Laura Morelli’s latest novel, The Keeper of Lost Art, weaves an exquisite tapestry of historical fact and imaginative fiction, creating a narrative as captivating and layered as the Renaissance masterpieces at its heart. Set against the backdrop of World War II Italy, the novel tells the story of Stella Costa, a young girl sent to live with relatives in a Tuscan villa as Allied bombs fall on her hometown of Torino. What follows is a remarkable coming-of-age journey amidst one of history’s most turbulent periods, where art becomes both refuge and revelation.
The Canvas of History: Setting and Context
Morelli’s meticulous research shines through in her portrayal of wartime Tuscany. The Villa Santa Lucia—though fictional—is based on the real-life Castello di Montegufoni, which indeed housed precious artworks from Florence’s galleries during the war. The historical details are woven so naturally into the narrative that readers gain profound insight into this lesser-known chapter of WWII without ever feeling lectured to.
The novel brilliantly captures the strange contradictions of wartime Italy: the beauty of the Tuscan countryside juxtaposed with the brutality of war; the enduring agricultural rhythms continuing despite the chaos of political upheaval; the shifting loyalties as Italy first fights alongside Germany, then against it. Through Stella’s eyes, we witness the complex layers of Italian society during this period—Fascists, partisans, civilians caught in between—all rendered with nuance and historical accuracy.
Characters That Breathe and Bleed
What elevates The Keeper of Lost Art beyond many historical novels is Morelli’s extraordinary character development, particularly that of her protagonist, Stella. At twelve years old when the story begins, Stella is at that precarious threshold between childhood and adolescence, making her perspective both innocent and perceptive. Through her evolution from bewildered newcomer to confident young woman, Morelli captures the universal experience of adolescence with remarkable authenticity, heightened by the extraordinary circumstances of war.
The supporting cast is equally compelling:
Sandro: The orphaned boy artist whose talent and gentle spirit form the emotional core of the story. His gradual loss of vision creates one of the novel’s most poignant arcs.
Zia Angela: Stella’s prickly aunt whose initial coldness hides a complex history with Stella’s father.
Zio Tino: The humble driver turned guardian of priceless art, whose quiet dignity embodies the novel’s themes of ordinary people rising to extraordinary circumstances.
Signor Poggi and Signor Fasola: Based on real historical figures who worked tirelessly to protect Italy’s artistic heritage.
Each character feels fully realized, with their own wounds, hopes, and contradictions. There are no caricatures here—even the German soldiers are portrayed with complexity, sometimes brutal, sometimes homesick young men just wanting to return to their families.
The Primavera: Art as Character
Perhaps the most remarkable achievement of Morelli’s novel is how she transforms Botticelli’s Primavera—a static, if magnificent, painting—into a living presence in the narrative. Through Stella and Sandro’s evolving understanding of the masterpiece, readers experience the painting anew, seeing it first through the eyes of children who don’t understand its significance, then gradually appreciating its deeper meanings and historical context.
Morelli, with her background as an art historian, brings authentic expertise to these passages without overwhelming the reader with technical jargon. We learn about Botticelli, Renaissance symbolism, and art conservation alongside Stella, making complex art historical concepts accessible and meaningful. The Primavera, with its themes of rebirth and renewal after darkness, becomes both metaphor and touchstone throughout the novel.
Structural Brilliance and Prose
The novel’s structure matches its thematic concerns, with chapter titles reflecting both art historical concepts and the progression of seasons—a nod to the cyclical nature of both agriculture and history. Morelli’s prose is elegant without being ornate, with moments of startling beauty that match the artworks she describes.
She excels at capturing sensory details—the smell of earth after rain, the taste of fresh tomatoes picked from the garden, the sight of poppies blooming across hillsides—that ground the reader in Stella’s physical experience of Tuscany.
Where the Novel Occasionally Stumbles
Despite its many strengths, The Keeper of Lost Art isn’t without flaws. The pacing occasionally lags in the middle sections as the stasis of occupation settles over the villa. Some readers might find the resolution of Stella’s relationship with her father somewhat abrupt, with his final departure feeling like a missed opportunity for deeper exploration of their complex dynamic.
Additionally, while Morelli’s knowledge of art history enriches the novel immeasurably, a few passages explaining the Primavera‘s iconography feel slightly didactic, momentarily pulling us out of Stella’s perspective and into something closer to a museum lecture.
These are minor criticisms, however, in a novel that otherwise masterfully balances historical detail, character development, and narrative momentum.
Thematic Resonance
What makes The Keeper of Lost Art truly special is how it explores big ideas through intimate human stories:
Art as survival: The novel powerfully articulates how art provides spiritual sustenance in times of crisis—not as luxury, but necessity.
Coming of age in extraordinary times: Stella’s journey from child to young woman mirrors Italy’s own painful transition from fascism to an uncertain future.
Chosen family: The novel sensitively explores how family can be both blood relations and those we choose to align ourselves with.
Ordinary heroism: Like in her previous novels, Morelli celebrates the courage of everyday people who preserved culture in the face of destruction.
In the Constellation of Historical Fiction
Fans of Morelli’s previous work, especially The Last Masterpiece and The Night Portrait, will find similar strengths here: meticulous research, compelling characters, and a deep appreciation for art’s role in human history. Captain Wallace Foster and his assistant Josie Evans make welcome appearances, creating a satisfying connection to her earlier novels.
The Keeper of Lost Art stands tall among other notable historical novels set in WWII Italy, such as Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See and Kristin Hannah’s The Nightingale, though Morelli’s special insight into art history gives her work a unique perspective. Her novel particularly recalls Iris Origo’s memoir War in Val d’Orcia, which Morelli cites as an influence in her Author’s Note.
Final Assessment: A Novel to Treasure
Like the masterpieces it describes, The Keeper of Lost Art works on multiple levels: as historical fiction that illuminates a fascinating chapter of WWII; as coming-of-age tale that captures the universal experience of adolescence; as meditation on art’s power to sustain humanity in dark times.
Morelli writes with the precision of an art historian and the heart of a novelist, creating characters we care deeply about and placing them in a meticulously researched historical context. She reminds us that art isn’t merely decoration but a vital expression of our humanity, worth preserving at all costs.
While the novel occasionally slows in its middle section and some narrative threads feel slightly unresolved, these are minor flaws in what is otherwise a luminous, moving work. Morelli has painted her own kind of masterpiece—one that, like Botticelli’s Primavera, speaks to both the darkness and the light of human experience.
For readers who appreciate historical fiction with depth, heart, and an authentic sense of place, The Keeper of Lost Art is a profound reading experience that will linger long after the final page is turned.