In Upamanyu Chatterjee’s new novel, 19-year-old Lorenzo searches for god and the meaning of life

Father Biagio is waiting for him in the porter’s lodge. They take the stairs together. “Today is the first day of the wine harvest,” says the Master of the Novices in his soft, self-deprecating manner, “and it is likely to continue for the entire month of September.” A pause that allows for a slight modulation of tone. “Would you care to join us in the vineyards this afternoon or –” a quick sideways glance here “– would you prefer to rest on the first day?”

The monastery has consecrated over ten hectares of its lands to the cultivation of grapes both red and white. The vineyards stretch away to the northeast and south of the cloister Doppio like a lush green, ordered and furrowed sea. The white varieties of grape are predominantly Garganega, Chardonnay, Moscato and Soave; the reds are confined to Merlot, Cabernet, Corvina and Barbera. Between the rows as orderly as soldiers at an inspection, Lorenzo spots the occasional figure robed in black, a score of them, poised, seemingly motionless, next to one vine or the other. At the foot of each figure sits a basket. As he gets closer, he sees that each monk has a pair of clippers...

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