Sarah Dunant's gem of a book, "The Birth Of Venus," is a brilliant period piece written painted on the page with all the fire of oils then finished off with a glow emanating from the veneer that comes after being highly glazed. She masters the big four: Story— Imagery—Elegance—Intelligence, in such a "readable" way, I flew through it (or it, through me) and I finished it, cover to cover, in under two hours, whilst in a surreal haze. Okay. To be honest, the haze was probably from the real fever I had "caught" and not solely the haze from being swept into another world. Still...What another gorgeous feast for the senses from Dunant. I have to put this down. Now. In words. My thoughts and my feelings, while still fresh with all this meaning. This feeling. Don't waste the echoes and those far-away feelings of distance you get while in a state of fiery brain-heated yet torpid, languid, dare I say, blissful confusion, while viewing bad TV, all the while, whining "Wahhh," to your mother or your significant other or heaven forbid, simply sit staring into your Dasani bottled up water. Oh no, that just won't do. Not when you can go (be taken) all other-worldly. Mind swoon yourself (by the grace of another) back to the 1400's. Dunant's strokes are vibrant, so ardent and inventive, known by trademark authentic; her marriage of story to prose so light it's like silver sheen, comparable to air, or a gossamer trail, she hits every possible note, with every masterful stroke. With consummate skill, she sets forth this gilded tale with the upmost finesse and flair. She blends her palette well, blurring word and color seamlessly and simultaneously. Now, imagine all that rolled into one "now" during your reading. She brings the words, which writhe alive, bright, right off the page, as if laid down with one of those "Silver Brush" sables, highly-praised, top-of-the-line, red sables (that are hand selected from marten tails) this book is the equivalent of an excellent rendering known as Chiaroscuro (there's no adumbration here) as if this WERE a painting, rather than black marks on white paper. Sometimes, we readers DO get lucky, finding the edges really do blur, and no not a fever thing at all. That's unfair to Ms. Dunant. Simply put, this book comes alive, awash with colors, verdigris, lapis lazlulis, vermillion, the darkest of indigo, pomegranate, even the blood is aflame, on fire, all a rage with pure color. (Ok, I was Art Major/Art History Minor. Crazy what's still there for recall.)In the mid—1400's Lorenzo de' Medici of Florence bought himself the services of one Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi, who we recognize today as Sandro Botticelli, you know, "Adoration of The Magi." Botticelli had the gift, he's the guy who envisioned, painted and glorified Venus de' Milo the über-goddess, rising/standing so demurely, even while being delectable and desirous, so pure from her place of exultation. Immortality on a half shell. As any Art Historian worth a grain of salt already knows, Lorenzo was not the first patron d' arts living during this gilded age of Platonic Ideals, a time when real people lived real lives while seeking real answers to life's eternal questions regarding God, Life, Death, Beauty, Truth, Reason and Enlightenment. They were seeking Painted Reverence and Beauty, so they went out, bought then brought home, their own personal Divined Artisans. This was how it was in their time on earth named now as The Renaissance, it's just the way life was back in Florence circa mid-1400. Before Lorenzo ever became a thought, or a thought being conceived into being, his grandfather Cosimo de' Medici the Elder, who (most likely) was the first Medici art patron, had purchased the services of an artist for himself Cosimo, went top drawer, top of the line and secured a commission with the one and only, master craftsman of his time, Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi, better known to all as Donatello. He was a sculptor, large bronzes, bas reliefs, pagan themes...Madonna and Child...his famous homo-erotic nude in the round bronze of David. Donatello was not without his detractors, although he lived a long life, dying in Florence at eighty. He is buried in the Basilca of San Lorenza alongside his patron, Cosimo de' Medici the Elder. We'll return to Botticelli later (who certainly was just as deserving as Donatello, as far as accolades go) as he is relevant to the story, "The Birth of Venus."As all the fashionable Florencian's knew, it was all about "Keeping Up With The de' Medici's." If, that is, you were of noble birth, had plenty of money, a chapel alluring enough to provide years of study, time for all that hard work behind the scenes: the layout, gridwork, preliminary pre-sketches, setting up the scaffolding; all this even before the first brushstrokes could be laid down on the final fresco. To the painter in need of a patron and the patrons purchasing of said painter, trust came down to the painters freedom to paint said chapel along with the altar peices, and whatever God saw fit to flow through those fingers, which could only be explained as being touched by God-Giving Divinity. Still, most were considered, at best, tradesmen, or in the case of the Checchi family, more simply put as merely "The Painter." Paolo Checchi, is a merchant, world renowned (in 1440!) for his original fabrics and textiles. They were top-quality, colorful, rich and flamboyant, therefore highly coveted, by not only Italians, but anywhere a ship could be put to port. He is rising ever higher in his social status, when we first open the pages of "The Birth of Venus." Paolo has just returned from the North Country, where all is gray and the cold has such a chill that it seeps into ones very soul, washing all but the barest hint of color away. (Along with digits, if one is not careful.) According to "The Painter." (Dunant can also be witty, yes, even when writing tales of horror as vibrant as she does fabric, you can really feel it. Retaining her fluid, elegant voice, her words, impressions, the images of evil literally float off the page. Although, this is history, we are at least, eased into the torture. The poverty of the lower classes, sicknesses and deaths were practically daily events, way back then in history.) Paolo is coming home to his family, bringing with him, The Painter. All the 'good' families have one. His wife, we discover, is notably more noble, on the hierarchy scale of how Highborn one can be, she having attained that height higher than her Good Husband Paolo could ever hope to aspire to. Paolo, is, after all, a merchant, a purveyor of goods, top quality and coveted to be sure, though useless for that highest scale of born to be noble. She's in an all together higher league that he will never be nor ever reach. Still, it has all the appearance of a happy and prosperous union. They have been blessed with two sons, Lucas and Tomas. Not much of a blessing. You'll see. They also have two daughters, Plautillo and Alessandra. Night and day, these two. Now, as this family is on the rise, they too, have their own personal artisan, "The Painter." Changes are coming, not only to Florence and The Holy Church but to the Checchi family as well. Alessandra is the young heroine of our story. Her road is not easy. When is it ever, in most times, when blessed/cursed with an innate curiosity of mind combined with a superior intellect? Fuse this with an extraordinary artistic talent, which in those times, even for the Highborn, could be called out as heresy. No, poor Alessandra was staring at fates fangs the moment her body conspired against her, even as this kind of conspiracy is altogether inevitable. At fourteen she became woman. Childhood and the safety net it provides in the dangerous times that are sensed as inevitably drawing ever near, makes the venom dig in a little a deeper. This all coincides with the advent of the fanatical Salvorono, a monk from nowhere, (in the context of the story) who took to preaching his sermons of hellfire and damnation to the very devout Florencian's, which left them reeling, confused and more than a little afraid. Were his sermons, which he claimed as being God inspired, and the issues he raised, even possible things? They, the people, the masses, so conflicted, began to fear his promises of their collective journey to the very pits of hell, as too close to real. His power base grew, not only in numbers, but in the degree of his followers beliefs. They would grow to be as fanatical as the fanatic. His sermons grew harsher, he called the Florencian's out. For even the most flimsy infringements, he kept coming back with, as yet again, yes, this too, is nothing less than a most vile of sin. He banned women from all Church Services and put them on strict city-wide curfew. Then his rhetoric turned worse, by degrees, exponitially worsening as he grew more powerful. His pitch grew violent when geared towards hells consignment for those known (or slandered, just, unjust, these were, after all, trivial semantics) as being the perverted sodomites, whores, soothsayers and unbelievers, or gasp! Of COURSE it worsens, as things tend to do, when fanatics have leave to breed fear unchecked! The ARTISANS! Those God gifted/divined/inspired ones, or at least as they were venerated before the monks arrival, not all that long ago. Mind you, in the age of The Renaissance, most painters painting Masterpieces believed it to be a CALLING, therefore they did find inspiration from the Divine when they put a brush to hand. Minds break, along with hearts, upon finding they are now the evil creatures, satans spawn. Patrons, people, priests and preachers alike all whispering, "Who dared? How DID they? How COULD we? Who were THEY to think of re-creating images/figures/eyes—windows upon the souls to those of The Holy Trinity, The Mother Mary, The Christ Child? Jesus himself?" What blasmephy! The arrogance! Here we go now...The days of REASON, of ENLIGHTENMENT—were OVER. I'm not big on spoilers. Never give them. Still, I was planning on going a little deeper into the storyline. Alessandra's kinda-sorta being duped into a catastrophic marriage. Those dangerous times called for drastic measures. And it was not a thing possible, under that sun, or any other, when tingly sparks ignite between the useless talent of the Art—Worshipping, Brand—New Woman, Alessandra and The Painter, this flame must be doused, before igniting into a raging fire. The Painter is still living in quarters no better than a stable, still taking his meals all alone, all the while, creating works recognized by some as genius, which they are. Of course, the frustrated young budding artist girl is giddy, to have a true master, such as he, this closer than close, to her. Alas, she's now on permanent being slaved-watched status. Sure, she's snuck down the steps in the dark when the house is abed, just so she can sneak a peek at his secret technique, since he only paints in the dead of night. How else is a girl going to learn? Nope, the girl must be right and proper married. With this, I'll leave you to discover the fate of young Alessandra.Botticelli fell under the sway of the fanatical, violent, Salvorono. In doing so, he denounced and burned many of his own masterpieces himself. Rumors still abound to this day, regarding his sexual orientation. There is evidence he was turned in as a sodomite, but was released, untortured. So here, I can bring up an important point. On two major—one minor parts of the storyline, it is acknowledged by Dunant, obviously, she has taken full advantage of creative-literary license. As The Painter didn't get off quite that lucky. Yep, a certain someone had it in for him too. Although he was able to continue painting many masterpieces in the years to come. Hmmm, just who was this Painter? If you know anything about Italian History, or the Renaissance, or possibly some history regarding the affairs of the Catholic Church or The Vatican, you may know Salvorono WAS in fact FINALLY publically called out by Pope Alexander VI and after his final fiasco, a disastrous public humiliation of what would of been the first trial by fire in Florence in over four hundred years, Salvorono, along with two other monks were duly arrested and went to meet their destiny. I must admit here, there are, still, two schools of thought on the piety of Salvorono. I know what I think about those who torture a thing born, what that draws breath, for ANY reason under Gods sun, or even in the infinite of the universe. I have no use for them. Ohhh, my fevers rising. "Tylenol please!"FIVE STARS AND A FAVORITEI know it needs some cleaning up. I'll come back and do later. Cross my fingers! Uncrossing—It took awhile! Finally, is all I say. : )
Na bella Italia Renascentista, em Florença, a arte - inspiração de Deus - está por toda a parte; na música, nos edifícios, nas peças consumadas para os adornar e até mesmo nos diálogos. A beleza do corpo era um tema de conversa tão habitual e comum como a própria beleza da arte… Mas nem toda a arte do mundo será suficiente para salvar uma cidade quando a estrada que a conduz à redenção está atravancada de fanatismo, ignorância e intolerância religiosa.Florença estava a virar-se contra si mesma, batalhando conta o pecado, e ninguém está seguro quando se destrói a vontade destruindo corpos. «Florença é divina mas Deus é cruel para Florença (…)»A influência dos Médicis desvanece-se à medida que o fanatismo se insurge por detrás do púlpito da igreja. O possível avanço do exército invasor de Carlos VIII paira como uma nuvem negra de fatalismo. Deus e o Diabo andavam à luta nas ruas da cidade. E no meio de tudo isto, temos Alessandra…O Nascimento de Vénus começa de forma muito intrigante. O fim de vida de Alessandra leva o leitor a desenvolver de imediato uma curiosidade imensa sobre esta personagem tão preciosamente caracterizada ao longo do livro.Sarah Dunant fez um trabalho fantástico na transmissão dos conceitos e mentalidade da época - a forma como nos mostra que, onde algumas pessoas veem beleza sincera, outras poderão ver algo bem mais perverso…Na Florença do século XV a que Dunant nos leva, Deus está em tudo o que é dito ou até mesmo pensado - conforme era visto como uma entidade vil, irada e punidora ou benevolente e compreensiva. É verdade que o pecado assume gravidades conforme quem o contempla. A história pessoal de Alessandra, influenciada pela História que se escreve em tempo real ao seu redor, é intrincada e complexa, misturando amor e traição em igual medida. A sua paixão impossível pela pintura nasceu bem cedo acompanhando-a no dia-a-dia até que ela cresce, os tempos mudam e é necessário procurar uma solução para a tensão vivida no momento: casar, mesmo que isso signifique abandonar tudo o que conhece.O pretendente, um homem sério mas muito mais velho do que Alessandra, torna-se a solução mais sensata para o futuro dela…só que Cristoforo não foi completamente honesto: o seu coração já foi arrebatado.Adorei acompanhar Alessandra numa viagem tão envolvente e apaixonante como esta. É notável como a autora a faz transparecer tão solitária quando está na verdade rodeada por tantas pessoas. Como a vincula tão ferozmente à sua paixão pela pintura e como a moldou tão realisticamente com fraquezas e os ditos «defeitos» de personalidade.Depois do sucesso que foram para mim as leituras de Corações Sagrados e O Nascimento de Vénus vou definitivamente guardar interesse em continuar a ler trabalhos de Sarah Dunant.
Do You like book The Birth Of Venus (2004)?
A friend gave me this book as a birthday gift. Oddly, it was a book she'd never even read (and she's an even more avid reader than I am). She just indicated that she'd thought it looked like a good one, and as it was a "bestseller" she figured it must be. She wasn't wrong, however, for the first few chapters, I constantly wondered why on earth she'd pick out such a book (with such content) for me... After convincing myself I was an adult and it was ok to continue (I still have alot of my mother's book-chosing influence from childhood buzzing around in my brain), I found she was right. Sarah Dunant's The Birth of Venus is an intriguing and educational read- an ingenious and original tale set in a time one wouldn't consider such antics taking place. I am now reading it for the second time, and enjoying it just as much as the first.
—Jen
Wow, I really enjoyed this book. I read it in a day. I didn't read it like I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix nor did I read it like I plan to read Book 6 on July 16, but I read it in a day it was that good. I'm just going to address my one major problem with the book before I go on to tell you exactly why I liked it so much.Language. I don't know how they spoke in the 1490s, but some of the language seemed very current. Some of the slang used to describe various body parts and bodily functions seemed like something I would hear today on the streets of England. Not America because Americans aren't quite classy enough to say "Shitting." Instead we say things like, "Take a crap." Yeah... real high brow. That was just my one major problem... and it wasn't even that big of one.I loved the characters in this book... well... except the ones you weren't supposed to love, like Savonarola and his followers. I especially loved Erila, and I'm sure you will/do too. They were all very well-developed and real, even for their time. Art lovers and appreciaters will love this book for all the praise it gives to Renaissance art and it's artists. But even if you know diddly squat about art you will still more than likely enjoy the book and understand even it's most obscure art references.Sarah Dunant is an amazing writer, stretching her craft to it's fullest when she must describe not only the art work itself, but more often than not, the colors. To see colors is one thing, but to read them is a completely different.There are several surprising loops and turns that cleverly take place throughout the story, and I don't want to spoil any for you, so I'll stop my review now before I accidently say something revealing. Overall, the book was wonderful. Definetly a must read. Especially if you're like me and you're into this type of historical fiction.P.S. My mom and I are in a debate right now. Maybe you guys can clear it up if you've read the book. Michelangelo was not Alessandra's painter, was he? I'm positive he's not, and I've been trying to prove it to my mom, but she just won't believe me. Even after I've read evidence to her FROM the book. Can you guys help me out?
—Sammy
I sometimes wonder if it is safe for a novelist to attempt to portray cultures other than her own. Sarah Dunant is an English writer who now divides her time between London and Florence (half her luck!) I daresay she feels that, having studied Italian history and lived amongst Italians, she knows Italian culture. However, as an Italian woman myself, I know how Italians relate to the foreigners in their midst and they are not as easily understood as a British ‘Italophile’ might believe. Ms Dunant’s first venture into writing about Italy was a contemporary novel, Mapping the Edge, about an English woman’s fractured adventures on an emotional trip to Florence. However, this is an outsider’s view of Italy. In this book, Ms Dunant has ventured to get inside the Italian psyche. I cannot say she has succeeded.The Birth of Venus is the story of Alessandra Cecchi, the daughter of a rich merchant in fifteenth-century Florence, who is everything a woman should not be, strong-willed, intelligent, talented and ugly. Alessandra’s greatest desire is to be an artist, but as a woman she will never have the means or opportunity to fulfil her ambitions. However, she finds a focus for her creative desires when her father brings home from a trip abroad a painter to decorate the walls of his house. A withdrawn and taciturn man, the unnamed painter is yet drawn to Alessandra and her artistic sensibilities. But then, as Florence comes under threat from French invaders, Alessandra’s parents marry her off for her own protection to Cristoforo, a sophisticated and wealthy older man. The marriage is doomed to failure and has been cynically arranged for his own purposes by her older brother Tomaso because he has always resented her and is jealous of her intelligence and talent. It is here that I baulked. The writer’s portrayal of Alessandra’s marriage and the circumstances surrounding it is where this novel, however much acclaimed it might be, fatally falters.Alessandra has never demonstrated any desire for physical love. All her passions have been focussed on art and her cerebral rather than sensual relationship with the painter. Her unsuccessful marriage might be disappointing, but a disappointment for which she would easily find solace through her art.I also found that in creating this antagonistic relationship between brother and sister, Ms Dunant revealed very little understanding of gender relations in an Italian family. In that time and place, it would have been inconceivable that a boy would be jealous of his sister’s abilities. For a traditional Italian man everything he does and is is, ipso facto, superior to anything a woman can be simply because he is male and she is female. And if a woman should have any abilities, those abilities might be ridiculed by the men in her family, but not resented. Yet, while women may be little regarded as people in their own right, they are still cherished and protected as part of the family.The writer’s portrayal of the relationship between the brother and sister, therefore, is not credible and I felt that the writer had fashioned it simply to create conflict and crisis. I would have found it much more credible, and indeed poignant, if it turned out that Tomaso had acted not out of spite, but rather out of a misplaced fondness for his sister. How much more devastated Alessandra would be if she were to learn that the brother she has always adored, who has always seemed to love her and tolerate her eccentricities, has proven to be totally insensitive to her real feelings.
—Pauline Montagna
