My Italian colleagues and friends are currently indulging themselves in a wave of pessimism about the state of their country, from the antics of Silvio Berlusconi, to the crapulous condition of the law, and the way women are treated in popular culture. But then politics in Italy has always been treated with a healthy dose of cynicism and realism — what really matters for most is il paese reale, (the real country), and not il paese politico (the political nation). And part of the genius of Italian social life is how well it runs itself outside government.

In his appreciation of the arts and cinema, David Gilmour favours the melancholy of books like The Leopard, of whose eccentric author he has written a brilliant biography, and the gritty realism of films such as Bertolucci's Novecento. He leaves out altogether two of the most illuminating writers of the late 20th century; Leonardo Sciascia, bard of Mafia Sicily, and Italo Calvino, master of magic realism, and one of the wittiest people I have known.

For in Italy it is the magic that trumps the realism. Even in bad times, the sheer exuberance of friendship, craziness, creativeness and fun make the Italian experience something to enjoy, and even to admire.