These are letters that will probably never be sent, that tell a tale of love, of rejection and of tenderness mixed with dreams and childhood memories. Letters from the place where Bianca has chosen to hide from her friend, so as not to hear or see her... Letters that arouse the sleeping phantasms of a child of our times; her love for her father, incestual temptation towards the mother, terrifying dreams, family bliss, secret loves, disturbing fears, the hardships of a convent education, the menacing wonders of travelling in far-off Guatemala, lovers, abortions, schooldays, a literary passion for Emily Dickinson, the ever-renewed pleasure in Verdi. Maraini herself said ‘I worked for four years on this novel and put in a lot of things that are close to my heart.’ A novel composed in a sensual and complex style that is pleasurable to the very end.

‘Do you remember Alda’s solid plates with red borders and the way her teeth would protrude in a quiet withdrawn smile as she offered you food? All the tiresome trivia of life — quarrels traffic money work used to fall away when I arrived at that table set so firmly on the ground with its white tablecloth shining plates and cut-glass decanter filled with water. And the way she cooks everything gently simmering it so that the food is transformed and all the flavours mingle together — the smell of pork fat fried bacon onions lemon verbena all dissolved in the steam rising from the pot. With the powerful hands of someone born and bred in the mountains Alda ladles the red-hot stew on to each plate asking «More? More?» and her shy generous smile tells you that it’s not just the stew that is being ladled on to your plate but the most vulnerable part of herself for you to savour appreciatively to the last morsel.’ p13