The Venetian Boy
by Michael Willhoite
JMS Books. 255 pages, $15.50 (paper)
“THOUGH THERE ARE some disagreeable things in Venice,” Henry James once wrote, “there is nothing so disagreeable as the visitors.” In the rank and twisted world of The Venetian Boy, however, author Michael Willhoite populates this coming-of-age novel set in the 1970’s entirely with unsavory characters, both visitors to the City of Canals and residents alike. But, thank goodness, the very types of people you’d loathe to meet during a European vacation make for a deliciously good time when you only have to read about them.
Mark Ravenshaw, the troubled narrator and protagonist, may have spent 26 years on the planet, but he appears to have the emotional maturity of a mayfly. He can’t keep a job, writes bad checks, and whines when his parents force him to move home after a financial bailout. It’s not enough when he beds a dominatrix coworker; he must clandestinely seduce her husband, too. The inevitable uproar leaves this puerile home wrecker doing six months of rehab in a center for the mentally disturbed.
Upon his release, Mark believes he’s found salvation when Jeremy Westcott, his mother’s fiftyish bachelor brother, sends an open-ended invitation to work and live with him in Venice. An arts and antiquities dealer, “Uncle Jem” may be altruistic in his desire to offer some stability to his nephew, but subtle hints that the expat trades in stolen museum artifacts point the reader to the truth: Jem lives a sullied life, too.
Enter the mouthwateringly swarthy Piero Camminaro, Jem’s shop assistant—and barely postpubescent lover. The nineteen-year-old Venetian boy of the title quickly becomes the object of Mark’s obsession. Nothing deters the American in his pursuit of the dark-eyed beauty. Even when suspicions arise that Piero has been cuckolding Uncle Jem by working on the sly as a street prostitute, Mark’s lust fails to wane. As the plot moves to a climax, it’s clear Ravenshaw will ride rough-shod over most of the Seven Deadly Sins in order to possess his heart’s desire.
The characters created by Michael Willhoite are painted with fine brushstrokes, which is only fitting for an accomplished artist and illustrator (and a contributing artist for this magazine). Willhoite has produced a half-dozen other works, including the children’s book Daddy’s Roommate, which has been a lightning rod for the religious Right since its release by Alyson Books in 1994. The Rhode Island resident says in his blog that Venice first “stole his heart in 1993,” and his affection for la Serenissima is evident on virtually every page. This paperback brims with loving descriptions of specific footpaths, canals, and bridges, which, when combined with generous samplings of Italian phrases sprinkled throughout the narrative, give the book at times the feeling of a lively travelogue.
It’s hard to find a serious complaint about The Venetian Boy, though I for one felt a tad deceived by its cover art and title. The jacket features a muscular male torso displaying a hairless chest and abs. When combined with the frivolous-sounding three-word title, it would be easy to assume that this will be the gay equivalent of a bodice-ripper. Perhaps these were marketing decisions designed to sell more units; but the book is so much more than its erotic sex scenes. It is a well-crafted examination of the moral imperative to “be careful what you wish for,” set in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
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Court Stroud lives in New York with his fiancé, comic Eddie Sarfaty, and their two cats. Sometimes when rain floods the streets of Chelsea, he saunters barefoot on the soaked sidewalks and pretends he’s in Venice.
