Bonjourno! Many of you know that I just returned from a bucket-list trip through Italy. The art, food, history, and romance were everything I’d dreamed they would be.
I picked up on a few details that made me smile. For example, Italian men wear crisp, ankle-high pants and roll their eyes at tourists’ shorts. You can walk along the busy, narrow streets of Florence, but at your own risk. And handmade pici pasta with ragu in Tuscany is arguably the best thing to eat there.
As I explored the country, I couldn’t help but notice some parallels with book publishing. Here are a few observations from along my journey – and how they relate to authors.
Scenes from Italy: Venice, Florence, and Rome
A sculptor featured his own face in a commissioned work of art.
The Baptistery of Saint John captivated me in Florence. The city’s most important religious celebrations were held in this octagonal, marbled building with three sets of bronze doors.
Lorenzo Ghiberti became famous when he won a competition in 1401 to sculpt New Testament scenes into the door panels. A Bible was expensive at that time – one could cost $30,000 or more before the invention of the printing press! So the door project was an effort to share its stories with the masses of illiterate people. It was the “publishing of that time,” as my tour guide put it.
For the next two decades, Ghiberti led a team in sculpting a set of doors. His work was so appreciated that the Renaissance artist was commissioned to produce a second set of doors, this time with Old Testament scenes. Nearly three decades later, his finished work was so beautiful that Michelangelo said, “They might fittingly stand at the gates of Paradise.”
Ghiberti called the finished doors “the most singular work that I have ever made.” He sculpted a self-portrait of his own bust into the door, part of a new trend for artists to no longer remain hidden behind their work. It reflected a new way of thinking: that artists were skilled by God and worked for the glory of God.
I’ve talked before about the awkwardness some authors feel when promoting their books. Ghiberti was a creator with the right mindset. He understood where his skill came from, labored to do his best work, and shared a worthwhile message with the world. In this context, he felt confident in claiming his masterpiece – and so can authors.
A bust of the sculptor on the bronze doors of the Baptistry of St. John
The floor of a famous church is warped.
St. Mark’s Basilica, a 12th-century church in Venice, was an exciting discovery. I turned a corner from a dark alley and found myself in a sweeping square, the former political and religious center of the city. Behind it stood a grand facade of a church that was just as impressive inside, where precious stones, marble, and mosaics embellished the floors, walls, and ceilings – all plundered and added over time.
I was staring up at the ceiling inside the church when I stumbled, and my tour guide said, “Be careful. The foundation is uneven.”
I looked down and was surprised to see the floor so buckled that it rolled like small hills in some spots. The guide explained that, in the republic’s rush to display its wealth and power, time wasn’t given to considering a proper foundation. Now, centuries later, I marveled at the beauty of the church while keeping an eye on where I stepped.
A proper foundation matters when publishing and marketing a book, too. Your purpose, goals, marketing angles, and measures of success are just a few of the factors that should be considered to shape a lasting legacy book. It’s tempting to rush ahead and focus on impressing readers, but an uneven foundation can undermine your work and distract your audience.
Of course, the church is still an icon. Despite the foundation issue, the beauty of St. Mark’s Basilica draws thousands of visitors a day, around three million a year! So while a proper foundation is best, there’s something to be said for a legacy that is shared at all, even if there are flaws. As Pastor Robert H. Schuller is credited with saying, “Better to do something imperfectly than to do nothing perfectly.”
With my husband in front of St. Mark’s Basilica
A powerful man deliberately used cheaper materials for his palace.
The history of Florence is intertwined with that of Cosimo de’ Medici, the wealthiest and most influential man in Florence in the 1500s. Medici funded churches and charitable works, sponsored artists and scholars, and commissioned one of the finest residences in Europe.
His palace was enormous and expensive – yet it was a sign of restraint. Medici reportedly rejected a luxurious marble design that was associated with elite Roman grandeur. He operated in a republic where grand displays of extravagance could stir suspicion and resentment. He didn’t want to risk political backlash among his fellow Florentines. Greater splendor was reserved for courtyards and private spaces.
Instead, Medici opted for a local sandstone for the exterior of his palace. The palace was still impressive, conveying wealth through proportion and craftsmanship. But his moderate choice positioned him as an approachable citizen, not someone vying for the monarchy. He was a master of the politics of modesty, and his family remained in good favor for centuries.
Medici’s decision reveals his profound awareness of his audience. His project was not just self-serving; he was thoughtful about how he could connect with the people around him and appeal to them. He defined the type of relationships he wanted to build, and he aligned every choice with that outcome. There is great wisdom in considering your audience’s mind before embarking on a project, whether it’s a building or a book.
The sandstone exterior of Medici’s palace
Final Thoughts
Italy is steeped in centuries of history. I appreciated my tour guides who served as storytellers, sharing observations and insights into the country’s roots and people. And I will cherish the lessons that emerged from my time in the country.
Arrivederci!
One of my tour guides, Catarina, who shared insights for an impressive 6 hours straight