Emma Mattei, Jon Banthorpe (Eds): Uncommon Malta and Gozo,</p><p>Miranda Publishers, 2011, 220 pp.

Uncommon: Malta and Gozo is a collection of memoirs, mini-essays, sketches and images drawn from the varied impressions left on locals and visitors by the Maltese islands.

It’s the kind of anthology that satisfies a particular sort of hunger, giving glimpses of the familiar in witty, candid and colourful ways. Edited by writer Emma Mattei and photographer Jon Banthrope, the volume’s strength lies in its variety.

Whether you’re in the mood for some ironic city romance or a slummy dive through Malta’s seedier streets, the book is happy to oblige. You might have to rummage around a little to get to the really good stuff, but by and large the material included by Mattei and Banthrope gives a sense of Malta that’s satisfying enough to encourage a closer look.

The book features ‘Behind Closed Shutters’, a photo essay by Franziska von Stenglin, where sumptuous interiors are caught off guard and light glimmers on gold capped perfume bottles. A polar bear in Attard balances off a night light while an older woman in Żejtun, festooned with pearls and an imperial purple blouse, moves into frame beside an intimidating collection of porcelain figures.

Other photos by David Pisani, close details in faux Polaroid, bring their own bittersweet afternoon-ness, recreating Malta as some kind of European jewel (which it undoubtedly is, flaws and all).

The Gourgion Tower sails through patches of cloud, Villa Bologna’s nymphaeum marvels in its own folly and the Alhambra House in Sliema collects itself with geometrical precision.

Accompanied by text by Nicholas de Piro, these are perhaps some of the most evocative images in the collection, not trying too hard nor offering too little but simply allowing a Maltese expression through architectural heritage.

Nina Gerada’s ‘Birzebbuġa Contained’ laments the loss of the seaside town, ruined “in so many ways” while drawing the reader to love what is still vital about the place.

Like so much of the book, it’s the authors’ own investment in their memories that makes one fall for the most inconsequential detail, and want nothing more than to believe the promise of its importance.

If you were to give anybody free reign to write about their home, actual or adopted, they would create something splendid because hearts and homes are consonant in that special way which Mediterranean culture has always so expertly expressed.

In sum, this is a beautifully put together hardback edition brimming with pictures, a joy to hold and leaf through. It is certainly an example of where guide books should be headed if they ever hope to offer more than simple directions to-and-from over-exposed sites, and lead visitors into the earthier underbelly of Maltese life.

I would certainly encourage readers to make note of their favourite contributors within the volume and explore their other works. Here’s looking forward to more Maltese anthologies, and more avenues for new writers and photographers to share their creativity in a quality context.