Several years ago, after a marble angel fell from the parapet of Santa Maria della Salute Church in Venice, Italy, the owner of the famed Harry’s Bar put up a sign warning passers-by to “Beware of Falling Angels.”
Venetians should have been warned to beware of John Berendt. The gossipy, ingratiating author of “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” spent nearly a decade in Venice learning its secrets – the intrigues, the jealousies, the Byzantine histories of its first families – and now he’s divulging them to the world.
The earlier book spawned a cottage industry of “Midnight” tour guides and souvenir vendors in Savannah, Ga., where it is set. Venice is better known than Savannah, of course. Nonetheless, “The City of Falling Angels” is likely to create a whole new group of literary tourists visiting Venice with a list of not-to-be missed sites. In fact, Berendt conveniently provides such a glossary.
Berendt, who manages to be in the right place at the right time, arrived in Venice in January, 1996, just three days after a mysterious fire devastated the Gran Teatro La Fenice. All Venice was in mourning for opera house’s loss, which at first appeared to have been caused by negligence. Workmen had carelessly stored flammable liquids inside the building, which was a tinderbox anyway. But there was more. The watchman was not to be found. The sprinkler system in the opera house had been turned off. A nearby canal that would have provided water to fight the fire, had been drained for maintenance work.
That was enough for a Venice prosecutor to threaten everybody from the mayor to individual workers with criminal negligence. Then came rumors of arson – by the Mafia, the unions, the contractors. The Fenice fire is the raison d’etre for “The City of Falling Angels.” And the tale, with all its twists and turns, charges and counter-charges is woven throughout the book.
But there is much more to Berendt’s story of this city of velvet and wood, as he describes it, and much of it is scandalous, which is no surprise if you’re familiar with the author’s work.
There is the imbroglio over the Ezra Pound collection. Olga Rudge, Pound’s elderly widow, sold 208 boxes of his materials worth well over $1 million for just $7,000. They went to the Ezra Pound Foundation, controlled by Rudge’s “friend,” Jane Rylands, whose husband is the director of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. When Rudge tried to get access to her husband’s material, she was refused.
Venetians gossiped that Jane Rylands and her husband, who took care of Peggy Guggenheim in her last days, had a habit of making themselves indispensable to elderly women, then getting their hands on the women’s assets, “selective gerontophilia,” one called it.
The Rylands aren’t the only ones who are accused of enriching themselves by fortuitous death. Mario Stefani, a poet and character of note in Venice, left his $1 million estate to a fruit vendor, whose infant daughter had inspired the writer. Stefani, a homosexual, had hanged himself. There was some question about whether the poet had actually done the deed, despite that his writings were filled with thoughts of suicide, and he left a note. He also left a number of wills, the final one naming the fruit seller. The poor tradesman was accused of everything from having an affair with the poet to fabricating the will. It was the sort of plot Venetians love and into which Berendt interjects himself so well.
“The City of Falling Angels” will inevitably be compared with “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.” And in some ways, the latest book will be found wanting. An opera house fire, even with hints of foul play, is not as captivating as the murder of a gay man by a prominent civic leader. And while Venice has a colorful cast of characters, they aren’t as quirky as those in Savannah. Berendt doesn’t turn up transvestites in Venice, for instance, although there is a perfectly charming man who makes his living killing rats. Berendt can turn a chance encounter into a brilliant escapade.
There is a wealth of gossip about such things as family feuds and dissipated fortunes. The writing is exquisite and filled with obscure details, such as the birdnapping of pigeons by city authorities trying to control the pest problems. Then there’s the poet who fell out of favor after he took school children on a tour of Venetian restrooms to read the graffiti.
If you’ve never been to Venice, you’ll yearn to visit after reading this book. If you’ve already come to love the city, you’ll feel like an insider. But if you go, go soon. By summer you’re likely to encounter hordes of tourists clogging the narrow streets with their own copies of “The City of Falling Angels.”
Sandra Dallas is a Denver novelist.
The City of Falling Angels
By John Berendt
Penguin, 432 pages, $25.95
