Roman Holidays, and Others
At the age when most men slow down, William Dean Howells set off for the Mediterranean, and the result is this gently magnificent collection of travel essays. Beginning in Madeira, where the island's steep terraced hillsides and subtropical light welcome him like a prelude, Howells carries readers through the villages of Italy and beyond its borders, recording what he sees with the same careful attention he once brought to Boston drawing rooms and Midwestern fortunes. Here is a traveler who notices everything: the way light falls on a Tuscan hillside at dusk, the particular dignity of an Italian official, the flowers cascading from a Madeiran balcony. His prose has no urgency, and that is precisely its luxury. These are essays written by a man who has earned the right to wander slowly, to reflect without deadline, to find meaning in a vendor's cry or a church's shadow. For readers who prefer their travel writing with patience and literary grace, who want to sit beside a cultivated companion rather than race through itinerary, this collection offers exactly that gift: the pleasure of going nowhere in particular, in excellent company.
