Big truffle unearthed in curious Italian town

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 07/03/2026 (215 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Kira Jane Buxton’s first two novels, Hollow Kingdom and Feral Creatures, turned the post-apocalyptic genre on its head. Her new one, Tartufo (Grand Central, 352 pages, $25), is something else entirely.

It’s set in a tiny Italian village that is going through a bit of turmoil. Well, okay, a lot of turmoil: the tourists have practically vanished, the restaurant has closed and in the recent election, the mayor narrowly beat out an elderly donkey.

But things are about to change… because of a very special truffle. The problem is, nobody knows whether things are going to get much better, or much worse.

This is an extremely funny book; Buxton’s debut novel was shortlisted for the Thurber Prize for American Humour, and this one’s even funnier. And it’s character-based humour — this isn’t some sort of sitcom, it’s a delightfully eccentric story about delightfully eccentric people going about their daily lives. And it is absolutely wonderful.

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Let’s take a quick trip — specifically to Gravesend, a neighbourhood in Brooklyn where, in the mid-1980s, a woman murders her husband. Under the circumstances (he’s not a very nice guy), we can’t really blame her; and, as we follow her over the next 20-odd years, we see how this one spur-of-the-moment decision (or perhaps a rage-induced lashing-out?) charts the course of her life.

William Boyle’s Saint of the Narrows Street (Soho Press, 448 pages, $27) is one of those novels that feels so real it’s like we’re part of the story. His Brooklyn is so vividly realized that we can practically hear and smell it. His characters are so carefully drawn, in such precise detail, that we feel like we are in the room with them. A remarkable story, beautifully told.

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While we’re in a time-travelling frame of mind, let’s jump into Picks and Shovels (Tor, 400 pages, $26), the third Martin Hench novel by Cory Doctorow.

Martin’s a forensic accountant, which might not sound like the most exciting profession in the world, but let’s just say it’s got its exciting moments. The book is set at the end of the 1970s; Marty’s still just a kid, a failing engineering student who stumbles into computing. And this, in turn, leads him into the surprisingly dangerous world of crime-solving through accountancy.

In Hench, Doctorow has the perfect narrator: a man looking back on his own life, assessing his younger, brilliant but directionless self with the wisdom of an older guy who’s seen a lot of stuff.

The novel is several things at once: a fictional memoir, a crime story, a history of late-1970s revolutions in computing… and hugely entertaining.

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It was a miracle of sorts: after a week at sea, alone in a lifeboat, Nathan Carman was rescued. The family’s fishing boat had sunk; Nathan’s mother had, presumably, drowned. It was the second tragedy to strike the family; Nathan’s wealthy grandfather, John Chakalos, had been murdered a few years earlier.

Years later, a new story emerged: it wasn’t tragedy that had struck down Nathan’s mother and grandfather, it was — or so the authorities believed — Nathan himself.

Casey Sherman’s Blood in the Water: The Untold Story of a Family Tragedy (Sourcebooks, 352 pages, $27) is a superlative work of crime non-fiction. Nathan Carman was charged with the murder of his mother, and with insurance fraud related to his grandfather’s death. We will never know whether he was guilty (he killed himself in jail while awaiting trial), and the author certainly isn’t trying to tell us what to think.

Sherman shows us the investigation, gives us a pretty good look at the people involved (Nathan, his mother and grandfather, the investigators) and lets us come to our own conclusion. No matter which side you come down on, guilt or innocence, it’s a deeply unsettling and absolutely compelling story.

Halifax freelancer David Pitt’s column appears the first weekend of every month. You can follow him on Bluesky at @bookman.bsky.social.