"The View from Lake Como" by Adriana Trigiani voted Club Calvi's next Readers' Choice

CBS News

a day ago

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Club Calvi's new book will take your imagination to Lake Como -- New Jersey and Italy!
We asked you to vote for one of our Top 3 FicPicks, and "The View from Lake Como" by Adriana Trigiani came out on top as the Readers' Choice. In a video message, Trigiani said she was proud to be a finalist for the club.
"The View From Lake Como" became an instant New York Times bestseller a few days after its release in early July.
The book is about a woman who is a dutiful daughter, newly divorced and living with her parents in Lake Como, New Jersey. When her family has an unexpected loss, she moves to Italy, where she carves out a new life, and possible love, for herself.
You can read along with Club Calvi through August. You can also read a free excerpt, and get the book, below.
The CBS New York Book Club focuses on books connected to the Tri-State Area in their plots and/or authors. The books may contain adult themes.
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From the publisher: Jess Capodimonte Baratta is not living the life of her dreams. Not even close.
In blue-collar Lake Como, New Jersey, family comes first. Recently divorced from Bobby Bilancia, "the perfect husband," Jess moves into her parents' basement to hide and heal. Jess is the overlooked daughter, who dutifully takes care of her parents, cooks Sunday dinner, and puts herself last. Despite her role as the family handmaiden, Jess is also a talented draftswoman in the marble business run by her dapper uncle Louie, who believes she can do anything (once she invests in a better wardrobe).
When the Capodimonte and Baratta families endure an unexpected loss, the shock unearths long-buried secrets that will force Jess to question her loyalty to those she trusted. Fueled by her lost dreams, Jess takes fate into her own hands and escapes to her ancestral home, Carrara, Italy.
From the shadows of the majestic marble-capped mountains of Tuscany, to the glittering streets of Milan, and on the shores of enchanting Lake Como (the other one), Jess begins to carve a place in this new/old world. When she meets Angelo Strazza, a passionate artist who works in gold, she discovers her own skills are priceless. But as Jess uncovers the truth about her family history, it will change the course of her life and those she loves the most forever. In love and work, in art and soul, Jess will need every tool she has mastered to reinvent her life.
Adriana Trigiani lives in Manhattan.
"The View From Lake Como" by Adriana Trigiani (ThriftBooks) $22
Chapter 2
The Family Business
The red taillights on Uncle Louie's chartreuse Impala blink as he backs the car out of his garage on his way to pick me up for work. He and Aunt Lil live in the last house on the corner lot before the intersection of Surf Avenue, which leads to the beach. Their Cape Cod, the most landscaped home in all of New Jersey, stands out among the mix of white split‑level and soft blue saltbox houses that hug the curve of the shore of Lake Como like a rope of shimmering opals.
Through the years, Aunt Lil and Uncle Louie have installed every manner of ornamentation and architectural interest on their half‑acre lot. There's a koi pond, a three‑tier marble fountain, and a walkway of gold‑streaked pavers that swirls up to the front door like a yellow brick road. The backyard has a replica of the Parthenon built out of Carrara marble where they host the Knights of Colum‑ bus Weenie Roast every July Fourth. "My home is an advertisement for my business," Uncle Louie says. "Italian craftsmanship and American elegance?" he asks, before he answers, "I'm your man."
If he's your man, then I'm your wingman. Uncle Louie is my boss at Capodimonte Marble and Stone, our family business since 1924.
My uncle pulls up to the curb. I inhale the chill of the morning air. It tickles my nose and fills my lungs, which causes me to sneeze with my whole body. I fish through my purse for a tissue.
"Jess. Are you serious?" Uncle Louie says through his open win‑ dow as I wipe my nose.
I climb inside and snap the seat belt. He rolls his fist. "Leave your window down so any germs blow out."
"I'm not sick. It's the temperature."
"Now you're a scientist? If you don't catch a cold, it won't catch you. Words of wisdom from my mother."
"Your hypochondria flares up whenever the seasons change." "You noticed, huh?" Uncle Louie's mouth curves into a smile.
I see everything, but there's no point in bragging about it. A worldview doesn't do you much good when you live in a small town, unless your passport is current. When it comes to Lake Como, New Jersey, the Capodimonte and Baratta families own North Boule‑ vard. My Cap grandparents lived two houses down while the Baratta grandparents lived three houses down in the other direc‑ tion. They're all gone now; the Baratta homestead went to our cousin Carmine in 2019, while the Cap house has not been touched since Grandma died in 2022. We call it the Lake Como Museum because it remains intact; not a single teaspoon has left the premises since her death. Around the loop of the lake, the rest of the houses are filled with relatives.
Whenever we had a block party, we closed down the street and became a version of the Villa Capri in Paterson on their All You Can Eat Family Night. We were an Italian American a‑go‑go mi‑ nus the floor show, free hors d'oeuvres, and two‑drink minimum. Beyond our social lives, our family shares the street, a canoe, and our devotion to the Blessed Mother. A statue of Mary can be found in every yard on the lake. It may appear the patriarchy is thriving, but Italian Americans know it's the mother who has the power. Philomena Capodimonte Baratta, my own mamma mia Madonne, is proof of that.
"What's with the jacket?" Uncle Louie gives my outfit a once‑ over.
"Connie gave it to me."
"You're still in your sister's hand‑me‑downs?"
"Does it look bad?" I smooth the navy linen with my hands.
I am not up to Uncle Louie's sartorial code. Never have been. Louie Cap is the last of a group of Italian American men who came up on the Beatles but never forgot Louis Prima. He's a sharp dresser, Rat Pack debonair. He wears size 8 suede loafers like Frank Sinatra and three‑piece suits like Jerry Vale, altered for a streamlined fit on his trim frame. He is never without a fitted vest under his suit jacket because he likes the feeling of being cinched in.
"Clothes make the woman," Uncle Louie reminds me. "What the hell happened over here? You're Depression Central." "I'm working on it. I signed up for Thera‑Me. It's an online ther‑ apy program. I got so many Instagram ads for it I must be in their target market."
"Whatever that means," Louie groans. "My goal is to make it into the arms of my Savior without having to install another app."
"I was assigned to Dr. Sharon over Zoom." "Is she a real doctor?" Uncle Louie asks.
"Board‑certified. She had me draw a self‑portrait. And she asked me to journal. Wants me to write down my memories, the happy ones and the painful times. She said past experience is the founda‑ tion of future mental health." I show Uncle Louie my self‑portrait.
Uncle Louie glances over as he drives. "That don't look like you."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd take another run at it." Uncle Louie makes a face. "Too late. I already turned it in."
"Is this therapy operation expensive?"
"Around the cost of a gym membership."
"Hmm. What a racket. Why do you need a therapist when you have me? I'm like a priest. At my age, there isn't anything you could tell me that would even slightly shock me."
"There are things I can't talk to even you about."
"Even though I have a very sensitive female side?"
"Not funny, Uncle Louie."
Uncle Louie's phone rings. He taps speaker. "Yo, Googs."
"I got a couple sleeves of black granite. You got a need?" Googs sounds far away, like he's calling from the moon.
"Putting a floor in over in Basking Ridge. How much you got?"
"Ten by six. Looks like I have six sheets total. Foyer? Small?"
Uncle Louie looks at me. I confirm that we could use the stock. "For a price," Uncle Louie says into the phone. "Don't soak me, Googs. I'm not in the mood."
"Text the address and I'll deliver." Rolando "Googs" Gugliotti hangs up. He is one of Uncle Louie's oldest work colleagues. He would be the Joey Bishop in Uncle Louie's Rat Pack. He shows up, does his business, and disappears like a vapor until you need him again, or he needs you.
I look down at my phone. "How does he know exactly when to call? It's creepy."
"Not in the least. He's an intuitive salesman. Make a note."
I scroll to the notes app on my phone and await instructions.
Excerpted from The View from Lake Como by Adriana Trigiani. Copyright © 2025 by Adriana Trigiani. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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