A Review of The Lost Garden by Angela Petch

Wendy reviews books set in Italy. For more articles like this one, subscribe to her Substack channel Italy Writers and get in touch via Sunflower Publishing.

I went into The Lost Garden knowing roughly what I was getting; Italy, a hidden garden, wartime history, but I didn’t expect how quietly it would settle in and stay there.

The story centres on Tina, who grows up in a decaying castle called Montesecco sometime before the Second World War. Her mother died giving birth to her, and that’s that. No questions allowed. Her father shuts the subject down completely. So Tina grows up surrounded by stone walls, rules, and silence, with only Allegra, the maid, as a kind of constant presence.

Then one day (and this feels very believable rather than contrived) Tina gets bored. She follows a stray cat. She notices a ring in the wall. She pulls. It opens. And suddenly she’s somewhere she’s never been before.

A garden. Wild, neglected, completely hidden.

It’s overgrown with ivy and roses, there’s a fountain still running, and herbs everywhere. It smells alive. That detail matters. This isn’t a decorative garden. It’s a working one, even in ruin.

When Tina tells Allegra, the reaction isn’t delight. It’s fear. Allegra tells her never to mention it to her father. Ever. This was her mother’s garden. And somehow, although no one will say exactly how, it’s tied to her death.

From there, the garden becomes Tina’s secret. She tends it quietly. She feels watched over, guided. Whether that’s grief, imagination, or something more isn’t spelled out neatly, which I appreciated. Her mother’s voice appears in fragments throughout the book, reflective and aching rather than sentimental.

The structure of the novel is interesting too. It opens after the war, in 1946, with a group of people summoned back to the castle. There’s a sense that something unresolved is about to surface. Only later does the story return to Tina at sixteen, before everything changes.

Once the war arrives, the tone shifts. Slowly at first. Then completely.

Italy under Fascism isn’t softened here. Choices are dangerous. Neutrality isn’t really an option. Tina becomes involved with local partisans, and the risks are real especially with a father who remains loyal to the regime. There are scenes that are difficult to read, and they’re meant to be. Violence is sudden and final. People disappear. Communities fracture.

What kept grounding the story for me was how ordinary life keeps pushing through anyway. Friendships. Small moments of freedom. Swimming in the river. Working in the garden. Cooking.

The sections on herbs and plants stood out. Not in a showy way, but quietly. Rue, calendula, malva, fennel. Used for medicine, for flavour, for preservation. These aren’t decorative details. They’re survival details. The same goes for the recipes at the end, attributed to Allegra. They feel earned, not added on.

The garden itself never becomes a gimmick. It stays practical, dangerous, comforting, symbolic, sometimes all at once. It changes as Tina changes. It’s restored slowly, imperfectly.

The book ends with one final reflection from Tina’s mother. Not dramatic. Just tired, loving, present. I liked that restraint.

There are quotes at the start of each chapter, which I don’t always love in novels, but here they work. One from Saadi stuck with me: “A garden is a delight to the eye and a solace for the soul.” That’s as close as the book gets to summing itself up, and even then, it doesn’t push the point.

This isn’t a sweeping, cinematic war novel. It’s quieter than that. It’s about what people protect when everything else becomes unsafe. Sometimes that’s a person. Sometimes it’s a belief. Sometimes it’s a garden hidden behind a door no one is meant to open.

I finished it feeling like I’d spent time somewhere real.

Why I’d Recommend It

If you like historical fiction that pays attention to daily life rather than grand gestures, this will suit you. If you’re drawn to stories about women growing into themselves under pressure, it will land. And if you’ve ever liked the idea of a secret place that changes you simply by existing, this book understands that impulse very well.

For more book reviews from Wendy:
In the Virtual Company of Kathryn Gauci
Preserving Italy Celebrates Heritage Through Food
A Life Rewritten from Sicily to Cornwall and Back Again