Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere - European Travel Books

Paperback - 03 September, 2002 - Da Capo Press
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By: Jan Morris and Trefan Morys
ISBN: 0306811804

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About this book

Located on a narrow, mountainous finger of Italy hard by Croatia and Slovenia, the port city of Trieste is something of a backwater, little visited and seldom in the news. As Jan Morris, who first came to Trieste as the English soldier James Morris in 1945, writes, "It offers no unforgettable landmark, no universally familiar melody, no unmistakable cuisine, hardly a single native name that anyone knows."

Yet, as historian and travel writer Morris ably demonstrates in this homage to one of her favorite cities (others about which she has written are Hong Kong, Sydney, New York, and Venice), Trieste has many charms. Its history is foremost among them, thanks to the city's former role as the sole port of the otherwise landlocked Austro-Hungarian empire, which housed a small fleet there--a fleet that, from time to time, would sail off to make war against the Ottomans or the Italians. At the beginning of the 20th century, Trieste had grown to international importance as an entry point into Central Europe, so much so that it was referred to as "the third entrance of the Suez Canal." Trieste briefly took center stage at the onset of the cold war, when Marshall Tito claimed it for Yugoslavia; it narrowly avoided being enveloped by the Iron Curtain. Morris tells all these stories and more, bringing the city's past to life; no one should be surprised if Trieste sees more visitors thanks to her spirited study.

Yet Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere is also a work tinged with melancholy. That befits the city's faded glory, but it also has to do with the sad fact that this will be Morris's last book--or so she promises. Let's hope she changes her mind. If not, however, this serves very well as the capstone of a distinguished career. --Gregory McNamee

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Reviews by readers

Trieste Is Magnificent

Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere is quite simply one of the best books I have ever read. Reading books like this is what makes life worth living. Jan Morris is a wonderful prose stylist. Her every sentence is a delight. I learnt so much about Trieste, from reading this book. Before I picked up this book, I didn't know anything about Trieste at all. When it was finished, I had learnt a great deal about it... in the most delightful way.

If you want a delightful few hours, read this book. Indulge yourself in the quirky characters and the old world atmosphere Jan Morris brings so delightfully to life. Yes, Jan Morris work is elegiac, and for a Welsh nationalist and self described anarchist, she has a bit of a thing for empires. But that makes this a better, not a worse book. I very much enjoyed this book, and I would heartily recommend it to anyone.

Travel experiences in Trieste, Italy.

I actually know where Trieste was before I read this book. Unfortunately I have never visited the city. I wanted to read this travel book about this famous city, but after a few chapters, I wondered where the book was going to. After the final chapter, I still do not know what the author's intentions was with this book. Perhaps I don't read too many travel books. Obviously the city means a lot to the author, but she did not express it clearly in her writing. I was scratching my head at the end, and wondering what I read.
I learned a little about the city, but not in relation to the amount of time I spent reading this short book. The city of James Joyce and Maximillian. The imperial port of the Austo-Hungarian Empire. The meeting point of Slav, German, and Latin Empires. One of the ending points of the Iron Curtain. This city breeds interest and yet the author took us on a round about journal that confuses the reader. I am sure the author's other books are good, her last one was not the greatest.

Gushing and splashing; signifying nothing

It struck me, as I read this book, that everything recounted could, with a slight and proper change of name, direction, be applied to any hell hole on earth: Swansea, Des Moines, Sudbury. The modest yet empty fireworks of the prose conveyed no feeling, evoked no atmosphere, muddled every anecdote, and left one with all the symptoms of a severe Aspertaine overdose.
is anyone really drawn into this twaddle by means of the outlandish pseudo-intimate supposed dialog? It is as revolting as the rubbish written by for so many years by so many sensitive housewives in suburban Manitoba and mailed in to be read aloud on Morningside.
Trieste, one cannot help thinking, must really be an interesting and place; lost in some eddy of time and circumstance. But it is impossible to tell for sure from this book. If I did visit I would avoid Ms Morris, should I meet her.
Could having read Evelyn Waugh's travel books just before have prejudiced me? I hope so; in fact I re-read When The Going Was Good as an antidote to this.

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