Jospeh Brodsky, Watermark

Watermark is the first extended prose piece by Russian-born American poet Joseph Brodsky. It is a memoir, written in slightly disconnected little snippets. We read of past loves, past friends, favorite cafes and bars, architectural details, and the like, as we might expect of a memoir is one of the world's most beautiful cities.

The surprise (and pleasure) of reading Watermark is the connective tissue binding it all together. Brodsky, who was thrown out of the Soviet Union for his stances and viewpoints, has made a lifelong habit of visiting Venice in the heart of winter. The whole of this slim volume, then, is connected together not only by the icy waters of the canals but by the numbing fog that collects above them, by the damp chill of the stone walls, by the dim light and by the heavy coats and hats pulled low over the eyes and ears.

While I have only once been to Venice, and in the early fall, I have a similar penchant for visiting Paris in the middle of winter when, like Venice, the city is empty. No tourists visit, and many locals leave. The metros are empty, the museums have no lines, and a visitor can walk into any cafe, stroll right to the counter, and order up a café viennois and a few macaroons.

If you have been to Venice in the winter, read this book. If you have been to Venice in the summer, read this book. If you have not yet been to Venice, buy your ticket today.