Firstly, the blurb on this book feels a little misleading. D. H. Lawrence and other writers and painters are hardly a part of this story.
Secondly, this feels like a love letter to the employees her family had and their farmers. To the Italian food. The way they make olive oil and wine.
Kinta came to live in her parents castle when she was 5 and it was after WWI. And we follow what happens over the next couple of decades well into the 50s.