'The Land Where Lemons Grow' - Helena Attlee

When I first saw Helena Attlee's The Land Where Lemons Grow lying on a table in a book shop it was the middle of summer and I fell in love simply with the cover. On reading the blurb and realising it was about Italy I only fell further, having been to Rome last year and remembering well how captivating Italy can be. However, the book ended up sitting in the middle of a pile of unread books, where it may have spent years being considered as a 'reference' book, until I happened to finish a book on a surprisingly sunny day, after what seemed like weeks of rain. This book just seemed to stand out; the perfect conditions, you could say, just as it takes the perfect conditions to grow lemons, I found out.

I am fully aware that I might have to work hard to sell this book to you. It is, after all, non-fiction; the first non-fiction book I have written a review about so far. I had to convince myself, when reading the first page, to continue. However, by page five I had laughed out loud at a quip about a Seville orange, and realised Helena Attlee already had me hooked. Her passion for the citrus industry is strikingly obvious and incredibly addictive to read. It came as no surprise when I found out that Attlee specialises in writing about the cultural history of Italian gardens, contributing to numerous magazines. She has managed to capture the various aspects of the citrus industry (who knew there were so many?) making lemons seem more like works of art than simply fruit to be eaten, She delves into the history of the citrus fruits grown in the many diverse regions of Italy; the science behind the countless varieties and hybrids, including the affect just a few degrees in temperature can have; the art and literature produced by those in admiration of the fruits; and the brutal business side behind the beauty. Attlee's personal anecdotes are what really bring the book together, turning what could have been a dull book of facts into a vivid story of travel and experiences. 

Her travels through Italy begin when Attlee first experiences the land where lemons grow, travelling on a sleeper train through the Italian Riviera thirty-five years ago: 

"...there were lemons growing beside the station platform, their dark leaves and bright fruit set against a backdrop of nothing but sea. I never forgot those trees..." She goes on to introduce the Medici's citrus collection in Florence, once the finest in Europe, where she begins her search for casts of various citrus fruit of all shapes and sizes before travelling to the Amalfi Coast. Attlee continues from here to Sicily, starting in Palermo where she describes how the citrus industry grew here and the mafia's violent influence on this expanding market. In Catania in Sicily she explores the growth of blood oranges, a fruit proven to prevent obesity and improve health, the best of which can only be grown at the base of Mount Etna, making it more expensive than other more widely available 'blond' oranges.

Moving away from Sicily to a more regulated industry where the mafia have little influence, Attlee introduces chinotti, which is grown in Liguria. She defends the fruit from being called the "runt of the citrus litter", and describes her conversion to candied chinotti, after tasting some fresh from the factory. She moves further up the country to Northern Italy, starting in Lake Garda which used to be known for its multitude of lemon houses before disease, floods, and the First World War left the Garda citrus industry in tatters. From here, she travels west to Ivrea, where oranges are thrown rather than grown. It is home to the Battle of the Oranges, a festival which marks the end of the carnival season, in which oranges are pelted as weapons in a lighthearted war on the street. In direct contrast, Attlee goes on the deep south of the country where the most valuable citrus fruit is grown. In Calabria, a place inflicted with natural disaster and rough terrain, the bergamot is produced and its essential oils extracted to be used by the perfume industry, a process that has been taking place for decades. The same location is home to the Diamante citron, a citrus fruit that in its most perfect form becomes not only expensive but also plays a part in religion, as Jews use it during the celebration of Sukkoth.

There are not nearly enough adjectives in the English dictionary to describe how much I love Helena Attlee's journey of Italy through citrus fruit. Before reading the book, my vision of Italy had been that of a tourist; busy with foreigners, queues for the sites, beggars on the streets and the air so hot it engulfed you. Attlee has opened my eyes to a more authentic Italy, her own unique experience after working there for nearly thirty years, away from stereotypes and tourism. It is bursting full of adjectives, so much so you can almost smell the lemon groves she writes so passionately about. There is no denying Atlee has a gift for story telling; if she wrote a book about pencils, I'd be inclined to read it. There is even a recipe for homemade limoncello using more alcohol than tourists would be accustomed to. Enjoy!