A father asks his son to come down from the mountains to which he moved years ago, and spend the summer with him, perhaps for the last time, on the small Adriatic island where he was born. From the gentle encounter between the adult and the young man, the entire circle of life is reflected in miniature, in a kind of night of nostalgia, future and present, denial, acceptance, acceptance and pain. Mostly love. Before us is a story about people, interwoven with the story of a landscape. The island continues to shine in uncompromising sunshine and intense, eternal turquoise. And from the other side, one tiny grape gets stuck in the esophagus, neither rising nor falling, heralding finitude. At this point of encounter, the greatest and the smallest reduce man to his temporary place in the vast and infinite machine of the universe. In this book, every moment is immense and every sentence is small but unforgettable. Gianni Stoprich's Adriatic Island is a triple metaphor: man's return to his wild roots, his return to the land from which he emerged, and the fact that humans are, ultimately, islands. Under a great sun, on an island full of life and light, and with infinite tenderness, the Italian writer teaches us how elusive and precious are the rare moments when two souls overlap, like two shadows, and one island touches another. Rare, but possible. Here is a book full of light and air, overflowing with life and sunshine.