Interview with Anna Lucia and Writing the Women History Forgot

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.

Every so often, a conversation reminds you why stories matter—not just as entertainment, but as vessels of memory, as bridges between generations. That’s how it felt speaking with Anna Lucia, whose debut novel Broken Madonna offers far more than a beautifully told tale. It’s a tapestry of interwoven lives and histories, steeped in silence, faith, and the quiet resilience of forgotten women. As Anna spoke, it was clear that this book had been lived before it was written. And reading it feels a little like receiving a secret someone finally had the courage to tell.

An Echo from the Apennines

Anna Lucia grew up between two worlds—British suburbia and the Apennine mountains of her parents’ Italian homeland. Her summers were filled with the scent of sun-scorched earth and the soft cadence of dialect spoken by older relatives, many of them women who had endured lives of hardship and quiet dignity.

“I never forgot their voices,” she told me. “Even when I returned to England, even when I tried to fit into a life that felt worlds apart—those women stayed with me.”It’s from this wellspring of memory that Broken Madonna emerged—not as an autobiography, but as homage. An imagined story grounded in inherited truths.

The Girl on the Cover

The cover of Broken Madonna is haunting: a young girl glancing sideways, her expression unreadable, her presence luminous.

“She’s Elisabetta,” Anna said. “We wanted to capture something fragile, something watchful.”

Painted by Patrick Knowles, the image is split by a jagged white line—a subtle metaphor for fracture, both emotional and historical. Nestled into the background is the landscape of rural Italy, a place that breathes through every page of the book.

“It had to feel like Italy,” Anna added. “Not just look like it—but carry the weight of it.”

At the Heart: Two Girls, One Vision

The story begins in an orphanage. Elisabetta, just eleven years old, claims to see Madonna. Her closest friend, fifteen-year-old Adelina, doesn’t believe her. And from this fracture—between belief and doubt, devotion and disillusion—spills the emotional force of the novel.

“Elisabetta is delicate, idealistic. Adelina is grounded, fiercely loyal, and slightly lost. Their relationship carries all the complications of girlhood—love, jealousy, betrayal.”

Anna spoke of Adelina with deep empathy. “She’s the one I felt closest to. She’s the girl who’s overlooked, who no one expects much from. But there’s more to her. Always more.”

Faith in the Background, Not the Foreground

Though Broken Madonna revolves around visions of the Virgin Mary, it’s not a religious novel. It is, instead, a meditation on how belief functions in communities devastated by war, poverty, and loss.

“I was raised Catholic,” Anna said, “and I understand how faith can both comfort and control. I didn’t want to write a polemic. I wanted to show the many shades within the Church.”

That includes the quietly radical Sister Augusta, who longs for a renaissance of women’s roles in Catholic life, and the more traditionalist Padre Bosco, a complex figure who exerts influence over Adelina’s fate.

“He’s not evil,” Anna added. “But he’s a man shaped by a system. He represents something institutional—rigid, self-preserving. Still, even he surprises us.”

Remembering the Silenced

What lingers after finishing Broken Madonna isn’t just the plot—it’s the people. The forgotten girls. The quiet martyrs. The women who nursed hope in the margins.

“I wrote this book to give voice to those who’ve been left out of the historical record,” Anna explained. “Especially the women of rural Italy—women who endured, who believed, who resisted in their own small, powerful ways.”

There’s an unflinching tenderness in how Anna portrays poverty, motherhood, and post-war trauma. Her prose is lyrical but grounded, steeped in the textures of real lives.

This isn’t the Italy of postcards. It’s the Italy of scars, of memory, of faith carried like a stone in the chest.

A Self-Made Literary Path

Anna’s journey to publication wasn’t linear. Despite early interest from agents, she felt Broken Madonna didn’t quite fit the industry mould. Too literary for commercial houses. Too commercial for the literary ones.

“I could have waited forever,” she said. “But I wanted this story in the world.”

So she took matters into her own hands. With a background in marketing and communications, she self-published with professional polish—enlisting editors, designers, and printers to ensure her book stood shoulder to shoulder with the best.

“You wouldn’t know it wasn’t traditionally published,” she said, matter-of-factly. And she’s right—you wouldn’t.

From Page to Screen?

Still, Anna dreams big. “I’d love to see Broken Madonna adapted for film,” she admitted, eyes brightening. “There’s a visual richness to the story. And I’ve always loved Italian neorealism—the kind of cinema that captures everyday lives with such poignancy.”She even launched the novel with a screening of Cinema Paradiso—a perfect pairing.

Success Without Compromise

When asked what success means to her, Anna was unequivocal:

“It’s about connection. If one reader finishes this book and feels changed, that’s enough. That’s more than enough.”

And yet she’s built something lasting—an author platform, a growing readership, a legacy of storytelling that bridges continents and generations.

Advice for Aspiring Writers

Her advice to other writers?

“Don’t wait for someone to tell you you’re good enough. If you’ve written a story worth telling, trust that. And surround yourself with others who understand the journey.”

She speaks fondly of her writing group—a circle of women who have been meeting since 2017. “They kept me going,” she said. “They reminded me this was possible.”

A Story That Endures

Broken Madonna is not a loud book, but it’s a powerful one. It doesn’t shout its importance—it earns it. With grace, grit, and deep emotional intelligence, Anna Lucia has given us a novel that honours the unseen, the unheard, and the unyielding.

This is a story that needed to be told. And Anna was the one meant to tell it.