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I have mixed feelings about this book. I found the chapter on homosexuality in Florence interesting, but a tiny phrase let it down. In the lesser space accorded the lesbian population, Mrs George Keppel is described as the mother of "yet another" lesbian. As if by there being four or five renowned lesbian inhabitants amongst the far more numerous gay males, they were forming a disproportionately large segment of the population! I found that quite odd.
I also found it difficult to reconcile Leavitt's bitchiness about the lack of contact the earlier generations of ex-pats had with the locals (to the point of "like many" not knowing any Italian) with the lack of presence of any contemporary Florentines in his narrative, given that he is a part-time resident himself.
I loved the chapter about the "mud angels", brief as it was, and would have enjoyed more about the relationship between locals and expats alike with the art of this wonderful city.
Having said all that, I did enjoy the book overall and it is a welcome addition to the background literature of Italy which I read voraciously.
A slim volume on one of the world's great foreign destinations, so one would expect something elegant, insightful, witty perhaps, something evocative of the place.
Unfortunately, I don't there is a paragraph in his book that evokes anything about what it is like to visit or live in Florence. It's certainly not worth reading as literature and it doesn't take you there from your arm chair.
This book is just a boring rendition of sort-of famous people who lived or live in Florence, coupled with David Leavitt's intention of showing you all the famous or important people he knows. He evidently thinks people will one day be writing about his life there.
This isn't about Florence -- it's about the author's evident obsession with effete men of letters and his desire to be one.
Possibly the most boring, pointless book I've ever read (and I do read a lot) - - no flow, not interesting, and the book does a dis-service to a fascinating town, despite the un-fascinating "celebrity" stories that Mr. Leavitt goes on and on and on about ...
