The Memory of Dreams takes the reader on a journey through his-tory and art, past and present. At the end, when it is all over, we might be left wondering, as is often the case after a journey, whether it all really happened, or whether we are simply left with the memory of our dreams. The approach to Venice is disappointing. Mestre is not a city that inspires wonder. Apart from the wonder of how it came to be like that. The causeway between Mestre and Venice is perhaps more inspiring because it seems to cross a sea that is as smooth and as grey as a sheet of glass. Islands rise out of the lagoon barely enough to support the vegetation that grows upon them. One more tree and the island would sink. And in the distance, at the end of the causeway, rising out of the mist are the familiar domes and spires of Venice. Familiar even to those who have never been there before. They say that Venice is sinking. But only because of the weight of the tourists. It is in danger of becoming a theme park. A parody of itself. The expectation of the Venetian myth is so great that the city puts on a mask just to satisfy the tourist. To really know Venice one must look behind the mask. I looked behind the mask…