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Books

Sex, sin and virginal Venice

By ELLEN HELTZEL
Published March 13, 2006

Two years ago, The Birth of Venus introduced American readers to British writer Sarah Dunant, whose bestselling historical novel about Florence in the time of the Medicis became an obvious successor to such previous art-and-intrigue hits as Tracy Chevalier's Girl With a Pearl Earring.

Now Dunant is back with another story set in Renaissance Italy, and this one is better than the first. With its self-assured storytelling and lush descriptions, In the Company of the Courtesan is that perfect blend of literary novel and popular fiction.

The book has three main characters: the narrator, a dwarf named Bucino Teodoldi; his lady, Fiammetta Bianchini, a practitioner of the world's oldest profession; and the city of Venice, which is a palpable presence throughout the book.

In the Company of the Courtesan opens with the sacking of Catholic Rome by Protestants and other adventurers in 1527. Although a mere 21 years old, Fiammetta is already a canny veteran of her trade and a mistress to a powerful cardinal. But cardinals can't pull strings when Lutherans overtake the city. In spite of her effort to wine and dine the enemy invaders, Fiammetta discovers it's time to take a powder.

Armed with a cluster of jewels, she and Bucino flee north to the city she once called home. Courtesan is the second big book in recent months following John Behrendt's The City of Falling Angels to mine the unique history and qualities of Venice, and Dunant is second to none in evoking its magic.

"The water was black and choppy under a thick cloud," she writes, as the reluctant Bucino and resilient Fiammetta approach their waterlogged destination. "Almost as soon as they had left the land, the dark enveloped them, the only sound the slapping of the waves against the wood, so that it felt for a while as if they were heading into open sea and that this city in the water that people spoke of with such awe was simply an idea, a fantasy built out of a need for miracles."

Fiammetta and Bucino are too street-smart to depend on miracles. They consult a woman healer to restore Fiammetta's good looks and mend fences with a former adversary, in order to gain access to a well-heeled clientele. The goal is for Fiammetta to achieve a place on the Register of Courtesans, a secret list that actually existed, although at a later stage in Venice's history.

Dunant uses the register as a device for the diametrical scene she is setting: While Fiammetta and Bucino dwell in the thriving underworld of sex and sin that makes the city such a magnet, Venice's leaders - the Doge and his tribunal - remain law-and-order freaks of the highest order, stressing public virtue.

These contrasting elements come together with a bang, but first the plot twists like the city's byways as Bucino travels them on bandy legs. The painter Titian plays a supporting role, as do a few other historical figures who are turned to the author's purpose.

But more important than anyone is Bucino himself, who loses his soul and regains it as he ponders the world, both literally and symbolically, from the lower reaches. With his twisted frame, he is the outsider with insider access, a man of cunning and acute observation.

While Fiammetta remains at a distance - fittingly, like a beautiful woman captured in a painting - Bucino becomes our intimate companion, opining on lust and love and the state of the "virgin city," where men come "with the express intent of penetrating wherever and whatever they can, virgin or no."

Ultimately, it is Dunant's ability to make Bucino such a human and humane character that makes In the Company of the Courtesan shine. But we never lose sight of the musty, melancholy, mysterious city that has made such an art out of mixing virtue and vice.

Ellen Heltzel is a writer and critic who can be found at www.goodhousekeeping.com/bookbabes.

[Last modified March 14, 2006, 11:27:11]