No, it is not a story set in the 1940s, nor under Franchism. The Scent of Lemon Leaves is a modern story, fictionalized enough to make it tolerable, but which reminds us how this plague has not yet been completely defeated. And although the scent of the lemon leaves in the title makes us think of a candid love story born in an orchard, in reality it hides the rotten stink of evil that camouflages itself as good.
Traveling by train is the perfect time for me to abandon myself completely to reading, the monotonous lull of the locomotive, the chatter of unknown voices in the thin corridors, are the perfect background to immerse myself into a literary adventure. And if the noises are too loud and annoying, as happens lately, with inappropriate phone calls or even more inappropriate fights, then you can arm yourself with the dear old faithful mp3 and find the right soundtrack *.
Trains are becoming faster and faster so I can hardly start and finish a book on the go as in the past, and I must admit that I miss it a bit. But on the journey to Venice a couple of springs ago, I managed to find a private seat and complete half of the novel I had brought with me, then finishing the second half on the return trip.
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