Olivia: Alright Jackson, I’m going to give you a challenge. You have to review today’s book in exactly five words. Go. Jackson: Okay, five words. I’ve got this. How about: "Pasta, paranoia, and balcony serenades." Olivia: That is surprisingly accurate. I love it. My five words would be: "Ancient city, modern plague, human heart." Jackson: Ooh, I like that. Yours is the poetic, profound version. Mine is what was actually happening on the ground. It feels like that’s the perfect summary for the book we’re talking about today. Olivia: It absolutely is. We are diving into The Rome Plague Diaries: Lockdown Life in the Eternal City by Matthew Kneale. And what's fascinating is that Kneale isn't just a novelist journaling his experience; he's a historian who literally wrote the book on Rome's turbulent past, a work called Rome: A History in Seven Sackings. Jackson: Whoa, hold on. That changes everything. So he’s not just some guy stuck in his apartment complaining about sourdough starters. He’s watching history unfold in a city he knows better than almost anyone. Olivia: Exactly. He’s lived in Rome for nearly two decades, considers himself an honorary Roman, and he’s the son of two writers, including Judith Kerr, who wrote When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. His own grandfather was a German theatre critic who had to flee the Nazis. So his perspective on social compliance, government orders, and historical echoes is incredibly deep. This diary is personal, but it’s layered with centuries of context. Jackson: Okay, I’m hooked. So where do we even begin with a diary? It feels so immediate, so personal. What was cái on-the-ground feeling of lockdown in Rome?

Olivia: It starts with something Kneale calls the "virus dance." He describes this new, awkward social choreography we all had to learn. You know, that moment on the pavement when you see someone coming and you both do that weird shuffle to opposite sides of the street? Jackson: Oh, I know that dance! It’s like a clumsy, city-wide ballet of mutual suspicion. You’re trying to be polite, but you’re also thinking, "Please don't breathe on me." Olivia: Precisely. And for Kneale, that dance became the rhythm of his new, shrunken world. He was confined to his postal district, 00153 Roma. Suddenly, his entire universe was just a few city blocks. And on his first real shopping trip, he has this profound realization. He’s in the supermarket, trying to navigate the crowded aisles, and he notes, "Modern capitalism really isn’t well designed for plagues." Jackson: That is the most relatable thing I’ve ever heard. Supermarkets are designed for maximum efficiency, for packing as many people and products into one space as possible. A pandemic just breaks that entire model. Olivia: It breaks it completely. And it’s not just the supermarket. He tells this really poignant story about his local market in Trastevere. One day, he goes out, and it’s just… gone. The stalls, the vendors, the noise, the life—all vanished. Just empty paving stones. Jackson: Wow, that’s heartbreaking. It’s not just about losing a place to buy vegetables. It’s the death of a community hub. Olivia: Exactly. He mourns the loss of that social function. But then, in its place, something new emerges. He finds a piece of paper taped to a storeroom door with the phone numbers of the stallholders. He calls his usual vegetable guy, Bruno, and arranges for a delivery. Bruno's daughter and her boyfriend bring five bags of produce right to his door, maintaining this careful, arm's-length distance. Jackson: That’s amazing. So the formal structure disappears, but the informal, human network kicks in. That feels so resilient. Olivia: It is. And that’s the central tension of the lockdown experience he captures. On one hand, there's this intense anxiety and loss. He talks about seeing an ambulance outside a nearby apartment building and feeling the virus move from a news headline to a terrifying, local reality. But on the other hand, there are these incredible moments of human connection. Jackson: Like the balcony serenades? I saw videos of that. Was it really as magical as it looked? Olivia: According to Kneale, it was. He describes his whole family going out onto their balcony at 6 PM. He doesn’t know the words, so he just belts out some random Italian opera. And then, all around them, his neighbors appear at their windows and start singing the Italian national anthem. They wave, they shout news to each other. For a moment, they aren't isolated individuals; they're a community, connected by sound. Jackson: That gives me chills. It’s the perfect antidote to the "virus dance," isn't it? The dance is about separation, but the singing is about connection, even when you’re physically apart. It feels so… Italian. Which brings me to the bigger picture. You said Kneale is a historian. What did this lockdown reveal about the character of Rome itself?

Olivia: That’s the most fascinating part of the book. He grapples with this central paradox: Rome is a city famous for its chaos, its cynicism, and its creative disregard for rules. So how on earth did it become so compliant, so orderly, during the lockdown? Jackson: Right! I mean, you hear stories about Roman drivers, and "orderly" is not the first word that comes to mind. Olivia: Not at all. And Kneale has a whole chapter on this. He says Roman drivers are both "skilful and dangerous." They view driving as a sport, an end in itself. Yet, he also notes that obtaining an Italian driving license is incredibly difficult, with a notoriously tricky written exam. It’s a contradiction. Jackson: So they know the rules, they just choose to interpret them… creatively. How does that apply to the lockdown? Olivia: Kneale suggests that Romans operate on a different system. It’s less about blind rule-following and more about personal judgment and relationships. He tells this fantastic story about buying a used car years ago. He finds a car online, but the "dealership" is just a tiny shed, and the car is in some shady underground car park. Everything about it screams "scam." Jackson: I would have run in the opposite direction. Olivia: Most people would! But Kneale decides to trust the dealer. Why? Because the dealer was incredibly meticulous about the paperwork. He was obsessed with getting every stamp and signature right. Kneale realized the dealer wasn't just selling a car; he was assessing Kneale's trustworthiness, too. In a city with slow, convoluted legal processes, you learn to rely on snap judgments of character. It’s about the person, not just the system. Jackson: That’s a brilliant insight. The system might be broken, but the human-to-human connection is what makes things work. Does he see that playing out elsewhere? Olivia: Everywhere. It’s the key to understanding the city. He tells this wonderful, sad story about the "Tomato King" of the Testaccio market. This vendor, a local legend, sold dozens of varieties of tomatoes and had this world-weary, philosophical air about him. When the old market was being demolished to make way for a new, modern one, he refused to move. Jackson: A man of principle. I like him already. Olivia: He was. He declared he wouldn't be moved. The authorities, of course, overreacted, sending police to forcibly remove him and slap him with a huge fine. But the most telling part of the story is what happened next. The Tomato King told Kneale, "My son was so angry that he’s never eaten a single tomato since. Not one." Jackson: Wow. That’s not just about a market stall. That’s a deeply personal protest. It’s about loyalty, family, and a stand against impersonal bureaucracy. Olivia: Exactly. It’s a microcosm of Rome. It’s a city of deep personal loyalties and passions, often in direct conflict with a frustrating, inefficient system. And this crisis just put that entire dynamic under a microscope. On one hand, you have this incredible community spirit—the balcony singing, the market vendors making deliveries. He even tells a story about Roman cab drivers organizing a convoy to bring supplies to an earthquake-stricken town. Jackson: That’s the warmth and humanity everyone talks about. But what about the other side? The book must touch on the city's darker, more cynical nature, right? I mean, this is the city of the Mafia Capitale scandal. Olivia: Absolutely. Kneale doesn't shy away from that. He discusses the deep-seated corruption, the cynicism, the casual racism that can surface. He notes that the stereotype of the "friendly Roman" is complicated. But he concludes that alongside the selfishness, you will almost always find a "strong sense of humanity." He tells a story about his caretaker, Cinzia, who initially complains about a stray cat but ends up secretly feeding it and buying it toys. Jackson: It’s that contradiction again. Tough on the outside, but with a soft spot. Olivia: That’s Rome in a nutshell. It’s a city that has endured plagues, sackings, and centuries of misrule. Kneale, as a historian, knows this better than anyone. He puts the COVID-19 lockdown in perspective by recounting the horrors of the Justinian Plague and the Black Death, which were infinitely worse. This isn't Rome's first plague, and it won't be its last. The city's character has been forged in crisis.

Jackson: So, after all this, what's the big takeaway? Is this just a beautiful, personal diary, or is there a deeper lesson about Rome and maybe about ourselves? Olivia: I think the deeper lesson is that a crisis doesn't just change a place; it reveals it. The lockdown stripped Rome of its tourists, its traffic, its noise, and what was left was its essential character. It’s a city built on human connection, for better and for worse. The book received a lot of praise for being this warm, affectionate portrait, but some readers felt it was a bit too optimistic, ending in May 2020 before the worst waves hit. Jackson: I can see that. But maybe the point isn't to document the entire pandemic. Maybe it's about capturing that specific moment of revelation. Olivia: I think that’s it. Kneale is ultimately hopeful. He questions the idea of a "golden age" of Rome, looking back at different historical periods and finding flaws in all of them—slavery, inequality, violence. He suggests that maybe Rome's greatest golden age is yet to come. The pandemic, for all its horror, offered a glimpse of what that could be: a city with cleaner air, less noise, and a stronger sense of community. Jackson: A city forced to slow down and reconnect with itself. Olivia: Exactly. And he ends with this incredibly powerful thought. He says, "It would be a great shame if, after all the pain that people have suffered, something good can’t be learned from what’s happened, and from the changes we’ve found we can make to our lives." Jackson: That really hits home. It makes you wonder, what did we learn from our own lockdowns? What small, local things did you start to notice when the world went quiet? We'd love to hear your own "plague diary" moments. Share them with us and the Aibrary community on our social channels. Olivia: A perfect question to end on. It reminds us that while this is a diary of Rome, its themes of resilience, community, and rediscovery are universal. Jackson: This is Aibrary, signing off.