First read after my month on the Lido, commuting by vaporetto to the Biblioteca Marciana to research my books on Giordano Bruno. His first Inquisition Trial was right next to Basilica San Marco, in the little San Teodoro, still closed to all but locals, clerics. I think San Teodoro can be entered from Rio Canonico (also called Rio di Palazzo) behind the Palazzo Ducale—see entrance on the cover of my book, Worlds of Giordano Bruno. [A Facebook page, too.]
Another year we stayed for a week at Campo Santi Apostoli, near where we heard the author lived south of Campo Santa Maria Nova. At any rate, we had great daily experience of the vaporetto routes, and of course the grand Ponte Rialto, built in marble in the 1590’s.
Commissario Brunetti lives near Campo San Polo, not too far from playwright Goldoni’s house at the San Toma vaporetto stop. He usually walks from home, across the Rialto bridge, and various routes to arrive at headquarters, the Questura on Rio dei Grechi. Brunetti and I share very few things, but taste in wine— Pinot Grigio—and in books—on “administrative leave” he goes home and reads all of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall.
Unlike many of her novels, where Brunetti solves a crime that the Italian state bureaucracy somehow inhibits prosecuting, here Commissario actually has evidence that will hold up. No spoiler, but the evidence after an inspiration, at home when he almost runs out. Leon does not allow her novels translated into Italian, where they might be seen as an attack on Italian government and its high taxation—which justifies almost envy crime. Here a crime had implicated his wife who protested against a travel agency selling sex-tours to S Asia. She brought a rock from Maine (where I spent my youth summers on 40 acres) to use in her night attack on the agency owned by the rich chemist later found murdered.
Though she herself is American with a British accent (say, “maths” for US “math”), the heart of Donna Leon’s mysteries is very Italian: la casa, la famiglia. House and family. Here, Brunetti’s daughter Chiara (11?) asks “Are you and Mom going to have an argument?
“Why do you say that?
“You always call Mamma ‘your mother’ when you’re going to have an argument with her.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” (47*).
Chiara had earlier satirized her older brother Raffi, who tells his dad, “I hope you don’t mind I used your razor.” Chiara, “To do what? There’s certainly nothing growing on that face of yours that needs a razor” (31).
As in many of my favorite books*, the US comes in for glancing satire, as in his computer whizz Signorina Elettra, also secretary to his semi-competent boss. Brunetti asks her, “‘Accessed’?”
“It’s computer speak, sir.”
“To access?” he asked. “It’s a verb now.”
“Yes, sir, I believe it is.”
“But it didn’t used to be,” Brunetti said, remembering when it had been a noun.
“I think Americans are allowed to do that to their words, sir”(37).
Wonderful, amusing writing. Many fully drawn characters like the semi-competent boss, Patta, who occasionally impresses the Commissario by bureaucratically positioning crimes out of their jurisdiction. Then there’s Pattta’s kissass Lieut. Scarpa, as well as Brunetti’s faithful officer Vianello and others. While Brunetti has his own office, on a higher floor reached by stairs, officers like Vianello share one large room.
As for suspects, besides his wife Paola—why his boss sends him on “administrative leave,” though he needs him back to solve the crime—there’s a passel of ‘em, including mafiosi, pizzaioli, business successes and failures. And there’s serious business fraud selling deadly potion to UN charities for poor countries.
* Pagination from Penguin, first edition, 1999.