You have been quoted as saying that the seed for your Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery series was planted backstage at the La Fenice Opera House during a discussion of ways to do away with a particularly irksome conductor. Do you feel that moment was more than opportune, perhaps kismet, considering what it produced?
I think it was just dumb luck, a fair bit of which I've had in my life. Gabriele Ferro and his wife are Sicilians, so when we started to talk about another conductor of whom none of us had much good to say or think, there followed what the Italians call "un escalation," and I found myself studying the room for a place to put the body, and from that to method, and from that to motive. Hmmm, the books haven't changed much in two decades, have they? I'd never thought about writing a book, but once the idea came, I figured I'd give it a pop and see what happened.
Guido Brunetti, the main character in the series, is a sophisticated humanist who happens to have a job that brings him into daily contact with crime, corruption and less-than-admirable people. How did you come to create Brunetti? Did you know that he was so complex and humane from the start, a person who would continue to surprise you?
When I wrote the book, I thought only of a one-off: I wanted to see if I could write a book; the idea of a series never appeared. I did have the sense, however, to write about a man I'd like to have dinner with--not a drink, mind you; that's too quickly over--but a meal, during which he could talk about what he was reading, what he thought about the current situation in Italy and the world, where he might venture an opinion about Holy Mother Church. Experience suggests to me that a life lived in intimate company with a beloved person is a happier life, so he, like Mr. Bingley, was in need of a wife. She, too, had to be someone who would be able to opine about this and that, so I made her a professor of English literature. It could have been Italian, I suppose, but I find it easier to show off in English. The three of us have been engaged in conversation since that evening.
Guidebooks for tourists tend to focus on significant historical aspects (and objects) of Venice; while honoring Venice's past, you look at how your characters reside in a contemporary city alive at every turn, although some of those turns may be well over 800 years old. How do you avoid the temptation to exploit the touristy aspects of the city you obviously love?
I've lived there long enough to have days or afternoons--especially if I'm in a hurry--when I take the city for granted. Fancy that, huh? Boring old Basilica. Not another bridge! This feeling comes upon many of us who live there; luckily, it is easily dissipated by the sight of a window or a trellis or a stone never seen before. I suppose it's like living with a gorgeous man: you've seen him in the morning, grumpy, so you come to take him for granted. But if he puts on the tux (and Venice always wears a tux) the sight of him can knock you down.
Each mystery Brunetti investigates centers on an issue in Venetian life--Drawing Conclusions, for example, touches on the issue of long-term residents of advancing years, and particularly available elder care. Is there an element of serendipity at work here as you land on a particular issue for a new novel in the series?
Yes, I've found many of the subjects of the books in the newspapers or a casual remark someone makes, even sometimes overheard remarks. Old animosities are wonderful because you get stories that can go back generations and are exposed to rancor that has had that much time to ripen. I never know when it is going to hit, but I always know when it does.
Many readers are particularly taken with Signorina Elettra, secretary to Vice-Questore Giuseppe Patta, who proves a perfect accomplice for Brunetti and serves as a window into different perspectives for him. How do you get into the personalities of so many distinct characters? Self-hypnosis? A trance state? Adapting real-life models freely?
I think it's called imagination.
You pride yourself on living anonymously in Venice and have gone so far as not to allow the Guido Brunetti mysteries to be translated into Italian to reduce the possibility of becoming famous or even recognized in Italy. Police tend to know their citizenry (and the historical city of Venice has only 50,000 permanent residents); do you think the Venice police force may be aware of you and have interest in you, despite your efforts to remain anonymous?
I'm sure the police have absolutely no interest in me. Italians don't read much, and certainly most of them don't read in a foreign language, so anything they think they know about me comes to them from gossip or references in the papers. But it's rather as if you were to be told that a famous Icelandic writer lived on the next block. Big deal. Also, everything that's been said in the books is common knowledge.
You
have lived year-round in Venice for decades. What are the particular pleasures
of living there that compensate for any drawbacks of being in a city that can
become overrun by tourists?
Everything the eye falls upon is beautiful, there are no cars, and people are always willing to stop and chat. Fresh vegetables and fish are available at the Rialto market, people look good, and life is slow and relaxing. But the most important part is the beauty, I think.
Our culture finds ingenious ways to commercialize the most unlikely things. Venice, as a unique wonder and repository of history, offers a multitude of opportunities for beloved sites and objects to be converted into kitschy artifacts for sale. Have you run into any particular ones that take your breath away?
Plastic gondolas? With fairy lights? Jesters' hats? Ceramic ashtrays with a photo of the Rialto Bridge? That dreadful water-swirled paper? The made-in-China masks and glass? Pizza sold by the slice? McDonald's? Open-air stands selling tourist crap? The politics of the city?
In Venice, you never have to be concerned about taking care of car trouble. For a writer, that is one less distraction from getting down to serious writing. Are there other benefits for the writing discipline that you have found by living there?
I look out my window and I see the Bell Tower of San Marco. That will suffice.--John McFarland
Author photo: Regine Mosimann