Six Days in Rome

Emilia arrives in Rome reeling from heartbreak and reckoning with her past. What was supposed to be a romantic trip has, with the sudden end of a relationship, become a solitary one instead. As she wanders, music, art, food, and the beauty of Rome's wide piazzas and narrow streets color Emilia's dreamy, but weighty experience of the city. She considers the many facets of her life, drifting in and out of memory, following her train of thought wherever it leads.

While climbing a hill near Trastevere, she meets John, an American expat living a seemingly idyllic life. They are soon navigating an intriguing connection, one that brings pain they both hold into the light.

As their intimacy deepens, Emilia starts to see herself anew, both as a woman and as an artist. For the first time in her life, she confronts the ways in which she's been letting her father’s success as a musician overshadow her own. Forced to reckon with both her origins and the choices she's made, Emilia finds herself on a singular journey—and transformed in ways she never expected.

Equal parts visceral and cerebral, Six Days in Rome is an ode to the Eternal City, a celebration of art and creativity, and a meditation on self-discovery.

This discussion guide was shared in partnership with Grand Central Publishing.

Book club questions for Six Days in Rome by Francesca Giacco

Use these discussion questions to guide your next book club meeting.

In the opening chapter, Emilia insists on being addressed by her full name: “No nicknames, abbreviations, or shortcuts. Even at times when it would have been easy to settle for any of those alternatives, I’ve insisted, corrected people’s pronunciation, written in the right spelling on class rosters and preprinted name tags.” Why do you think Emilia is unwilling to compromise on the use of her given name? How does this early declaration set the stage for Emilia’s journey of self-discovery and identity?

Writing a postcard to her parents, Emilia is comforted by the fact that, in the process of reminiscing, she “can rewrite history,” i.e., keep the memories she cherishes and discard the ones that trouble her. We’re often told that memory is subjective, but have you ever intentionally tried to edit a memory, to reshape an experience into something that’s less jarring or embarrassing or painful to recall? Or do you believe it’s important to preserve the true emotional impact of a moment?

Reinvention is introduced as a concept at multiple points in the novel. Like rewriting history, Emilia freely admits that she’s a creative liar, adding embellishments to conversations to make something more memorable: “There’s comfort in it, knowing I can reliably become more than I am.” How did this revelation make you feel? Did you appreciate her candor in this moment, or even relate to her? Or did you trust her less as a narrator? In your opinion, is Emilia’s propensity to stretch the truth—or perform—an asset or a flaw?

When Emilia was a child, she used to pretend to be an explorer or a goddess with her father, who would also take on the persona of a larger-than-life character. How did their shared love of make-believe end up harming Emilia later in life? At what point does performance become dangerous? Do you think this led to Emilia’s revelation in Rome, that “so much of what [she’s] built on is crumbling”? Explain.

In churches across the city, Emilia would light a candle for someone in her life—from close friends and family to “lapsed friends” and strangers—for anyone who ever made her feel “nervous or hopeful or safe.” Have you ever had a brief yet profound interaction with a stranger, someone you continue to think of? Why do you think your mind returns to this moment, despite the time that has passed?

At times, Emilia comes across as completely in control of her surroundings and her preferences. She does admit, however, that she likes feeling “confused and upended” every once in a while by the unexpected. Do you believe this is an essential component of travel? Why or why not?

While in Rome, Emilia tries to limit the amount of communication she has with her friends and family in New York. She hopes the solitude will help her “see more clearly,” especially when it comes to her relationships with her ex-lover and her father. Do you believe Emilia achieves the clarity she was seeking over the course of the novel? How does this quote—“Today I am alone. I am in a beautiful place. I am honest, with nothing to hide. I am better off”—relate to this idea?

Michael tells Emilia that “the reason we love someone is because we share [the other person’s] adjectives.” Do you agree or disagree with this statement? Did Michael’s description of love resonate with you, or did you prefer Emilia’s father’s interpretation, that “real love ain’t the tender moments / It’s the chaos in between”?

The line mentioned above—that “real love ain’t the tender moments / It’s the chaos in between”—was paraphrased by Emilia’s father from a poem Emilia wrote at age seven: “Love isn’t always beautiful / But chaos makes it real.” This borrowing becomes a major sticking point for Emilia in adulthood, which culminates in an emotionally charged conversation with John, in which he says that her father stole something precious from her. Do you believe Emilia’s father owed Emilia an apology for what he did, or do you believe that most art is inspired by the artists who come before?

Six Days in Rome is, partly, a love letter to one of the greatest cities on earth. Did the sensory details included in the novel—descriptions of wine, pasta, music, colors, the glow of candles, the expressions on faces, the texture of window boxes—succeed in transporting you to Italy? What was your favorite scene and why? How did the book’s focus on all things sensual influence your experience of it?

In Michael’s Beirut-based novel, the main character is described as being “unmoored and feeling hopeless,” until he meets a French woman who teaches at the university. “For a time, it seems she might be able to offer the happiness and security he’s been seeking, could possibly save him from a life in which he’s barely present.” Did you see any parallels between Michael’s relationship with Emilia and the Lebanese man’s relationship with the French woman? If so, what? How do you think the novel Michael wrote ended?

Martyrdom and sainthood are two concepts that the author returns to throughout the novel: “I’ve never understood any of them: the selflessness and certainty, the tolerance for pain, relinquishing all their free will, ultimately their lives, for some vague, protective cloud of faith. But maybe I should be thinking about it differently, how they sought and held on to power.” Did the latter half of this statement complement or upend your understanding of martyrdom and sainthood? Why? What do you think is so compelling about the mix of the sacred and the worldly?

At one point, Emilia observes that “Rome doesn’t know what to do with a woman alone,” that the “lack of a man, or anyone who might help to explain me, stands out, poses a question.” Discuss society’s prolonged anxiety regarding single women, and how female independence can still be stigmatized today.

After buying cheese from a local vendor, Emilia ponders whether she should eat the cheese now or bring it back to New York with her and serve it at a dinner party with friends: “This is the cheese from Rome, I’d tell them. And they’d fall all over themselves telling me how good it was, the theatrical closed eyes as they tasted it. Even the thought of it is exhausting. Or I could enjoy it now and do my best to remember it later. Not everything has to be preserved, or even shared.” What was the last thing you did just for yourself, something you chose not to share that brought you happiness? If you had been in Emilia’s shoes, what would you have done?

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