After Frances Mayes’ success with “Under the Tuscan Sun,” an endless stream of authors seemingly wanted their “I lived in a foreign country and here was my big important experience” moment, but not so many were able to pull off the textures, the surprising sensual revelations of that book, and so they fell flat. What delights in Anthony Doerr’s “Four Seasons in Rome” ($24, Scribner) is that he’s not trying so hard; his tale, subtitled “On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World,” is written using the slightly awed language of a man who finds himself living in one of the most overwhelming and beautiful cities in the world just after his wife gives birth to two boys and as the Pope is dying, and thus it feels fresh and less like Pablum. Parents will commiserate, lovers of Italy will long for Sicilian oranges and old-wood churches.
