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It was a garden for the blind: a constant offence to the eyes, a pleasure strong if somewhat crude to the nose. The Paul Neyron roses, whose cuttings he had himself bought in Paris, had degenerated; first stimulated and then enfeebled by the strong if languid pull of Sicilian earth, burnt by apocalyptic Julys, they had changed into objects like flesh coloured cabbages, obscene and distilling a dense almost indecent scent which no French horticulturist would have dared hope for. The Prince put one under his nose and seemed to be sniffing the thigh of a dancer from the Opera. Bendico, to whom it was also proffered, drew back in disgust and hurried off in search of healthier sensations amid dead lizards and manure. (p.5)

The term 'countryside' implies soil transformed by labour; but the scrub clinging to the slopes was still in the same state of scented tangle in which it had been found by the Phoenicians, Dorians and Ionians when they disembarked in Sicily, that America of antiquity. Don Fabrizio and Tumeo climbed up and down, slipped and were scratched by thorns, just as an Archedamos or Philostrates must have got tired and scratched twenty-five centuries before. (p.75)

Sicily does not change, but it changes those who settle on its soil in di Lampedusa's vision of evolution and adaptation. For people, plants, even songs there is a steady regression to the Sicilian mean. The Prince of Salina, Don Fabrizio (view spoiler)[ the Leopard (view spoiler)[ if I remember correctly that is a mistranslation, it ought to be the 'Civet Cat' rather than the 'Leopard' but the name has stuck (hide spoiler)]of the title is the heraldic symbol of the family and something totemic to the Prince through the narrative, there is much play on his 'paws' and nature as a big cat, the author advised though to play close attention to a different animal - his dog (hide spoiler)], knows this but only has the power to observe, dominates the narrative and his family even as his power and wealth crumble away, his beloved nephew Tancredi aims to thrive among the waves of change, he tells his uncle that to keep everything the same, everything has to change and is the lesson that runs through this book. Reading the novel is a sensuous experience, I am baked by the sun, assailed by the winds and soaked by the rains as the page turns and I seek refuge from the burning light.

Chapters deal with the period just before and then after at longer intervals Garibaldi's landing in Sicily and the creation of a unified Kingdom of Italy under the King of Piedmont. At one moment in a ball the narrator flicks ahead to WWII and recalls the bomb that will destroy the ballroom in the future (view spoiler)[while characters and Sicily seem locked in the past,the narrator with ironic intent looks often into the future (hide spoiler)] but at all times it is clear that for Sicily to stay the same at a basic fundamental level it must embrace change at a superficial surface level.

As a result it is very much a book about power, ambitions that are realised across generations and the relationships that fall by the wayside. The historical setting is irrelevant, di Lampedusa was illustrating what he felt was a general principle of accommodation and adaptation, what was true of the 1860s was true too of 1923 and 1945 and all the rest.

If you are (view spoiler)[ or will be or could be (hide spoiler)] convinced by the novel's sultry insistence that climate is destiny and Terroir is all, I don't know, my own climate inclines me to be sceptical, while from my terroir I am compelled by the voice of this masterpiece.