Very good.

This book had a little too much of Oh it's so perfect here. While it was interesting to see what the renovations uncovered in terms of what was in the house before, the details bogged down the story.

I didn't finish it. And, frankly, that's not like me at all. The book is well reviewed, and well written. And yet, somehow, I just really didn't like it. The author can truly write, and the topics were of great interest to me, but I felt the entire time like she was untouchable. She was encased in her own experience and at no point did I feel welcomed or able to understand her. Her life path never really found a commonality with my own, nor did she make me love her. In the end, I did myself the favor of forgiving myself for not liking it and set it aside. It just wasn't for me.

After a lengthy divorce, an American writer moves to Tuscany. There, between renovating the house and learning about the differences between the nations, she dreams of a new life. And that's basically the whole plot of this book, Right there, in this two sentences.

This book was a publishing success, but I struggle to find any reason behind such high ratings. You get beautiful background - Tuscany. There is actually quiet a lot of descriptions about Tuscany, despite the fact that the author (narrator) stays there only during the holidays, holiday breaks etc. She bought a large, expensive house that needed extensive renovation and yes, the book mainly describes its renovation process. And if it doesn't depict renovation, it goes to present dozens of twisted cooking recipes, boring descriptions of the town and its monuments, stalls on the streets, bricks in the walls...
It is really a cookbook wrapped in a I'm-an-independent-woman plot sold as a novel.

After reading the book, I wondered why waste paper and publish this story? I have an impression that the author published this book and made money on it only to pay for the "wonderfully amazing, sunny, perfectly beautiful" and damn expensive house. Am I right? - I do not know. Anyway, I regret the time spent reading it.

This is the first review that I have ever written on here. I felt that I needed to share my opinion on this book. I had never, until today given up on a book. No matter how bad that I thought a book was, I read it until the end. I cannot say that any longer. By page 50 of this trope I had to give up. It is page after page of a beyond rich person talking about her rich life and the difficulties she has in finding and rehabbing her summer house. Rich people moaning about how bad they have it...and a DIY book on fixing up homes to me does not make an even poor novel. Skip it, life is too short.

I loved the parts about the house and gardens restoration, and hearing about their adjustments to living in another country. But the author lost me on a street-by-street walking tour and a side-trip into philosophy/theology that just felt weird. I'll re-read, but I'll skip right on past those parts in the future.

Full review: http://jenn.booklikes.com/post/111101...

FUCKIN VIBES! I don’t know, there was something about this book that totally captivated me. It is literally just a woman’s account of cooking, looking out the window, working on her house, etc over the summer but it gave me wanderlust like I’ve never had before.

Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes is a beautifully written memoir that captures the essence of living in Tuscany, Italy. It chronicles Mayes’ journey of buying and restoring an old villa in the Italian countryside, a decision that leads her to a new chapter in life filled with discovery, both of herself and the enchanting region. The book explores themes of change, renewal, and the unexpected beauty that life offers when one embraces the unfamiliar. Through vivid descriptions of the landscape, the food, the culture, and the people, Mayes transports readers into a world where every moment feels rich with possibility.

What I find particularly compelling about Under the Tuscan Sun is how it conveys the deep connection between the author and her new home. The villa, with all its imperfections, becomes a symbol of personal growth and transformation. Mayes' reflections on the process of renovation, both of the house and of her life, are deeply moving. It’s a story about embracing life's challenges and finding joy in the small, simple things. The book's lush descriptions of Tuscany make it a perfect escape, and its exploration of the healing power of new beginnings reminds me of the importance of taking risks and seeking beauty in every moment.

If you have seen the movie and you are expecting the book to be even remotely the same, I'm telling you now....it's not.
Under the Tuscan Sun is basically a woman's journal about buying and refurbishing a million dollar estate in Italy, her travels through the surrounding region, the food and wine she experiences, the people. I found myself falling asleep quite frequently while reading this. Not necessarily because it was boring, but because Mayes is so descriptive, I would actually feel myself in a warm, glowing, Italian afternoon and I would feel the need to join all the Italians for a siesta.
I'm glad I read it, but it's probably not a book for everyone.

While i thoroughly enjoyed the book, i WILL say that its not what i expected since i had seen and enjoyed the movie first. most of the story is completely different than the movie.....but what bothered me is that there was no real story plot here besides the fixing up of the house over time. as she fixes the house, she fixes her life, and in the end "turns italian" and finds where she belongs (not that she seemed out of place at the beginning). I guess i was slightly disappointed in 2 things: 1) the lack of an overarching story platform to guide the reader and keep them engaged and 2) the replacement of any type of drama with details details details on everything from the varnish of the yellow outdoor table to the multiple references to various streets in cortona or her neighbor or the nuns who fix lace. while Mayes paints a vividly gorgeous picture of Tuscany, and, specifically, her house in Cortona, i was left wanting more than just her insights and detail....

having delved into the writing of memoir myself, i know that the audience remains engaged when you deal with difficult aspects of yourself. they need to trust the author...and while i trusted Mayes and would love to meet her, anything personal NOT having to do with the house (her divorce, relationship to Ed, her daughter, her life OUTSIDE of the home restoration) was pretty much skipped over.

maybe some of her other books gives you a better idea of her emotional state going into that project.... overall i rather enjoyed the portrait of tuscany and confess i would like to do the same thing, but i just wish i got to know the author better at the end of it.

What a complicated time to read this book: the world wracked by COVID, the US convulsed with protests over yet another racist murder, by cops, of a Black man. So: Tuscany. I’d say this was a guilty pleasure (I was certainly a bit embarrassed to be reading it, this favorite of book clubs and ladies-who-lunch), but Mayes surprised me. She’s a real writer, and her languid depictions of her idylls in Tuscany are truly transporting. It’s house, food, and travel porn of the highest order. The house abounds with every kind of dolce vita set dressing: a long table in the field, set for dinner with a colorful cast of friendly Italian neighbors; a scraggly stand of trees that surprisingly and magically yields the most delicious pignoli. Antique linens, draped casually on every burnished surface, redolent of linseed oil and warm Tuscan light. A miraculous fresco, uncovered, hidden beneath a painted-over dining room wall. Mayes’s life in Italy is enchanting, and enchanted. I think of my friends currently toiling in academia, enhancing their adjunct salaries with retail and catering side hustles, and Mayes’s good fortune, her “dividing her time” between San Francisco and Tuscany, feels like a bitter pill. Maybe especially now, in this historical moment. But at the same time: those soft Italian nights. The fruit, the wine. Maybe especially now, in this historical moment.

When the temperature is hovering in the teens, and the only time you've seen the sky in weeks is when the clouds part to let the snow undo all your hard shoveling yet again, this is the book to pull off your shelf. The plot, such as it is, is simple. The author and her boyfriend buy a villa in Tuscany and spend their summers there, renovating, landscaping, and drinking lots and lots of wine.

Nothing too interesting there, certainly not enough to base a book on. But the way they renovate, the fascinating things they uncover as they dig out their neglected land (Etruscans and Romans abound), and the sensuous, voluptuous, abandoned descriptions of the food, the smells, the village, the old roman roads, the olives, the grapes, the colors, the people -- we are there with the author, resting on the patio and sipping some exotic beverage after a hard day's work on the vine-covered terraces, while a delightful Polish mason and a charming Italian contractor uncover an abandoned fresco in the dining room.

And always, always, the sun. Dappled through leaves, shifting on the multilayered stucco walls, baking the old bricks stacked near the road. That Tuscan sun somehow manages to warm me through the pages of the book.

This isn't like the movie. It is sensuous, yes, but not sensual. It describes lush fruit and verdant hillsides with as much ardor as another book might describe a love affair. Nothing to worry about here; I'd recommend it to my own mother. To read on a cold, wintery day.