When we first visit the Chiesa di Santa Maria we're in the company of Molly Cavendish who is a part-time guide at the Museo di Santa Maria, which is what the ruins of the Chiesa - a chapel - have now become. Crowds flock to see its centre piece, a renaissance fresco with a history which grabs the attention of young and old. Molly uses the history to entertain the tourists, but there's more too it than she knows, particularly as the history of the building is also the history of the Vannini family, who helped in building the chapel some six hundred years ago and one of whose descendants is the director of the museum.

I was a little bit nervous about reading The Indomitable Chiesa di Santa Maria: a novel about a building? How was that going to work? But, the Chiesa di Santa Maria is on the banks of the Arno in Florence and Florence has always been one of my favourite cities, so, in need of some Tuscan sunshine, I gave it a go. I'm glad I did, because it's a cracker of a story, but I have some gripes and I'll get them out of the way first.

The book needs both copy editing and proofreading, the first to remove such problems as Molly Cavendish passing exams in the 21st century when they were phased out in the nineteen eighties, or having a father who has been the local priest for decades, is a devout Catholic and married. There's also some ugly sentence structure, particularly in the early part of the book and I lost count of the omitted and misused words and grammatical errors. It was frustrating to have to reread sentences, or even paragraphs, to work out what was meant. It was annoying to have a really good story spoiled by something which could so easily have been put right.

And it is a really good story. If you can suspend your annoyance about the lack of adequate proofreading, it's worth the effort as not only the Chiesa di Santa Maria but the city of Florence is brought brilliantly to life over a period of about six hundred years, beginning with the commissioning of the building which was never properly completed, through the traumas of invasions by the Napoleonic army and the Germans in World War II and then the catastrophic flood of 1966. I came to really care about the building, which was unloved for hundreds of years, but finally came into its own.

Daniel Peltz has the academic background for the story but wears it lightly: you'll learn a lot from the book about the art and history of Florence, but you'll never feel that you're being lectured. He seamlessly joins fact and fiction and brings his characters (some real, some fictional) to glorious life, which is no mean feat when you think that much of the book is a series of interlinked short stories.

I'd like to thank the publishers for sending a copy to the Bookbag.

If you'd like to know more about Florence when the Chiesa di Santa Maria was being built we can recommend The Black Prince of Florence: The Spectacular Life and Treacherous World of Alessandro de' Medici by Catherine Fletcher. If you're going to Italy and want to see the art as opposed to the tourist attractions then you might find 101 Places in Italy : A Private Grand Tour by Francis Russell useful, but you'll get a more comfortable trip round Florence from reading The Indomitable Chiesa di Santa Maria.

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Since Chaucer there has been a long and rich tradition of writers creating imaginary religious buildings, cathedrals and churches in their novels. Sometimes the churches are all too real. One only has to think of Victor Hugo and The Hunchback of Notre Dame to see the powerful imagery that can be created through writing about a cathedral.

There are others who have been inspired by certain churches when writing their novels. For Proust, in his classic À La Recherche du Temps Perdu the Church of Saint Hilaire was based on the Church of Saint Jacques in Illiers-Combray. In The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco was not only inspired by the Sacra di San Michelle, an imposing monastery on a mountainside located in Piedmont, but also by the abbey located at Moissac in France.

Closer to home, James Joyce could not escape the impact of the church seen through the eyes, words and actions of his fictional characters. In Ulysses, the central character is, like myself, Jewish but still spends much time in church or obliquely influenced by their liturgical ceremonies. Joyce is never happier than when mocking his characters’ relationships to the liturgy. For example, in Dubliners there are plenty of pious characters who are mocked for not really understanding the doctrine. Joyce, himself knew the doctrine all too well.

When it comes to inspiration for writers, it’s not only the most recognisable churches and cathedrals that move the creative dial, or often even require that much effort at disguise. The Nine Tailors by Dorothy Sayers features Fenchurch St Peter, a magnificent Anglican structure, which is not a great distance, or leap of imagination from St Peter & St Paul’s in Upwell where she lived at the time. Fenchurch St Paul is central to the novel’s plot.

Similarly Barbara Pym’s A Glass of Blessings, a novel that provides a window into 1950s England, has St Luke’s church central to the novel’s narrative. Indeed, it is the setting for many episodes, particularly the comic ones that set the tone for this under-rated novel.

Even children’s stories can find their way to enjoying the benefits of a church setting. Coincidently, not far from Upworth, the Reverend Wilbert Awdry – he of Thomas the Tank Engine fame – was vicar in Emneth where he wrote 12 Thomas books in his 11 years while also ministering to his flock there. In one of his stories, Thomas and the Tank Bells, the famous steam engine had to deliver the church bells to Vicarage Orchard.

Imaginary churches aren’t compulsory when it comes to the great creative minds writing fiction with strong religious overtones and messaging. In The Power and the Glory, Graham Greene rails against anti-Catholic purges in Mexico without needing to name the imaginary buildings he evokes so powerfully. Evelyn Waugh converted to Catholicism in 1930 and, as widely acknowledged, in his Brideshead Revisited published in 1945, religion permeates throughout the story. Interestingly, the novel ends with fiction echoing Waugh’s own life with his narrator Charles Ryder’s implied conversion. Some consider it the “greatest Catholic novel of the twentieth century”.

In her writing, Iris Murdoch is never far away from a church, fictional or otherwise. When it comes to invention, rather than lurk on imaginary architectural foothills, she likes to go right to the top in (think that there may be a clue in the title) The Time of Angels where she writes what some have characterised as a death of God soap.

Some contemporary novelists, especially younger ones, even if they grew up within a strongly religious community, defy the imperative to create fictional religious building. A case in point is Eimear McBride, who grew up in Tubbercurry but, it seems, Russian literature and drama along with the buildings of St Petersburg have been far more influential upon her imagination and fictional worldview than the churches and religious buildings she grew up seeing much more frequently.

When it comes to stirring sincerely held strong religious feelings, few can equal Salman Rushdie who grew up on Malabar Hill within walking distance of the magnificent 15th-century Haji Ali Dargah Mosque. Though name-checked as itself by Saleem in Midnight’s Children, Rushdie prefers to channel his religious imaginings elsewhere in this novel rather than also create fictional religious buildings.

The central character, if you can call a building that, of my latest novel – the Chiesa di Santa Maria church in Florence – is a fictional amalgam of various existing Renaissance Florentine churches. These, of course, include the Basilica San Lorenzo and the Santa Maria del Fiore. My own foray into creating fictional churches was heavily influenced by the composite features of many stunning Florence churches. Of course, the Basilica San Lorenzo was my first reference point. It was a real inspiration, not least because it is a beautiful Renaissance church with Brunelleschi’s fingerprints all over it.

Like so many fictional religious buildings, when you enjoy reading about them, the actual real churches, cathedrals and mosques that inspired their authors invariably repay a personal visit.
The Indomitable Chiesa di Santa Maria by Daniel Peltz is published by Book Guild Publishing

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Proposals by the politician Matteo Salvini to conduct a census to create a register of Roma people in Italy reminds one of events that took place in many parts of Europe during the second World War. It led to terrible tragedy, especially to those among the Jewish community, and it understandably stirs up very uncomfortable feelings for people who choose to remember that era.

The last time registers were kept and acted upon in Italy, the Pope and others in authority looked the other way but countless acts of untold individual heroism by local church leaders were carried out. They provided some vestige of hope during that awful period of European history. It would be reassuring if these lessons could be remembered. What happened then is also a story that deserves re-telling, not least as an example of how humanity and faith can still shine through during times of such adversity.

Whilst writing my novel, The Indomitable Chiesa di Santa Maria, a fictional history of a Florentine Renaissance church from its construction to the present day, my research led me to an area that has been relatively ignored in recent historiography. Apart from Roberto Begnini’s Oscar-winning film Life is Beautiful, and Giorgio Bassini’s extraordinary novel, The Garden of the Finzi Continis, the plight of the Italian Jews during the German Occupation does not feature much in the public eye. And yet the heroism displayed by some members of the Catholic Church, particularly in Florence, during that terrible period is worthy of much greater recognition.

There were no more than 50,000 Jews living in Italy before the outset of the war. The anti-Semitic decrees introduced by Mussolini in November 1938 meant that Jews were barred from both the military and civil service; from state employment and from owning their own businesses. They were excluded from practicing as doctors, lawyers, accountants, teachers or even as journalists. They were forbidden from owning real estate in excess of 20,000 lira and agricultural property of more than 5,000 lira. These laws were given added weight by the social legislation introduced at the same time, which included banning Jews marrying Italians. Most sinister of all was the compulsory registration, which later bared its teeth when the Germans took over and orchestrated their grotesque round-ups. This Italian anti-Jewish code was not a mild one in any sense.

By 1941 there were 43,000 Jews (almost 4,000 of whom were foreign) remaining in Italy. A revealing guide to the zeitgeist comes from the hidden diary of Galeazzo Ciano, the Italian foreign minister and Mussolini’s son-in-law. His diary reveals the intense German pressure associated with the enactment of these laws. He was furious with his German allies over the flood of Jewish immigrants crossing Italy’s borders from German-occupied territories. He told Il Duce that he favoured a solution, which will not raise a problem that did not exist there! And yet a more pertinent reason why the Italian operation against the Jews didn’t get off the ground was that, as Raul Hilberg says, they were not the ideal victims here. The persecution was psychologically as well as administratively difficult. The Jews were totally absorbed and assimilated into Italian life. Almost 25 per cent were either in the military and civil service. Not only were they officers in the army, but they held the highest positions in government.

Before the occupation in July 1943, the German frustration at the lack of progress in Jewish deportations was at breaking point. A familiar story begins to unwind in every Italian city. But what is less familiar in Italy is the charitable response from the Catholic Church in saving Jews, which was greater here than in any other country under German occupation. There are countless stories of heroism, including the life-saving work of Pere Marie Benoit and of Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty in Rome, where the Pope remained silent.

However, it is in Florence where the clergy really came into its own. Under the direction of Archbishop Elia Dalla Costa, an orchestrated operation was developed throughout the area. He instructed his secretary Monsignor Giacomo Meneghello to link up with the now illegal agency the Delasem (Delegation for assistance of emigrant Jews). He also approached Fr Cipriano Ricotti as well as Fr Leto Casini for help.

According to the Yad Vashem site Dalla Costa asked Ricotti: ‘Do you believe that you will be able to dedicate yourself to the rescue of Jews?’ Ricotti confirmed that he would, and was then given a letter from the Archbishop to send to all the monasteries and convents in Florence and its surrounding area, to open the gates of their institutions to Jews. Ricotti said that this was absolutely crucial in saving thousands of Jewish lives.

In Mordechai Paldeil’s book, Churches and the Holocaust, he describes Dalla Costa summoning Leto Casini to his palace, asking the latter to find homes, obtain food supplies and provide identity cards for ‘those persecuted people’. Casini agreed to do everything he could. His work led him to be arrested when caught along with the Chief Rabbi of Florence, Nathan Cassuto. Dalla Costa managed to have him freed, but Cassuto was tragically sent to Auschwitz.

Ricotti and Casini were helped by a number of heroic clerics including Giovanni Simeoni, Angelo Della Torre and Giuseppe Zotti, each of them saving countless Jewish lives. A particularly moving story was of yet another cleric, the ailing 60-year-old Giulio Gradassi who was a local parish priest. He sheltered an immigrant family, and at one stage had to cycle in the middle of a rainy night, whilst suffering from tuberculosis, in order to find more space for them. His devotion to their wellbeing was exemplified by him baking matzos during Passover, knowing that the family were observant Jews.

A number of convents also housed many victims. Outstanding lifesaving work was carried out by a number of exceptional nuns. On the Yad Vashem site, the story of how Mother Sandra Busnelli turned her convent into a safe haven for Jews is retold. When the convent was raided, Mother Busnelli was arrested, but thanks again to Dalla Costa, she was released. A similar story is told on the same site of Mother Marta Folcia, who learnt Hebrew in order to be able to bless her escapees. She managed to hide some children until the end of the war, finally giving them up to a Jewish brigade with whom their lives were saved.

The story of how the Catholic Church saved so many Jews in Florence both features in my novel and is borne out by the facts. Out of the 3,000 Jews living in Florence only 243 were deported. The names of Dalla Costa, Ricotti Casini, Meneghello, Simeoni, Della Torre, Zotti, Gradassi, Busnelli and Folcia are all found on the list of the Righteous Among Nations at Yad Vashem. This is the highest honour that Israel bestows on Gentiles for saving Jews during the war. The work of the clergy in Florence stands, however, in stark contrast to that of their Pope, Pius XI, who said and did very little.

This time round – before something truly awful befalls the Roma people – we all need to voice our concerns and opposition, as well as demand leadership from our politicians, religious and community leaders alike.
The Indomitable Chiesa di Santa Maria by Daniel Peltz is available now

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