🩷🩷🩷 (3 Hearts)
If you had handed me a book about a truffle and asked whether I wanted to read it, I probably would have laughed and politely declined. It's simply not a premise I would ever gravitate toward. But I was missing Italy, and the promise of a charming small town trying to save itself sounded irresistible. That was enough to get me to open the first page, and I'm genuinely glad I did.
The greatest strength of Tartufo is its language. Kira Jane Buxton writes with an extraordinary richness that turns description into an experience. Every page is filled with observations about the Italian culture, the forests, the earth beneath your feet, and the rhythms of village life. The prose almost becomes another character in the novel, adding personality and atmosphere to every scene. It's the kind of writing that encourages you to slow down instead of racing toward the next plot point. I found myself lingering over beautiful passages simply because they were a pleasure to read.
Equally memorable is the novel's celebration of community. The town is populated with an eccentric collection of people whose lives intersect in funny, frustrating, and ultimately touching ways. Beneath all of the humor is a story about relationships, forgiveness, resilience, and what happens when people rally around something larger than themselves. It's messy in the way real communities often are, and that felt authentic.
The animals deserve their own recognition. Aria, the gifted truffle dog, completely stole my heart. She's not simply a working dog but a devoted companion who cares for her owner just as faithfully as she performs her remarkable job. Then there's Maurizio, the beloved donkey who somehow almost becomes mayor. If you've ever wondered whether a donkey birthday party held inside a neighborhood bar could be the perfect ending to a novel, this book confidently argues that it can. Those moments of absurdity are part of what gives Tartufo its charm.
The novel isn't without its flaws. There are a lot of characters to keep track of, and not all of them feel equally necessary. At times, the story seems to wander through subplots that don't contribute much to the larger narrative, making the beginning feel slower than it needs to be. It takes patience before all of the threads begin coming together.
Still, I came away appreciating Tartufo for exactly what it is: a book that surprised me. It introduced me to a setting, style, and story I never would have chosen for myself, and that's one of the greatest gifts reading can offer. Not every book has to become a favorite to be worthwhile. Sometimes it's enough that it expands your idea of what stories can be. For that reason alone, I'd recommend Tartufo to readers looking for something delightfully unusual, beautifully written, and unlike anything else on their shelves.