Tartufo

“pretty darn charming, which just may be better than perfect. It will be your favorite summer read.”

Does the world need another small-town-filled-with-quirky-characters-pulling-together-to-save their-future story? Maybe. If it’s Kira Jane Buxton’s Tartufo, absolutely.

The Tuscan village of Lazzarini Boscarino dates back to Medieval times. It’s picturesque, charming, and has the requisite assortment of malcontents, dreamers, ex-lovers, salt-of-the-earth types, and all-around goofballs balanced by a handful of sensible residents. Everyone sees the town is dying. They’re down to one diner/gathering spot, Bar Celebrità, which is presided over by Guiseppina and her jet fuel espresso. Tourists only stop to get directions (usually because they’re trying to get to neighboring Borghese, which is larger and thriving). Almost all of the young people move away as soon as they get the chance. Village matriarch Nona Amara’s house was swept away by a landslide, and it’s going to cost tens of thousands of euros to repair. Clearly new mayor Delizia Miccuci has her hands full. She’s also the daughter of the deceased mayor, who was in office for ages, and almost lost the election to Maurizio, a donkey who doubles as the town mascot.

It's a lot.

When local truffle hunter Giovanni and his dog Aria find a six-pound white truffle, it is potentially the answer to the town’s collective prayers. Of course, nothing is simple. But in a story like this, there is also the tacit promise that all will end well. One doesn’t go into a novel like Tartufo looking for existential malaise (that’s why we have New Wave French cinema). The task in telling a story like this is doing so in a way that the reader hasn’t seen before. With Tartufo, Buxton generally delivers.

Buxton has a number of strengths as a writer, and she wisely plays to them here. For instance, she writes great one-liners that are alternately funny or poetic. A sampling:

“He imagines she smells of a wished-upon star.”

“A line of German hikers descends the distant hills like a colorful caterpillar.”

“The goat cocks its head, ears jangling like wet socks on a line.”

“Guiseppina is on her feet. She will not be patronized by a tiny despot with the hair of a springer spaniel.”

Buxton also has super-cinematic writing style. (One can imagine pitching the film rights to Tartufo: “It’s Waking Ned Devine only instead of a lottery ticket, it’s a giant truffle!”) She’s at the top of her game writing over-the-top, semi-ridiculous sequences of events. For instance, at a truffle auction, Tommaso—not among Lazzarini Boscarino’s best and brightest—shows up in a homemade papier mache truffle outfit. In her role as mayor, Delizia is doing her best to keep everyone in line to make the event a success:

“But it is Tommaso who snags her attention. He is difficult to miss. A line of wealthy guests are waiting to take a selfie with the man cosplaying as either a truffle or a testicle, depending on your interpretation. Digital camera clicks sound out amidst muffled protestations of ‘I am a truffle!’ Tommaso shuffles awkwardly to pose near bouquets of flowers for maximum social media aesthetic. A woman in a satin dress implores him for a selfie with the banquet table in the background. Tammaso obliges, waddling his bulky papier-mache body toward the table. He is almost to the table when—top-heavy—he trips. Onlookers shriek. Missing the edge of the banquet table by inches, he falls directly onto—or rather, into—an antique Saonarola X-shaped folding chair and gets stuck in its diminutive medieval measurements.”

This is a fun and often funny read, with just enough depth to keep things interesting. The biggest obstacle may be wading through the first few chapters. It takes Buxton a little while to get the pacing right. Early on, it’s unclear whose story this really is. As readers, we’re rooting for the entire village, but one still needs a singular character of focus. In this case, Buxton takes about 100 pages to settle upon Delizia.

Those early chapters are also on the long side and introduce a large number of characters at the same time. Even with a listing of all the village residents at the back of the book (a courtesy normally reserved for sprawling Russian novels), it’s difficult to remember who is who and how they’re related to each other. Delizia and Giovanni are the most fully developed among the human residents. This bears mention only because Buxton writes delightfully from the point of view of various animals (including the aforementioned Aria, Maurizio, and a stray bumblebee).

Tartufo may not be a perfect novel. But it’s pretty darn charming, which just may be better than perfect. It will be your favorite summer read.