FOR LOCATIONS IN THE SEEKER OF LOST PAINTINGS…
For photographs of all these locations, and more, see the GALLERY
Rome is like nowhere else on earth – layers of history and culture, the modern and the ancient, cheek by jowl. When it came to settings for my second novel, The Seeker of Lost Paintings, it seemed the only choice. A dual timeline novel, it follows the fortunes of the wealthy Montefalco family and the staff of their palatial home, between 1939 and 1943, during which time the city went from peace to war, to Nazi occupation.
I flew to Rome to scout for settings. Somewhere Italian gentility might have lived for generations, far from the capital’s frenetic heart. With broad, tree-lined streets of pretty villas, the Aventine seemed fit. The southernmost of seven ancient hills, this is where Romulus and Remus fought to found the city. Home to its oldest church, the Basilica Santa Sabina, it was a place of quiet charm, and I was sold.
Any story about Italy requires food, and the culinary arts play a central role. Though a stone’s throw from the Aventine, Testaccio seems a world away – gritty and authentic, it’s Rome’s best kept foody secret. I fell for the creamy pasta of Felice, swirled in a wheel of melting cheese, and the gelato of Giolitti: bitter chocolate, pistachio and sour cherry. Both these venerable institutions have been feeding locals since before the war.
It was only later that I discovered the fateful place these locations held in the history of Rome, a place right at the core of my story. In 1943, days after Italy signed an armistice with the Allied forces, the Nazis began a long and bloody occupation of the capital. Dozens of ordinary men, women, children - even nuns - joined with soldiers defending Rome. A fierce battle broke out in Testaccio, and shells rained on the Aventine. As tanks crawled the streets, they carried the wounded up to Santa Sabina.
At the Pyramid of Cestius fighting spilled into the green enclave of the Accatolico Cemetery, a tranquil space today, where tourists visit the graves of Keats and Shelley, and cats laze in the dappled sun. I struggle to imagine violent conflict in the avenues I walked. I’ve long been drawn to telling stories of ordinary people living through extraordinary times and here was proof - the war came right to their door. Hundreds of citizens and soldiers died, the marble tombstones bear the scars of bullets to this day.
In such times, nowhere is safe, even the holiest of the holies. As a separate nation state within the city, the Vatican feels both familiar and like nowhere else on earth. The stunning Gallery of Maps and Hall of Animals were highlights and provided me with a backdrop for several vital scenes. In the modern era, set in 1997, my second timeline reaches a climax in the evocatively named Archivio Segreto Vaticano – the so-called Secret Archive.
The story strays beyond the bounds of the Vatican and Rome, so I travelled north to the Dolomite mountains. Built on labyrinthine salt caves, Castel Prösels has stood sentinel for eight-hundred years. It’s handsome yet contains a sense of menace and inspired me to create Castel Gedächt, a crucial setting in the book. Our guide told of condemned prisoners dropped into its depths. I loved the painted frescoes and the stencilled motif of a double headed eagle, which inspired the Montefalco crest.
The peaks of the Dolomites were cold, even in the autumn sun, but I was warmed by an encounter with a herd of half-wild donkeys. They were gentle and curious, eager to nuzzle and be stroked. In the nearby town I bought my daughter a keepsake: a carved wooden foal, which also found its way into the book as a source of unexpected comfort.
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