Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere
by Jan Morris
Trieste Is Magnificent
Located on a narrow, mountainous finger of Italy hard by Croatia and
Slovenia, the port city of Trieste is something of a backwater, little visited
and seldom in the news. As Jan Morris, who first came to Trieste as the
English soldier James Morris in 1945, writes, It offers no unforgettable
landmark, no universally familiar melody, no unmistakable cuisine, hardly
a single native name that anyone knows. Yet, as historian and travel
writer Morris ably demonstrates in this homage to one of her favorite cities
(others about which she has written are Hong Kong, Sydney, New York,
and Venice), Trieste has many charms. Its history is foremost among
them, thanks to the citys former role as the sole port of the otherwise
landlocked Austro-Hungarian empire, which housed a small fleet there--a
fleet that, from time to time, would sail off to make war against the
Ottomans or the Italians. At the beginning of the 20th century, Trieste had
grown to international importance as an entry point into Central Europe,
so much so that it was referred to as the third entrance of the Suez Canal.

Trieste briefly took center stage at the onset of the cold war, when
Marshall Tito claimed it for Yugoslavia; it narrowly avoided being
enveloped by the Iron Curtain. Morris tells all these stories and more,
bringing the citys past to life; no one should be surprised if Trieste sees
more visitors thanks to her spirited study. Yet Trieste and the Meaning of
Nowhere is also a work tinged with melancholy. That befits the citys faded
glory, but it also has to do with the sad fact that this will be Morriss last
book--or so she promises. Lets hope she changes her mind. If not,
however, this serves very well as the capstone of a distinguished career.
--Gregory McNamee
Personal Review: Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere by Jan
Morris
Before this I had never read any of Jan Morris's works. I think I missed a
lot because reading this one brought me enormous enjoyment. I had seen
her on C-SPAN a few months ago and found her charming even though I
didn't get around to reading her till now. Her personal charm comes
through in her writing. She goes about her work with large quantities of
gentle wit, impressive erudition and wisdom, taking neither herself nor her
subject too seriously. I am old enough to remember the day Trieste
became part of Italy after the Second War ... for a while it was a toss-up as
to whether it would go to Italy or to Yugoslavia. Being part of Italy is
probably a good thing even though the city and its environs have great
numbers of assorted Slavs, Hungarians and Germanic types, probably a
wonderful mixture.
Let me start toward the end of the book, where Morris says "Here more
than anywhere else I remember lost times." And what does that make us
think of?? Right ... and like M Charlus declaiming and lamenting in the
park she counts off people she has known in Trieste and announces each
one's fate: in every case it is a rough equivalent of, "Dead and gone."
Also in these last pages Morris underscores decency and kindness as the
reigning virtues in Trieste. For me that would be quite enough to
recommend any city ... or country. Other features of the Triestino
character: "When you are among them you know you will not be mocked or
resented, because they will not care about your race, your faith, your sex
or your nationality, and they suffer fools if not gladly, at least
sympathetically. They laugh easily. They are easily grateful. They are
never mean."
Like most parts of eastern and southern Europe unable to defend
themselves Trieste became became part of the Habsburg Empire, which
needed a seaport. Just down the coast lies Istria which brings to mind
Modern Greece's first president John Capodistria, whose surname is a
hellenized version of Capo d'Istria.
The very short chapter titled "Love and Lust," suggestive in a highly
civilized way and extremely cerebral (I suspect Morris gets most of her
jollies above the eyebrows) seems to adhere to Jungian thought even
though Freud is the psycho-anthropologist who gets mentioned here --
along with James Joyce, who lived in Trieste for some years and
expressed a clear preference for certain of the city's cat-houses as against

others. In a chapter called "The Nonsense of Nationality" the author shows
that Trieste, containing so many ethnicities, can be taken as a case-study
or laboratory to give the lie to all the insane claims of nationalism. This
ethnic mix may help explain why the typical Triestino is so civlized. There
is a meditative, lovingly written chapter on the histoy of the Jews in Trieste
in which the author suggests that during all the domination by Austrians,
Nazis and Italians, the Jews have provided the spiritual and social energy
to fuel the city's intellectual and artistic life through most of its history.
Another section full of melancholy and tristesse treats of the ill-starred
Castle of Miramar, which "stands on its promontory weeping." It was built
by Maximilian and Carlotta, who lived in it before Napoleon III sent them to
Mexico to oust Juarez and mess around with the Monroe Doctrine.
Interestingly planned and written, this book starts out by giving an almost
negative, surely uninspiring vision of Trieste, a "nowhere" impression (as in
the title) but as you keep reading you discover all the reasons why it is a
place you really do want to see and know, perhaps for a few days, maybe
for a lot longer. On the two-hundredth page of the book Jan Morris says,
"Much of this little book, then, has been self-description." Actually, I didn't
need to be told that. I sensed it shortly after starting to read. Both Jan
Morris's inner life and this little book are delightful to know.
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