Venice

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The whole world is full of people moving into cities, but when you get highly developed as Venice did you move out. What I wanted to do with my book, I suppose, is get past the crowds and the bad effects of mass tourism. which is all that would excuse some unfortunate racial references that are unacceptable at the date of later revisions.

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I listened to another radio programme - a series of excerpts from The Politics of Washing: Real Life in Venice by Polly Coles- but even then, among the material on Moldovan immigrant workers there was the usual modern-rarefied-Venice stuff about Contessas in decaying palazzos.

Certainly, it made me wish that I could go back to Venice to see all the campos, small churches and artwork that I missed on my previous visits. Very tight quarters but very interesting to see the waterlogged books and the “book bridge“ with a nice view of the canal out back. Venice, which is one of my favorite cities, is like that old precious vases or houses that have been broken, shattered or else but still have this magical beauty that makes any plan for restoration to be very, very careful for not loose its fragile "verdigris". They revolve entirely around Brunetti, our hero, going back for lunch with his wife, with whom he is very much in love, and having a quick brandy while she does the washing up, and then stomping off back to the Prefettura to do some essential police business. Even in peak summer, there were few people visiting San Giorgio Maggiore, and we got to linger over the modern art exhibit in the church and take the elevator to the top of the campanile without a line.

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Take the porphyry sculpture of the Tetrarchs, brought back from Constantinople, probably in the Second Crusade, and embedded into San Marco—as are all sorts of panels and discs of porphyry and other precious stones. And while much of Venice hasn't changed in that time, there is a sense that we are reading two histories - Jan's history of Venice plus her own history. The absolute other end of paintings to go and see would be the Carpaccios in the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni, which is behind San Marco. In Britain at least, Morris's account may be the first or only book a lot of people read about Venice. Ruskin, writing 15 years later, is part of that same group of thinkers who are obsessed with medieval ways.Its stalls are lined deliciously with green fronds, damp and cool: and upon them are laid, in a delicately-tinted, slobbering, writhing, glistening mass, the sea-creatures of the lagoon. I also question ending the book with a prolonged disquisition on the islands of the lagoon; I get it as a stylistic choice, but for the reader, it's going out with a whimper, not a bang. You might say Venice escaped lightly, but it was still massively significant, which, in a way, takes me on to the next book. Some atmospheric passages and fascinating nuggets of information, but far too much detail and too many lists. But for others who were always conscious of the narrowness of that world, or who did not become accustomed to it early, the faults in this book may be more obvious.

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So he set up Marghera, which is both negative in that it has caused terrible petrochemical pollution, but also provided employment. When a large ship turns around the Lido to enter the Giudecca Canal, the startling sight creates an illusion that it will run aground right on Via Garibaldi! Morris is coy about her personal life there; makes allusions to things left unexplained and it got a bit exasperating. It makes the English country house and is woven back into Dutch and French neoclassicism, which up to then had been based mainly on Dutch copybooks.

Go all the way to Santa Maria della Salute (it is under construction, but still impressive area on the outside). I can understand why it is loved the way it is, for its atmosphere and style, but as I read it after similar books ( Joseph Brodsky and Peter Ackroyd a few years ago), and after academic study of the place (longer ago), it didn't cast quite the same spell. You look at the photograph of him on the mountain, and it would not pop into your head in a thousand years this man was not comfortable in the body the Lord gave him.