Product Description

A wildly original novel of erotic fulfillment and spiritual yearning.

Every two years the international art world descends on Venice for the opening of the Biennale. Among them is Jeff Atman–a jaded and dissolute journalist–whose dedication to the cause of Bellini-fuelled partygoing is only intermittently disturbed by the obligation to file a story. When he meets the spellbinding Laura, he is rejuvenated, ecstatic. Their romance blossoms quickly, but is it destined to disappear just as rapidly?

Every day thousands of pilgrims head to the banks of the Ganges at Varanasi, the holiest Hindu city in India. Among their number is a narrator who may or may not be the Atman previously seen in Venice. Intending to visit only for a few days he ends up staying for months, and suddenly finds–or should that be loses?–a hitherto unexamined idea of himself, the self. In a romance he can only observe, he sees a reflection of the kind of pleasures that, willingly or not, he has renounced. In the process, two ancient and watery cities become versions of each other. Could two stories, in two different cities, actually be one and the same story?

Nothing Geoff Dyer has written before is as wonderfully unbridled, as dead-on in evocation of place, longing and the possibility of neurotic enlightenment, and as irrepressibly entertaining as Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi.




From the Hardcover edition.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #9789 in Books
• Published on: 2009-04-07
• Released on: 2009-04-07
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 304 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9780307377371
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
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Amazon.com Review
Book Description
A wildly original novel (what else would we expect from this fearless and funny writer?) that explores the underbelly of erotic fulfillment and spiritual yearning.

Every two years the international art world descends on Venice for the opening of the Biennale. Among them is Jeff Atman—a jaded, dissolutely resolute journalist—whose dedication to the cause of Bellini-fuelled party-going is only intermittently disturbed by the obligation to file a story. When he meets Laura, he is rejuvenated, ecstatic. Their romance blossoms quickly but is it destined to disappear just as rapidly?

Every day thousands of pilgrims head to the banks of the Ganges at Varanasi, the holiest Hindu city in India. Among their number is a narrator who may or may not be the Atman previously seen in Venice. Intending to visit only for a few days he ends up staying for months, and finds—or should that be loses?—a hitherto unexamined idea of himself, the self. In a romance he can only observe, he sees a reflection of the kind of pleasures that, willingly or not, he has renounced. In the process, two ancient and watery cities become versions of each other. Could two stories, in two different cities, actually be one and the same story?

Nothing Geoff Dyer has written before is as wonderfully unbridled, as dead-on in evocation of place, longing, and the possibility of neurotic enlightenment, as irrepressibly entertaining as Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi.
About the Author
Geoff Dyer is the author of three previous novels and five nonfiction books, including But Beautiful, which was awarded the Somerset Maugham Prize, and Out of Sheer Rage, which was a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist. The winner of a Lannan Literary Award, the International Center of Photography's 2006 Infinity Award for writing on photography (for The Ongoing Moment), and the American Academy of Arts and Letters' E. M. Forster Award, Dyer lives in London.

Questions for Geoff Dyer

Q: What is this book about?

A: At the risk of being cowardly, I'll take refuge behind a line from one of Kerouac’s letters: "It's my contention that a man who can sweat fantastically for the flesh is also capable of sweating fantastically for the spirit." (See also answer to question 4.)

Q: Is it a modern twist on Death in Venice? If not, what's up with the title?

A: Yes, the first part is a version of the Mann novella--the opening sentence is ripped straight out of the opening line of the original--but mine operates at a far lower cultural level. His protagonist is a world-famous composer, mine is a hack journalist. And whereas in the Mann, Aschenbach's obsession with the young boy, Tadzio, is tied up with some quest for ideal beauty, in my book the romance with Laura is very carnal and hedonistic--though that could itself be said to represent some kind of ideal.

Q: Why Venice and Varanasi?

A: They're actually very similar: both are water-based, old, with crumbling palaces facing onto either the Grand Canal or the Ganges with alleys and narrow streets leading off into darkness and sudden oases of brilliant light. And both, in their ways, are pilgrimage sites. I'm not the first person to be struck by the similarities. There are quite a few occasions in his Indian Journals when Ginsberg is so stoned walking by the Ganges that he thinks he's in Venice, strolling along the Grand Canal!

Q: Are the two parts of the book, two stories in two different cities, or are they the same story? How are they linked? One early reviewer claimed that the protagonist in each story wasn't the same person, but two people--is it the same person or not?

A: Well, these are huge questions and this, in fact, is what the book is about. By asking questions like these the reader is hopefully confronted by several more, about what kind of unity the book has, about the ways in which a novel might be capable of generating an aesthetic unity of experience that is not narrative-driven. Regarding the person in each part, I'll opt for what governments call the N.C.N.D. response, neither confirming nor denying. It is never made clear whether the un-named narrator in Varanasi is the same as the protagonist in Venice. And although sequentially it comes afterwards, there is nothing in the book to suggest that part 2 comes chronologically after part 1. I actually wanted to subtitle the book "A Diptych" but was dissuaded by my handlers. I didn't mind: it so obviously is a diptych there's no need to call it one!

Q: You've clearly spent a lot of time in Venice and Varanasi. Have any of Jeff's adventures happened to you?

A: Yes, I've been to three biennales and spent a big chunk of time in Varanasi. As I've said elsewhere, I like writing stuff that's only an inch from life but all the art--and, for me, all the fun--is in that inch.

From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Two 40-ish men seeking love and existential meaning are the protagonists of these highly imaginative twin novellas, written in sensuous, lyrical prose brimming with colorful detail. In the first, Jeff Atman is a burnt-out, self-loathing London hack journalist who travels to scorching, Bellini-soaked Venice to cover the 2003 Biennale, and there finds the woman of his dreams and an incandescent love affair. The unnamed narrator of the second novella (who may be the same Jeff) is an undistinguished London journalist on assignment in the scorching Indian holy city of Varanasi, where the burning ghats, the filth and squalid poverty and the sheer crush of bodies move him to abandon worldly ambition and desire. Dyer's ingenious linking of these contrasting narratives is indicative of his intelligence and stylistic grace, and his ability to evoke atmosphere with impressive clarity is magical. Both novellas ask trenchant philosophical questions, include moments of irresistible humor and offer arresting observations about art and human nature. For all his wit and cleverness, Dyer is unflinching in conveying the empty lives of his contemporaries, and in doing so he's written a work of exceptional resonance. (Apr.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Bookmarks Magazine
A play on Thomas Mann’s novella Death in Venice (1912), about a middle-aged male writer who seeks spiritual enlightenment in Venice but instead finds carnal doom in a young boy, Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi is many things at once: a detailed, entertaining, travelogue; a philosophical treatise on mortality, materialism, and spirituality; and an inquiry into the nature of self. Dyer’s “deceptively straightforward tale” (Oregonian)—influenced by Nietzsche, Roland Barthes, John Berger, and others—can be read on all three levels, depending on the reader’s level of engagement. While critics commented that the plot lines don’t exactly converge, they nonetheless praised Dyer’s reflections on two very different journeys. In the end, Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi is a compelling and original—if somewhat inscrutable—novel.
Copyright 2009 Bookmarks Publishing LLC

Customer Reviews

Original and Erotic
Dyer, Geoff. "Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi: A Novel:", Pantheon, 2009.

Original and Erotic

Amos Lassen

The Biannale in Venice comes every two years and the art world goes to Venice for its opening. Jeff Atman, a journalist, loves the Biannale but this time he has to write a story and this could weigh upon his party going. Then he meets Laura and he becomes wildly happy and their romance moves quickly. However as quickly as it happens is it destined to disappear.
The novel then moves to Varanasi, India on the Ganges River, a spot that fills with pilgrims daily, Varanasi is the holiest of cities to the Hindu religion. A stranger suddenly appears at the site and we are not sure if this is Jeff Altman or not, This man had only planned to come there for a few days but he ends up staying for months. What he finds there is himself in the guise of an previously unexamined idea of who he is. He also sees pleasure in the form of what he has already given up.
What is the relationship between Venice and Varanasi? Both are ancient and both depend on water. Is it possible that the two stories we have here actually be one story and could they be the same story?
This is a novel that is totally original and is an exploration of eroticism and spiritual desire which seems to take ideas from Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice" but written on a different level. Instead of Mann's classical composer, Dyer gives us a hack journalist who is jaded. As Mann's Aschenbach was obsessed with the youth, Tadzio, here Laura is the object of obsession--a carnal and hedonistic obsession.
On the cities of Venice and Varanasi, the question lays with the reader. Nothing is clearly spelled out and the timeline is nor necessarily set as to which happens first.
As the search for love and existential meaning is the theme, how do we know what is really going on? Dyer is quite the thinker here and his style is graceful and sublime. He gives us a look at empty lives which should resonate loudly with all of us.

Double Trouble
The unwieldy title of this book is indicative of its troubles. JEFF IN VENICE, DEATH IN VARANASI offers two novellas, two continents, and two somewhat listless narratives in search of some grounding. The first novella, written in the 3rd person limited, chronicles the tale of a self-absorbed, hedonist Brit in the Italian city as a freelance writer covering an art festival (the Biennale). Though in his 40's, our protagonist (Jeff Atman) dyes his hair and acts in general like an untethered frat boy as he chases down party invites, quaffs as many free drinks as possible, and hunts up skirts. The writing itself is crisp (thus 3 stars), but you'll be offering your kingdom for a plot after awhile, unless you're perfectly content to read vast stretches of self-satisfied witticisms in the form of cocktail chat. Certain readers may pass on the cocktails and go straight for the tail in the form of some rather randy scenes where Jeff scores repeatedly with the fair -- and oh, so game -- Laura (it must be all that art putting them in the mood for something graphic).

Reaching the end of the first piece and shrugging, we move on to India with a nameless 1st-person protagonist as our new host. This novella, less "modern" in feel, comes off like a travel book, rich in details about the squalid Indian city, the filthy Ganges, and the constant funeral pyres -- metaphoric, perhaps, for a tandem of books that don't quite mesh and don't quite grab the reader by the lapels?

Fans of parties, booze, and sex (Round One) and fans of Hindu rituals, travel writing, and kangaroos (if you get that far in Round Two, you'll see) may be confused as to why these odd bedfellows share a dust jacket, but the writing isn't bad and Dyer's a gamer -- too bad he just can't get it off the ground.

Twinned
In the first story, a writer experiences the excitement of Venice in a few brief days. Jeffrey Atman drinks, parties, tours, does his job (more or less) and has an affair with a beautiful woman. As our hero keeps reminding the reader, almost everything is going right for him.

Jeff's tastes have remained remarkably constant as he has aged whereas "other people's ideas of a good time underwent well-established changes as they got older." Jeff approaches life as if it were an extended frat party; other people "ended up raising children, buying sheds or playing golf." With his adolescent value system intact, Altman is on top of the world for 48 hours.

Dyer writes visually and feverishly about the Venice Art Festival. He creates tension around Altman's pursuit of Laura and beautifully about their time together. Laura's flight out of Venice, however, and the end of the festival happen rapidly for both Altman and the reader. In a few pages, the reader moves from envy for the hero to pity even though these changes are foreshadowed and inevitable.

The second story is also about a writer's journey to an alien environment. In this case, the unnamed scribe begins to work in Varanasi, deteriorates physically, renounces material life and, finally, embraces the spiritual much as Altman had elevated the carnal.

The relationship between the two stories is left for the reader to ponder. At one point, a character describes Venice and Varanasi as "incredibly similar. Versions of each other. Twinned." The readers' challenge is to sort and compare the lessons learned in each locale. In the first, the hero adopts, after his loss, a Victorian view of life: "I can't have this forever, therefore I'm miserable." The narrator of the second story has few positive experiences and, as a result, little disappointment. His life lesson is a different one: "there are only a limited number of moments that count for anything, that make up and define a life...The only real crime or mistake was not to make the most of it." The first attitude leads to resignation and the second to renunciation.

I loved the Venice story (5 stars), liked the story set in India (3 stars) and am still working on what the two of them say when they are "twinned." The strength of the main characters, depth of the imagery in both versions of the story and light-handed author's touch are all reasons to read this book. In the light of full disclosure, as someone who has experienced children, sheds and golf, I greatly enjoyed the vicarious pleasures of Altman's time in Venice regardless of its brevity. As limited moments that define a life, they are superficial but seem to be a lot of fun.