Acqua Alta by Donna Leon: A review

I needed a reading palate cleanser - a quick and easy read to bridge the gap between two more serious literary works. I decided to go with one of Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti mysteries, a series that I've discovered fairly recently. It has provided dependable reading pleasure.

Acqua Alta is the fifth book in the series. The title, meaning "high water," refers to a time during full moon in winter when tides bring the waters of the Adriatic into Venice, inundating the barriers meant to hold it back and sloshing into the ground floors of buildings. This phenomenon, aided and abetted by torrential winter rains, creates hazardous conditions in the city.

It is during one of these events that Brett Lynch, the American archaeologist that we met in the first Brunetti mystery, Death at La Fenice, is accosted in her own home and severely beaten by two "gentlemen from the South," a phrase used to denote that organization which must not be named by Venetians but which we would call the Mafia. During the beating, the men warned Brett not to keep her appointment for a meeting with the director of one of Venice's famous art museums. The men are driven off by Brett's lover, the acclaimed opera singer Flavia Petrelli who was in Brett's apartment with her at the time.

The crime is assigned to the regular uniformed branch of the police for investigation, but then Commissario Brunetti notices the name of the victim on a report that crosses his desk and remembers her from his earlier case. He goes to the hospital to visit her. Flavia contacts the high brass of the police and demands that Brunetti be assigned to the case, and since that is the way things work in Venice, he is.

He has hardly begun his investigation when another crime occurs; the art museum director whom Brett was to meet is found dead, beaten about the head, in his office at the museum. It seems clear that the two crimes are connected and Guido Brunetti must call on all the influence he has with various government agencies, as well as that of Signorina Elletra, the glamorous and talented secretary of his boss, Vice-Questore Patta, to find the information he needs to determine what is happening and why.

Guido Brunetti continues to be one of the most engaging characters that I've met in the world of detective fiction. With his wife, Paola, and their two teenage children, he shares a perfectly normal life, virtually unique among all the detectives with dysfunctional private lives that are the norm among the books of this genre.

Moreover, the city of Venice is one of the main characters, perhaps THE main character, in these books, and Donna Leon, who has lived in that city for many years, lovingly describes it with all its eccentricities and makes the reader feel as though she is sloshing along those celebrated streets or traversing the canals in one of the traditional gondolas. It's a city where the culture of ignoring and evading the laws is thoroughly ingrained, making the lot of an honest policeman like Guido, who is not willing to accept the corruption, not a happy one. But this week a visit with Guido was just what I needed.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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