That’s what proprietor Luigi Frizzo calls it. “The most beautiful.” It’s in Venice. In Corte Senza Nome, off the Calle Longa Santa Maria Formosa, just down from San Zanipolo, in Castello sestieri. Others might be more inclined to call it the messiest, the maddest, the most amusing bookshop in the world. There are books stacked on books, books behind books, books interleaved with books, books used as bookends for books, books holding bookshelves up, books holding other things up. Getting the book you want might require a sustained expedition or a major restructuring of the shop. There are books in bathtubs, books in old boats, books raised from the floor by any means possible to get them above high-water mark. The acqua alta comes in at the doors here. You can arrive by gondola at the bookshop quay outside, or float right in when the tide gets very high.
Owner Luigi sits at the back of the store in knee-high gum boots at a big round table buttressed by books. He speaks all languages, moving seamlessly from one to another depending on his customers’ enquiries. He’s a big man with a great, growling, laughing voice. I know the acqua alta is a fearsome thing; I’ve seen it inundate St Mark’s Square, day after day, I’ve seen the chaos it occasions. But if there’s a man to match it, to Canute it right back out of his shop, that’s Luigi.
There are books everywhere, it’s a crazy lagoon of books, a whirlpool of books, a rubbish tip of books, an Aladdin’s Cave of books. There’s a courtyard paved with books with a double staircase of books leading to a balcony of books where you can watch the canal. Italian editions sprawl with English volumes. French tomes lie with German imprints. But ask Luigi where something is and he’ll tell you which mound to tackle.
I find a book on Casanova’s Venice. It’s in Italian and I ask if there’s an English translation. Luigi says no, but laughs, there are others similar in the ‘erotic section’. He gets up and we wade through books to get to it. I realize I’ve already seen the ‘erotic section’. In fact, I couldn’t much distinguish it from any other section; there’s erotica wonderfully everywhere in this bookshop – among the serious histories, the academic editions, the stacks of genre publications. The reader is inundated by a rising tide of erudition and erotica. It’s the most beautifully sensual bookshop in the world.
The books look as if they’ve been delivered by a very high tide, washed in from around the world. Beyond the open doorway the canal runs right past the shelves, but I don’t detect a single spot of mould. It’s a magic realist bookshop, with Luigi the Prospero who keeps it all breathing.
It’s the wackiest and sanest bookshop in the world because – like a human brain – it’s a jam-packed jumble of wonderful stuff. It makes books seem like fun again, like they were when we were young.
I buy the Italian edition of the book on Casanova. I promise Luigi I’ll learn Italian to read it. And we both laugh.