The Birth of Venus (Paperback)

by Sarah Dunant (Author) "LOOKING BACK NOW, I SEE IT MORE AS AN ACT OF PRIDE than kindness that my father brought the young painter back with him from..." (more)
Key Phrases: marriage chest, receiving room, Our Lady, Santa Croce, San Marco (more...)

Editorial Reviews

Amazon.com Review
Sarah Dunant's gorgeous and mesmerizing novel, Birth of Venus, draws readers into a turbulent 15th-century Florence, a time when the lavish city, steeped in years of Medici family luxury, is suddenly besieged by plague, threat of invasion, and the righteous wrath of a fundamentalist monk. Dunant masterfully blends fact and fiction, seamlessly interweaving Florentine history with the coming-of-age story of a spirited 14-year-old girl. As Florence struggles in Savonarola's grip, a serial killer stalks the streets, the French invaders creep closer, and young Alessandra Cecchi must surrender her "childish" dreams and navigate her way into womanhood. Readers are quickly seduced by the simplicity of her unconventional passions that are more artistic than domestic:

Dancing is one of the many things I should be good at that I am not. Unlike my sister. Plautilla can move across the floor like water and sing a stave of music like a song bird, while I, who can translate both Latin and Greek faster than she or my brothers can read it, have club feet on the dance floor and a voice like a crow. Though I swear if I were to paint the scale I could do it in a flash: shining gold leaf for the top notes falling through ochres and reds into hot purple and deepest blue.

Alessandra's story, though central, is only one part of this multi-faceted and complex historical novel. Dunant paints a fascinating array of women onto her dark canvas, each representing the various fates of early Renaissance women: Alessandra's lovely (if simple) sister Plautilla is interested only in marrying rich and presiding over a household; the brave Erila, Alessandra's North African servant (and willing accomplice) has such a frank understanding of the limitations of her sex that she often escapes them; and Signora Cecchi, Alessandra's beautiful but weary mother tries to encourage yet temper the passions of her wayward daughter.

A luminous and lush novel, The Birth of Venus, at its heart, is a mysterious and sensual story with razor-sharp teeth. Like Alessandra, Dunant has a painter's eye--her writing is rich and evocative, luxuriating in colors and textures of the city, the people, and the art of 15th-century Florence. Reminiscent of Tracy Chevalier's Girl with a Pearl Earring, but with sensual splashes of color and the occasional thrill of fear, Dunant's novel is both exciting and enchanting. --Daphne Durham --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Publishers Weekly
In this arresting tale of art, love and betrayal in 15th-century Florence, the daughter of a wealthy cloth merchant seeks the freedom of marriage in order to paint, but finds that she may have bought her liberty at the cost of love and true fulfillment. Alessandra, 16, is tall, sharp-tongued and dauntingly clever. At first reluctant to agree to an arranged marriage, she changes her mind when she meets elegant 48-year-old Cristoforo, who is well-versed in art and literature. He promises to give her all the freedom she wants-and she finds out why on her wedding night. Her disappointment and frustration are soon overshadowed by the growing cloud of madness and violence hanging over Florence, nourished by the sermons of the fanatically pious Savonarola. As the wealthy purge their palazzos of "low" art and luxuries, Alessandra gives in to the dangerous attraction that draws her to a tormented young artist commissioned to paint her family's chapel. With details as rich as the brocade textiles that built Alessandra's family fortune, Dunant (Mapping the Edge; Transgressions; etc.) masterfully recreates Florence in the age of the original bonfire of the vanities. The novel moves to its climax as Savonarola's reign draws to a bloody close, with the final few chapters describing Alessandra's fate and hinting at the identity of her artist lover. While the story is rushed at the end, the author has a genius for peppering her narrative with little-known facts, and the deadpan dialogue lends a staccato verve to the swift-moving plot. Forget Baedecker and Vasari's Lives of the Artists. Dunant's vivid, gripping novel gives fresh life to a captivating age of glorious art and political turmoil.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

See all Editorial Reviews

Product Details

• Paperback: 448 pages
• Publisher: Virago Press Ltd (February 5, 2004)
• ISBN-10: 1844080358
• ISBN-13: 978-1844080359
• Product Dimensions: 7.6 x 4.4 x 1.2 inches
• Shipping Weight: 5.6 ounces
• Average Customer Review: 3.9 out of 5 stars See all reviews (295 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #549,874 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

347 of 386 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars How real is the "liberating" message of "The Birth of Venus?, September 15, 2004

By	David Kusumoto (San Diego, CA United States) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

This review is from: The Birth of Venus (Hardcover)

Sarah Dunant's "The Birth of Venus" feels similar to Tracy Chevalier's "Girl With a Pearl Earring" and Susan Vreeland's "Girl in the Hyacinth Blue." All three are works of historical fiction that have the ability to convince, albeit fleetingly, that they must be true.

However, "The Birth of Venus" isn't based on the Botticelli masterpiece that still resides in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. It's based on the metaphorical "birth" -- and transformation -- of a girl-turned-woman whose single-mindedness is constantly thwarted by actions which force her to conform to 15th century Florentine society.

I'm not big on novels associated with the feminist school of thought that suggests forbidden romance, in all of its forms, brings liberation. Yet I was blindsided by Dunant's "The Birth of Venus" - especially its socko-ending - coming from an author better known for her crime novels and TV appearances in the United Kingdom.

Dunant's accomplishment: She establishes familiar plot threads about her protagonist, Alessandra. Hers is a page-turning, rebellious story. You start to feel smug because you think you've figured out how everything's going to end. But just when you think you're heading toward a familiar train wreck, Dunant puts you through many unpredictable (but mostly plausible) 90-degree plot turns that are wonderfully intriguing.

"The Birth of Venus" may not be high literature, but it's Dunant's best work to date. Her love for her adopted city of Florence is obvious. She goes out of her way to spin a fictional tale that's rooted in well-researched, historical reality. The "superstars" of the Renaissance make their appearances, but never in a jarring, manipulative or name-dropping way. They're part of the landscape. And if you know the geography of Old Florence, you also know that even today, it's small enough that you can't help running into these guys.

So what keeps this book from perfection? In my view, just two things:

First, modern slang occasionally surfaces that feels incongruent to 21st century readers who've been drawn into a setting that's more than 500 years old. Yeah, I know we're reading a "fictional translation" of Italian narration to English, but it's still a little jarring to read present-day colloquialisms sprinkled throughout a novel that's mostly placid in tone. Contrast this with erotic passages which for the most part, are devoid of crudeness (though at times described a little too self-consciously).

Second, about those erotic passages. There aren't many. They're executed, for the most part, with great sensitivity. I hate sex described in clinical terms. But a couple of times Dunant comes too close to projecting thoughts into Alessandra's narration that feel pretentious, a little too lyrical or metaphorical, even from the voice of an adult who's "looking backward." Do women really string metaphors about sex together, as you read here, even in their most reflective and introspective moments? As a result, what's supposed to "feel" like sexual "liberation" rings a little false. And I still don't get the stuff involving the tattoos (you'll know what I mean when you get to it).

Suspending disbelief is obviously required when great figures creep into a novel. "The Birth of Venus" weaves its "tale" cleverly, but I wish Dunant's Alessandra had gone no further when she describes the return, years later, of the man who remains an important figure in her life.

She beautifully says, "We had always been bound to each other through the power of longing, even when we understood nothing of desire."

I wished Dunant had stopped there. Instead, she plows ahead with the inevitable "scene" that would've been better suggested than described in a way that feels a little forced, posed and "artsy." I became aware of Dunant's writing. And this isn't supposed to happen. A great story is supposed to make you less conscious of great prose.

I'm still baffled about the mysterious man who's never identified by name. We're given a few clues, but he remains a cryptic figure, a brooding and tortured artist who returns years later so worldly and wise. He reads like every woman's fantasy, a Renaissance romantic too good to be true.

In the end, these may be small quibbles.

It may not be necessary to know the "Who's Who" of the Renaissance, e.g., Savonarola, Medici, the whole lot of 'em, and it may not be necessary to walk the streets of present-day Florence to "get" what's in "The Birth of Venus." But they do enhance the enjoyment of a story that's set in one of the world's most romantic cities. I hope readers less familiar with Florentine art and history get the same wallop I did after finishing it.

A helpful tip: remember this book is being told in the first person AND in the past tense. This way, when you reach the final 30 pages of Alessandra's story, you'll realize you're being set up for a twist.

To my relief, it's unpredictable and immensely satisfying. Without giving it away, "The Birth of Venus" closes unconventionally yet beautifully; optimistically yet realistically; quietly yet without being thrown into the throes of depression.

I still prefer non-fiction over fiction. But as I once wrote about another historical novel I equally enjoyed, if more books were written like Dunant's "The Birth of Venus," I'd stop going to the movies.

37 of 40 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Intricate Portrayal of Florence in Savonarola's Time, August 22, 2004

By	Diana F. Von Behren "reneofc" (Kenner, LA USA) - See all my reviews (TOP 500 REVIEWER)    (REAL NAME)

This review is from: The Birth of Venus (Hardcover)

Alessandra tells her story of Florence during the tight reign of the monk Savonarola, in the form of a memoir, found after her death by fellow sisters in a provincial convent. Living in an age where classic thought and sensibilities are revisited and possessing an acute mind and an acrid tongue, she must resign herself to a more conventional role as a woman of the Renaissance, bound by duty to marry and bear children rather than be the philosopher painter she wishes to be. From the moment she encounters the painter from the North that her father has commissioned to paint the family chapel, she is relentless in seeking him out. While her first desire is to learn the secrets of color and brushwork, she finds herself attracted to the painter in ways she had not expected, and finds herself frustrated in more ways than she bargained when she must follow her appointed path as a Florentine woman.

The plot itself follows a rather straightforward course steered by somewhat predictable but well-crafted characters. Blended expertly with historical details of the age: the reign of the Medici family, the invasion of Florence by France, the paranoia of the city while under the helm of the monk, and the dropping of famous names like Botticelli, Michelangelo, Fra Angelico and Da Vinci, the author presents us with a fictitious view of what life could have been like back in the early 1500s. Alessandra's mindset is indeed, that of a 20th woman, a bit cynical and slightly world-weary for one of such tender years, but this adds to her appeal to the author's intended audience. Overall, the storyline compels one to read on and contains enough hints and little mysteries to keep even the most well-read reader turning the pages.

However, what fails miserably is the author's lack of solving any of the mysteries that she so tantalizingly provides for us. Alessandra fixates on the form of the snake tattooed on the man in the square, so much so that she has one tattooed on her own body---but the reason for her action is muddled and I for one do not understand the actual significance---an act of defiance? Empathy with Eve and her sin? Ironically, the significance of one of the most compelling symbols in the book remains coiled but never unfurled. Similarly, the author hints at the great artist that Alessandra loves and gives us enough clues to make some sort of guess to his identity, but then never actually tells us who he is or if he even existed. We know he is Flemish from the descriptions of the North Sea and the low country. We know he studied anatomy when it was forbidden with the likes of Michelangelo at Santo Spirito. We know that after the fall of Savonarola, he goes off to Rome to escape further persecution. He returns much later, worldly his sexual and artistic techniques honed like a razor, but again, we do not know his identity. Personally, as I read, I assumed he was a creation, but enough of my fellow reviewers have voiced that he was a real historical figure for me to investigate. Lastly, the title, calling to mind Botticelli's masterpiece, has little or nothing to do with the plot. As this book was published in the same time period when books like Vreeland's Girl in Hyacinth Blue and Chevalier's Girl With a Pearl Earring have great popularity, one cannot help but think that the title suggests another imaginative story behind a great work of art. The Birth of Venus, however, is the story of a woman and her duty rather than her act as muse for a great painting or sculpture.

Bottom line: if you are looking for a Girl With a Pearl Earring type confection, you will not find it here. However, if a story told from a woman's perspective, albeit imagined, piques your interest especially told in the colorful velvet world of art and enlightenment of the Renaissance (even in the shadow of Savonarola) you will enjoy undertaking this short journey of duty, love and art.

141 of 166 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars A Novel to Savor, April 2, 2004

By	Elle Ackers "Dulce_Quod_Utile" (Somewhere in time) - See all my reviews

This review is from: The Birth of Venus (Hardcover)

Alessandra Cecchi is a young woman born into the Renaissance world of Florentine, Italy. The world of the Medici and Savonarola. Sarah Dunant has created a character of fiction but Alessandra breathes life and lives so fully it is as if the reader has a time machine to that long ago place. Dunant's words are golden and multi-hued painting the reader a vivid, living picture of the people of Florence. The book tells of Alessandra and her family. Her father is a cloth merchant. Her mother is a woman of grace and wisdom. She has two brothers, who are different from each other and from Alessandra. She has an older sister, but Alessandra is at odds with her siblings. She is a woman who longs to draw and paint in a city that celebrated learning, art and beauty until the rigorous religious fanaticism of Savonarola took over. A painter comes to paint the Cecchi family's chapel and there is a strange connection between Alessandra and the painter. Their lives move through a world of secrets and danger and the reader never wants the story to end. This is a beautiful, brilliantly constructed book to savor and to be read over and over.