Venice for Pleasure
JG Links
Pallas Athene, 7th edition. 2000
JG Links’s guide to the wonders of Venice, Venice for Pleasure, was first published around the time when England was winning the World Cup and Harold Wilson was puffing on his pipe as the prime minister. That it is still in print today should tell you something: that this is the book to have with you when first you visit that magical city.
It has, of course, been updated since it first saw the light of day in 1966. You can rely upon its seventh edition to make sense of the current vaporetto routes, and the restaurants and cafes it notes are (mostly) still there. Since JG Links is sadly no longer with us to add to his urbane and witty volume, this may not be true for ever. But to go to Venice for the first time without this important book would be a shame. It is not only the best guide to Venice, it is possibly the best guide to any city, written with the casual visitor in mind (not for the art historian or the history scholar), and written solely with pleasure in view.
Why is it so good? I think, because it puts no pressure on you whatsoever. Most guides have a sort of breathless, open-mouthed and unquestioning reverence for the places they discuss, Venice for Pleasure has achieved its goal if it leaves you sitting in the sunshine on the banks of a canal, sipping a coffee.
Other Venice guides deliver you to the door of the Frari or the Accademia with injunctions not to miss a whole list of things. Only Venice for Pleasure will tell you (of the Accademia) not to panic, since the first nineteen rooms can be ‘done in half an hour by any traveller with sound limbs’. Only JG Links will exclaim (once you have gazed on some gross and absurdly scaled monuments – as well as Bellini’s angels – and have reached the open air once more), ‘We have done the Frari.’
The book itself consists of four walking routes around Venice. These take in everything you will want to see (including many not so oft visited treasures), but they will generally keep you moving past the crowds of St Mark’s, and most other crowds too, for Venice beyond the obvious still stubbornly resists being explored.
Wandering around Venice, one often encounters those with other guidebooks. You can tell these people by their glazed expression, the fixed rictus of having “enjoyed” so many Titians or Donatellos, the footsore limp of the enthusiast who has taken on one church too many. Death, in Venice, often approaches as a result of unquestioning admiration, and it is only the city itself that saves you.
As Venice for Pleasure points out, the bigger picture is really what is so special about the place. Having been established by luck, having prospered by intrigue and plunder, having survived against all odds, Venice is a miracle of history. It is the place itself (and not the glittering details within) which contains the magic.
