A Renaissance mystery featuring Leonardo da Vinci and his companion, Niccolo da Pavia, as they join together in Florence to solve the mystery of two assassinations and widespread vandalisms of artworks involving the Borgias and the exiled Medici family. (Third of a series)

Death is something we all confront—it touches our families, our homes, our hearts. And yet we have grown used to denying its existence, treating it as an enemy to be beaten back with medical advances.We are living at a unique point in human history. People are living longer than ever, yet the longer we live, the more taboo and alien our mortality becomes. Yet we, and our loved ones, still remain mortal. People today still struggle with this fact, as we have done throughout our entire history. What led us to this point? What drove us to sanitize death and make it foreign and unfamiliar?Schillace shows how talking about death, and the rituals associated with it, can help provide answers. It also brings us closer together—conversation and community are just as important for living as for dying. Some of the stories are strikingly unfamiliar; others are far more familiar than you might suppose. But all reveal much about the present—and about ourselves.

A Time of Mourning introduces Sandro Cellini, ex-cop and private detective: Florence's answer to Donna Leon's Guido Brunetti When a young English girl goes missing from among Florence's hard-drinking, high-living community of foreign art students, ex-policeman, good husband and newly-minted private detective Sandro Cellini is at first unwilling to see any connection with his investigation of the suicide of an elderly Jewish architect. But as he investigates the circumstances of Claudio Gentileschi's death more closely, the connections between the cases multiply, and Sandro's first case turns out to be darker and more complex than he could have imagined...

Celebrated at the heart of a notoriously unstable period, the Vacant See, papal funerals in early modern Rome easily fell prey to ceremonial chaos and disorder. Charged with maintaining decorum, papal Masters of Ceremonies supervised all aspects of the funeral, from the correct handling of the papal body to the construction of the funeral apparato: the temporary decorations used during the funeral masses in St Peter?s. The visual and liturgical centre of this apparato was the chapelle ardente or castrum doloris: a baldachin-like structure standing over the body of the deceased, decorated with coats of arms, precious textiles and hundreds of burning candles. Drawing from printed festival books and previously unpublished sources, such as ceremonial diaries and diplomatic correspondence, this book offers the first comprehensive overview of the development of early modern funeral apparati. What was their function in funeral liturgy and early modern festival culture at large? How did the papal funeral apparati compare to those of cardinals, the Spanish and French monarchy, and the Medici court in Florence? And most importantly, how did contemporaries perceive and judge them? By the late sixteenth century, new trends in conspicuous commemoration had rendered the traditional papal funeral apparati in St Peter?s obsolete. The author shows how papal families wishing to honor their uncles according to the new standards needed to invent ceremonial opportunities from scratch, showing off dynastic resilience, while modelling the deceased?s memoria after carefully constructed ideals of post-Tridentine sainthood.

There is no doubt that the death of a loved one has a profound - and unpredictable - effect on the lives of those left behind. Mourning is the price we pay for love. But how does anyone survive those first weeks, months, and even years after a death, and then eventually return to normal life? When her daughter's fiancé died suddenly, Katherine Ashenburg found herself drawn into the world of mourning customs. Finding little comfort in the stripped-down North American approach, she sought solace, and shaped the core of this much-praised book, by exploring the rich traditions that have sustained mourners in cultures around the world and across centuries. Intertwining anecdotes from past and present with her own story, Ashenburg uncovers the wisdom and creativity embedded in mourning rituals and their value in rebuilding those unravelled by loss. Somehow, as Ashenburg so deftly reveals, we find strength and go on living. With a new afterword by the author.

This book brings together, in a novel and exciting combination, three authors who have written movingly about mourning: two medieval Italian poets, Dante Alighieri and Francesco Petrarca, and one early twentieth-century French novelist, Marcel Proust. Each of these authors, through their respective narratives of bereavement, grapples with the challenge of how to write adequately about the deeply personal and painful experience of grief. In Jennifer Rushworth's analysis, discourses of mourning emerge as caught between the twin, conflicting demands of a comforting, readable, shared generality and a silent, solitary respect for the uniqueness of any and every experience of loss. Rushworth explores a variety of major questions in the book, including: what type of language is appropriate to mourning? What effect does mourning have on language? Why and how has the Orpheus myth been so influential on discourses of mourning across different time periods and languages? Might the form of mourning described in a text and the form of closure achieved by that same text be mutually formative and sustaining? In this way, discussion of the literary representation of mourning extends to embrace topics such as the medieval sin of acedia, the proper name, memory, literary epiphanies, the image of the book, and the concept of writing as promise. In addition to the three primary authors, Rushworth draws extensively on the writings of Sigmund Freud, Julia Kristeva, Jacques Derrida, and Roland Barthes. These rich and diverse psychoanalytical and French theoretical traditions provide terminological nuance and frameworks for comparison, particularly in relation to the complex term melancholia.

The way in which a society expresses grief can reveal how it views both intense emotions and public order. In thirteenth-century Italian communes, a conscious effort to change appropriate public reaction to death threw into sharp relief connections among urban politics, gender expectations, and understandings of emotionality. In Passion and Order, Carol Lansing explores a dramatic change in thinking and practice about emotional restraint. This shift was driven by politics and understood in terms of gender. Thirteenth-century court cases reveal that male elites were accustomed to mourning loudly and demonstratively at funerals. As many as a hundred men might gather in a town's streets and squares to weep and cry out, even tear at their beards and clothing. Yet these elites enacted laws against such emotional display and proceeded to pay the fines levied against themselves for violating their own legislation. Political theorists used gender norms to urge men to restrain their passions; histrionic grieving, like lust, was now considered "womanish." Lawmakers drew on a complex of gendered ideas about grief and public order to characterize governance in ways that linked the self and the state. They articulated their beliefs in terms of rules of decorum, how men and women need to behave in order to live together in society. Lansing demonstrates this change through a rich combination of sources: archival records from Orvieto, Bologna, and Perugia; political treatises; literary works, notably Petrarch's letters; and representations of grief in painting and sculpture.