselves to be capable of. Also how, being women, they survived by bonding together and helping each other through the worst. We follow young upper-class Englishwoman Emily Bryce as she goes from sheltered teenager to strong and resilient woman. You can read more here: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40871577-the-victory-garden

We are certainly experiencing some lovely spring weather, are we not?” She was doing what the English did. When anything embarrassing or emotional threatened to come up, one discussed the weather. Always a safe topic. “Are you planning to go away at all this year?” she asked. “No plans as yet,” I replied, certainly not about to admit to my current impecunious state.

Hi, Rhys Bowen here. As you know, my background is British—born and educated in England and if you try to analyze the British character you will see that we do not open up to other people easily. When anything vaguely personal or private creeps into conversation we revert to the weather. If you are in Britain and you stand in line next to another person the first thing that will be said is “Lovely day, isn’t it?” or usually the opposite: “Hasn’t the weather been dreadful lately?” In the case of this scene between Joanna and her former headmistress we see Joanna rebuffing any attempt at friendliness by someone who was her former enemy. Joanna has had a loveless childhood, after the death of her mother, and has been betrayed. She has not learned to open up to anyone. It will take a woman in Italy to help her to start living fully again.

To realise that one has nobody in the world—that is a sobering thought.

You’ll notice how Joanna expresses this. She has shut off all emotion after a long loveless period and then a cruel betrayal. But it also shows her innate bravery. She is a survivor.

I want you to know that our beautiful boy is safe. He is hidden where only you can find him.

This, of course, is the most important sentence in the book. The central mystery that drives Joanna on her quest and changes her life. It is a horrifying realization that her father might have hidden a child long ago and that the letter never reached its recipient… and with that the possibility that the child was never found.

“When the world has gone mad, we must help each other when we can. Most of my neighbours are good and share what little they have.

Here we see Sofia’s innate goodness shining through. She is willing to risk everything for a man she doesn’t know.

“That all seems so irrelevant now, doesn’t it? Lords and chimney sweeps fight side by side and die side by side, and nobody cares what they once were.”

This is the great reality of war, isn’t it? My father and uncles fought in WWII. They saw comrades die. They probably suffered from survivor guilt. They certainly never spoke about any horrors they had seen. It is probably the first time that Hugo realizes he is not special or superior because he was born to nobility.

“So simple. It is what we call part of our cucina povera—simple food for the peasants. And a good way to use up yesterday’s stale bread. It is simply stale bread soaked in broth, and then we cook the garlic, tomatoes, some carrot, and celery and add these to it, then serve with olive oil. That’s all.”

I spent two summers in Tuscany, leading a writer’s workshop and finding out all about local food. You will notice a lot of mentions of food in this book. I wanted the theme of both stories to be healing through food. Hugo is kept alive by Sofia bringing him food, and Joanna is healed of her traumas and loss by being fed by Paola. For the peasants, especially during hard times, the food is basically what they can grow. Tomatoes, onions, garlic and of course olive oil with everything. You can’t drive far without coming across an olive grove. The amazing thing is that these simple ingredients taste so good!

“But see what I have brought you: it is fagioli al fiasco sotto la cenere.” She handed him a bowl of what looked like white paste. He didn’t understand the Italian words in her dialect, except that “fagioli” was beans, and this did not look like beans—more like oatmeal. He didn’t think he’d ever seen an oat when he was in Florence, and certainly nobody ate oatmeal for breakfast.

The rest of Italy calls the Tuscans “bean eaters”, because so much of their diet is based on beans. This would have been the classic peasant dish—cooked beans that were then placed in a jar in the embers of the fire overnight so it is cooked slowly to a mush and then mixed with olive oil.

“Don’t look so sad,” she said, touching my cheek. “All is well. We are tested and we survive, and life will be good again.”

This is a very important chapter in the book, in which we learn what happened to Joanna before our story started. She is finally able to grieve, to mourn and to move on. Paola is taking the place of the mother Joanna lost—warm, loving, understanding.

“Then how can prayers be answered if you do not call upon the saints to help? God is obviously too busy to do everything alone.”

I am always so impressed with the simple faith of simple people. In Italy they still take their religion very seriously and it is very much a part of everyday life. Saints are revered to the point that you will often find a mummified saint in a glass coffin in a church. (There was one in the small town where I spent my summers). The local people look upon saints as being more accessible than God and always have a list of personal saints they turn to for help on special occasions.

“The Society of Saint George,” she said. “A devotional society of the men of this town. It is an honour to be invited to join.” I noticed then that their white tunics had a star on the breast. A many-pointed star.

This society is half true and half invented. There were secret societies during WWII, sometimes dedicated to a saint or with a religious connotation and their sworn mission was to drive out the Germans. But such religious secret societies are very much part of Italian life today. If you go to a medieval procession or feast day you will see people wearing a certain scarf or badge, or even hooded robes.