A thoroughly excellent novel in dialog--or, rather, six dialogs--that is vulgar to an extreme, cynical, scornful, vicious, witty, and inventive. In analyzing a life of whoredom, Aretino exposes the hypocrisies, vanities, and brutish idiocy of the supposedly better parts of society, including but not limited to the clergy, nobles, merchants, royals, and poets. He scandalizes simply everyone, and along the way, while at first it appeared that he set out only to jest and jeer, Aretino seems half-persuaded through his own rhetoric to genuinely respect the "art" of the whore and her ability to give back to society some share of the hell they've given her.
Aretino's writing moves quickly, but it is packed with substance--a kind of dense, dynamic, economical form that is somehow maximalist without superfluity. (Does that make sense? Fuck if I know.) Its a style that says, Why give one example when you can give thirteen? Why give two common metaphors when you can supplement them with three more unheard-of metaphors? Why be hyperbolic when you can be super-hyperbolic? But when a story's finished, it's finished, let's move on, no time to beat around the bush, there are three-times-thirty-one more stories waiting impatiently in line and they're ready to bust down the door.
The dialogs were published in two volumes with about nine years in between--I won't look it up to confirm. I read them with a hiatus between the two volumes. I was a little worried when I returned to take up dialog four (or 2.1?), fearing that it might be good but might also just be more of the same. I needn't have feared. The first three dealt with the three professions of women: nun, wife, and whore, reaching the reasonable conclusion that whore is the most respectable, rewarding, and dignified. The fourth takes up the topic again, as Nanna is now teaching the tricks of the trade to her daughter, to prepare her for whoredom, to make her a pastmistress of the art, and to supply her with the necessary cautions to minimize the chances of her being utterly ruined. But, as I noted above, here is where I find Aretino becoming notably persuasive, i.e. facetious as ever, but also seemingly semi-sincere in elevating the status of the whore and admiring her resourcefulness, considering her no less dignified than all the other denizens of that stinking human cesspool known as Rome. Or perhaps not--perhaps he only wants to sully us all.
Dialog five gives greater justification for women to exploit, plunder, ruin--and why stop short of murder?--that frightful species known as men. For this is the chapter which treats the abuses of women and whores of all stations by all the legions of deceitful male devils. And without changing the tone or style of presentation, this dialog confronts us with some shocking abuses that we only thought the first four dialogues had made us too jaded to be moved by. Then, in the final dialog there is a shift to one more perspective, that of the bawds, which serves as an elucidation as well as a warning to both the men and whores who can be trapped and tricked by these ultra-trickster middle-women. And thus our survey is concluded.
What perspective should you take on all this? I can't tell you, but I will suggest it's likely that you will find many occasions to laugh and a few to wince in psychic agony, and it will be up to you to figure out who you are laughing with or at, and who you're feeling sorry for. In any case, it's a literary gauntlet tossed down at your feet. Don't be emasculated/efeminated by declining the challenge. Unless you have something better to do.
[Excerpts may come later, folks, but right now I'm burnt out. Cheers.]