Archive for 2007

The streets of Florence are not safe on New Year’s Eve. Gangs of youths run amok, tossing firecrackers indiscriminately into crowds. Residents throw empty bottles from their windows. Rome, they say, is even worse. No matter, we usually spend New Year’s Eve at home, anyway.

When we lived in Florence we enjoyably spent the last day of the calendar year foraging in our favorite haunts. Cheeses, nuts, olives and a salmon spread from the Central Market, bread and rolls from Verrazzanno on Via dei Tavolini, a small pork roast from Sandro Polleria on Via dei Cerchi, rosemary, carrots, zucchini and Sicilian cherry tomatoes from the nearby fruit and vegetable vendor, a live lobster from Pescheria Alfredo on Borgo degli Albizi, and for dessert, fedora from Pasticceria Nencioni on Via Pietrapiana.

French pastries are generally better than Italian, but fedora is the best dessert I’ve ever tasted, a combination of rum-soaked cake and whipped cream, all encased in dark chocolate curls. To drink there was a hearty Chianti Classico from Villa S. Andrea, where we visited in November, and Lis Neris, a smooth pinot grigio from Friuli in the north where the best Italian whites are produced. As a digestif, Limoncello from Sorrento.

We invited Erminia Luschi, a newfound friend. Born in Salzburg, Erminia moved to Florence in 1958 at eighteen. Erminia illustrated children’s books, using pen and ink in powerful drawings, some of which were two-page spreads. She also did props and costumes for local theatre and worked as a designer for Salvatore Ferragamo.

After dinner, we decided to inaugurate the dishwasher. We’d all had a tad too much to drink. After a period of silence while reading the instructions, Erminia announced, “Start is an important button.” We added soap, pushed some buttons, and amazingly, it worked. There was a sudden panic when Erminia couldn’t find her reading glasses and worried they mistakenly went in with the dishes. While I tried to figure out how to shut off the contraption, she found them. “Too much Limoncello,” she laughingly concluded.

If I have one wish for 2008, it is to be more like the Italians and those who dwell there. As Canadians we are too reserved, our shoulders hunched to the ears and chins tucked into the chest as if trying to fend off winter’s cold even during the summer. People are affected by their weather, so Italy is a freer place because there is less huddling. But beyond such external forces, Italians know who they are, revel in their talents, enjoy the beauty in which they live, and respect the roles of others.

Sandy, my illustrator and my muse, joins me in wishing everyone a happy, healthy holiday. May all readers enjoy this wondrous season with family and friends. Take some time to reflect on what truly matters - it’s the Italian way!

Best wishes for 2008 and if Florence is not on your agenda, it should be!

Christmas on Via Roma, the street where we lived in Florence, is celebrated like no other neighborhood where we have ever spent the season. Early in December, trucks deliver numerous terra cotta tubs containing perfectly formed evergreen trees that are carefully tucked against the exterior walls of the shops for blocks around. Once the planters are in place, each tree is decorated with white fairy lights.

Similar white lights are strung across the street high above the pavement and while each block features the same dazzling color, every design is subtly different, so that when you look up and down the street you see a series of swags swaying that are all of a piece yet each is unique.

Individual storefronts are festooned with garlands of flowers and fruit arranged so artfully that they could have been done by the famed Renaissance ceramics workshop of Luca Della Robbia.

Even the street vendors are in sync with the season. The Asian women who usually shake armfuls of shawls at tourists now sell Santa hats with blinking lights or clip-on reindeer horns. I know they sound tacky but even these ornamental items have some class.

Nor is the real reason for Christmas forgotten. Churches give over their altars for what’s called presipio, manger scenes that range in size from a modest square meter to huge displays of carved figurines that go far beyond the traditional manger to include a tableau of the surrounding desert complete with trees, camels and mountains. In addition to these displays in churches, vacant shops are filled with similar scenes staffed by volunteers who accept donations for disabled children.

The only thing that’s missing are the Christmas discounts. By government fiat, prices can’t be slashed until January 7. No matter. Everything is so beautiful, the bargains can wait.

Yesterday afternoon’s Tuscany workshop was a great success. Putting together local tour operators with people from Tuscan hospitality services was a brilliant idea and a suitable launch for Enzo Colombo as he takes up his new post in Toronto as director for Canada of the Italian Government Tourist Board.

I arrived at the Columbus Centre in time for the evening event which included a speech by Enzo as well as a wonderful videotape of Tuscan scenery and art treasures which brought back many memories. Among the many items portrayed was Donatello’s David, my favorite work of art in all of Italy. David - not Michelangelo’s David - is in the Bargello in Florence and was the first statue done in the round since ancient times.

Another one of my favorites shown was the tomb of Ilaria del Carretto in Lucca, an hour northwest of Florence. I have always liked the dog at her feet, a symbol of her faithfulness. There are no tombs of Italian men shown with their dog, which may say something about their wayward ways.

Among the noteworthy guests at last night’s event were Veronica Ferrucci, Consul of Italy, and Paolo Ponti, Italian Trade Commissioner, both of whom are based in Toronto. Riccardo Strano, director for North America, was heading back to New York by the time I arrived.

I made a few remarks about Fantasy in Florence and gave away a few copies of our book. It’s the least I can do in return for the welcome Sandy and I received when we lived in Florence.

The first Christmas card to arrive at our house this year is from Angela Caputi, a wonderful jewelery designer and entrepreneur we met while living in Florence. Angela was one of many local artisans who opened her doors and her heart to us while we were there. I showed up unannounced at her retail outlet on Via Santo Spirito and could see her working at her desk through a glass wall. When I spoke to one of her assistants about meeting her, there was no hesitation, and Angela immediately came to the shop floor. Angela speaks excellent English, far better than my halting Italian, but she asked if she could conduct the interview in French, which was fine with me.

We chatted for two hours and toured the area where half a dozen women build her line of necklaces based on Angela’s designs. I learned that her ideas can and do come from anywhere. “Style changes every night. I am always searching for something new as well as pleasure from color and material.” She uses beads, semi-precious stones and tassels to create elegant pieces that are light and eye-catching. You can see more of them in retail outlets in Ottawa, Montreal, Milan and New York as well as online. Stylish work by a stylish lady.

Anyone who has traveled on the Toronto subway system or visited New York’s Grand Central Station recently could not help but see a sophisticated ad campaign about Italy. With the slogan “Italy for life” the two dozen different posters go beyond the usual photos of the Leaning Tower of Pisa to portray everything from spas to locations for business meetings. The posters sing about “landscapes where emotions come alive,” “culture that inspires” and “artistic beauty that fascinates.”

You don’t need to convince me. Still, I wanted to find out more about the campaign so I called the Toronto office of the Italian Government Tourist Board, told them about my book, and was offered a meeting the very next day with media officer Salvatore Basile and Enzo Colombo, Director for Canada, who’d been in the job less than a week.

As someone who has spent a professional career as a journalist and author trying to arrange interviews, I can’t tell you how refreshing it was to be received so expeditiously and with such enthusiasm. One of the themes of Fantasy in Florence is how much we can learn about life and how to live it from Italians. Here’s another lesson: when someone asks to see you, say yes.

So, on twenty-four hours notice I had a delightful 45-minute encounter with my two new friends. Enzo Colombo has just arrived in Toronto, but he knows Canada well, having been posted to Montreal in a similar role in the past. They were happy to hear of my book. Indeed, Enzo had met author Frances Mayle when he was working for the Italian Tourist Board in San Francisco. That office arranged several events with her until her book, Under the Tuscan Sun, became so famous that she had no more time for such undertakings.

Enzo has kindly invited me to attend a Tuscan workshop December 6 at the Columbus Centre where people from Tuscany who work in hospitality services will meet with Toronto-based individuals in the same business.

I have been swept into this family as if I had been born into it. It’s a familiar feeling. Sandy and I were made equally welcome when we lived in Florence. Sal and Enzo, thank you for making me feel at home in my home, Toronto. Only an Italian could do it.

The strike by the Writers Guild of America offers a glimpse into the future of intellectual property and how people get paid for cranial creativity. At the moment, 20 per cent of all U.S. homes have TiVo, which means TV programs can be downloaded and watched whenever the viewer chooses - without having to bother with the commercials. A recent New York Times article flat-out declared this means the end of television and drew a parallel to how vaudeville performers must have felt when talking movies arrived. If there are no eyeballs watching soap ads, why should Dove bother spending the money?

If that revenue dries up, the writers worry, how ever will they make money from digital distribution, downloading, filesharing, etc. of their work? The same sea change has hurt recording artists and record labels because most under-30s steal music so there is no revenue to share. CD sales are down one-third since 2000. If it can happen to television and music, it can also happen to books and their authors.

The first book I wrote in 1983, The Moneyspinners, fetched a retail price of $26.95. The Icarus Factor, published in 2004, cost $37.95. (I’m using the Bronfman book as the comparison, not the more recent Fantasy in Florence, which is smaller and costs less.)

Even if a book is discounted by the retailer my 15 per cent royalty remains measured from the list price. So over two decades, my per book royalty rose from $4 to $5.70, a 42.5 per cent increase that has not kept pace with inflation. Still, I don’t complain, because digital copies are not available for the taking. No one has been ripping books; e-book machines have not yet become popular.

This will not continue. There will come a time, likely within five years, that demand will grow for digital versions. No matter if my contract includes payments from e-books, who’s going to collect my royalties from the book brigands?

When that day comes, the published book as we now know it - with good cover design, a spine that cracks with joy when first opened, pages with vellum heft - will be available only in small-run artisan-style printings. Publishing, already a tough business in which to make money, will become even more difficult. Authors will join bootblacks as an endangered species. Maybe it’s just my own self-interest, but I’d like to think the world can do without another foolish reality show but would be the worse off if the next crop of young writers goes unpaid for producing the twenty-first century equivalents of To the Lighthouse, The Great Gatsby or Fifth Business.

Of all the people we met in Florence, the one with the most impact was Peter Porcal, the resident art historian for the Ontario College of Art and Design (OCAD). Now in his early sixties, Peter has led his “children” for more than two decades. That’s Peter pictured at the top of the blog adroitly holding a spray of peppers. Click on the photo to enlarge it for a closer look.

Every Wednesday morning, he takes successive classes of students somewhere in Florence to see Renaissance art. He also leads day trips and weekend excursions to the antique sales in Lucca, the wonders of Rome, the contemporary art fair in Bologna, and on and on. Fantasy in Florence would be a poorer book without Peter’s encyclopedic knowledge of art history. He also speaks six languages but until I visited OCAD this past weekend I never knew how well Peter could write.

Peter penned a farewell to the most recent group of students at the time of their final exhibit in Florence in April 2007. When the show was remounted at OCAD this fall, his words were again associated with their art. Read these four paragraphs, titled “Angels Without Wings,” and marvel at his feeling and the phrasing.

“You may already not remember, but we have seen this year two famous examples of angels represented without wings. The first image was the beautiful Byzantine mosaic from the late sixth century in the church of San Vitale in Ravenna. In this mosaic we see Abraham surprised in his home by three beautiful young men. Without hesitation he sits them at his table and treats them with lamb and wine. He does not yet know that these three young men at his table are angels. They do not have wings.

“The second example of angels without wings we saw is famous: they are Michelangelo’s angels in his Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican; but now that you are leaving, I am thinking rather about Abraham’s angels. Young, gentle, beautiful as you all are.

“It has now been more than twenty years that I have been with OCAD students in Florence. Year after year, hundreds of students. One can not remember now all their names even if I would like to remember them. One can not remember all of their faces even though some of them suddenly surface in my mind’s eye. Although what I do remember is that they were equally young, gentle, beautiful.

“They say here about Abraham that when the three youngsters left his house, not having any visible wings, Abraham, suddenly and for a long time still, did hear in the silence of his home, flapping of wings. Good flight, children!”

Prior to going to Florence, I knew there were two stories I wanted to tell: the pressing of olive oil and the tasting of vintage wine. In November, when the olive harvest was in full flight, the opportunity arose for us to see how olive oil was made. It was our landlord, Roberto Bianchi, who made the arrangements for us to visit Villa S. Andrea in Montefiridolfi, 20 km. south of Florence. In addition to harvesting their own olives, Villa S. Andrea also acts as a co-operative. Signor Bianchi takes his olives there for pressing, so he was able to make the introductions for us.

As with a lot of food-related processes, picking, preparing, and pressing the olives is a labor-intensive effort involving many steps. In this case, it seemed to me that the key was to plunge readers in, then step back, and try to simplify matters while keeping things interesting.

That’s why I introduce this section at p. 94 with the instruction I received, “Stick your finger in.” This moment is well along in the production because the oil exists, but hopefully, it intrigues the reader and focuses on the taste - which is what olive oil is all about.

After that, I backtracked, and in the words of our host, we followed the path of the olives. And admired the property that was used by the Romans as a lookout across the valley. You can see the view in Sandy’s evocative two-page illustration on pp. 96-7.

Italy also introduced us to olio nuovo, the “new oil” that becomes available about this time of year and and has a short shelf life of about three months. Grass green in colour, olio nuovo is so fresh, so piquant that it spoils you forever for any other olive oil, no matter how many virgins were involved.

In Florence, a one liter bottle of olio nuovo cost ten euros, the equivalent of C$16 at the time. Once we were back in Canada, I sought it out, and found it, frozen. Frozen? Yes, they explained, freezing the contents in Italy permitted shipping and storage to occur without cutting into the shelf life. I could buy it, take it home, let it thaw, and have the benefit of the full three months.

That makes sense, I thought. How much, I asked? “$45 for 500 ml.” Almost six times what it cost in Italy! For all I know that little bottle is still sitting there, frozen. I sure didn’t buy it.

It doesn’t matter. Anytime I want, I can reread that section of the book, feel again that olive oil on my finger, and recall that first taste of the spicy ambrosia touching my tongue. If only books had scratch and sniff. Meanwhile, words will have to do.

As a writer, you make some assumptions about who your audience is. In the case of Fantasy in Florence, I imagined that most readers would be over forty and looking for a change in their lives.

Wrong!

Turns out students are reading the book, too. Here’s part of an email from a post-grad student who read the book as a break from her regular studies. I’ve left out her name, faculty and school.

“I just finished reading your book, Fantasy in Florence. I wanted to write to you to tell you how much I enjoyed it! I lived in Florence for 3 months after I graduated university, to study Italian and to experience life somewhere else. Many times as I was reading the book, I could picture exactly where you were writing about, as I had been there myself. I also loved your stories of the people you met while you were there - I think these are the best experiences. One of my favourite memories was a night that my friend and I went to a family dinner at the house of a friend we had made at the archaeological museum in Fiesole!”

That’s how it works in Florence, or Fiesole (which is only a few minutes up into the Tuscan hills), or anywhere else in Italy. You meet someone and they invite you home for dinner. Magnifico!