Synopsis

Gabriel is a boy in love with words, especially those that are impossible to translate into other languages—like the Japanese word wabi sabi, which expresses the authenticity of imperfection, or iktsuarpok, the Arctic Inuit term for the restlessness of checking to see if someone is coming over the horizon. Unique and lonely words, just as Gabriel feels when his grandmother, with whom he lived, dies. Confused and lost, he is taken into Mrs. Michiko's foster home in a historic neighborhood of Rome. He finds himself living under the same roof with girls and boys marked by irreparable histories, like little Leo, like Chiara, who knows the stars but not love, or Greta, always focused on texting, like the menacing Scar, and Amina, with her unspeakable experience of migration. Michiko follows her young guests, mending their empty days with cups of steaming tea, patient conversations, and stories from distant lands: small words and gestures that convey the grandeur of the universe. Outside, there's the world they know, chaotic, unjust, and sometimes violent, but in the Japanese woman's home, they are safe. Until one day, that harmony shatters, and the children suddenly feel more orphaned than before. It hurts, but it doesn't last: they soon discover they can trust each other, that they know how to build a family. It's the beginning of a quest through the streets of Rome and within themselves, where each one harnesses their intuition and their talents—and exposes their wounds. A moving debut novel, full of curiosity and knowledge, from which to learn with grace and kindness.