Geoff DyerJeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi

One novel that includes two distinct and stunning novellas in the life of Jeff Atman. Jeff, of course, seems to be a thin disguise for Geoff. I have no idea how biographical these stories may be, but they read with a gripping authenticity.The title is more than a play on words for the Thomas Mann story Death in Venice. These are stories of requited lust in Venice as well as spiritual desolation and a breakdown in Varanasi.Jeff is a freelance writer of some competence. He lives well enough to pay rent and enjoy a reasonably active life in London. He appears to have no real ties or obligations and is close to no one. Life is changing for him, and he dyes his hair. He is searching for some meaning or perhaps just trying to hang on to what he has.One particular detail tells the reader a lot about Jeff—He received an advance to write a book. He never writes it and does not return the money and is pleased to find out the publisher doesn’t care when editors are changed.He is sent on assignment to write a story about the Biennale, a contemporary art festival, in Venice, Italy. The art appears to be as shallow as the piece Jeff will write. He knows a number of people at the show that he socializes and drinks Bellini’s with at any of the innumerable parties or art receptions. The art does not give anyone a reason to care about it. There seems to be a dinner or event for Ed Ruscha each year and the hustlers selling fake handbags on the street is really an installation. It’s all just a reason to have a party. Venice is the magically historical playground for this artificial and decadent event.Jeff is drawn to a tall, dark-haired beauty, Laura, from Los Angeles. The connection is immediate, but she puts him off and won’t give him her number or hotel. She believes if they’re meant to get together they will run into each other. They do. And it turns into a drunken, drug-filled, lustful satisfaction for them both.Jeff does have real feeling for her. He hopes that she will show interest in seeing him again. He finally lets her know that he hopes they see each other again. She is fine with that, but you understand it’s never going to happen. Earlier she had them each buy the other an expensive, beautiful Venice glass to remind them of each other. These fragile mementos are all their relationship will ever be.After the Western decadence in Venice the second half of the book is spent in Varanasi. Jeff is sent there to write a travel article he completes as an afterthought. Dyer captures the color of Varanasi: The burning or cremation of the dead on the Ganges, the ridiculous traffic, the children constant hassling you for money, the dogs feeding on a corpse, the colors, the odors, the food.Jeff does not get the girl in Varanasi. In Venice he ends up alone, truly alone. And in India it doesn’t change. He has no desire to return to England so he remains in Varanasi because he has nothing else. He goes native, dressing in native garb, and taking dips in the Ganges. When a girl he meets says she is worried about him and comments that his hair is as fluffy as a gosling’s, he repeats that it’s “as fluffy as a gosling and smooth as an otter,” several times. He has lost himself.These are two intense stories that draw you into the human experience in two famous water cities. Dyer's has written something special that you will never forget in the same sense you never forget Death in Venice.

I give a lot of high praise reviews. This is probably because I don't waste my time on books I don't enjoy. I toss them onto the garbage heap, and I don't bother reviewing them. Venice/Varanasi is a book about the character "Jeff Atman" in the two cities whose names begin with a V. After I finished reading the "Venice" part, I felt that I had read something exceptional; but I was bothered by what I found to be the coarseness of one of the two graphic sex scenes in that novella. Perhaps I am just a prude. So I hesitated before jumping into "Varanasi."Much to my relief there was no graphic sex in the Varanasi half of the book, and I enjoyed it immensely. I finished reading the book a week ago, and I have been thinking about it ever since. I'll let some time pass, and then I'll read it again. The book is about the meaning of life. It doesn't answer the question, of course, but in the sense that we are all Jeff Atmans, it suggests alternatives. I found both alternatives ultimately unappealing, but it's an accomplishment to be able to eliminate two alternatives from consideration. Interestingly, Jeff interviews a woman in Venice, the mother of an upcoming rock star, and it appears that in this most interesting woman Jeff may have come upon the "guide" that most searchers of life's meaning seek. Jeff doesn't realize this, however, botches the interview with the woman, realizes that he should go back to her to take her photograph for his editor, but then much to the reader's chagrin, neglects to do so.It's not 2010 yet, but it's close. I think I can safely award "Jeff in Venice/Death in Varanasi" my 2009 book of the year award. Highly recommended.

Geoff Dyer has quoted a line from Kerouac that deftly captures the subject of his diptych: "It's my contention that a man who can sweat fantastically for the flesh is also capable of sweating fantastically for the spirit." Both of the protagonists in these two humid stories are perpetually thirsty and parched. Think of them as beggars, extending their bowls out to the world, waiting for them to be filled.And though they lust in different directions, they are certainly prodigious sweaters! If the sex scenes in Vienna don't drive the reader to want to take a cold shower, the filth on the streets of Varanasi undoubtedly will.Both protagonists seek immortality, the first in a hedonistic ego-fueled romp of sensual greed at the Venice Biennale; the other in a kind of hallucinatory death of self on the banks of the Ganges in Varanasi.At first glance, one thinks of the duality of mind/body or sense/spirit as being quite opposite, and I thought that Mr Dyer was going to take me to India to cure my Italian hangover from all those lines of coke and bellinis.I was awaiting enlightenment and elevation. What I got from this book was therefore unexpected and more profound. Lust, whether expended on sensual experience or spiritual enlightenment leads to the same sort of delusion.Nothing lasts, all is impermanent. It is good to be reminded how silly the aspirations of humans can be.I loved the images of these messy human activites being staged on the shores of the dark, slow inscrutable movements of water. There wasn't much difference between the successive/endless pile of bodies being burned in the Ganges, and the present state of fecklessness in the world of Art.The writing was witty and crisp, and I thought it had depth without being ponderous or weighty. The reader floats along, enjoying the ride.

Unexpected twists and turns. Simultaneously sexy, sad, hopeful and profound. A real page turner that sticks with you long after you're done. Beautiful prose.

This book effectively contains two related novellas featuring the same protagonist, Jeff, a London arts critic and writer. The first half recounts a short assignment to the Venice Biennale, written in the third person. The latter half is a first person account of his elongated stay in Varanasi. Both halves riff on common themes, many of which relate to Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice.I was sorely tempted to put this novel down having only read the Venetian segment, thinking that the best thing about it was the punning title. The art world that Jeff orbits is only slightly more superficial than his daytripper-level insight into the city. The references to Mann are there –the older man colouring his hair to recapture youth, the obsessive lust for a distant figure– but they only serve to illustrate that this novella is deeply reductive. There are some nice passages and amusing turns of phrase but it felt pretty lightweight and I found myself alienated by the insincerity of the characters and the affectations of the writer. Another north-Londoner writing about just how clever and cosmopolitan north-Londoners are, I thought.I underestimated Mr Dyer. He plays on the same themes in Death on Varanasi but uses it as both a critique of the society he has already described and Jeff’s angst-ridden participation in it.Relocating the themes to unreconstructed Varanasi allows Dyer to show just how synthetic Jeff’s concerns and passions were in Venice. The ennui and lust that enveloped Jeff when he was there may have echoed those of Mann’s Aschenbach but just as the city has over the 20th century become a theme park for those rich in money and cultural capital, so the people and their concerns are cartoons.The revelation of little details in Varanasi, like Jeff’s lack of education in the classical arts, serve to skewer both Jeff and the society in which he has thrived. How can a man with no understanding of the history and language of art be a nationally recognised art critic? Relatively easily, when the art community itself values those things less than the parties and the international travel and, ultimately, the cultural cache of being part of that elite community.Stripped of the consumerism and pretention of the first-world at the beginning of the 21st Century, Jeff undergoes a striking transformation in Varanasi far more redolent of Aschenbach. First world problems give way to issues of self and spirituality. The reader’s tolerance for this kind of introspection and the travelogue style narrative will very much decide how much they enjoy this half of the novel.I’m deeply conflicted about this novel. I reacted deeply against its first half and found the conclusion unsatisfying. The plot is inchoate, the characters –with the exception of Jeff- are sketches and long passages feel like they’ve fallen out of a travel guide. Yet beneath this veneer is some weapons grade thinking about society, culture and their relationship with the individual.

I couldn't decide on 2 or 3 stars - should be 2 1/2 really but there isn't that option. This book is not really fiction, it's more a travelogue as the two cities (two of my favourites in the world which propelled my purchase)are the main characters and described in great detail although do we really need to know the name of every single vaporetto stop that Jeff gets on or off at?I got through the first story - Venice - amusing but becoming tiresome with its endless round of Biennale parties with too much coke and booze. I decided that was the point.I'd read somewhere that Jeff's heart is broken but it isn't, at least not from the reader's point of view, he's just having a weekend shag. And what a shag it is - And people have said 'Last Tango in Buenos Aires" has a lot of sex - "Jeff..." is not for prudes.When I got to Varanasi, I really lost interest. Nothing happens. Mr Dyer doesn't seem to understand the basic requirements of the arc of fiction. I had expected him to meet up again with the fling but she is never mentioned again (we don't know what happens to them after they leave for their respective abodes)and in Varanasi nothing happens other than his somewhat sarcastic fall into spiritualism (while staying at a luxury hotel).Nothing holds these two novellas together other than their water and alleyways.As for all those glowing reviews from super-famous folk, all I can say is it must be nice to move into authoring from journalism via the Groucho and have so many kindly biased friends.

I thought this was an incredibly compelling novel and vividly written. I liked the way that it was split into two separate stories and the title was a fantastic teaser, and this fact alone kept me reading through the second half of the story - I did think, however, Varanasi was lacking the same sense of desire as the first. The characters in Venice, however, were wonderfully developed and I could almost touch Laura and, furthermore, I wanted to on many occasions. For the most part then the sex was actually well written! The only sense of lacklustre with this book came from the fact that I had purchased it from a website that currently isn't contributing its fair share of tax. This has not been a pleasant chaser - one feels robbed when they have enjoyed an experience that a crook has facilitated, however enjoyable. Thus, in summary, I would recommend buying this book, certainly. However, I would strongly urge any reader to consider the outlet from which they purchase it.

Just couldn't even bring myself to finish the book - probably the first time this has happened in many years. The same four letter swear words used multiple times on a page detracted from the book so much and were completely unnecessary. I will happily read books with swearing where it is integral to the story, but this was just overkill. Sorry, just not for me.

Quite boring, I don't think it is very well written. The part in Venice is lighter and more interesting; in Varanasi everything is predictable and dull, just a catalogue of things you can see/do if you go there: no plot, no emotions.