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The inversion of all those Jamesian novel/las about young women whose innocence serves them ill in corrupt decadent Europe: Italy is civilized and humane and clever, beautiful Anna's honor is mere antisexual hysteria. There's a lot in this woman-focused novel I should have loved (three generations of an American/Italian/English family), especially Constanza who is quite casually a female rake, but I ended up loathing the lot of them as rich dilettantes. Really, they could have all done better things with their lives. Love didn't take up the whole of them, but all the work seemed to take place in the interstices.