In the Company of the Courtesan

In the Company of the Courtesan

by Sarah Dunant

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Overview

My lady, Fiammetta Bianchini, was plucking her eyebrows and biting color into her lips when the unthinkable happened and the Holy Roman Emperor’s army blew a hole in the wall of God’s eternal city, letting in a flood of half-starved, half-crazed troops bent on pillage and punishment.

Thus begins In the Company of the Courtesan, Sarah Dunant’s epic novel of life in Renaissance Italy. Escaping the sack of Rome in 1527, with their stomachs churning on the jewels they have swallowed, the courtesan Fiammetta and her dwarf companion, Bucino, head for Venice, the shimmering city born out of water to become a miracle of east-west trade: rich and rancid, pious and profitable, beautiful and squalid.

With a mix of courage and cunning they infiltrate Venetian society. Together they make the perfect partnership: the sharp-tongued, sharp-witted dwarf, and his vibrant mistress, trained from birth to charm, entertain, and satisfy men who have the money to support her.

Yet as their fortunes rise, this perfect partnership comes under threat, from the searing passion of a lover who wants more than his allotted nights to the attentions of an admiring Turk in search of human novelties for his sultan’s court. But Fiammetta and Bucino’s greatest challenge comes from a young crippled woman, a blind healer who insinuates herself into their lives and hearts with devastating consequences for them all.

A story of desire and deception, sin and religion, loyalty and friendship, In the Company of the Courtesan paints a portrait of one of the world’s greatest cities at its most potent moment in history: It is a picture that remains vivid long after the final page.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780812974041
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 02/06/2007
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 385
Sales rank: 249,264
Product dimensions: 7.78(w) x 10.96(h) x 0.90(d)

About the Author

Sarah Dunant has written eight novels, including the New York Times bestseller The Birth of Venus, and edited two books of essays. She has worked widely in print, television, and radio, and is now a full-time writer. Dunant has two children and lives in London and Florence.

To schedule a speaking engagement, please contact American Program Bureau at www.apbspeakers.com  

Hometown:

London, England

Date of Birth:

August 8, 1950

Place of Birth:

London, England

Education:

B.A., Cambridge University, 1973

Read an Excerpt

chapter one

Rome, 1527

My lady, Fiammetta Bianchini, was plucking her eyebrows and biting color into her lips when the unthinkable happened and the Holy Roman emperor’s army blew a hole in the wall of God’s eternal city, letting in a flood of half-starved, half-crazed troops bent on pillage and punishment.

Italy was a living chessboard for the ambitions of half of Europe in those days. The threat of war was as regular as the harvest, alliances made in winter were broken by spring, and there were places where women bore another child by a different invading father every other year. In the great and glorious city of Rome, we had grown soft living under God’s protection, but such was the instability of the times that even the holiest of fathers made unholy alliances, and a pope with Medici blood in his veins was always more prone to politics than to prayer.

In the last few days before the horror struck, Rome still couldn’t bring herself to believe that her destruction was nigh. Rumors crept like bad smells through the streets. The stonemasons shoring up the city walls told of a mighty army of Spaniards, their savagery honed on the barbarians of the New World, swelled with cohorts of German Lutherans fueled on the juices of the nuns they had raped on their journey south. Yet when the Roman defense led by the nobleman Renzo de Ceri marched through the town touting for volunteers for the barricades, these same bloodthirsty giants became half-dead men marching on their knees, their assholes close to the ground to dispel all the rotting food and bad wine they had guzzled on the way. In this version, the enemy was so pathetic that,\ even were the soldiers to find the strength to lift their guns, they had no artillery to help them, and with enough stalwart Romans on the battlements, we could drown them in our piss and mockery as they tried to scale their way upward. The joys of war always talk better than they play; still, the prospect of a battle won by urine and bravura was enticing enough to attract a few adventurers with nothing to lose, including our stable boy, who left the next afternoon.

Two days later, the army arrived at the gates and my lady sent me to get him back.

On the evening streets, our louche, loud city had closed up like a clam. Those with enough money had already bought their own private armies, leaving the rest to make do with locked doors and badly boarded windows. While my gait is small and bandied, I have always had a homing pigeon’s sense of direction, and for all its twists and turns, Rome had long been mapped inside my head. My lady entertained a client once, a merchant captain who mistook my deformity for a sign of God’s special grace and who promised me a fortune if I could find him a way to the Indies across the open sea. But I was born with a recurring nightmare of a great bird picking me up in its claws and dropping me into an empty ocean, and for that, and other reasons, I have always been afraid of water.

As the walls came into sight, I could see neither lookouts nor sentries. Until now we had never had need of such things, our rambling fortifications being more for the delight of antiquarians than for generals. I clambered up by way of one of the side towers, my thighs thrumming from the deep tread of the steps, and stood for a moment catching my breath. Along the stone corridor of the battlement, two figures were slouched down against the wall. Above me, above them, I could make out a low wave of moaning, like the murmur of a congregation at litany in church. In that moment my need to know became greater than my terror of finding out, and I hauled myself up over uneven and broken stones as best I could until I had a glimpse above the top.

Below me, as far as the eye could see, a great plain of darkness stretched out, spiked by hundreds of flickering candles. The moaning rolled like a slow wind through the night, the sound of an army joined in prayer or talking to itself in its sleep. Until then I think even I had colluded in the myth of our invincibility. Now I knew how the Trojans must have felt as they looked down from their walls and saw the Greeks camped before them, the promise of revenge glinting off their polished shields in the moonlight. Fear spiked my gut as I scrambled back down onto the battlement, and in a fury I went to kick the sleeping sentries awake. Close to, their hoods became cowls, and I made out two young monks, barely old enough to tie their own tassels, their faces pasty and drawn. I drew myself to my full height and squared up to the first, pushing my face into his. He opened his eyes and yelled, thinking that the enemy had sent a fatheaded, smiling devil out of Hell for him early. His panic roused his companion. I put my fingers to my lips and grinned again. This time they both squealed. I’ve had my fair share of pleasure from scaring clerics, but at that moment I wished that they had more courage to resist me. A hungry Lutheran would have had them split on his bayonet before they might say Dominus vobiscum. They crossed themselves frantically and, when I questioned them, waved me on toward the gate at San Spirito, where, they said, the defense was stronger. The only strategy I have perfected in life is one to keep my belly full, but even I knew that San Spirito was where the city was at its most vulnerable, with Cardinal Armellini’s vineyards reaching to the battlements and a farmhouse built up and into the very stones of the wall itself.

Our army, such as it was when I found it, was huddled in clumps around the building. A couple of makeshift sentries tried to stop me, but I told them I was there to join the fight, and they laughed so hard they let me through, one of them aiding me along with a kick that missed my rear by a mile. In the camp, half the men were stupid with terror, the other half stupid with drink. I never did find the stable boy, but what I saw instead convinced me that a single breach here and Rome would open up as easily as a wife’s legs to her handsome neighbor.

Back home, I found my mistress awake in her bedroom, and I told her all I had seen. She listened carefully, as she always did. We talked for a while, and then, as the night folded around us, we fell silent, our minds slipping away from our present life, filled with the warmth of wealth and security, toward the horrors of a future that we could barely imagine.

By the time the attack came, at first light, we were already at work. I had roused the servants before dawn, and my lady had instructed them to lay the great table in the gold room, giving orders to the cook to slaughter the fattest of the pigs and start preparing a banquet the likes of which were usually reserved for cardinals or bankers. While there were mutterings of dissent, such was her authority—or possibly their desperation—that any plan seemed comforting at the moment, even one that appeared to make no sense.

The house had already been stripped of its more ostentatious wealth: the great agate vases, the silver plates, the majolica dishes, the gilded crystal Murano drinking glasses, and the best linens had all been stowed away three or four days before, wrapped first inside the embroidered silk hangings, then the heavy Flemish tapestries, and packed into two chests. The smaller one was so ornate with gilt and wood marquetry that it had to be covered again with burlap to save it from the damp. It had taken the cook, the stable boy, and both of the twins to drag the chests into the yard, where a great hole had been dug under the flagstones close to the servants’ latrines. When they were buried and covered with a blanket of fresh feces (fear is an excellent loosener of the bowels), we let out the five pigs, bought at a greatly inflated price a few days earlier, and they rolled and kicked their way around, grunting their delight as only pigs can do in shit.

With all trace of the valuables gone, my lady had taken her great necklace—the one she had worn to the party at the Strozzi house, where the rooms had been lit by skeletons with candles in their ribs and the wine, many swore afterward, had been as rich and thick as blood—and to every servant she had given two fat pearls. The remaining ones she told them were theirs for the dividing if the chests were found unopened when the worst was over. Loyalty is a commodity that grows more expensive when times get bloody, and as an employer Fiammetta Bianchini was as much loved as she was feared, and in this way she cleverly pitted each man as much against himself as against her. As to where she had hidden the rest of her jewelry, well, that she did not reveal.

What remained after this was done was a modest house of modest wealth with a smattering of ornaments, two lutes, a pious Madonna in the bedroom, and a wood panel of fleshy nymphs in the salon, decoration sufficient to the fact of her dubious profession but without the stench of excess many of our neighbors’ palazzi emitted. Indeed, a few hours later, as a great cry went up and the church bells began to chime, each one coming fast on the other, telling us that our defenses had been penetrated, the only aroma from our house was that of slow-roasting pig, growing succulent in its own juices.

Those who lived to tell the tale spoke with a kind of awe of that first breach of the walls; of how, as the fighting got fiercer with the day, a fog had crept up from the marshes behind the enemy lines, thick and gloomy as broth, enveloping the massing attackers below so that our defense force couldn’t fire down on them accurately until, like an army of ghosts roaring out of the mist, they were already upon us. After that, whatever courage we might have found was no match for the numbers they could launch. To lessen our shame, we did take one prize off them, when a shot from an arquebus blew a hole the size of the Eucharist in the chest of their leader, the great Charles de Bourbon. Later, the goldsmith Benvenuto Cellini boasted to anyone who would listen of his miraculous aim. But then, Cellini boasted of everything. To hear him speak—as he never stopped doing, from the houses of nobles to the taverns in the slums—you would have thought the defense of the city was down to him alone. In which case it is him we should blame, for with no leader, the enemy now had nothing to stop their madness. From that first opening, they flowed up and over into the city like a great wave of cockroaches. Had the bridges across the Tiber been destroyed, as the head of the defense force, de Ceri, had advised, we might have trapped them in the Trastevere and held them off for long enough to regroup into some kind of fighting force. But Rome had chosen comfort over common sense, and with the Ponte Sisto taken early, there was nothing to stop them.

And thus, on the sixth day of the month of May in the year of our Lord 1527, did the second sack of Rome begin.

What couldn’t be ransomed or carried was slaughtered or destroyed. It is commonly said now that it was the Lutheran lansquenets troops who did the worst. While the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, might be God’s sworn defender, he wasn’t above using the swords of heretics to swell his army and terrify his enemies. For them Rome was sweet pickings, the very home of the Antichrist, and as mercenaries whom the emperor had conveniently forgotten to pay, they were as much in a frenzy to line their pockets as they were to shine their souls. Every church was a cesspool of corruption, every nunnery the repository for whores of Christ, every orphan skewered on a bayonet (their bodies too small to waste their shot on) a soul saved from heresy. But while all that may be true, I should say that I also heard as many Spanish as German oaths mixed in with the screaming, and I wager that when the carts and the mules finally rode out of Rome, laden with gold plate and tapestries, as much of it was heading for Spain as for Germany.

Had they moved faster and stolen less in that first attack, they might have captured the greatest prize of all: the Holy Father himself. But by the time they reached the Vatican palace, Pope Clement VII had lifted up his skirts (to find, no doubt, a brace of cardinals squeezed beneath his fat stomach) and, along with a dozen sacks hastily stuffed with jewels and holy relics, run as if he had the Devil on his heels to the Castel Sant’Angelo, the drawbridge rising up after him with the invaders in sight and a dozen priests and courtiers still hanging from its chains, until they had to shake them off and watch them drown in the moat below.

With death so close, those still living fell into a panic over the state of their souls. Some clerics, seeing the hour of their own judgment before them, gave confessions and indulgences for free, but there were others who made small fortunes selling forgiveness at exorbitant rates. Perhaps God was watching as they worked: certainly when the Lutherans found them, huddled like rats in the darkest corners of the churches, their bulging robes clutched around them, the wrath visited upon them was all the more righteous, as they were disemboweled, first for their wealth and then for their guts.

Meanwhile, in our house, as the clamor of violence grew in the distance, we were busy polishing the forks and wiping clean the second-best glasses. In her bedroom, my lady, who had been scrupulous as ever in the business of her beauty, put the finishing touches to her toilette, and came downstairs. The view from her bedroom window now showed the occasional figure skidding and hurtling through the streets, his head twisting backward as he ran, as if fearful of the wave that was to overwhelm him. It would not be long before the screams got close enough for us to distinguish individual agonies. It was time to rally our own defense force.

Reading Group Guide


About IN THE COMPANY OF THE COURTESAN


IN THE COMPANY OF THE COURTESAN grew out of two 16th century Italian paintings. In one, an attractive young woman, dressed only in her hair, lies languidly on a bed, a sleeping dog curled up at her feet. She stares directly out at the viewer; the invitation she offers is coyly explicit. An early “page three girl”, or a subtle renaissance masterpiece?

Titian’s “Venus of Urbino” (called after the city where it hung for many years), has many claims to fame. Titian was Venice’s greatest artist when he painted it in the 1530s and Venice was the most powerful city in Europe, the hub of 16th century global capitalism. But it’s that look on the young woman’s face that really marks out this portrait. Up until now, renaissance art had had its fill of classical naked Venuses, but they had all been demure; asleep or eyes elsewhere, pretending they didn’t know you were looking. There is no pretending here.

The model was almost certainly a Venetian courtesan. These were women to make your mouth water, as vital to the city’s well-being as the waterways that ran through it. To keep the wealth of Venice’s ruling elite intact, each generation of nobles had to sacrifice some of their sons to eternal batchelorhood: spoilt men used to the privileged comforts of home, and eager for a bit on the side without any pressure of marriage. Courtesans were the answer. Women of lower birth but high wit, beauty and the cunning to keep their patrons well entertained and satfistied. I spent a year researching these formidable women, half my time on the canals and back streets of Venice, the other half in the British Library. There was gold in that history. Politicians, churchmen, bankers, writers, diplomats, rich merchants, they all sat at the courtesan’s table and put down the money to get into her bed and keep her in the manner to which, for a while at least, she could become accustomed. This was Venice at its most powerful, the church at its most corrupt and sin at its most deliciously profitable. What more could a novelist ask for?

The only question was, through whose eyes did I tell the story? Not the woman on the bed. Every time I tried to imagine inside her head she came out too modern. The truth was more complex. The fact that women like Titian’s Venus were successful in 16th century Venice was not to do with any early spark of proto-feminism. No, the courtesan’s talents showed themselves in ways more fitting to the period.

But if I couldn’t tell it through her eyes, then where else could I go? The men were all too self absorbed or besotted. I needed someone with a clearer head and a eye for the absurd as well as the romantic. I found him in another painting, in the Academia Gallery in Venice. There, on the bottom left of a Venetian street scene by Vittorio Carpaccio was a dwarf, well dressed and with a keen intelligence in his eyes. A man standing outside the scene, watching the world and its power games from a different perspective, yet a man whose exoticism gave him entrance to high places. It was fact as well as fiction. There are records of courtesans who were known to keep dwarfs, along with parrots, monkeys and other “interesting pets.”

Once I had their partnership I had the story. His voice, her body. The courtesan and her faithful majordomo, the model and the manager, beauty and beast, both of them sharper than they looked and cleverer than most of the men they set out to dupe. Grifters, 16th century Venice style. What a fortune was to be made there. IN THE COMPANY OF THE COURTESAN; how to take a city by storm. Until you get caught…..

1. In what way does In the Company of the Courtesan seem historically accurate to you? What details about Renaissance Italy do you think came from the author’s imagination, and what aspects of it do you think are based on her historical research of the period?

2. Do you think a character like Fiammetta could exist in today’s world? What, if anything, is modern about her?

3. What did you think of Fiammetta’s relationship with her mother, and of her mother’s influence on her life?

4. In the Company of the Courtesan is told from Bucino’s perspective. Why do you think the author wrote it this way, rather than from Fiammetta’s point of view? What are the benefits of hearing the story and seeing Venice from Bucino’s standpoint? What are the limitations?

5. We tend to think of Fiammetta’s profession as one that is very hard on women, one that doesn’t make for a happy life. On the whole, do you consider Fiammetta to be content or unhappy?

6. Did you find La Draga to be a likeable character? Did your view of her change as your reading progressed?

7. Is it accurate to describe Courtesan as a novel of “rebirth”? What are some other themes of this novel?

8. Do you think Fiammetta was truly in love with Foscari? If you don’t, how would you define their relationship? Was Bucino’s anger at this relationship justified?

9. What does sixteenth-century Venetian society have in common with our society today?

10. Why do Bucino and Fiammetta make such a good team? What makes them successful?

11. The picture on the cover of Courtesan is a detail from a painting by Tiziano Vecellio (Titian). When you were reading the novel, did you form an image of Fiammetta that was based on this cover image, or did you make up your own image of her? If your own, can you describe it?

12. What predictions would you make about little Fiammetta’s future life? Do you think she’ll have the same profession as her namesake?

Introduction


About IN THE COMPANY OF THE COURTESAN


IN THE COMPANY OF THE COURTESAN grew out of two 16th century Italian paintings. In one, an attractive young woman, dressed only in her hair, lies languidly on a bed, a sleeping dog curled up at her feet. She stares directly out at the viewer; the invitation she offers is coyly explicit. An early “page three girl”, or a subtle renaissance masterpiece?

Titian’s “Venus of Urbino” (called after the city where it hung for many years), has many claims to fame. Titian was Venice’s greatest artist when he painted it in the 1530s and Venice was the most powerful city in Europe, the hub of 16th century global capitalism. But it’s that look on the young woman’s face that really marks out this portrait. Up until now, renaissance art had had its fill of classical naked Venuses, but they had all been demure; asleep or eyes elsewhere, pretending they didn’t know you were looking. There is no pretending here.

The model was almost certainly a Venetian courtesan. These were women to make your mouth water, as vital to the city’s well-being as the waterways that ran through it. To keep the wealth of Venice’s ruling elite intact, each generation of nobles had to sacrifice some of their sons to eternal batchelorhood: spoilt men used to the privileged comforts of home, and eager for a bit on the side without any pressure of marriage. Courtesans were the answer. Women of lower birth but high wit, beauty and the cunning to keep their patrons well entertained and satfistied. I spent a year researching these formidable women, half my time on the canals andback streets of Venice, the other half in the British Library. There was gold in that history. Politicians, churchmen, bankers, writers, diplomats, rich merchants, they all sat at the courtesan’s table and put down the money to get into her bed and keep her in the manner to which, for a while at least, she could become accustomed. This was Venice at its most powerful, the church at its most corrupt and sin at its most deliciously profitable. What more could a novelist ask for?

The only question was, through whose eyes did I tell the story? Not the woman on the bed. Every time I tried to imagine inside her head she came out too modern. The truth was more complex. The fact that women like Titian’s Venus were successful in 16th century Venice was not to do with any early spark of proto-feminism. No, the courtesan’s talents showed themselves in ways more fitting to the period.

But if I couldn’t tell it through her eyes, then where else could I go? The men were all too self absorbed or besotted. I needed someone with a clearer head and a eye for the absurd as well as the romantic. I found him in another painting, in the Academia Gallery in Venice. There, on the bottom left of a Venetian street scene by Vittorio Carpaccio was a dwarf, well dressed and with a keen intelligence in his eyes. A man standing outside the scene, watching the world and its power games from a different perspective, yet a man whose exoticism gave him entrance to high places. It was fact as well as fiction. There are records of courtesans who were known to keep dwarfs, along with parrots, monkeys and other “interesting pets.”

Once I had their partnership I had the story. His voice, her body. The courtesan and her faithful majordomo, the model and the manager, beauty and beast, both of them sharper than they looked and cleverer than most of the men they set out to dupe. Grifters, 16th century Venice style. What a fortune was to be made there. IN THE COMPANY OF THE COURTESAN; how to take a city by storm. Until you get caught…..

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In the Company of the Courtesan 3.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 100 reviews.
historicalfiction_fan More than 1 year ago
I chose to purchase this book because it took place in Venice and was interested in reading about life back in the 1500's. There were no elements in the story to keep me interested (element of suprise, romance, mystery, twists and turns,). Disappointed in this book as it was not what I thought it would be and it says on the cover it is a "New York Times Bestseller." Not much action taking place from the Courtesan's standpoint. The story revolves mostly around the dwarf's and La Draga's issues. If you are really interested in reading the book, borrow it from the library......
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Have yet to read Dunant's more modern books, but have read all of her historicals and LOVE them all. Her use of language is elegant, her characters original, and I always learn about the time and politics, which is a lovely bonus. Company and Sacred Hearts are my favorite.
cats_cradle_books More than 1 year ago
Sarah Dunant recreates the Renaissance past very effectively. Beginning in a Rome in turmoil, she carries the reader quickly to Venice, where the protagonist - the loyal servant and companion to an expert courtesan - shows the reader both the atmosphere of La Serenissima and the action surrounding his Lady's entry into Venetian society through the eyes of a little person (dwarf). Characters are well drawn, and the reader continues to wonder what will become of the Lady Fiametta as she navigates the complicated and sometimes treacherous Venetian world. However, the action is rather slow from time to time - what carries the reader on those pages is Dunant's talent for describing character, appearance, and place. It's a good, escapist read that unfolds at a leisurely pace.
wordslave More than 1 year ago
An employee of Barnes & Noble suggested I buy this along with my purchase of Susan Griffin's The Book Of The Courtesans. I am glad I did as it was a fun and easy read, but these poor characters never get a break. It seems a happy ending is always just out of grasp. If you like that kind of amusing frustration then this is the book for you. Expect physical violence and detailed descriptions of dirty peasants.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I absolutely loved The Birth of Venus and I was looking forward to the next novel by Dunant but unfortunately I was extremely disappointed, had to drag myself to finish a book that never really hooked me. Beautiful descriptions of life in Venice and Rome but where´s the plot? I would´ve read something else had I known....
Guest More than 1 year ago
A beautifully written story, richly layered with atmospheric details of 16th century Rome and Venice. Well fleshed out characters that come to life on the page. I am now a fan of Ms. Dunant's work and look forward to reading The Birth of Venus.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I would give this a 5 but I figure some people aren't into prostitutes and dwarfs. What a wonderful pair of characters set in a wonderful place and time. So many ways to see the world and the people in it. Great escape novel and if I can't be there it is nice to read about Venice with the help of such vivid writing.
AuntieClio on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Courtesan Fiammetta and her dwarf, Bucino rebuild their lives and their fortunes in Venice after escaping the fall of Rome to the invasion of the Protestants/Lutherans. Political intrigue, the setting up of a business for a successful courtesan, religious tolerance, prejudice, sex; this book has it all and is told from the perspective of Bucino.I found it utterly fascinating. The choice of Bucino as narrator gives a unique perspective into the events and the honesty with which the two main characters treat each other is refreshing and entertaining. While my historical fiction tastes tend to remain narrowly within the confines of the Tudors, and Elizabeth I, I¿ve had a great deal of fun reading Dunant¿s books and will, no doubt, be picking up her latest called Sacred Hearts at some point.
madamejeanie on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
It's 1527, and Rome is under attack by Lutherans and Protestants, bent on rape and murder as they sweep through the city. Fiammetta Bianchini and her dwarf companion, Bucino, gobble down the gemstones from her jewelry and manage to flee in the middle of the night, heading for Fiammetta's childhood home in Venice, but only after the wives of the invading Germans have shaved her head and burnt her scalp, stealing her beauty but not her spirit. With their fortunes literally in their stomachs, they leave behind a world of opulence and ease where Fiammetta has been a famous and favored courtesan, and arrive at her mother's home only to learn that the older woman is dead of the pox and her sullen and half stupid housekeeper has literally kept the house. It is a long, hard struggle but under Bucino's guidance and with the help of a crippled, blind healer-witch, Fiammetta finally takes her place at the top of the Venetian Courtesan Registry. As their fortunes rise, this unlikely duo come under threat from a visiting Turk who wants to steal Bucino away to join his collection of oddities, from a handsome and tender young man whose passions threaten to ignite the courtesan's heart, and the greatest challenge of all, from the one person who is closest to them in all of Venice.This is a sweeping novel with rich descriptions of Renaissance Italy so vivid you can smell it, full of bawdy characters and cunning villains. I don't often pick up a novel set is this time period, but this one was an exception I'm glad I made. It was a wonderful and interesting read. I give it a 5.
cathyskye on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Protagonist: Bucino TeodoldoSetting: 16th-century Venice, ItalyRenaissance Italy comes to life as a street-smart dwarf, Bucino, tells ofhis life with his mistress, celebrated Roman courtesan, Fiammetta Bianchini.Barely escaping the 1527 sack of Rome with the clothes on their backs (and afew jewels in their stomachs), Fiammetta and Bucino seek refuge in Venice,the city of her birth. Fiammetta is starved, her beauty destroyed, but withsheer determined cunning, Bucino's loyalty and the help of a blind healercalled La Draga, Fiammetta recovers.Bucino misses very little of what goes on around him, and his narration issuperb. Through his eyes, we see the Venetian weave of politics, religion,social class, rituals, intrigue, superstitions and betrayals. The threecharacters--Fiammetta, Bucino, and La Draga--are vividly brought to life,and the story's pacing doesn't miss a beat.
lorielibrarian on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Nice historical detail, well developed characters. I listened to the CD, which was quite good.
jcelrod on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I thoroughly enjoyed this novel although I felt that the end was a bit rushed - although I could piece together La Draga's backstory, it would have been nice to have had more detail. I liked the way that Dunant fictionalized real characters and found her explanation of her research interesting.
jwarner6 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
The protagonist and narrator of this book is a dwarf who is the companion and business partner to a young courtesan in 16th Century Venice. Beautiful desciption of Venice, city and life, right after Reformation.
harveywals on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Sarah Dunant is a great researcher/historian, though she denies it. Wonderful historical details and setting. The story is less engaging, though picks up in the last third.
amybrojo on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
It took me a long time to read this book. I started before my trip to Venice and put it down for many months before finishing it this Fall.
kakadoo202 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
it took me a moment to get into the history, but then I was drawn into the characters with their bad and good moods and their lives. I had the audio version and was happy with the reader. Gave you an intersting view behind the scences of the houses in Venice.
ladybug74 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I liked the first half of this book, then it began to drag a little until it got near the end. The foreign names were a bit hard to follow at times. Overall the book was just okay.
readingrat on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Even though I liked all three Renaissance Italy books written by this author this was by far my favorite - I absolutely loved this narrator's "voice".
karinatrandom on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Love this book and this author!
SelimaCat on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I kept waiting for this to be lusher and smuttier than it was. The story follows the dwarf companion of a renowned courtesan in Venice's heyday. It starts with a dramtic escape from Rome as it's being sacked by some sort of protestant infidel, and watches the courtesan trying to make a name for herself in a new city as she befriends a strange, witchy woman. The relationship between the dwarf and the courtesan is the important one, but lacks meat until the book is nearly over. It's telling that I returned from vacation, picked it up to finish it, and had forgotten that I already had. Meh.
bdinan on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Enjoyable and unpredictable.
GMac on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Escaping the sack of Rome in 1527, with their stomachs churning on the jewels they have swallowed, the courtesan Fiammetta and her dwarf companion, Bucino, head for Venice. Yet as their fortunes rise, this perfect partnership comes under threat, from the searing passion of a lover who wants more than his allotted nights to the attentions of an admiring Turk in search of human novelties for his sultan's court. But Fiammetta and Bucino's greatest challenge comes from a young crippled woman, a blind healer who insinuates herself into their lives and hearts with devastating consequences for them all
LucyB. on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Anyone who is fascinated by Venice (and who isn't?) will absolutely love In The Company of The Courtesan. Obviously, that¿s not all that the book¿s about (I¿ll get to that in a moment¿), yet; this important aspect cannot be mentioned lightly. The vivid details of the setting naturally propel you right into the moment. Depictions of the world as it was then, with Venice at its center; the glory, the fame, the beauty and all that was decadent as well- set the stage for an incredibly absorbing read¿just the right setting for the story of a wondrous courtesan¿The story begins with Fiammetta Bianchini, a courtesan of the highest rank, servicing in the papal courts of Rome, having to flee when the city becomes invaded, and later destroyed, by Spaniard barbarians and German Lutherans. Barely surviving the barbaric scalpel and in order to avoid a torturous death, Faimmetta feigns a religious conversion in order to appease and distract the zealous fanatics. Together with her companion and business partner, a dwarf named Bucino, Fiammetta manages to escape and make way to her native Venice to start up her career fresh from scratch- Not an easy task¿A disheveled Fiammetta arrives in Venice looking scraggly, beaten, unfed, and besides being poor, famished and sick; she is an `unknown.¿ How can she ever reclaim her notoriety as the most beautiful, learned, sensual and classiest courtesan in town? Both Fiammetta and her side-kick/manager/entertainer and man-à tout faire, Bucino, have a lot of work to do.The story, told by Bucino, magically unravels as it takes you from one strange character to another; one more flamboyant than the next. A mysterious woman, with a strange deformity and extraordinary healing powers, named La Draga, enraptures both Fiammetta and Bucino into a web of intricacies that lead to fascinating consequences. There is definitely an element of mystery mixed with a clear sense of curiosity that keeps you edging on for more.I absolutely loved reading about these colourful characters and their different lifestyles- and couldn¿t help but totally adore Fiammetta. Bucino too, this engaging, sharp little man who stopped at nothing to ensure the best for `his Lady¿ while taking care of business as a priority, was endearing to no end. Everything seemed so real. For all I know, this story could have actually happened. After all, Sarah Dunant includes real historical figures such as the famous painter Titian; Arletino the `reporter¿ of the time- and, La Draga was an actual person as well.As for Fiammetta, in this novel she was also Titian¿s preferred goddess to paint, perfectly insinuating his authentic painting of The Venus of Urbino¿where the model was said to be indeed a courtesan. Although she is but a fictional character, In The Company of The Courtesan will leave you wishing that Fiammetta really did exist¿ knack for business, flamboyance, joviality, free spirit, and all.A truly delightful read. Loved it!
flutterbyjitters on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
it was good, i enjoyed it. recommended.
MsDollie More than 1 year ago
In the Company of the Courtesan was an excellent read. A wonderful blending of historical events, people and locations with entertaining fiction. More than just escapism reading ... I found myself pondering the lessons about trust, hope, religious faith, lust versus love and other human experiences. I will file this as one I'll read again.