In 1348, the Black Death sweeps through Florence, killing thousands daily. Ten young survivors seven women and three men flee the dying city for a secluded villa, where they vow to escape the horror through storytelling. Over ten days, they trade one hundred tales: of love found and lost, of cunning servants outwitting cruel masters, of holy men revealed as hypocrites and merchants who lose everything for desire. The collection opens with Ser Ciappelletto, a man so thoroughly wicked that even his crimes shock other criminals, yet who confesses to a naive monk on his deathbed and is buried as a saint. This audacity defines the Decameron: Boccaccio dismantles the sacred even as he celebrates the profane, weaving satire, tragedy, and ribald comedy into an extraordinary portrait of medieval life. The stories range from the heartbreaking (Federigo degli Alberighi, who kills his beloved falcon to feed his unrequited love) to the outrageously funny (the quick-witted servant Chichibio who turns his master's rage into laughter). Nearly seven centuries later, these tales remain vital because they capture something universal: humanity's capacity for cruelty, cleverness, and relentless hope in the face of death.
