The term ‘escapist read' is a misnomer, I reckon. Surely all fiction — even the grittiest, ‘coolest’ contemporary novel — is intended to entertain the reader in some shape or form, to allow them to escape from their own world to see a character's point of view or experience events totally foreign? However, some novels are more adept than others at whisking the reader away from the banality of deadlines, zoom calls with microphone issues and winter colds. That's also why some books are exceptionally well-suited for holidaying when you want as few reminders of said daily drudgery as possible, ideally while basking in the sun somewhere far, far away.

From the first few pages of Erin Palmisano's debut, The Secrets of the Little Greek Taverna, it's clear that this novel has escapist superpowers. It's also clear from the get-go this book is a little different to other travel fictions. The prologue evokes a classical Greek chorus, where the omniscient narrator sets the stage in the small village of Potamia on the island of Naxos in Greece.

'Sometimes stories collide, like a beautiful accident nobody saw coming. They do not cure cancer or change the world. The butterfly effect of friendship does not alter the paths of most people. But occasionally that collision can alter the paths of some and can shake up a small village,' says the narrator/chorus in the prologue.

In Potamia, we learn that women have special powers and that 'fate', 'destiny' and 'magic' are everyday realities (no zoom calls here!). Over in Los Angeles, an American called Marjory (Jory for short) feels the lure of wanderlust — or perhaps it's the mischievous Greek Fates pulling her strings?

'Marjory St. James did not know where it came from but at that very moment she felt the pull, the one she always felt when it was time to leave. Jory never knew when it would take her, but she knew somehow that it was time. Time to go. She left the beach and walked restlessly into the city centre of Santa Monica until she passed by a travel agent. On the door was a photo of a beautiful yacht in the Greek Islands. It was almost as if it had been put there just for her.'

It's a bit much, this epic prologue, but Palmisano ditches the embellished language — whew — in Chapter One as we follow Jory on her way to Naxos, Greece. When the delayed ferry arrives on the sleepy Greek island late at night, Jory finds herself with no place to stay; she runs into Cressida, the owner of a taverna who happens to have a room to spare (those Fates at work again). Jory is Cressida's first guest; the taverna has never officially opened. Cressida's husband Leo had died unexpectedly, leaving Cressida consumed by grief.

A husk of a person, Cressida can barely talk to Jory, but she shares her heart through her baking. The women in the town all have magical talents, and Cressida's is that she can bake her feelings into her food, which can have delightful effects on those who eat her meals. With such great food, it's a Greek tragedy that the taverna has never opened. Jory and neighbour Mago join forces to help Cressida get back on her feet to open the taverna officially — as their own unique powers reveal themselves.

The characters in this book do feel like they are painted in watercolour — lacking definition. Jory travels to Greece alone without a map, guidebook or phone — who does that? She also talks like a middle-aged woman (takes one to know one) and without the sharp tongue and hard lines of her supposed 28 years. Likewise, Cressida, the mourning Greek widow, feels like she's from another century. But watercolours are really pretty, and though these characters don’t have sharp edges, they add to the book's whimsical quality.

This story has love and heart, and gorgeous descriptions of the little village make you feel like you're exploring the cobbled streets of Potamia alongside Jory. This is Palmisano's own magical talent, bringing places to life. The delicious passages about food and baking where the language is stripped bare to its raw ingredients are also a treat. You can taste the yoghurt and citrus that go into Cressida's revani — that cake is the book's MVP. I'll take two, please.

Obvious, but perhaps unwarranted, comparisons will be made to fellow Kiwi author, Nicky Pellegrino. Although both writers share gorgeous Mediterranean settings, Palmisano's flourish is quite different from Pellegrino's pared-back and humorous style. Though there's plenty of cheer, there are not as many laughs to be found in Palmisano’s Potamia compared with Pellegrino’s Puglia (try saying that five times). And to put the espadrille the other foot, Palmisano’s little magical village is enchanting in its own unique way.

This is, however, a charming read, like a fairytale for adults, ideal for when a change of scene is exactly what you didn't know you needed.

Reviewed by Emma Rawson