Book Title: Viva Violetta & Verdi
Series: N/A
Author: Howard Jay Smith
Publication Date: January 28th, 2025
Publisher: Historium Press
Pages: 256
Genre: Historical Fiction
Viva Violetta & Verdi
by Howard Jay Smith
Blurb:
A Love Affair Inspiring the World's Most Unforgettable Operas:
Experience the intense, lifelong love affair between Giuseppe Verdi and Giuseppina Strepponi, the brilliant and seductive soprano who shaped his legacy. As his muse, lover, and wife, Strepponi was the inspiration behind Verdi's most iconic works, including La Traviata and Aida. Her influence was pivotal, as she became the architect of his creative triumphs and the heart of his operatic genius.
Set against the backdrop of Italy's Risorgimento, this sweeping novel intertwines their turbulent relationship with the nation's fierce struggle for independence. Through the heartbreak of three brutal wars, Verdi and Strepponi's passion, betrayal, and artistic ambition come alive, mirroring the era's fiery spirit.
Rich with themes of love, power, food, wine, and unrelenting passion, Viva Violetta & Verdi is an unforgettable exploration of art, resilience, and the enduring bond that transformed both an artist and a nation.
Praise for Violetta & Verdi:
"A stunning, significant book...that is rich, lush and drenched in knowledge. It is nothing less than a gift." - Sheila Weller
"Smith's historic drama embraces universal themes of class and religious persecution, and weaves gorgeous language with an intimate knowledge of Italian food, music, and political hypocrisy that contemporary readers will find irresistible." - Jessica Keener
"Viva Violetta & Verdi is a well-researched love letter to Verdi; fans are sure to love." - Leslie Zemeckis
"Perfection. You are right there, inhaling and breathing in the words, the smell, and each piece of music. Bravo. It is both a love song and a love letter to the irrefutable power of Verdi's muse, Violetta." - Amy Ferris
Buy Link:
Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bxyr2d
Author Bio:
Howard Jay Smith is an award-winning writer from Santa Barbara, California.
VIVA VIOLETTA & VERDI, is his third novel in his series on great composers, including BEETHOVEN IN LOVE; OPUS 139 and MEETING MOZART: FROM THE SECRET DIARIES OF LORENZO DA PONTE.
His other books include OPENING THE DOORS TO HOLLYWOOD (Random House) and JOHN GARDNER: AN INTERVIEW (New London Press). He was recently awarded a Profant Foundation for the Arts Fellowship for Excellence in Writing.
Smith is a former two-time Bread Loaf Scholar and three-time Washington, D.C. Commission for the Arts Fellow, who taught for many years in the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program and has lectured nationally. His articles have appeared in the Washington Post, American Heritage Magazine, the Beethoven Journal, Horizon Magazine, Fig Tree Press, the Journal of the Writers Guild of America, the Ojai Quarterly, and numerous trade publications. While an executive at the ABC Television, Embassy TV, and Academy Home Entertainment he worked on numerous film, television, radio and commercial projects.
He serves on the board of directors of the Santa Barbara Symphony and is a member of the American Beethoven Society.
Author Links:
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Howard-Jay-Smith/author/B072FL7Y6P
Book Excerpt:
Prologue
Oh, My Country, So Beautiful And Lost
Milan, February 27, 1901
On the morning of Verdi’s funeral, I awoke well before dawn. After a double shot of espresso and a cornetto, one freshly baked and served up by my daughter-in-law, Luisa, I dressed in my black mourning suit. At my age, this was an exercise I engaged in with an all too familiar regularity.
Then with the necessary assistance of my silver-handled cane, I left my bedroom suite and headed down the marble stairs to the entryway foyer of our home, Casa di Trevi, on the Via Vittorio Veneto. Tap, step, step. Tap, step, step – a rhythm and beat that had been my companion for over three decades. Tap, step, step.
There, waiting by the coat rack was Luisa, whom I had known since she was thirteen. A pugnacious and steely eyed woman, she greeted me with a warmth that never flagged, “Buongiorno papà.”
I nodded and thanked her for the coffee. “And Tre?” I asked referring to my son, whom we all called by his nickname.
“He left an hour ago,” she replied as she helped me into my black overcoat and then handed
me my top hat.
As I settled the hat onto my head, Luisa stepped back and gave me that “look,” that glare, the one which every man who has ever been married, knows only too well.
“What?” I asked as I glanced in the hallway mirror. Save for a few flecks of grey in my otherwise neatly trimmed beard, the reflected image of my hair came back to me as black as the night I was about to step out into. Despite my age, I was fortunate that my hair, save for a few grey streaks, still retained its natural color.
“Just this,” she said. From a pocket buried in the many folds of her housedress, Luisa pulled a patch to which she had already added a tri-colored ribbon of red, white and green. She pinned it to the band of my top hat and then kissed me on both cheeks. “Now you are ready, papà. Viva Verdi.”
“Viva la rivoluzione,” I replied as I looked in the mirror and nodded my approval.
“Viva la rivoluzione,” repeated Luisa as she opened the front door.
I stepped out into the chill of that February morning. The streets of Milan were still deserted at this hour. Later, though, news reports would hold that some four-hundred thousand mourners would gather along the funeral route to view the carriage carrying Verdi’s coffin along with that of his wife, who had preceded him in death by some three years. The procession would travel the two miles from the Cimitero Monumentale to the Piazza Michelangelo Buonarroti and their final resting place at the Casa di Riposo per Musicisti.
One reporter from Corriere della Sera would even remark that the crowd for Verdi’s funeral procession was the largest gathering of humans in a single place since Napoleon invaded Russia in 1812. That event some 89 years ago occurred a year before Verdi and I were born just days apart in Busseto, a small village in the Duchy of Parma some 65 miles southeast of here. And although today Verdi is considered not only the quintessential Italian composer but the quintessential Italian, our birth records in the Busseto town hall archives are written in French, for they ruled our home territory.
Yes, liberami, save me. There is no one else alive today who has known Giuseppe Verdi longer than I. Today it is time to put my friend to rest in the soil of an Italian nation that did not exist when we were born and to remember all the sacrifices our beloveds made in blood to achieve those victories.
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