Gaspar, a renowned artist, is very much in demand. Yet this spring, all he can think about is getting away from Paris and spending a few days at Campo de’ Fiori, in Rome. There, in front of a chessboard at an outdoor café table, he plays against whoever takes the seat opposite him, and enjoys the days’ beauty.

One morning, a young woman sits down for a game. She turns out to be a formidable opponent, beating him in just a few moves. Her name is Marya, and she’s from Hungary. Born on a chessboard, their relationship gently spreads elsewhere.

In the protective shadow of the great Giordano Bruno, whose statue weighs heavily on Campo de’ Fiori, Marya and Gaspar will be revealed – in the crucible of their enigmas, of their lively and instinctively playful minds, of their singularly keen view of the world. Love imposes itself, as implacably as a checkmate.

Partie italienne, Antoine Choplin’s latest novel, isn’t championing any theories or causes. What emerges over the course of the tale is the lightness of existence and the power of memory.