He was baffled to know that apricot trees existed in, of all places, our orchard. On late afternoons, when there was nothing to do in the house, Mafalda would ask him to climb a ladder with a basket and pick those fruit that were almost blushing with shame, she said […] I shall never forget watching him from my table as he climbed the small ladder wearing his red bathing trunks, taking forever to pick the ripest apricots.
Call Me By Your Name, André Aciman
I read Call Me By Your Name on a cold December night in Edinburgh, my back pressed up against the radiator as cakes for an event baked in shifts. I held my paperback in my left hand as I whisked batter with my right, and thought about the story for long weeks afterwards. Aciman transported me away from the dark grey night outside, straight to the Ligurian coast, fragrant with herbs, and bathed in August sunshine. Though the focus is on the relationship between Elio and Oliver, the book is also the recollection of a summer spent on the Italian Riviera. It is about lazy, languid afternoons, about bike rides that end in scoops of gelato, about glasses of apricot juice and soft-boiled eggs enjoyed at the breakfast table, about the scent of rosemary in the garden.
Geographically, Liguria is a thin strip of land along the north-west Italian coast, between the sea and the hills. The region is rich in lush fruit and vegetables, especially in the summer. Famous for its olive oil, and for the herbs that grow wild along the hills, it is also home to peach and apricot trees that provide a generous bounty in the summer. I have travelled along this coast a handful of times, but have yet to spend more than a night or two there. I barely know it, and I don’t speak Italian, but as I closed Call Me By Your Name, I felt a strong desire to get on a plane and move there.
It’s relatively rare to read a book that is genuinely life-altering. Life-enhancing, certainly, but life-altering is something else entirely. I left Elio and Oliver, and their transformative summer romance, wanting to be a better, braver, more open person. And, in an impulse that will be a surprise to no one, wanting to eat plate after plate of herb-rich, summery Italian food.