By Christopher Moore
New York Times bestselling writer Christopher Moore channels William Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe in The Serpent of Venice, a satiric Venetian gothic that brings again the Pocket of puppy Snogging, the eponymous hero of Fool, together with his sidekick, Drool, and puppy monkey, Jeff.
Venice, many years in the past. 3 fashionable Venetians anticipate their so much loathsome and foul dinner visitor, the erstwhile envoy of england and France, and widower of the murdered Queen Cordelia: the rascal idiot Pocket.
This trio of crafty plotters—the service provider, Antonio; the senator, Montressor Brabantio; and the naval officer, Iago—have lured Pocket to a gloomy dungeon, promising a night of spirits and debauchery with an extraordinary Amontillado sherry and Brabantio’s attractive daughter, Portia.
But their invitation is, after all, bogus. The wine is drugged. the lady isn’t even within the urban limits. wanting to rid themselves as soon as and for all the guy who has continuously foiled their grand quest for energy and wealth, they've got lured him to his loss of life. (How can any such small guy, be this sort of large obstacle?). yet this idiot isn't any idiot . . . and he’s bought quite a lot of tips (and hand gestures) up his sleeve.
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Additional resources for The Serpent of Venice: A Novel
Had perished of a fever, he was once in attendance at a ball on the palace of a senate councilman at the Grand Canal and got no convenience from the Venetians at courtroom other than wine and silent scorn. conquer with grief, the idiot forged himself within the canal to drown, yet was once yanked out via the scruff of the neck by means of a soldier . . . He lay there at the pavers for a very long time, in a puddle of canal water, weeping, nice gasping sobs first and foremost, then started out a breathless trembling, as though breath itself used to be born of a soreness he couldn't endure. A thread of crystal drool ran from the tragedy of his face, shimmering within the torchlight as though the single factor holding his soul tethered to earth. The Moor, in his tremendous shirt of golden silk, crouched over the idiot, announcing not anything. A breath eventually squeaked out of him, a whisper as vulnerable as a fly death on a windowsill. “She is useless. My love. ” “I know,” stated the Moor. “You don’t be aware of love. examine you. You’re a soldier—a not easy, scarred, killing thing—a weapon. You’ve had an alehouse whore or the abnormal widow of the conquered, perhaps, yet you don’t understand love. ” “I comprehend love, idiot. Love is probably not mine, yet i do know it. ” “You lie,” acknowledged the idiot. The Moor checked out torchlight reflecting at the canal and acknowledged, “When a lady seems upon one’s scars with ask yourself, and sees now not the honor of battles received, yet sheds tears for the ache of damage suffered, then is love born. while she pities a man’s heritage and desires away his earlier issues with current comforts, then is love woke up. while that which makes a warrior tough is met with attractiveness provided so much gentle, then can he locate love. ” The idiot acknowledged, “She sees previous your good-looking external to the darkish, twisted, damaged beast that your years have made up of you—the libidinous little creature that you're at heart—when she takes you no longer even with, yet since you are the cheeky monkey, that's love? ” “I’m no longer announcing that, I—” The idiot rolled to his knees prior to the Moor and took him by means of front of his blouse. “You do recognize! inform me, Moor, if you happen to recognize love, real love, then why will you now not permit me drown, cease the soreness? in case your love was once taken from you, i might carry your sword so that you may possibly run upon it and that i may carry your head when you twitched on your personal heart’s blood. i'm type that approach. Why do you no longer do me an identical kindness? ” “Because you're inebriated. ” “Oh, do fuck off. You Muslims and your aversion to drink. Fucking slaughter the higher a part of the Western fucking international in Allah’s identify, yet an individual desires to toast on your wellbeing and fitness and all at once it’s all piety, prayer, throw out the beef, and let’s positioned draperies round the girls. ” “I am no longer a Muslim. ” “Well, a mystery Muslim, then. comparable factor. you have got the curvy sword and the earring and you’re black as Satan’s scrotum, aren’t you? ” “Tomorrow, while you're sober and the drink is from your head, if you then nonetheless desire to drown your self, i'll assist you tie a stone in your ankle and throw you within the canal myself. ” “You might do this for a bad, heartbroken idiot? ” “I may and that i shall, yet now not this night.