As I near my 1,000th book review on this blog, I’m finally understanding a bit more about my own reading tastes. I think it’s safe to say that the 1960s are my favorite decade for fiction. I mean honestly, just look at this list of authors:

• Isaac Asimov
• Arthur C. Clarke
• Roald Dahl
• Lionel Davidson
• Ian Fleming
• Geoffrey Household
• John Le’Carre
• Ian McCallister (still his early stuff)
• Robert Van Gulik

Although Robert Crichton only wrote two novels, I’m adding him to my list of favorites following this, The Secret of Santa Vittoria, an amazing book set in rural Italy during the German occupation of WWII.

When I saw the book on the shelf at a thrift store, I recognized his name from The Great Imposter, his first book, a nonfiction piece about a con artist in the 1950s not unlike Frank Abagnale of Catch Me If You Can fame. Having greatly enjoyed that first book, I thought I’d try this one out too. I was blown away by his writing and the depth of characterization—and I learned only moments ago that this book spent 50 weeks on the NYT Best Sellers list. No surprise there!

I’m not normally drawn to actionless drama, but this book carried enough humor and intrigue that it kept the thing afloat for me early on. The more I read, the deeper I went into this quaint Italian setting and the less I wanted to leave.

The setting is the story, the village of Santa Vittoria, famous throughout Europe for the richness of its wine which they move annually in the millions of bottles, picked and pressed and bottled by hand (and foot). Crichton describes what it’s like to be from the village:

One arrives here through the natural passage of the womb. One leaves in a box of wood through the Fat Gate out to the cemetery beyond the walls of the town just above the vineyards on the terraces. In between those times you tend the vines and grow the grapes and make the wine and live the best way you can. (16)

When the Germans occupy Italy, a Captain von Prum is sent to the village to capture the wine for the Motherland. Shortly before his arrival, however, Italian spies find out the plot to steal their wine, so the villagers under command of a new mayor, the bumbling Bombolini (who turns out to be quite a leader), devise a plan to hide 70% of the bottled wine.

The remainder of the book is a battle of wits between the Germans and the villagers, between Captain von Prum and Mayonr Bombolini, between von Prum’s ingenious “Bloodless Victory” plan and Bombolini’s Machiavellian “Creative Cooperation.” The reader knows everything, and it makes for a very fun read. About the mayor’s draw to Machieaelli, Crichton writes:

What Fabio found was that Bombolini was no longer Bombolini at all but someone else who had lived 500 years before him. When faced with any problem or any decision, Bombolini would not become alarmed by it but would go back to The Prince and The Discourses and have Nicoló Machiavelli provide him with a proper answer. It was from these books and this man that he drew his wisdom and his assurance and his poise and his strength. Bambolini was only a face and a body and a mouth for The Master. All of the answers weren’t in the books, of course, but the important thing was the Bombolini felt they were and, believing that, he had no fear and suffered no qualms. (88-89)

This Machiavellian trend continues throughout the book, but it’s the perfect groundwork for showing how the villagers could succeed in their treachery against such domineering enemies. At one point, for example, we read of Bombolini’s relationship with the Germans:

Bombolini was putting down the rules that would guide his policy with the Germans. There had been many rules and ideas, but he had reduced them to three.
All men can be reached by flattery, even God can. (What, after all, is prayer?)
All men can be led to believe the lie they want to believe.
All men can be corrupted, each in his own way. (237)

And so the villagers learn to relate to and even befriend the German soldiers. They smile at them and play cards with them. They hand over 300,000 bottles of wine to them and even enjoy it together with them long into the night. And through it all, every villager lies. Much to the chagrin and confusion of Captain von Prum—who knows that more wine must be hidden somewhere—the entire village maintains the same lie throughout the occupation, even to the point of torture and death.

It’s this torture and death which affirms that this book is not always humorous and pleasant. It has its darker sides, and the torture performed by a pair of sadistic Gestapo agents had me reeling. The murder of a surprise “martyr” who wouldn’t give up the secret was intense too—and I love this line he says to his compatriots before he’s shot through the heart:

“It’s the one problem of being a martyr. You never know for certain if they put you in the book.” (356)

The Secret of Santa Vittoria also contains some language and sex, the latter of which was surprising, since I made a note on page 130: “I’m 130 pages in, and we’ve met only 3 women: 1) Angela, Mayor Bombolini’s daughter and a total foil character. 2) Mrs. Bombolini, an angry old hag and another foil. And 3) Gabriella, a prostitute (who doesn’t stick around).” But then came Constanzia Pietrosanto (the Malatesta), a main character and a courageous one, but another female character that’s essentially a sex object to all who know her—albeit “smart” and out of the other villagers’ league. Of Constanzia, Crichton writes:

To attempt to tell what lies behind a woman’s beauty is a stupid effort. The very effort destroys the beauty when wishes to re-create. There was one thing about the Malatesta, however, that can be described. Von Prum, when he wrote about it, called it a “dark brightness,” and then once he called it a “bright darkness.” Maybe they are the same. But the thing of her beauty was the contradiction of herself. (343)

I write all this about the women characters in this book to say that, perhaps, not many female readers would enjoy reading this male-heavy book. I don’t know. I could be wrong. Fifty weeks is a long time.

All told, I absolutely loved this 400+ page novel. I know nothing about publishers and reprints, etc., but I hope this thing enjoys a long life. If it’s not still in print, I highly recommend you find a copy somewhere, for it’s a pleasant piece of WWII fiction that shouldn’t be forgotten. As an added bonus for me, its wartime-Italy setting reminds me of my paternal grandfather and the time he spent over there during the war. I feel like I know him just a touch better having “met” some of the locals who suffered through the same war in the same region. Ain’t fiction great?

©2023 E.T.