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viktor_haagJust finished "Dressed For Death" (originally published as "The Anonymous Venetian"), third in Donna Leon's list of novels featuring Venetian police commissioner Guide Brunetti. By now, having read three, I think the criticisms reportedly levelled at Leon (that her characterizations are stilted and stereotypical, that her Venice is romanticized and idealized, and that her writing is plain and unadventurous) are to the point. On the other hand, plain and unadventurous can also be read as "easily readable", and frankly the fact that she presents an idealized Italy is reasonably OK by me -- I'm not reading her books to get a true-to-life picture of life as it is lived by Venetians. In some respects, I like my mysteries to be transportive which helps explain, perhaps, why my favourite mystery authors all tend to depict remote cultures, either in times or places remote to my own cultural familiarity (i.e. van Gulik's Dee books, Davis' Falco books, Mankell's Wallander books).
To a great extent, I think of mysteries as almost fantastical in nature, and don't mind a stilted portrayal of a foreign culture as long as it's evocative: if I wanted "the real Venice", I suspect I would read other things with that particular goal in mind.
Once again, Brunetti solves the case to the reader's satisfaction, but the aftermath is disillusioning: once again, the powerful are not punished. They are relieved of their responsibility through either death or financial or social corruption. I suppose this goes to the heart of the picture that Leon is attempting to draw of her Venice: those with money and power are almost entirely corrupt and unassailable. It leaves a sour taste in one's mouth, but I suppose it's meant to.
By now, I have ceased to be unpleasantly surprised at her endings, and have learned to enjoy the progress of the books, cynically already knowing what the outcomes will be. And in this respect, I suppose Leon is to be commended in that she has drawn me into the same position that her own protagonist occupies: Brunetti struggles within a system where he knows he has little hope of effecting any change or achieving any real justice. He must constantly come to the conclusion that perhaps nabbing the mid-sized fishes and putting the odd big fish through some social and financial inconvenience is perhaps the best he can hope for.
If he's not going to make the powerful repent their crimes, he can at least make them pay some small toll for them.
To a great extent, I think of mysteries as almost fantastical in nature, and don't mind a stilted portrayal of a foreign culture as long as it's evocative: if I wanted "the real Venice", I suspect I would read other things with that particular goal in mind.
Once again, Brunetti solves the case to the reader's satisfaction, but the aftermath is disillusioning: once again, the powerful are not punished. They are relieved of their responsibility through either death or financial or social corruption. I suppose this goes to the heart of the picture that Leon is attempting to draw of her Venice: those with money and power are almost entirely corrupt and unassailable. It leaves a sour taste in one's mouth, but I suppose it's meant to.
By now, I have ceased to be unpleasantly surprised at her endings, and have learned to enjoy the progress of the books, cynically already knowing what the outcomes will be. And in this respect, I suppose Leon is to be commended in that she has drawn me into the same position that her own protagonist occupies: Brunetti struggles within a system where he knows he has little hope of effecting any change or achieving any real justice. He must constantly come to the conclusion that perhaps nabbing the mid-sized fishes and putting the odd big fish through some social and financial inconvenience is perhaps the best he can hope for.
If he's not going to make the powerful repent their crimes, he can at least make them pay some small toll for them.
