An awful snob in Venice
After a week in Venice I wanted to live there forever. Picking up this book to read on the plane home, I hoped to see the city through other eyes and put my own dream into perspective. It starts well: the reader empathises with the Venetian disease Weinbereg catches. Half way through this book turns into a nasty diatribe against some Venetians and many expatriates. The author seems to think her closing section on a car-crash in Italy and its aftermath will make up for her bile. It doesn't, it won't.If I ever do live in Venice I fervently hope never to encounter this snobbish, garrulous and self-centered New Yorker. The book is not only a waste of money, but an offense to Venice and to readers. How on earth did this get published?