Getting to the Green Heart of Italy
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.
Lorenzo’s Vest takes readers on a journey that feels both personal and familiar, as if you are walking beside Graham Hofmann through the quiet hills of Umbria. A British expatriate learning to live at a slower pace, Hofmann writes with warmth and curiosity, drawing together moments of humour, reflection, and affection for a place that slowly becomes home. His memoir blends stories, history, and the small details of Italian life that only reveal themselves when one stays long enough to notice.
Summary
Graham Hofmann’s Lorenzo’s Vest is much more than a simple expat diary. It delves deeply into Italy’s complex history, politics, and social fabric, challenging the notion that Italian nationhood is fully realised. At the same time, it captures the exquisite joys and inevitable frustrations of life in the “Green Heart of Italy.” From the rolling Umbrian hills to the warmth of local friendships, Hofmann takes us by the hand and guides us through his experiences as a part-time resident in the tiny hamlet of Colpalombo, near Perugia.
My Review
This book feels real. Hofmann doesn’t write like someone showing off a dream life. He admits when things confuse him, when he struggles with the language, and when bureaucracy tests his patience. His humour feels natural, not forced. You get the sense that he enjoys the challenge, even when it drives him a little mad.
He describes Umbria with warmth and simplicity. You can picture the places without needing grand words. “Countless medieval towns and villages, unending fields of sunflowers, sitting under olive trees with neighbours sipping on red wine, the scent of wild herbs, the glow of fireflies. Deep blue skies and an endless supply of hot sunny days.” It reads like someone remembering rather than performing.
Hofmann also looks beyond the surface. He writes about how Italy works—the contradictions, the pride, and the long history that shapes everyday life. His interest in bella figura, or the idea of presenting yourself well, gives a glimpse into how culture and character connect. The book feels like both a personal story and a study of place.
His stories move easily from personal to cultural, often funny, sometimes tender. One such episode involves his bemused encounter with Italian bureaucracy while attempting to buy bathroom tiles:
“The young man in the tile shop asks me for my tax code. I’m surprised I need it just to buy a few tiles… Things were going so well until the total for the tiles came to €2500. This is the point that I realise something has gone drastically wrong with my measuring or something has been totally lost in my terrible Italian. Either I have chosen the most expensive tiles in Europe, or he has placed an order for enough tiles to tile the whole town of Colpalombo!”
Hofmann also offers a wry take on local traditions and history, such as the celebration of Saint Ubaldo in nearby Gubbio:
“If you have a desire to meet Sant’Ubaldo in person, you can travel by road or by cable car. Well, the truth is that he’s not looking so good. You could say he looks his age. This incredibly old man is mummified and encased in a glass casket for viewing. Feel free to take photographs but don’t expect much of a smile from the dark, leathery, skeletal face of Ubaldo!” endless supply of hot sunny days.” It’s a romantic vision that transports the reader straight to the Umbrian landscape.
Yet, Hofmann is refreshingly honest about the complexities beneath the surface. He explores Italy’s paradoxes—the light and the darkness—with a thoughtful eye. His detailed research into Italian history and culture enriches the narrative, offering readers a nuanced understanding of the country’s “quintessential and complex DNA.” From the influence of the mafia to Catholic traditions, from politics and corruption to the famed Italian flair for style and the principle of bella figura—making a good impression—Hofmann leaves no stone unturned.
The book’s structure, weaving between personal anecdotes and broader cultural reflections, allows readers to appreciate both the intimate and the historical. Hofmann’s narrative is peppered with moments of quiet reflection and lively humour. One such episode involves his bemused encounter with Italian bureaucracy while attempting to buy bathroom tiles:
“The young man in the tile shop asks me for my tax code. I’m surprised I need it just to buy a few tiles… Things were going so well until the total for the tiles came to €2500. This is the point that I realise something has gone drastically wrong with my measuring or something has been totally lost in my terrible Italian. Either I have chosen the most expensive tiles in Europe, or he has placed an order for enough tiles to tile the whole town of Colpalombo!”
Hofmann also offers a wry take on local traditions and history, such as the celebration of Saint Ubaldo in nearby Gubbio:
“If you have a desire to meet Sant’Ubaldo in person, you can travel by road or by cable car. Well, the truth is that he’s not looking so good. You could say he looks his age. This incredibly old man is mummified and encased in a glass casket for viewing. Feel free to take photographs but don’t expect much of a smile from the dark, leathery, skeletal face of Ubaldo!”
Themes and Reflections
Lorenzo’s Vest celebrates what happens when you allow yourself to belong somewhere new. Hofmann’s reflections on faith, history, and social rituals sit beside his small daily joys—coffee with neighbours, village gossip, shared meals. The mix of personal and cultural feels natural, never forced.
He writes of local festivals with fondness: “The polenta fest, the fish fest, the spaghetti fest, the mushroom fest and the wild boar fest. Each festival lasts for at least a week with live music, food and drink each night.”
These celebrations fill the book with rhythm and laughter, a reminder that life in Italy often happens around the table.
Hofmann’s place in the story feels earned. He doesn’t watch from the sidelines; he joins in. His time in archery and running clubs, his friendships with neighbours, his small triumphs at fitting in—all of it adds up to something bigger. He shows how belonging is never about blending perfectly but about being present and open.
He also writes of contradiction with care. “Italy is a country of paradoxes—light and dark, beauty and chaos, tradition and change. To understand it, you have to accept its imperfections as part of its charm.” That sentence sums up not just Italy but the very act of starting over somewhere new.
Why You Should Read Lorenzo’s Vest
This book will speak to anyone who dreams of living somewhere foreign, or simply wants to see Italy beyond the postcard. Hofmann’s story feels like a long letter from a friend who tells you both the good and the difficult. It is part travelogue, part self-discovery, and all heart.
For readers who love authenticity, this is not a tale of fantasy but one of experience. Hofmann’s warmth, humour, and curiosity make the journey deeply human. His words remind us that the beauty of a place lies as much in its people as in its scenery.
You don’t need to move to Italy to connect with this book. It’s about finding meaning wherever you are. Hofmann’s lessons—stay curious, be kind, accept flaws—feel familiar to anyone starting something new.
As Walt Disney once said, “All our dreams come true if we have the courage to pursue them.” Lorenzo’s Vest carries that same spirit. It encourages readers to follow curiosity, to stay open, and to see how adventure often begins quietly.
This article was adapted from my original review published on Italy Writers.
