Improvising in Italian is a heartfelt memoir by Jennifer Artley that traces the winding path of a woman who moves to Italy in search of meaning, healing, and perhaps a sense of permanence. The story centers on her family’s relocation to Modena, fueled by a blend of optimism, romance, and idealism, and the personal unraveling that follows. At the core is the difficult departure of her teenage daughter, who chooses to return to the U.S., leaving Artley grappling with loss, identity, and questions about the life she has built. Through lyrical scenes and sharp reflections, Artley threads memories from her nomadic childhood with the chaos of present-day expatriate life. Food, family, and place become the fabric of the tale, stitched together with bittersweet honesty.

Reading this memoir felt like sitting across from a friend at a kitchen table, talking long into the night. Artley’s voice is vulnerable and unguarded. She tells it like it is. What struck me most was her ability to blend humor with heartbreak. One minute, I was laughing at her chaotic car rides through Italy, and the next, I was floored by the quiet grief of watching her daughter slip away. The writing flows easily, but it’s far from simple. She nails those small, aching truths of parenting, how love and guilt and hope get tangled up. I could feel how much she wanted this dream in Italy to work out, and I ached with her as that dream slowly fell apart.

What also stood out was her attention to detail, especially around food and culture. The way she described the tortellini in brodo or the smell of balsamico vinegar aging in attics. But more than just a tour of Italy’s cuisine, the book becomes a meditation on what it means to belong. Artley doesn’t hide her doubts or frustrations. Italy isn’t romanticized. It’s messy, inconvenient, beautiful, and frustrating all at once. That complexity made the memoir land in a very relatable way. Her decision to root herself, despite the chaos, is an act of quiet courage. And there’s a raw admiration in how she holds space for both her own heartbreak and her daughter’s independence.

This book will speak most to people who’ve taken big risks and had to live with the consequences—parents, expats, wanderers, or anyone trying to find home in a world that keeps shifting. It’s not a feel-good story in the conventional sense, but it is a deeply felt one. I’d recommend Improvising in Italian to readers who appreciate memoirs that pull back the curtain and show the vulnerable moments.

Pages: 204 | ASIN : B0DX3Q9NW1