Campo de’ Fiori Publishing was founded five years ago in a cramped third-floor apartment just off the Roman piazza that shares its name—a place once known for flower stalls, secret poets, and public executions. The press was born out of frustration, espresso, and a stubborn belief that books should provoke, liberate, and occasionally offend someone’s aunt—books that ask dangerous questions, break polite conversation, and unseat old gods with a wink.

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From fiery philosophical essays and banned manifestos to offbeat novels that dance on the line between genius and heresy, Campo is slowly built a catalog that refuses to behave. They’ve published debut voices that make censors nervous and resurrected obscure thinkers whose work was buried for being too bold, too queer, too foreign, or too honest.

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Our books are small but loud in spirit, and every cover bears the discreet emblem of a flame inside a flower—a nod to the marketplace, and the martyr.

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