There's a lovely new review for THE MASTER OF VERONA up at Rambles.net. Click here to read it.
Meanwhile, I was recently notified of a review at Slow Travel. It's a travel agency that goes the extra mile by suggesting reading for voyages abroad. They wrote to let me know the MV has been added to their reccommended reading list. Which means, of course, I'm booking my next trip through them. The link is here.
Having spent this week writing chapters 2 & 3 of Fortune's Fool, I've not paid much attention to the blog. Apologies. But it means there's loads of stuff to talk about.
Firstly, I'm off Friday to Wooster Ohio for a lecture, a signing, and a combat workshop. I'll be at the College of Wooster's theatre on Friday at 4pm to give a Q&A lecture on being a professional actor. Then at 10:30 Saturday morning it's a signing in the Lowry building, then at 3 I'm back in the theatre to do a little stage combat overview. I haven't been back to Woo in fifteen years, so it'll be fun. Jan and Dash are coming, just for fun. It'll be a hoot.
But not as much of a hoot as it was to hear about release dates from my editor at St. Martin's. The second book in the Mercutio series (title STILL in flux) will be coming out Fall 2008, at the same time the trade paperback of THE MASTER OF VERONA is hitting the shelves. I was particularly delighted to hear this news, as I was unaware that there was even going to be a trade paperback edition. I've been hoarding my ARC copies, since I thought that was as close as I was going to get. But no! Trade paperbacks, not mass market! Since that's my format of choice, I am thrilled.
And, finally, there have been a few more reviews/interviews that have shown up. The first is over at the Blogger News Network. Then come three inter-related pieces, all thanks to Marshal Zeringue at Campaign For The American Reader. The links are here, here, and here. The middle one is my favorite - Marshal has been taking an unscientific poll of authors, challenging them to open their book to page 69 and see if it's a decent representation of the novel as a whole. As you will see, I think mine is.
And that's it for the moment. I'm trying to figure out if I should create a poll for the title of the second book. The one we all like best reads well on paper but is a bitch to say aloud. Not a good thing. If I figure out how to insert a poll, I'll do it when I get back from Woo. Meanwhile, it's back to book three - large swaths of which seem to be set in Avignon. It's the first time I've really left Italy in the story, and I'm having a ball.
Cheers, DB
July Twelfth.
Today in the year 100 BC, Julius Caesar was born. His mother, Aurelia, already had two daughters living. Their births were uncomplicated, but Caesar was trouble from the start. Still, both mother and son survived, though Aurelia had no more children after that. Caesar went on to – well, do just about everything.
Today in 1543 King Henry VIII married his final wife, Catherine Parr, in Hampton Court Palace. Finally, a love to last.
In 1812, America invaded Canada, starting – well, the War of 1812.
But, most significantly, it’s a vital day for the play Romeo & Juliet. It’s mentioned in the text that we’re “a fortnight and odd days” away from Juliet’s fourteenth birthday. We know she was born on “Lammas eve at night,” which means she was born either late July 31 or early August 1.
Which sets the action of the play right around today.
My timeline for the novel means that the events of R&J happen in the year 1339. In that year, July 12 was a Monday. Working backwards from references in the play ("What day is this?" - "Monday, my Lord." - "Monday!"), we know that the show begins on a Sunday morning.
This means that Monday, July 12, 1339, is the day that:
- Friar Laurence marries Romeo to Juliet in secret
– Mercutio is killed by Tybalt
– Tybalt is killed by Romeo
– Romeo is banished from Verona
– Capulet arranges for Juliet to marry Paris
– Juliet and Romeo have their one night together
So, today is the day of crisis in the play.
It’s also my birthday. I’m thirty-four years old today.
Cheers,
DB
* This is a repost of one of my early essays. Please forgive the repetition. I have, of necessity, altered the age. Would that I did not have to....
Ah, sweet, sweet music.
Some writers like to sit in bustling cafes, smoking their cigarillos and drinking coffee and Bailey’s. Some sit outdoors, with the sounds of nature. Some lock themselves away from the smallest pin-drop. Some don’t care what noise surrounds them. And some listen to music.
I am a combination of the last two. If I have been writing for hours, I couldn’t care less what sounds abound. But getting started, when I’m susceptible to the phone ringing or my wife listening to NPR and Air America, I like to put on my headphones and play music just loud enough to drown everything else out.
While I have listened to various and sundry tracks in the years that this book has gestated, there are certain albums that I have to credit with helping me along.
First and foremost, Sting’s Ten Summoner’s Tales. Again and again I would listen to this when nothing else seemed right, and in moments I was having another eight-thousand word day. There are only a handful of perfect albums out there, and they’re always a pleasure to find.
Another perfect album is Peter Gabriel’s Us. So is almost perfect, but Us has a complete balance of style and mood, along with a vibratory grounding that sends me right along.
Third in the list of perfect albums is Paul Simon’s Graceland. Sadly, both Us and Graceland had been my background for my first serious attempt at a novel, and for a long time I connected them with first-person narrative. Not so any more, thankfully, they’re back in rotation.
Then there’s Tori Amos. Dear God, I love her voice. And her piano playing. And her hair. And that she’s friends with Neil Gaiman. And that she understands the power of orange knickers. Anyway, Boys For Pele is incredible. I first heard in on a train on the way to Istanbul – I had bought the cassette in an open market that day because I’d been in Europe for months and had gotten sick of all my music. She will forever be exotic to me.
During my first year of writing I listened to Sinead O’Conner’s Universal Mother quite a bit. Not a perfect album, but it has many great moments.
Unfortunately by the time I was deeply into writing this book I had already overdosed on the amazing, vibrant, brilliant Afro Celt Sound System. These days I make sure to listen in moderation. Nonetheless, Release is the album I want playing when I die.
Out of the pop music world for a moment, John Williams soundtrack for Superman probably got more play than anything else. Then a couple years ago, I got the soundtrack to Master and Commander. Already one of my favorite films – like perfect albums, this one really is a perfect piece of film-making – the score is now one of my standbys.
Another favorite is the entire body of work by the Vince Guaraldi Trio, especially the Peanuts music. It’s summertime music for me, always excepting the Christmas album.
Benny Goodman played a large part in editing the book. The collection called All The Cats Join In is my favorite.
Last year I fell in love with the Black Eyed Peas, especially Monkey Business. Again, it’s probably because it was the only song that wasn’t by Coldplay being played in Italy the summer of 2005. Not that I don’t enjoy Coldplay, but they were on tour in Italy at the time and you couldn’t escape them.
Oddly enough, they were playing in Verona on my birthday. In the Arena Dante had used as the model for Hell. Jan and I looked at each other and said, “Well, if that’s not a sign…” and promptly looked for scalpers.
I have a similar love for Shakira. Long before her hips began lying to me we heard her as we strolled through Verona in 2002. Music is often connected to the places I heard it. When I’m trying to conjure the place, I listen to the music.
For the rest of my background, I listen to a lot of Dar Williams, Moxy Fruvous, Smokey Robinson and the Mircales, the Beatles, Evanescence, Cat Stevens, Martin Sexton, the Nields, Vienna Teng, and U2.
Certainly more than anyone needed to know, but I like to spread the credit around.
And the blame.
- DB
Again from June, 2002. This is the last of our little dispatches from Italy.
Dear All,
It's hot... hot hot hot. Yes, I know from the CNN weather reports that it's hot in Chicago right now... and in Michigan... and basically all around the States... but, I've got to tell you, here in Italy, it's hot hot hot.
Yeah, I know... poor David and Jan. Poor, poor, hot David and hot Jan... I know you weep for us.
Thank you.
So, David sent out a dispatch to tell you about our morning with the Count (yes, he's lovely, yes, we have photos... we're supposed to keep in touch with him... Darice, I'll work on it) and the incredible amount of information being loaded on us by the Ministry of Culture and all that (can anyone tell me why we have no Ministry of Culture in the US? I mean, other than the fact that we don't have Ministries at all-- there should be some sort of equivalent...)-- but I think he left off before he told you about our walk with Daniella.
Daniella is a professor of art and art history at the University of Verona. She's lovely and bright and incredibly energetic-- for those of you who know Mary Locker, that's your visual-- and knows EVERYTHING about what's around Verona. She started the tour by taking us down streets and pointing out arches and edges in the sides of buildings that are remnants of Roman buildings. Apparently there was a major earthquake in Verona in 1166 or thereabouts and the entire Roman city was pretty well trashed. By that time, this area was trapped in the mire of the Dark Ages and had lost most of the knowledge of building and such from Roman times... so they just built up their homes using pieces of the remains of the Roman city. I mean, to the point of building their houses in the arena so they would have at least one wall that wouldn't fall down.
Anyway, Daniella showed us all of that-- explaining enthusiastically in her pidgeon English about the time periods for the frescoes and such as we responded in our pidgeon Italian (not nearly as strong as her English) and asked questions. She lead us down strange little alleys that we hadn't noticed before into courtyards full of medieval remains and paintings...
And then she took us into a shop. A regular old store like you'd find on any old Main Street, USA, and asked the woman behind the counter if we could see her basement. The woman said yes, and we went down some old stairs into their storage area... which also just happens to be an archeological dig of the Roman Forum.
Seriously.
There were digs all over town in the mid part of this century to find the Roman remains-- and the digs all went on in the basements of the shops. And since everything they found is "public historical property" the merchants can't cover it or build over it and they have to allow people who ask to see it. Only, no one really remembers it's all down there anymore-- other than the shopowners themselves who use the areas for wine cellars (we went into the basement of a four star restaurant and their wine cellar is a Roman street) and parking garages and storage rooms. The "dug-up" parts are covered over with some sort of plexiglass to allow the floors to be level, and it's all just down there. Pillars and plynths and remnants of mosaics... everything I thought we would find in the Forum in Rome itself, which was such a disappointment in its decay, we ended up finding in the basements of the main shopping district of Verona.
Can I just say, Amazing?
Yesterday we took a day trip by train out to Vicenza (after David hit Castelvecchio) and wandered her lovely, if hot, streets. The problem for David's research was that when the Venetians took Vicenza in the 15th century, they demolished everything and built Venetian-style (sans water). It makes for a lovely city-- wow, it's truly a walk through history to just wander those streets-- but is a couple of centuries after what we are looking for.
And then, last night, we went to the Piazza Signoria for a poetry reading of Dantè's Divine Comedy. Ok, not all of it... but set up in the town square was a pianist and a percussionist and a couple of music stands... and first the pianist played a few numbers, and then a lecturer came out and talked about Dantè (which probably would have been fascinating, but since we only understood every fifth or sixth word, the train of thought derailed quite often). And then the percussionist did a bit of "mood setting," and a young actor came out and read a couple of cantos from Il Inferno. And then there was percussion, and another, more seasoned, actor came out and read a couple of cantos from Il Purgatorio. And then there was some percussion, and a final, grande sire actor came out and read a couple of cantos from Il Paradiso. Now, again, it was all in Italian, so an awful lot of the meaning was lost-- but it was still incredible to listen to the metre and rhythm of the original, and to see the differences in technique. The first actor was a young, dark, brooding actor type... all vocal pyrotechnics and physical motion. he was interesting to watch just for his displays... and his big, puffy, vinyl, black shirt. The second actor reminded both of us of Joe Regalbuto (Frank from Murphy Brown) mixed with Enrico Collasanto (the alien guy from the Tim Allen Star Trek parody)... a working actor who knows how to let the words themselves work, how to get out of the way of the text and just let the story tell itself. And the third actor was the story. He was older and totally calm and controlled, he spoke the words with no affect, but everyone was rivetted to him... Dave says, think Mike Nussbaum.
My thoughts were that I enjoyed the performance of the first actor, I really understood the words (even though I didn't... funny, that) and the power of the poetry with the second actor. And the third actor I just wanted to keep talking and talking and talking-- a definite "he could read the phone book" type.
So, David and I spent the evening the Piazza drinking Valpolicella (which they serve in thick earthenware pitchers to be poured into huge-bowled wine glasses), eating gelati and cheeses, and listening to Dantè.
No, really.
So, tonight we're going to wander the city again. Verona by night is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and tomorrow we say farewell to Italy because it's off to Paris.
Thank you all for paying attention this far... and if there's anyone you can think of who should be receiving these and isn't, please let us know (sorry Gwen... I changed the address)... and vice versa, there's another month to go, and if you're so sick of us that you can't think straight, just let us know.
Hope you all are well and hope to hear from you soon.
Jan & David
On our honeymoon back in 2002, Jan and I made a point of stopping into internet cafes and sending off these massively fun e-mails to a huge number of friends. Oh so originally, we entitled these, "Dispatches from Europe." Since I've been talking about our time in Verona, I thought it would be fun to post a couple of these - really in the hope that some travel organization will see how brilliant they are and hire Jan to travel the globe to write more, with me in tow. I suspect that we would be great globe-trotters. In fact, we already are, but it would be even better to get paid for it.
So, from mid-June, 2002, here's one of the Dispatches (remember, 2002 was a World Cup year):
Hello Again All,
We're still here in Verona and what an amazing place this is and what an amazing time we are having (David has been teasing me about how I use the word "amazing" in these dispatches... so feel free to fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night...).
Yesterday morning we met with Antonella Leonardo, the secretary to the Minister of Culture in Verona. It's a very busy time for them as Opera in the Arena (yes, they actually use their Roman arena... and for grand opera-- isn't that the most amazing thing?) is gearing up and Aida is loading in. It's really fun to wander the Piazza Bra (the area around the Arena) and see it full of giant Tutankhamen heads and sphynxes and Aida stuff... and to see the giant posters everywhere advertising it-- with scenic design by Franco Zefferelli. He's also directing a piece later in the season with Jose Carrera, but he's the scenic organiser and designer for the season. Anyway, it's all really fun to be around.
So, we met with Antonella and she gave us lots of information to help in our Verona travels-- passes into an archeological dig about the Scaliger palace that are really hard to get, information on how to get in to other places... the phone number of a university professor here that David had been in contact with about the history in Verona, and the phone number of Count Alighieri... the last of the direct descendants of Dante and Pietro Alighieri-- about whom David's book revolves. So we called the professor-- Rita Severi (good Roman name)and made plans to meet at the civic library. When we met up with her, she showed us around the library, amazing, and introduced us to the head librarian whom David had been in contact with by e-mail but hadn't met. He spoke no English but was so excited about having a "scrittore" and a couple of "attori" who were interested in his collection that he went hog-mad, giving David copies of books and manuscripts and promising to dig more things up and grinning and laughing... he was so happy someone was interested I expected him to actually dance for us. So we left the library laden with material, and had drinks with Rita to discuss literature (she's the drama literature professor at the university... her main field of study is Oscar Wilde... but Shakespeare seems fine to her as well) and she ended up inviting us back to the university to meet her husband and check the place out.
So off we went. At the University we just happened to run into the head of the Humanities department, who is an internationally recognised post-medieval scholar... and chatted a bit with him (actually, he speaks no English, so we spoke our pidgeon Italian and Rita translated) while he frowned over the idea of silly Romeo & Juliet stuff, but smiled broadly over the Cangrande and the Della Scala aspects of David's book. Again, he offered help if needed.
We love these people-- the Veronese are so helpful and interested and interesting... as long as it's not about Romeo & Juliet-- about which they are terrible snobs. I am so with them.
And then we met Rita's husband Paolo who is a medieval history specialist who writes mainly about the lives and stories of medieval saints (we didn't think it would be good to tell him about our Saint-Baby/Muppet idea...) and he was lovely ("you're so young!" he exclaimed upon meeting us... you've got to love that!) and they invited us out to dinner and to wander the city with them.
So, we raced home to call the Count (we had to call the Count at 8... that was a fun sentence to write) and managed to connect with him. We have an appointment for brunch with the Count tomorrow morning-- he'll show us the Alighieri estates and vineyards (I gotta tell you, these are fun sentences to write!) and he seems like a kind if crotchety old man... with a teenaged daughter... these Counts, what can you do?
And then we went to dinner with Rita and Paolo and their eleven-year-old daughter Julia. We mentioned the Count and our appointment and then had a lovely chat with our new Marxist friends (did I mention they're avid Marxists?) about how this is a Republic and there are no titles anymore... ok, I know that, but he's still
"the Count" to me.
One ring of Dante's inferno... ah-ah-ah... two rings, two rings of Dante's inferno... ah-ah-ah...
And we had a lovely dinner at a Pizzaria on the other side of the Adige (with a lovely Valpolicello and the mushrooms on the 'za were to die for... I've been told I don't mention the food enough in these dispatches... I'll write a brief mini-dispatch about that another time... and the limoncello is great) and talked history with
Paolo and Rita.
It was great to wander the city with people who both love it and know all about it. They showed us where the people built houses into the Roman walls in the early Dark Ages because the old walls were stronger than anything they could build, and they took us down old streets to show us where bits of fresco still exist... they pointed out which bridges were still there from the 13th century and which bridges were there, but had dropped by now.
And then we all walked to the top the old Roman hill (where the Roman theatre is-- and yes, that's in use as well... they use it for a Shakespeare festival in the summer and we were able to watch them rehearse a bit of Julius Caesar... in Italian) to look down and across the Adige at Old Verona City.
Once you get past the outer suburb-type areas, which are highly industrial, the Old City is amazing... I believe quite the most beautiful place we've been so far. It's delightful.
And we discussed coming back to lecture on theatre and possibly David's book when it's out... and all that jazz. And they want to come to the States at some point to check out our Universities... and it was a truly wonderful night.
Today we wandered and climbed the Arena (a surreal experience with all the Italian IATSE guys loading in the Egyptian Aida set) and are now trying to avoid the heat heat heat.
Tomorrow, brunch... then the US/Germany game... then we're meeting another University Professor... And then Saturday we'll hit Vincenza and Padua briefly (they're just short day trips away... like visiting Naperville from Chicago) and then see about Mantua.
We're having a wonderful time, and again, we wish you were all here with us... ok, maybe not all of you... but a large percentage of you.
Hope you're well.
Jan & David
Continuing Jan's account of our meeting with - The Count:
At this point in the conversation, the Count switched gears and asked, “Would you like coffee?” He then stood, walked over to the door, and called “Marco!” out into the hall. After a pause, he called “Marco!” again. He then spoke quietly to someone in the hallway and then returned to his seat.
David asked a question about the original size of the land purchase and they continued their discussion. After a few minutes, a man tall man in a suit appeared in the doorway with a tray and silver coffee service. The Count stopped his narrative while the man placed the tray on the coffee table. "Gratzi, Marco," he murmured as the man left the room. The Count then picked up his description of the original planting of the vineyards where he had left off.
My husband and the Count chatted on for a while as I continued to look around the room and admire the small pieces around me. After a couple of minutes, I wondered about the coffee. It was just sitting there on the table between us. The Count's manservant (his manservant.... teehee) didn't do anything with it and didn't appear to be coming back.
And then it occurred to me... I am woman.
Hear me roar.
Oh-- and the Count seemed to be waiting for me to pour.
Seriously.
I was sitting in a 14th century villa in the Italian countryside with my husband and a Count and they were expecting me to pour their coffee.
After a few calming breaths and a mental gathering of the all the societal morays I had culled from Jane Austin's novels, I reached out and took the handle of the coffee pot and asked, “Shall I pour?”
The Count waived assent with one hand and continued to talk to David about the outbuildings and when they were added to the original plan.
I sat on the settee with the coffeepot in one hand, picking up the cups and saucers in the other and trying to keep my hands still enough that the china didn't rattle as I asked at appropriate breaks in the conversation, “How do you like your coffee?”
The Count likes his with a little cream.
Somehow I managed to serve, feeling like I was having tea with the Queen. And feeling incredibly American and incredibly 21st century. And feeling a little bit angry with my feminist self who wouldn't shut up and stop whispering in my ear, “Why can't he pour his own damn coffee?”
Continuing Jan's account of our meeting with - The Count:
He lead us into a large paved in stones courtyard framed by the vineyard building we had just left, a large square barn-like building, a long, two-storied stone building, and the house.
The house. A lovely, stone, Italian house that looked both fresh and inviting and also as if it had been there forever, carved out of the countryside. It had large double doors in the center of the first floor that led us into a two-storied entry-way. The stone floor was polished to an almost mirror-like sheen, the center of the floor containing an inlaid heraldic crest. David and I skirted the crest, trying to study it and the rest of the room surreptitiously while following the Count. He noticed our appraisal of the floor and said “That was updated in the 1470s when the Serego Counts married the Alighieri. It was originally just the Alighieri symbol – now it is much more.”
David told him that the main character of his book was Pietro Alighieri and that we were very interested in the home that he had built – and that we were fascinated to find that his descendant still lived there.
The Count smiled briefly and said—“Then you will appreciate this.” He opened a large cabinet against a wall in the entryway and pulled out a poster-sized piece of parchment. He held it up for us to see, and as we tried to decipher the Italian of the document he said, “The original deed to the property.” Seriously. He just happened to have a document from the 14th century in a cabinet in his entryway. “Let me show you around.”
Piere-Alvins Serego-Alighieri is an elegant man. I can't think of any other word to describe him. He is soft spoken, his low voice easy to hear and relaxed with a lovely Italian accent to his fluent English. He uses his hands occasionally as he speaks – not in the stereotypical Mediterranean style, but simply, casually, with fluid motions from the wrists. He is the kind of man who seems to use no excess energy as he moves or speaks – he is perfectly balanced and perfectly calm and perfectly natural in the incredible grace of his home. He smoked quite a bit while we were there, but the smoking had a quiet, cavalier quality instead of the rat-like energy most Americans have when they smoke.
We followed him through his home, through rooms that had been decorated in the 14th century and redecorated throughout the centuries since. Antiques from seven centuries lived together in this house. As we walked from room to room, I was reminded of the different villas and homes and museums we had toured in our travels through Italy that summer and felt that these rooms were no less opulent or stylish, their contents no less rare or extraordinary than the rooms that were blocked off by red-velvet ropes to preserve their treasures. And, interesting to me, mixed in among the 15th and 19th century antique chairs, tables, paintings, and chests were a new stereo system on a consol table, family photos in bright plastic frames, and recently published paperbacks and magazines on a sofa here or on a desk there. In the midst of this museum of a house was a home, with a teenaged girl living there. Amazing.
We ended up in a small study – small being a comparative word choice. It was smaller than some of the rooms we'd been in – one in particular that held the wedding coaches the bride and the groom rode in when the Alighieris married the Seregos – but larger than our Chicago apartment. Like the entry foyer, this room had a crest in the stone floor and also a large fireplace and floor to ceiling French doors. We sat on an upholstered settee and the Count sat across a large coffee table from us in a leather club chair.
He and David discussed some of the history of the Alighieri family while I tried not to gape at the room we were in. Apparently, the Alighieri sons had the tendency, in the generations following Pietro, to join the priesthood, and by the late 15th century there were no marriageable males left. At that point in the family's history, there was only one daughter, the sons both having taken holy orders. The daughter was courted by the Count of Serego and, when he asked her brothers to marry her, they agreed on one condition – that they not allow the name of Dante Alighieri to die out. They would give the Count Serego their sister if, in return, he took their name and passed it along to their children. It was at this time that the family became Serego-Alighieri.
I’ve asked Jan to tell the story of our meeting with the Count. She recalls it a little differently than I do, and probably much better. Remember, this is the woman who sacrificed a week of her honeymoon to wander with me around Verona, hunting up this house or this street or some underground ruin. I was in a daze, especially for our meeting with the Count. So she’s the one who tells the tale at dinner parties, and she tells it so well I’ve twisted her arm and convinced her to write it up.. She fought me, saying, “I don’t write like you!” I said, “Thank God for that, just write it!” She did, and I think it’s great. Thanks, honey.
This is the first part, starting just about where I started in my last post about the Count. Enjoy!
The afternoon before, we got the message:
“If you'd like to meet the Count, he's available tomorrow afternoon-- give him a call,” and she left us a number. The message had come from the Secretary of Culture in Verona-- a lovely woman we had met a few days earlier and who had gotten us in contact with some fascinating experts on the history and culture of Verona. The first time we met her, she gave us a list of places to go, people to talk to, and, in passing, handed David a card saying, “And, of course, you'd like to talk to the Count of Serego-Alighieri – he still lives on the estate purchased by Dante's son.”
Well, yes... of course we would... ummm... wow... the Count has a card. Ok.
So then we got the message.
And we sat on the bed in our hotel room debating just what one should say to a Count when one calls to set up a chat. Finally, deciding our natural paralysis was a bit ridiculous, David, in a burst of confidence and devil-may-care energy, called the number we had been given... and reached the Count's teenaged daughter. She was irritated to be interrupted in her phone call to get her father, and groused to him audibly in the background as he picked up. In short sentences, punctuated by comments in the background of the daughter, it was decided that David and I would take a cab out to the estate the next day at 2 pm. “Ring the bell.”
That night, David and I had a wonderful dinner with a couple of college professors we had met in Verona... true academics and Marxists to the core. The meal was lovely – other than the argument we had when we mentioned our next day's excursion: “Italy is a democracy! There are no Counts anymore!” Well, ok, then... but we were still set to meet the direct descendant of Dante Alighieri at the home and vineyard Pietro Alighieri purchased in 1353. Call us starstruck, but that was pretty cool in our minds. We whispered to each other in the cab on the way home from dinner “And he is SO a Count.”
The next morning we took a cab from our hotel to the address we had been given – many miles outside of the city down winding country roads. The cabbie stopped the car next to a rather nondescript 15 foot high stone wall. In garbled Itanglish, we asked “Is this it?” He nodded and pointed at the wall.
As we approached the place at which he had pointed, the cab drove away. David noticed that there were some buzzer buttons placed high on the wall – the kind you find at the front door of many Chicago 3 flat buildings, little white buttons with little white nametags made on a labeling machine next to them. They said things like "Vineyard Business Office" and "First Floor Office" – in Italian, of course – and one said "Count Serego-Alighieri." Giggling like five-year-olds, we pressed that button. After a moment, a low voice came over a small speaker, "Si?" Immediately sobering, David said, "Hello. My name is David Blixt and I have an appointment to meet with the Count." After a pause, "Si, yes, turn the corner and go in the Vineyard office."
About 20 feet from the little buttons, the wall made a turn. We walked to that point and saw that where the wall seemed to end was a door into a large, rustic, wood paneled and beamed room full of racks and barrels – the walls covered with bottles of wine and vinegar. There was a counter on one wall with two young women wrapping bottles for shipment and a desk near a door on the far side of the room with a young man who appeared to be doing accounts. David and I stood in the dim room nervously waiting – for what we weren't sure. The workers in the room glanced up at us and returned to their work. A moment or two later, the far door opened and a man entered. He was of medium height, slight of weight, and had straight brown hair, greying at the temples, in an expensive cut. He was wearing a linen button-down white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and open at the neck and grey linen trousers. He looked at the two of us and approached with a hand outstretched. “Hello, I am Piere-Alvins Serego-Alighieri and you must be David and Mrs. Blixt.” We nodded and smiled as David shook hands with him and he nodded in greeting to me.
“Why don't we go into the house.” And he turned and walked towards the door from which he came.
In the novel, the title 'Count' is reserved for my villain, the Count of San Bonifacio. But if I were to mention the Count to my wife, she would respond with a smile and a joke about pouring coffee.
Jan and I were married in 2002. Our honeymoon also served as a research trip. Of the three months we spent touring Europe, starting in Greece and ending in London, fully a month of it was spent in Italy. Of that month, a week was spent in Verona. Thanks to the advice of photo-journalist David Turnley, a family friend, I had been in contact with city officials. Antonella Leonardo, an assistant minister of culture I had corresponded with, had arranged for us to stay at the Hotel Milano, that backs up onto the Arena. Very nice.
As I've said elsewhere, Antonella arranged every meeting I had in Verona. It was June, and Italy was experiencing a major heat wave, so there were a lot of dinner-time meetings. Rita Severi and her husband and daughter were going to take us out one night. That afternoon I placed a call to a number Antonella had given me. A teenage girl answered, "Pronto."
I said something like, "I'm looking for the Count."
"My father isn't here. Leave your name and he'll ring you back."
I did and minutes before we were to leave to meet Rita the phone rang again. "Hello?"
"Hello. This is Piere-Alvins, the Count of Serego-Alighieri."
"Hi! Um, my name is David Blixt. I'm writing a book about Shakespeare and Dante, and one of the main characters is Dante's son, Pietro. I was, ah, wondering if I could come out and - speak to you."
"How long are you in Verona?"
"Until Saturday."
"Come up tomorrow morning. 10 o'clock. Yes?"
"Yes! We'll be there!"
He gave me a few directions for the cab driver, then we rang off. I was as nervous as I was excited. Jan and I headed out the door to meet Rita at the city library. That night at dinner we mentioned our coming visit with the Count. Rita was disgusted. "There are no titles in Italy any more!" she said, bemoaning the continuation of 'honorary' titles.
But it didn't stop me from being trepidacious about meeting the Count the next day.
