Murder in (Renaissance) Venice

With The Wolves of St. Peter’s now in our agent’s capable hands, the new year has coincided with the start of our next book, in which our hero/detective, Francesco, having fled Rome for Venice, begins his next adventure.

It is a bit intimidating to start all over at page 1, but as we learned from The Wolves of St. Peter’s, the best way to prevent fear of the blank computer screen is by thoroughly getting to know our story first. For weeks now, we have been trading ideas, books, and websites, immersing ourselves in the intrigues of Renaissance Venice as we cook up some delectable plots and betrayals of our own. This is the fun part for us - permission to spend our days daydreaming and playing make-believe.

But as much as we’re already enjoying this new book, we’re afraid Francesco isn’t. The intervening year between stories hasn’t been much fun for Francesco, and he’s clearly going through some kind of Scandinavian Gothic/Kurt Wallander/very depressed phase. A lot happened in those final days in Rome, and although Francesco solved the murder of the Marigold Madonna, he still hears the wolves howling in his dreams. Post-traumatic stress we’re pretty sure, and although it must have been epidemic in early 16th-century Italy, no one had a name for it.

And it doesn’t appear Francesco’s melancholia will be lifting any time soon. Francesco chose Venice with the idea of lying low for a while, only to have Pope Julius II declare war on the Venetian Republic. The Pope is only trying to expand Rome’s influence, but Francesco has his reasons for thinking it could be personal. Now his gondolier has found a young woman on the canal steps with a suicide note pinned to her once lovely dress. And any day now, another young woman’s body is going to appear, and Francesco is going to wonder who or what is driving young women to suicide – if it is suicide at all.

But we really do hate to see Francesco so miserable and therefore have to devise some ways to alleviate his suffering. Before everything went down in Rome, he had such a fun if somewhat reckless side to him we miss. (Truth is we both have a bit of a crush on Francesco, and if ever we part ways as coauthors, Francesco will be to blame.) Can we throw him a party? That should cheer him up, and it will be Carnival season after all. We could hold it at the convent of San Zaccaria. As Francesco is soon to discover, not all convents are for praying – some are for entertaining young gentlemen like himself. At the very least, we should find him some new friends. We’re glad the three-legged chicken decided to stick around - and it’s probably time to give him a name. Thanks to Wikipedia, we know a chicken can live for 10 years – the world record is 16 – so it’s possible he could be Francesco’s sidekick for a good many adventures to come.

Yes, this really is the fun part. And luckily for us, it can’t be rushed. Through this process, the characters come alive: revealing their weaknesses and strengths; what they read, believe, eat, and drink; who they love, and who they’d love to murder…. Really, we only need to give our characters life, and they write the story for us. Often shaping it in ways that catch us completely by surprise, they leave us scrambling to keep one step ahead, praying we’ll be there before our detective backs himself into a foggy, cold Venetian corner and becomes the killer’s next victim….

It is winter here too in Ontario, but already we are looking forward to summer nights sitting in cafés and on rooftop terraces, a bottle of wine between us, having conversations that go something like this:

“We could kill her.” “We can’t do that!” “Why not? It’s not like her husband will care. And if Francesco ever finds out….”

If you should overhear us, please don’t call the police. Instead, join us for a glass of wine - because this time, Francesco is going to need all the help he can get.

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For those who missed it, be sure to check out the review by former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi of The Wolves of St. Peter’s, the first installment in our Francesco Angeli series.

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BOOKS OF NOTE: Leaving Microsoft to Change the World by John Wood, who left his marketing job at Microsoft to start Room to Read, a charity that since 2000 has built 12,000 libraries in the developing world. An inspiring read. Don’t forget to make a donation!

Mystery plane depicted in our novel Ciao Bella stalked Italian countryside during World War II

“Pippo flew over Venice every afternoon at around three o’clock,” Anna Friedenberg remembers. Now a resident of Toronto, Friedenberg was only four years old when she lived in German-occupied Venice, yet she still has memories of the plane known as Pippo. “He never machine-gunned Venice or Mestre or Maghera,” she says, naming two nearby industrial towns. “And he didn’t frighten us. He was simply a presence, a fact of life. We thought he was a reconnaissance plane flown by the Allies.”

Although Pippo survives in the oral tradition of Northern Italy, he is little acknowledged in official histories of the war. In fact, no one even seems to know how Pippo acquired his name. One theory suggests it was a play on the Italian moniker for Disney’s Goofy character. Alternatively, it could have been based on the pip-pip sounds he made as he flew overhead. The silly name makes sense to Friedenberg. “We sometimes even called him Pippino(Little Pippo),” she says, using the diminutive. “He wasn’t frightening to us, so why else choose such a name?”

However, not everyone thought of Pippo as a friendly presence. According to Poldo Giro, who lives in the Euganean Hills west of Venice, Pippo was feared by all. Flying only at night, thus only heard but never seen, it was essential to block the lights in your house or Pippo might bomb it. He was rumoured to drop exploding pens or so-called butterfly bombs. He was blamed with strafing the fields and roads with gunfire. And naughty children were sometimes warned: Be good or Pippo will come and get you.

Sometimes Pippo’s identity seems to have been determined by one’s political allegiances. If you were faithful to the Fascists, Pippo was certainly an Allied plane. If you were a supporter of the Allies, the plane was German or maybe even Italian. In any case, it is evident from at least one newspaper of the era that the Fascists used it as a propaganda tool to turn ordinary civilians against the Allies. But whether friend or enemy, Pippo was always he – the plane and pilot a single entity – flying tirelessly all night long over German-occupied Northern Italy.

As it turns out, Friedenberg and her fellow Venetians were probably right when they believed Pippo to be a reconnaissance plane. According to research by historian Alan R. Perry, Pippo was almost certainly a plane, or rather planes, flown by the British Royal Air Force. Unaware of the fears and myths they were generating on the ground, the pilots flew tactical night missions throughout Northern Italy to survey and intervene in German troop movements. The plane itself was most likely a Mosquito, famed for its distinctive buzz, many of which were built during the war by de Havilland Canada at Downsview Airfield (now Park) right here in Toronto.

To a four-year old girl forced to flee Venice after Italy allied with the Nazis in 1943 because her father was Jewish, Pippo was just what she knew. “Pippo was like a joke,” says Friedenberg. “He would come and visit.” She admits though that her memory may be hazy. “I was so young. It was a vague idea. It is like an urban legend. But it is real history.”

These stories are too good to be lost, so if you have any memories of Pippo, please email janiceandgina @ hotmail.com or post here.

Holiday Greetings from Gina & Janice

Dear Friends:

Please find below the recently “discovered” letter from the lost correspondence of The Sidewalk Artist's intrepid travel writer Miss Mildred Mercy.

As you delve into your holiday shopping, please consider helping those less fortunate. For example, one of Plan Canada’s Gifts of Hopes is a Library in a Box for Haiti. An entire library for only $60!

Best wishes for the Holidays and New Year!
Gina Buonaguro and Janice Kirk

Hotel Raphael, Rome
Christmas Eve, 1971

Dear Gentle Friends,
It never snows in Rome, my friend the Tuscan vintner told me. Those of you who read my travelogue On the Trail of the Writer in Europe: An American Woman's Pilgrimage will remember the vintner as the man who swept me most chivalrously away on his motor scooter as I waited in vain for a local bus. Having wooed him these past three Christmases with hand-knit socks and my very famous fruit cake, I was delighted when at last he succumbed (no doubt under the influence of the generous quantity of rum with which I spiked last year’s sweet offering) and invited me to meet him here in the Eternal City. And while I have not had a Christmas without snow in all my eighty-four years of living in North Dakota, it is a small price to pay to be here again in Italy with my vintner, who is at this very moment out purchasing a copy of that most venerable of American Christmas traditions, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas,” spotted before breakfast in the window of an English-language bookshop.

What can I say about this city that I did not already cover in my book of travels? Dickens was here; Hawthorne came too. My vintner and I viewed St. Peter’s Square with Mark Twain’s colorful observations as our guide, though his myriad of similes designed to impress upon us the Basilica’s size and majesty (The Capitol in Washington, Niagara Falls, et cetera) failed us both miserably. The expenditure on this vast project may have indeed sparked the Reformation, but on this day in the year of our Lord 1971, between the glorious music in the square and the life-size manger that awaits the solemn placing of the Christ Child this very eve, no jaded soul - least of all this one - could hope to remain unmoved!

Rome, as I previously reported, was also a favorite haunt of the Romantics. Liszt, Byron, Shelley, Keats – all came to sigh their melancholic ways through the Roman Forum, the Circus Maximus, the Colosseum. Indeed, both Shelley and Keats are buried here, and my vintner and I have visited their tombs – a damp affair that inflicted upon us both simultaneous bouts of sciatica that could only be cured with a great deal of my friend’s wine (he never travels with less than a case). It was the ruinous damp too that was the nemesis of that great son of Rome, the Renaissance painter Raphael. There has always been much speculation about the identity of Raphael’s great love. The glory at present is bestowed upon a humble baker’s daughter, and while I am sure this honor is quite misplaced, I shall have to leave it up to some future author or authors cleverer than myself to uncover the truth of that mysterious affair!

As I look out the window now into the Roman night, I see my vintner friend striding down the street toward the hotel, a parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm, no doubt proof of a successful excursion. My, what a handsome visage he has! Such a fine mustache and such jolly dark eyes… But goodness! What is this I see? Could it really be? It is! It’s snowing! What complete and utter bliss!

And so it is here, dear readers, I must leave you, for there are snow angels to be made and a Christmas tale to be read aloud before the fire – but I will not rush off before wishing you all courage and love for the holidays and the coming new year!

Fondest regards,
Miss Mildred Mercy

P.S. In the summer, my vintner promises to take me to the Euganean Hills of Northern Italy, where the sonneteer Petrarch spent his final years loving his Laura to the last. I shall report then of my travels there. Until then, we will spend the next few months in Tuscany – oh lucky me!

What We're Reading - Part II

Falling for Rain is now available as an ebook beyond Amazon's Kindle - and at a reduced price until December 18! Just enter coupon code MJ99M here.

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And now it’s Gina’s turn to discuss her bedside reading pile.

Having just finished rereading Pride & Prejudice for my book club, I eagerly await our next choices, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, Little Bee by Chris Cleave, and Master Pip by Lloyd Jones. I don’t know much about any, so upon looking them up, I see that the first is a young adult novel set in Nazi Germany, the second is about a Nigerian orphan and a British couple, and the third is a New Zealand coming-of-age story. All come highly recommended. One of the best things about a book club for me is reading things I wouldn't have thought to choose on my own.

Middlemarch by George Eliot also sits upon the stack, a recommendation from a book club friend. I’m always a sucker for a classic and can’t believe I’ve never read this one. I’ve read lots of Jane Austen and Henry James - clearly it’s time for some Eliot.

But first I must finish all the books I’m halfway through. Three are work related. The first is Vanished Smile, highly recommended by Janice . The second and third are rereadings of a few key chapters of Renaissance Rome by Peter Partner and Michelangelo and The Pope's Ceiling by Ross King. Both are must reads for anyone interested in the time period.

Right after that I need to complete the second half of Steven Heighton’s Every Lost Country. I was greatly enjoying this novel by a Kingston, ON author that I know slightly and Janice knows better. Steven is originally a poet, and those skills are directly evident in his novels. This is a contemporary tale based on a true story that takes place on the border between Tibet and China. The tagline asks, “When is it acceptable to be a bystander, and when do life and loyalty demand more?” An intriguing question, to be sure. (I also greatly enjoyed Heighton's Afterlands, also based on a true story.)

Then comes Race Traitor by Elisa Hategan. A fellow Ontario author, I have gotten to know her through social networking. It’s about a runaway teenager who belongs to a paramilitary group that she later spies on - sounds extremely gripping.

After that, if I don’t get interrupted by other books begging to be read, comes a beautifully bound first edition of Louis Auchincloss’s Exit Lady Masham, inherited by my husband from a dear friend who died a decade ago.

Finally, The Last Concubine by Lesley Downer, a gift from our agent, another of his authors.

All this is what is preventing me from getting an ereader! With so many hard-copy books to read, how can I yet justify the transition?

Berlusconi reviews our forthcoming novel as final act as Italian Prime Minister

Dear Mr. Berlusconi,

We know this has been a busy time for you, what with the mobs in the street demanding your resignation and the IMF your head on a platter, not to mention your own legal problems with pretty dancing girls. So we understand you might think us a little crazy for suggesting you take time out to read our forthcoming novel, The Wolves of St. Peter’s. But we think our book could give you a much-needed distraction – not only because it's a good read but also because “The Turk,” suspect numero uno in the murder of the unfortunate Marigold Madonna, was inspired by none other than you!

Why you, you may ask? Well, as you know, there's nothing like a scandal to market one’s book, as Dan Brown discovered with The Da Vinci Code. Our novel will probably annoy the Vatican – we can just imagine the tsk, tsking over our portrayal of Pope Julius II (all rooted in fact, as a matter of fact). But annoying the Vatican has been done before (not to mention they probably have a considerable backlog of materials just waiting for their seal of disapproval). Besides, we’re actually rather nice and don’t really enjoy annoying people too much, which is why we think you’ll like The Turk. Despite his rather unsavory side, he's pretty fun and has become one of our all-time favorite characters.

In fact, it would be doing us a big favor if you could mention him in a news conference or two. And if it would help, we could send you a list of publications for you to send your endorsement to – The New York Times would be a good start. But please do it soon – even as we write this, the wolves are circling your presidential palace!

We can even help by preparing your endorsement. How about something like:

Great Book! Couldn’t put it down. Merkel and Sarkozy called three times demanding I squeeze more blood from a stone, but I told them to get a life and go read The Wolves of St. Peter’s. The authors (two charming Canadian ladies) tell me they based the character of The Turk on me. Even called him Silvio (that’s my first name: Silvio Berlusconi). Don’t see it myself. That painter, Michelangelo, no it was Raphael, called The Turk “the most cheerfully evil man” he’d ever met. I tell you, Raphael better be careful in the future or I’ll paint moustaches on all those pretty Madonnas of his! And that little upstart from Florence, Francesco, said I… I mean The Turk… looked like that fat old bullfrog from the fairytale…. And what was with the guy who thought he was a bat? But I did like the bunga bunga, and oh, la, la, that Calendula – what a looker! Shame what happened to her. And the ending! How shocking! I never guessed who the murderer was. Well, I won't spoil the surprise. You'll just have to wait until it's published and read it for yourselves.

Will that do? We really do appreciate you doing this. In the meantime, good luck with all your problems!

And one more thing. You really must do something about Pompeii. Another wall came down last week, and we don’t want our children to know about Italy’s historic treasures from books alone.

Sincerely, Janice Kirk & Gina Buonaguro

PS - We know you were probably anxiously awaiting Gina's book recommendations, but when we heard you were about to resign, we just had to get this out to you.

What's We're Reading - Part I

          At a dinner party recently, we guests compared the stacks of books threatening to tumble from our bedside tables and crush us in our sleep, an interesting discussion that had us taking out pencils and writing down new titles to add to our leaning book towers. This week we learn the contents of Janice's night table and next time its Gina's turn.

          So teetering on the top of the pile is Vanished Smile: The Mysterious Theft of the Mona Lisa by R.A. Scotti (accumulated library fines: $2.30). It wasn't until I started reading this book that I learned it was the 100th anniversary of the theft. I had no idea what a catalyst this was in the modern era or that Picasso was a prime suspect.  This is my third book by R.A. Scotti this year. I originally picked up Basilica: The Splendor and the Scandal: Building St. Peter's on the building on St. Peter's as research for The Wolves of St. Peter's. Soon I was utterly enthralled (not to mention completely in awe of her writing). Sudden Sea: The Great Hurricane of 1938 opens with Katherine Hepburn waving goodbye to her then-boyfriend Howard Hughes as he flies overhead on his transatlantic flight. When we catch up with her later that afternoon, she is crawling across the sand dunes watching her house blow out to sea. I loved all three of these books but fear that Scotti is such a master storyteller she has all but rendered fiction obsolete.

          Next: Henning Mankell's first two Wallander novels. My son bought these for me after we watched the beautifully filmed BBC adaptations starring Kenneth Branagh as Kurt Wallander. I confess to being stuck midway through the second novel. Branagh was completely riveting as the conflicted Wallander, and for me the character on the page seems a little pale in comparison. I also felt Wallander's daughter had less of a presence in the books while their relationship was such a compelling part of the TV series. That said, Mankell is a master of dialogue (I wasn't surprised to learn he is a playwright), and I only wish I had read the books first.

          Halfway down under the French/English dictionary is the controversial Infidel by Ayaan Hirst Ali, a book that seems important to read but maybe not before bed. I must remember to move it to the stack beside my reading chair in the living room which teeters no less precariously.

          Bad Science by doctor/science writer/Guardian columnist Ben Goldacre may be best described by the chapter heading "Why Clever People Believe Stupid Things." As someone who has clung onto her own share of stupid ideas, I find this book humbling and informative. It has also had an influence on the creation of our Wolves' characters Francesco, Michelangelo, and Raphael.  "It's all grist for the mill," Gina and I are fond of saying, and it is amazing what can worm its way into a story.

          Almost there. The Pianist's Problems: A Modern Approach to Efficient Practice and Musicianly Performance by William S. Newman is next. This is a book I read every few years in hopes of gleaning new words of wisdom. It has not failed me on this reading, but I won't bore you with the details. I'm only being slightly facetious when I say I play the piano because it makes writing look easy.

          At the bottom of the stack providing a somewhat slippery foundation are a half-dozen back issues of BBC Music Magazine, bedside porn for classical music lovers. Nothing like a review of the latest recordings of Liszt's piano sonata to calm those 3 am anxiety attacks.

          And soon to join the pile: Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, a book I always follow up with Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys, who gives the woman in the attic her own story. 

          I am very excited too about a new biography of Caravaggio by Andrew Graham-Dixon as well as Better Angels of Our Nature by Steven Pinker, who argues the world has become less violent over time, a theory Gina and I have little trouble believing after immersing ourselves in the history of Renaissance Rome for the two years we've been working on The Wolves of St. Peter's. The perfect companion for Pinker's book could very well be Ovid's Tristia  poems, which he wrote in his final years of exile on the shores of the Black Sea, but that will have to wait until being released from the night table of one of my fellow dinner guests. 

Read for 24 hours and win books (including ours of course!)

Like free books? Stay up late reading anyway? Looking for something to do on a blustery autumn weekend? Then read to win!

We have donated a copy each of The Sidewalk Artist and Ciao Bella to Dewey's Readathon.

All you need to do is blog about your reading during the readathon to be held this Saturday October 22 for a chance to win these and other books.

If you don't have a blog, you can still participate.

Find out more about and sign up for Dewey's Readathon here.

(Wondering what to read next? Our next post will contain book selections from Janice's bedside table.)