There are at least two aspects of this book to recommend it.
The first is its recreation of life in the gilded cities of 18th century Europe--Venice, Paris, London, Rome, St. Petersburg. The second, of course, is the account of all the romantic adventures, with all the salacious details one would hope, that made Casanova the lover of legend.
The story opens in the most serene republic of Venice, a city filled with actors, singers, dancers, and masked revelers, and the author claims that while Casanova was never an actor on a stage, he was ingrained with a kind of theatricality. One telling historical detail: "There was mandatory mask-wearing in Venice, for an entire city, day and night, from October to Ash Wednesday, with a brief break for Christmas; a further fifteen days of carnival was added in the early eighteenth century, around Ascension Day." In addition to getting really tiresome, that's got to mess with you in some way.
Venice, also had a dark side. While ostensibly ruled by the doge, or Duke, it was really an oligarchy of rich patrician families enforced by the Council of Ten, and, it’s sub-committee, the Council of Three, referred to more often by their feared ecclesiastical title, The Inquisition. After being expelled from a seminary for alleged homosexual acts, allegedly selling himself and his cabbalistic healing powers to the rich and famous, he is finally arrested and imprisoned. His real crime seems to be transgressing class lines. His escape made him a celebrity and an exile.
As he gallivants across Europe, he hob nobs with the greats of the era, Voltaire, Lady Pompadour, Federick the Great of Prussia, Tsarina Catherine the Great and a few popes, all the while bedding the rich and famous, the married and the single, and actresses and courtesans.
We read about how he lost his virginity to two sisters, how he was a voyeur in Constantinople, feel in love with a male-impersonator, had his heartbroken by his one true love, and had an affair with a rich nun named M.M. that would make E.L. James blush. In the end, he confesses to at minimum 122 love affairs (less than Lord Byron), six bouts of gonorrhea, and a handful of illegitimate children.
The problem, though, with Casanova, and ultimately the book, is that behavior that is wild, roguish, and charming in youth, becomes increasingly despicable later in life. (One of the pleasures in the book is reading all the synonyms for libertine: roue, rake, voluptuary,sybarite, catamite, gadabout ; another is reading all of the 18th century slang for ...other things: Merryland, English riding coats, the school boy's solution).
Early in his life, Casanova is a lover, who rescues women, protects them, treats them with chivalry and seduces them with pleasure; by middle age, he is a con man, swindling old ladies, purchasing a Russian serf (he named Zaire!), advertising for mistresses in English newspapers, passing on venereal disease, and even committing two murders (one is an accidental overdose; the other was probably self-defense.) But it is his alleged incest and his political treachery that are most disturbing.
I'll end with one funny anecdote that captures the two sides of Casanova's personality--his wit, intelligence, humor, and his cruelty, selfishness, and pettiness: After a particularly tension-filled romance gone wrong, he bought a parrot, which he left at London's Royal Exchange once he had taught it to say, ‘Mademoiselle Charpillon is more of a whore than even her mother.’