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lenitat's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
fast-paced
4.0
maliablue's review against another edition
4.0
A thoughtful essay that is especially powerful when read while in Venice.
mallaeuswastaken's review against another edition
4.0
This is quite short — only 56 pages — but it evokes so keenly and succinctly the heart and soul of the city of Venice that it is no more or no less than perfect.
Marías (and by extension his translator) have a way with words to say the least, and his descriptions of Venice, its people and its presence is quintessential travel writing — in other words, one gets the sense that they must travel there immediately, while also feeling as though they have been there before.
Marías (and by extension his translator) have a way with words to say the least, and his descriptions of Venice, its people and its presence is quintessential travel writing — in other words, one gets the sense that they must travel there immediately, while also feeling as though they have been there before.
mallaeus's review against another edition
4.0
This is quite short — only 56 pages — but it evokes so keenly and succinctly the heart and soul of the city of Venice that it is no more or no less than perfect.
Marías (and by extension his translator) have a way with words to say the least, and his descriptions of Venice, its people and its presence is quintessential travel writing — in other words, one gets the sense that they must travel there immediately, while also feeling as though they have been there before.
Marías (and by extension his translator) have a way with words to say the least, and his descriptions of Venice, its people and its presence is quintessential travel writing — in other words, one gets the sense that they must travel there immediately, while also feeling as though they have been there before.
drifterontherun's review against another edition
4.0
I'm 8 books behind schedule! Gosh, this isn't good! I've been traveling, and I don't read much when I travel, though I really should. I get too caught up in planning every aspect of a trip so that any time I have is spent researching online rather than reading. But now I'm 8 books behind schedule, so that's got to change.
This is a book I managed to finish on my trip. Of course, it helps that it's only 55 pages, but hey, it's a book, right? So it counts! I picked this up in the museum gift shop at the Palazzo Ducale (Doge's Palace) in Venice. They had many books, including Jan Morris' book on Venice that I've been meaning to read for some time, but this one was six euros, 55 pages, and by an author who I really want to like.
I say "want to" because my first experience with Javier Marias didn't end so well. Or, I should say, it didn't end at all because I never finished the book. It was that bad. But maybe, I reasoned, nonfiction would work out better.
Nonfiction ... this is really more of an essay on how much Marias loves Venice. There's basically an entire genre of these books now, but I love Venice too and I was currently in Venice so I would read about why Marias loved Venice and see if it was for the same reasons that I loved Venice.
Before that initial disastrous read I'd been meaning to read Marias for many years. Then, last year, I just happened to be at the Louisiana Museum in Denmark at the same time as their annual literary festival and Marias was one of the people being interviewed that day. So I went and bought the only two books the gift shop had of his in English just in order to get them signed.
I remember Marias being a rather acerbic speaker. He's got a bone to pick with all of humanity seemingly, and many of his answers that night came off as somewhat haughty and pretentious, or so it seemed to me. But there was something about him that I liked, though maybe it was just the hilariously haughty and pretentious way in which he answered some of the questions, sometimes with just a single word.
I remember, for example, the female interviewer asking him about whether he had a dog. He snorted and replied "no" so derisively that it was clear, in that single word, he found people who had dogs to be pathetic and dogs themselves to be nothing more than temporary comfort for emotionally weak individuals. Or at least, that's how I interpreted his answer.
And I liked that. I was raised with a plethora of pets, but now I don't have any. All my friends, practically everyone I know for that matter, does seem to have a dog, or maybe a cat, and I do find myself amused by what a fuss they tend to make about it.
But it's such an unpopular thing to say, what I just said, what Marias implied with his "no", that I admired him for it. I admired him for taking such a widely unpopular public stance on the sacred cow that is domesticated animals.
I mention all that just to say that Marias writes just as he spoke that night. Condescendingly, with a-none-too-subtle air of superiority. He loves Venice, and he loves Venetians, but he agrees, it seems, with what he sees as a Venetian tendency to view outsiders (that is, that not insignificant slice of humanity that isn't born in or local to Venice) as inferior and unworthy of such a city.
Maybe we're all unworthy of such a city, but try telling that to the swathes of day-trippers who plague it. Do they really appreciate the city, its history, culture, and people? Probably not.
I try to show, by reading books such as this one, that I am worthy, but I fear it's a futile pursuit in the end. The foreigner has to sacrifice something in order to truly be worthy of a place like Venice, and even years spent living there cannot make up for the great privilege, in the eyes of Marias' Venetians, of having been born there.
Love him or loathe him (my own feelings lie somewhere in the middle), one has to at least admire Marias for his candid bitterness.
This is a book I managed to finish on my trip. Of course, it helps that it's only 55 pages, but hey, it's a book, right? So it counts! I picked this up in the museum gift shop at the Palazzo Ducale (Doge's Palace) in Venice. They had many books, including Jan Morris' book on Venice that I've been meaning to read for some time, but this one was six euros, 55 pages, and by an author who I really want to like.
I say "want to" because my first experience with Javier Marias didn't end so well. Or, I should say, it didn't end at all because I never finished the book. It was that bad. But maybe, I reasoned, nonfiction would work out better.
Nonfiction ... this is really more of an essay on how much Marias loves Venice. There's basically an entire genre of these books now, but I love Venice too and I was currently in Venice so I would read about why Marias loved Venice and see if it was for the same reasons that I loved Venice.
Before that initial disastrous read I'd been meaning to read Marias for many years. Then, last year, I just happened to be at the Louisiana Museum in Denmark at the same time as their annual literary festival and Marias was one of the people being interviewed that day. So I went and bought the only two books the gift shop had of his in English just in order to get them signed.
I remember Marias being a rather acerbic speaker. He's got a bone to pick with all of humanity seemingly, and many of his answers that night came off as somewhat haughty and pretentious, or so it seemed to me. But there was something about him that I liked, though maybe it was just the hilariously haughty and pretentious way in which he answered some of the questions, sometimes with just a single word.
I remember, for example, the female interviewer asking him about whether he had a dog. He snorted and replied "no" so derisively that it was clear, in that single word, he found people who had dogs to be pathetic and dogs themselves to be nothing more than temporary comfort for emotionally weak individuals. Or at least, that's how I interpreted his answer.
And I liked that. I was raised with a plethora of pets, but now I don't have any. All my friends, practically everyone I know for that matter, does seem to have a dog, or maybe a cat, and I do find myself amused by what a fuss they tend to make about it.
But it's such an unpopular thing to say, what I just said, what Marias implied with his "no", that I admired him for it. I admired him for taking such a widely unpopular public stance on the sacred cow that is domesticated animals.
I mention all that just to say that Marias writes just as he spoke that night. Condescendingly, with a-none-too-subtle air of superiority. He loves Venice, and he loves Venetians, but he agrees, it seems, with what he sees as a Venetian tendency to view outsiders (that is, that not insignificant slice of humanity that isn't born in or local to Venice) as inferior and unworthy of such a city.
Maybe we're all unworthy of such a city, but try telling that to the swathes of day-trippers who plague it. Do they really appreciate the city, its history, culture, and people? Probably not.
I try to show, by reading books such as this one, that I am worthy, but I fear it's a futile pursuit in the end. The foreigner has to sacrifice something in order to truly be worthy of a place like Venice, and even years spent living there cannot make up for the great privilege, in the eyes of Marias' Venetians, of having been born there.
Love him or loathe him (my own feelings lie somewhere in the middle), one has to at least admire Marias for his candid bitterness.