Peter Robb’s new book reminds me of a kaleidoscope. Turn the barrel, or page, and a new, mesmerising image, fact, opinion or event reveals itself, leading the reader to re-think the intricacies, contradictions, beauty and barbarity of the history of the challenging city of Naples. The book’s subtitle is ‘A book of Art and Insurrection’ but that does not do justice to the breadth and depth of Robb’s command of his subject.
Commencing with references to Bronze Age trading and ending with a contemporary beach vignette, the book gives the reader a remarkable overview of the history of this ‘great and terrible’ city, with particular focus on the 16th and 17th centuries. This was the period when Naples became the European capital of Spain’s world empire and the base for the bloody Christian struggle with Islam. Robb certainly does not skimp on the political, religious, mercantile and domestic realities of this period, culminating in a vivid, even exciting, account of the citywide Food Tax revolt of 1647 and its aftermath. However, his passions are the Neapolitan artists and writers who flourished in what was arguably one of the most important cities of the time.
The reader needs to remain focussed as names, commissions, friendships, rivalries and vendettas spill from the page, not always chronologically. Caravaggio (whom Robb usually refers to by his given name, Michelangelo Merisi), Gargiulo, Ribera, Bartolomeo Passante (a painter of genius who died too young), the ‘elusive’ Caracciolo, to name just a few, live again due to the vitality of the writing, and we are directed more than once to Naples’ Museo di Capodimonte and various churches to rediscover for ourselves a multitude of glorious painted treasures.
Writers, too, throng the pages in a sometimes quirky way. Latin poet Virgil is linked with Robb’s Neapolitan barber Virgilio, solely due to his name. Boccaccio and the Decameron make an appearance. The original Cinderella and her unique slipper are explained. Writers of political and religious tracts are discussed both for their influence and for their sometimes grisly fate. Brief musical references appear, not least a casual mention of San Pietro a Majella, ‘Europe’s first music school’. If one of the functions of a serious factual book is to stimulate the reader to explore further, this one certainly fulfils the brief. The author simply does not have the space to flesh out all his allusions.
Peter Robb has crafted a turbulent book about turbulent times. It will amply repay any serious reader whose interests include Neapolitan artists and interlopers, their passions, rivalries and vendettas; the Spanish Inquisition; political and artistic patronage; the survival skills of the Neapolitan working classes; the rise and decline of empires; and much more. Don’t expect an easy read: do expect to be informed, entertained and transported to a particularly resilient people and place.
Max Oliver is a Sydney bookseller with a particular interest in Italy. This review first appeared in the November 2010 issue of Bookseller+Publisher.
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Tags: A&U, Peter Robb, Street Fight in Naples
This is a fair review and potential readers should heed the reviewer’s warning. It is not an easy read. The use of alternative names and the lack of chronologial order in the narrative is sufficient to frequently trip up the inattentive reader. The need to go back and re-read passages to remind yourself “who is who” occurs frequently. The other criticism I have is that many of the works of art discussed at length in the text are not reproduced in the book. The reproductions that are published are not captioned in a way that it is easy to connect them to the relevant text. So it is a rather idiosyncratic work, unlike Robb’s earlier books, in particular his “A death in Brazil”. Nonetheless the book is worth persevering with, if only because of the wealth of information that it contains, in particular about the counter-reformation which is a background to much of the personalities and events that are recounted. The cruelty and barbarism that characterised that period is well-documented and presents a grim picture, not often recalled.