Petr Kral (1941–2020)

3.5*

For Antal Szerb "La Serenissima" is a woman, an enchantress who casts her spell over those who roam her back streets at night. A vaguely similar metaphor opens "Loving Venice" (1999), Czech writer Petr Král's essay/travelogue/love-prose-poem to the city.

Král was a leading surrealist in his early years and, not surprisingly, his book contains many arresting images which sometimes lean towards the bizarre. At the Palazzo Fortuny, a ray of light penetrates through the coloured-glass windows "spattering him with paint". During a religious ceremony, the green vestments of the priest seem to absorb all of Venice. A storm heralds "aqua alta" and turns the city into a shipwreck. A man carefully decorates the facade of his place of residence with small windmills whilst opposite, a small heap of cast-off items burns. A confectioner displays his sweet wares in front of a church shaped like a chocolate box.

Král has an eye for the treasures of Venice, but is equally (or, perhaps, more) intrigued by the daily life of its residents : the barman who arranges the coffee cups on the counter, the dish-washer at the back of a small restaurant, the man surreptitiously reading the newspaper in church, the woman perilously hanging her washing.

I found myself thinking that if film-director Paolo Sorrentino had to do for Venice what he did for Rome in "La Grande Bellezza", the results would be very similar to Král literary tribute. The gorgeous and the banal, the sacred and the profane, the extraordinary and the mundane rub shoulders. Král also shares one of Sorrentino's shortcomings - his prose (here rendered by veteran novelist and translator Christopher Moncrieff) is often self-indulgent. A sentence could take a whole paragraph crammed with dense metaphors. As with Sorrentino (or Venice itself), the book should be taken in small doses as it could otherwise prove overwhelming.… (plus d'informations)

3.5*

For Antal Szerb "La Serenissima" is a woman, an enchantress who casts her spell over those who roam her back streets at night. A vaguely similar metaphor opens "Loving Venice" (1999), Czech writer Petr Král's essay/travelogue/love-prose-poem to the city.

Král was a leading surrealist in his early years and, not surprisingly, his book contains many arresting images which sometimes lean towards the bizarre. At the Palazzo Fortuny, a ray of light penetrates through the coloured-glass windows "spattering him with paint". During a religious ceremony, the green vestments of the priest seem to absorb all of Venice. A storm heralds "aqua alta" and turns the city into a shipwreck. A man carefully decorates the facade of his place of residence with small windmills whilst opposite, a small heap of cast-off items burns. A confectioner displays his sweet wares in front of a church shaped like a chocolate box.

Král has an eye for the treasures of Venice, but is equally (or, perhaps, more) intrigued by the daily life of its residents : the barman who arranges the coffee cups on the counter, the dish-washer at the back of a small restaurant, the man surreptitiously reading the newspaper in church, the woman perilously hanging her washing.

I found myself thinking that if film-director Paolo Sorrentino had to do for Venice what he did for Rome in "La Grande Bellezza", the results would be very similar to Král literary tribute. The gorgeous and the banal, the sacred and the profane, the extraordinary and the mundane rub shoulders. Král also shares one of Sorrentino's shortcomings - his prose (here rendered by veteran novelist and translator Christopher Moncrieff) is often self-indulgent. A sentence could take a whole paragraph crammed with dense metaphors. As with Sorrentino (or Venice itself), the book should be taken in small doses as it could otherwise prove overwhelming.… (plus d'informations)

Dear, oh dear. I was sent this book as a freebie to review, and I have to say it just didn't do anything for me.

It is essentially a set of essays ranging in length from one sentence to 2 or 3 pages, about all manner of things. Supposedly, the author is supposed to find hidden meaning in all sorts of inanimate objects and common situations. However, my view is that the meanings he found were not hidden; they just didn't exist in the first place. For example, I really can't find too much about an ashtray that is worth waxing lyrical about. Revolving doors are just not that awe inspiring to me.

I will say that the writing is elegant, although the translation sometimes left a bit to be desired. A couple of the essays even had an element of truth in them - mainly the ones where the author describes any sort of interaction with other people. But for the most part, Kral attaches such significance and meaning to so many objects that are just not worthy of it that I got bored and irritated while reading.

It was a relief to finish this (and if it wasn't for the fact that I hate giving up on books, I would have given up on it very early on) - I won't be seeking out any more books by this author.… (plus d'informations)