This is a book which touches on many themes. It is not easy to categorise. Andrea di Robilant is an historian and a journalist. In this book he interweaves the two genres. Perhaps the "Venetian Navigators" of the title also includes himself, as subject as well as author. Di Robiliant, who is half Venetian and half American, takes up the quest of the Zen explorers, suggested to him by a chance encounter with an American tourist at the Marciana Library in Venice, which piques his curiosity. A few days later, he happens to notice the Zen palace near the Campo dei Gesuiti, "embellished with Leventine motifs" and a "soot-covered plaque" dedicated to "Nicolo and Antonio Zen, wise and courageous navigators to the northern seas."
Di Robilant's previous books have all been based on his own illustrious Venetian family, and so what he sets out to explore here is, in more ways than one, uncharted waters. It is a controversial story based on a book printed in 1558 written by Nicolo Zen, which itself is based on the long-lost letters that were written by his great-great-great grandfather, one of the two Zen brothers who travelled to the North, to Orkney, the Faroes, Iceland and almost certainly as far as Greenland, though almost certainly not to North America (which was the premise of the American tourist's quest). Di Robilant meticulously unravels this extremely strange and complicated story: not only the story itself, which is intriguing enough, but the story of the story, which was a hugely influential book when it was first published and for centuries later (in fact, it figures in di Robilant's previous book "Lucia in the Age of Napoleon" when his heroine's son is constantly pestering his mother to send him a copy of this Zen book that he is obsessed with), until it was denounced as "a tissue of fiction" in the 1835 spring edition of the Royal Geographical Society journal that destroyed the reputation of the Zens. Di Robilant seems to take this almost personally, and rises to the unenviable challenge of defending the Zens' tattered reputation from calumny and almost universal derision from every scholarly source.
The magnificent achievement here is that, although no detail is left out, it is a light-hearted book, and fun and amusing to read. It is almost like a thriller, which one cannot put down because, unlike history which one already knows, at least vaguely, here there is no knowing how it is all going to turn out. There is much discussion of the elusive and intriguing character, Zichmni, assumed to be the Scottish knight Henry Sinclair, Earl of Orkney and vassal to the King of Norway, with whom di Robilant believes the Zen brothers joined forces in their explorations and adventures. Di Robilant travels himself to these remote places, giving the sense that now, as ever, explorers from Venice are thrilled to discover that there are other remote and improbable islands in the world which no one knows much about. A Venetian who ventures to these places cannot fail to find kindred spirits. And there is also something apt in the sense that emerges, which is what ultimately gives the whole Zen story credence, that exploration is not primarily about arriving at an intended goal, and from a certain perspective can be considered completely pointless. This book is the perfect illustration of the aphorism that the point of a journey is not to arrive, but the journey itself.