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The City of Falling Angels

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Traces the aftermath of the 1996 Venice opera house fire, an event that devastated Venetian society and was investigated by the author, who through interviews with such locals as a suicidal poet, a surrealist painter, and a master glassblower learned about the region's rich cultural history. By the author of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. 700,000 first printing.

Editorial Reviews Review Past Midnight: John Berendt on the Mysteries of Venice Just as John Berendt's first book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, was settling into its remarkable four-year run on The New York Times bestseller list, he discovered a new city whose local mysteries and traditions were more than a match for Savannah, whose hothouse eccentricities he had celebrated in the first book. The new city was Venice, and he spent much of the last decade wandering through its canals and palazzos, seeking to understand a place that any native will tell you is easy to visit but hard to know. For travelers to Venice, whether by armchair or vaporetto, he has selected his 10 (actually 11) Books to Read on Venice. And he took the time to answer a few of our questions about his charming new book, The City of Falling Angels: The lush, cloistered southern city of Savannah was the locale of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Venice, the setting for The City of Falling Angels, is vastly different. Was it the difference itself that drew you to Venice? John Berendt: Savannah and Venice actually have quite a lot in common. Both are uniquely beautiful. Both are isolated geographically, culturally, and emotionally from the world outside. Venice sits in the middle of a lagoon; Savannah is surrounded by marshes, piney woods, and the ocean. Venetians think of themselves as Venetian first, Italian second; Savannahians rarely even venture forth as far as Atlanta or Charleston. So both cities offer a writer a rich context in which to set a story, and the stories provide readers a means of escape from their own environment into another world. I enjoyed your rather declarative author's note: that this is a work of nonfiction, and that you used everyone's real names. In your previous book you did use pseudonyms for some characters and you explained that you took a few small liberties in the service of the larger truth of the story. Why the change this time? Berendt: When I wrote Midnight I thought I would do a few people the favor of changing their names for the sake of privacy. But when the book came out, several of the pseudonymous characters told me they wished I'd used their real names instead. So this time, no pseudonyms. As for the storytelling liberties I took in writing Midnight, they were minor and did not change the story, but my mention of it in the author's note caused some confusion, with the result that Midnight is sometimes referred to now as a novel, which it most certainly is not. Neither is The City of Falling Angels. In fact, I dispensed with the liberties this time and made it as close to the truth as I could get it. In The City of Falling Angels, a number of fascinating people serve as guides to the city, each with a different idea of the true nature of Venice. Who was your favorite? Berendt: I don't have a favorite, but Count Girolamo Marcello is certainly a memorable, highly quotable commentator. "Everyone in Venice is acting," he told me. "Everyone plays a role, and the role changes. The key to understanding Venetians is rhythm, the rhythm of the lagoon, the water, the tides, the waves. It's like breathing. High water, high pressure: tense. Low water, low pressure: relaxed. The tide changes every six hours." I nodded that I understood. "How do you see a bridge?" he went on. "Pardon me?" I asked, "A bridge?" "Do you see a bridge as an obstacle--as just another set of steps to climb to get from one side of a canal to the other? We Venetians do not see bridges as obstacles. To us, bridges are transitions. We go over them very slowly. They are part of the rhythm. They are the links between two parts of a theater, like changes in scenery. Our role changes as we go over bridges. We cross from one reality ... to another reality. From one street ... to another street. From one setting ... to another setting." Once I had absorbed that notion, Count Marcello continued: "Sunlight on a canal is reflected up through a window onto the ceiling, then from the ceiling onto a vase, and from the vase onto a glass. Which is the real sunlight? Which is the real reflection? What is true? What is not true? The answer is not so simple, because the truth can change. I can change. You can change. That is the Venice effect." I was not terribly surprised when he later told me, "Venetians never tell the truth. We mean precisely the opposite of what we say." Now that you know Venice well enough to be a guide yourself, what would you say to a visitor looking for insight into the character of the city? Berendt: Tourists generally shuffle along, on narrow streets so crowded as to be nearly impassable, between the major sights of St. Mark's Square, the Rialto Bridge, and the Accademia Museum. All you have to do is to step off these heavily traveled alleyways, and in a few moments you will find yourself in quiet, much emptier surroundings. This is more like the real Venice. Another thing to do is to go into the wine bars where Venetians stand around drinking and talking. They will very likely be speaking the Venetian dialect, so you won't be able to understand them, but you will get a sampling of the true Venetian ambiance enlivened by the pronounced sing-song rhythm of the language. I'd also suggest stopping someone in the street and asking for directions. Almost invariably, you will be rewarded with a genial smile and the instructions, Sempre diritto, meaning "Straight ahead." This will only leave you more confused, because when you attempt to follow a straight line, you will be confronted by more twists and turns and forks in the road than you thought possible, given the instructions. This is part of what Count Marcello described as "the Venice effect." From Publishers Weekly It's taken Berendt 10 years follow up his long-running bestseller, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. In lieu of Savannah, he offers us Venice, another port city full of eccentric citizens and with a long, colorful history. Like the first book, this one has a trial at the its center: Berendt moves to Venice in 1997, just three days after the city's famed Fenice opera house burns down during a restoration. The Venetian chattering classes, among whom Berendt finds a home, want to know whether it was an accident or arson. Initially, Berendt investigates, but is soon distracted by the city's charming denizens. Early on, he's warned, "Everyone in Venice is acting," which sets the stage for fascinating portraits: a master glassblower creating an homage to the fire in vases, an outspoken surrealist painter, a tenacious prosecutor and others. As the infamous Italian bureaucracy drags out the investigation, Berendt spends more time schmoozing with the expatriate community in long discussions about its role in preserving local art, culture and architecture. By the time the Fenice is rebuilt and reopens, Berendt has delivered an intriguing mosaic of modern life in Venice, which makes for first-rate travel writing, albeit one that lacks a compelling core story to keep one reading into the night. Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. From The New Yorker In his first book since the success of "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil," more than a decade ago, Berendt follows the same formula: he explores a mysterious, derelict city (this time, Venice), ingratiates himself with its leading eccentrics, and tells their stories. Berendt has a talent for letting characters sketch themselves. This book is less sensational than its predecessor, and the whodunit at the center, the burning of the opera house La Fenice, is really far less interesting than the smaller machinations and intrigues that Berendt finds along the way. The seduction and swindling of Olga Rudge, Ezra Pound's mistress, by the director of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, is enthralling; whether an electrician intentionally left a blowtorch burning is not. Berendt is happiest among the city's witty sophisticates and latter-day Milly Theales, and though his story forces him to include a few ordinary Venetians, he does so, it seems, reluctantly. Copyright © 2005 The New Yorker From Bookmarks Magazine Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil became such a cultural landmark that it’s no wonder John Berendt waited 12 years to write a follow-up. Berendt’s second book doesn’t steer very far from his first in tone and style: he seems to have changed only the names and places. There’s also less resolution in Falling Angels, which led to the love-it-or-hate-it reviews. Still, it entertains. Berendt has a keen eye for detail and an uncanny ability to insinuate himself into the upper reaches of society, where he pulls back the veneer of gentility and dishes out delicious tales of greed, hate, envy, and conniving. But despite his considerable skills, Berendt doesn’t bring Venice to life as he did Savannah, and his harshest critics found Falling Angels formulaic and disjointed. Copyright © 2004 Phillips & Nelson Media, Inc. From Booklist The author's phenomenally best-selling Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (1994), which, for a record-breaking four years, remained on the New York Times best-seller list, drew tourists in droves to the lovely city of Savannah, Georgia. Will his thoroughly engaging new book do the same for the tourist trade to Venice, Italy? In 1996, Berendt planned an extended, off-season stay in Venice. Just three days prior to his arrival, Venice's world-famous opera house burned to the ground. He uses the official investigation into the disaster and the construction of a new opera house as a paradigm of civic and social life in this enigmatic city whose importance to the world -(other than as a tourist destination) has long vanished, and he uses the personal stories of the wide variety of individuals with whom he became acquainted during the course of his stay not only to enrich but also to personalize his account. This is journalism at its most accomplished; it is creative nonfiction as enveloping and heart embracing as good fiction. Brad Hooper Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Review Berendt does great justice to an exalted city that has rightly fascinated...many...throughout the world. -- Kirkus Reviews, starred review, August 1, 2005 Having read Angels, I cannot stop haunting travel websites in search of cheap fares to Italy. Angels is that good. -- Deirdre Donahue, USA Today, September 27, 2005

About the Author

John Berendt was born in New York in 1939 and graduated from Harvard University in 1961. While at Harvard, he was on the editorial board of the Harvard Lampoon. From 1961 to 1969, he was an associate editor at Esquire and later wrote for David Frost and Dick Cavett. Berendt served as editor of New York magazine from 1977 to 1979 and wrote a monthly column for Esquire from 1982 to 1994. Berendt's first book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, was published in 1994 to great acclaim and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.


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The The City of Falling Angels is evocative, to say the least, but that's why you're drawn to it in the first place.

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