Los Angeles Times
By Merle Rubin
Special to The Times
April 14 2003

Barely five months after the earthshaking events of Sept. 11, 2001, "at a time when the world never seemed more chaotic, more savage, more precious, or more fragile," the New York-based writer Francine Prose felt that the place in the world she most wanted to visit was Sicily.

Having been there once before, Prose saw this ancient volcanic island, the scene of so much mythology, history, fertility, beauty, violence and strife, as "a place where the most lush magnificence, the most sybaritic pleasures console us for -- without ever lying about -- the harshness of existence."

Novelist and essayist Prose has long taken a keen interest in art, architecture, photography and cultural history. Not surprisingly, she proves to be a particularly knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide to Sicily.

She begins by plunging us into its mythic past: Sicily is where Odysseus was shipwrecked and rescued by the king's daughter, Nausicaa; where lovely Persephone, daughter of the fertility goddess Demeter, was carried off by the lord of the underworld, Pluto; and where the archetypal inventor Daedalus landed after losing his son Icarus, who fell to his death from flying too close to the sun. Homer called it the Island of the Sun.

In many ways, Prose notes, Sicily's long (post-mythological) history is a history of being conquered: by Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Goths, Vandals, Byzantines, Saracens, Normans, Swabians, the Spanish and the French, "all of whom would inflict great losses and bestow even greater gifts on the conquered country." Life here, Prose feels, is marked by a resilience that enables people to find joy and pleasure amid pain and tragedy.

In some of the towns she visits, the people are warm, friendly, helpful, informative; in other towns, the visitor is made to feel the object of a silent yet menacingly palpable hostility. "But if I were asked to pick one constant, one quality that seems dependable, immutable, endlessly available, I'd say that it was intensity. For nothing in Sicily seems withheld, done halfway, restrained or suppressed."

Prose, however, is well aware of the danger of "being too thoroughly beguiled by the island's scenic wonders, too easily charmed and deceived by its romantic allure." This is the perennial problem that besets both casual tourist and seasoned traveler: One's impressions may not be reliable indications of truth because it is all too easy to mistake surfaces for depths.

In Prose's case, this pitfall is generally avoided. Although hardly a travel writer on the level of Jan Morris, V.S. Naipaul or Paul Theroux, let alone Rebecca West, Prose is certainly more knowledgeable and more perceptive than many who venture into this deceptively easy-seeming field.

Visiting the Villa Romana del Casale, a 4th century Roman mansion replete with elaborate mosaics depicting the luxurious (indeed, uncannily Southern Californian) lifestyle of its owners, Prose aptly describes it as "the product of a culture that was blissfully unable to see the writing on the wall.

Unlike the Norman palaces scattered throughout most of the island, thickly walled structures that reflect the concerns of a society based on ... the continual need for protection and fortification, the Roman villa gives no indication that its inhabitants believed they would be called up to do much more than take hot and cold baths, rub themselves (or have themselves rubbed, by servants) with perfumed oils, exercise, play games, listen to music, have love affairs, hunt, and fish." This was the life "which they believed would continue uninterrupted despite the fact that the empire was already showing fault lines.... "

Prose also displays a feel for the way that the past shapes life in present-day Sicily. In some of the smaller, less frequently visited towns, she senses a strong sense of community: Not only do the townsfolk all seem to know one another's business, but they also seem to know a lot about their collective past: "You need only ask a simple question about a building, a painting, an archaeological site, a historical incident, and the person you asked will smile, light up, and launch into a long, animated explanation. People seem delighted to tell you the history of a place, a history to which they feel intimately connected."

But there are other small towns, particularly in the island's interior, where Prose experiences something very different: "Everyone [here] knows everyone else -- and no one knows you. No one wants to know you. And the same goes for your car.... Perhaps it's just frustration and paranoia, but after a while it seems that they're looking at us ... and it's not exactly friendly.... "

>From the robust, satisfying flavors of a Sicilian meal to the potent allure of a 5th century Greek statue of a beautiful young man, Prose vividly conveys the island's strong appeal. Oddly, however, especially in considering its troubled history, she does not seem to take into account the fact that for so much of that history, Sicily (unlike Athens, for instance) was ruled by kings and tyrants....

Not only is it difficult to read the depths below the surface, but sometimes, as this episode reminds us, even surfaces can be unreadable.

Los Angeles Times: Seeking solace on 'Island of the Sun'
http://www.calendarlive.com/printedition/calendar/cl-et-book14apr14.story