The front cover of the Lonely Planet guide to Venice and the Veneto promises a "pull-out map"; "comprehensive listings"; and "full detail" about "top sites." The back cover provides statistics of what we shall find inside the book: "2 expert authors; 29 maps; 100 islands; 149 kms of canals, and 1500 years of art and architecture".
Except for the perforated map, which, because it is not laminated, is likely to tear--or blow away into a canal--the book fails to live up to it's promises. As one who both knows and loves Venice, I found this book to be frustrating (The same places are mentioned repeatedly with duplicate information). I would hate to be a first-time visitor, trying to find my way around the city, because the guide seems more of a maze than the city itself. If one watches directions on the walls, one will eventually arrive--respectively--at San Marco, The Accademia, Rialto, or the Ferrovia--the railway terminal; it is, therefore, actually difficult to get lost in the city of Venice itself; however, it is very easy to get lost within the pages of this guide (The index, for instance, is found not at the end of the book, but somewhere between the authors' acknowledgments, blank pages for notes, and the misnamed "Venice and the Veneto Maps", in which any part of the Veneto, mentioned briefly in the body of the book, is missing. A minuscule map of Riviera Brenta, Padua, Vicenza, Verona, Veneto Wine Country, and The Dolomites is to be found way back on page 164.
Time was--back in the 'nineties of the last century--when Lonely Planet guides were -da non mancare- [not to be missed]: their glossy paper was replete with splendid photographs; these were accompanied by insightful commentaries; plenteous maps; and organised in an orderly manner that made them easy to use. In fact, I used to collect Lonely Planet Guides, not only for countries I did visit [Their exceptional guide to Turkey was an informative feast for the eyes] but also merely to gaze at those I would probably never get a chance to visit [I am thinking of their splendid guide to Chile and Argentina].
Alas, the recession seems to have struck the Lonely Planet: the paper is no longer glossy; the photos are few; the commentary is sparse, rather than comprehensive; the maps are negligible, and the book is utterly disorganised, with too many citations that mention an attraction--e.g., a bar or restaurant--and then advise you to look at another page, and, when you do, the result is less than enlightening. [Example: on page 34, the reader is told of a budget wine-bar, All'Arco, and then referred to page 104, where it is cited as a top choice and briefly described; it is also mentioned briefly on page 105; the reader is then instructed to see the map on page 292, a detailed map of the Sestiere di San Polo, which is studded with lots of little numbers and symbols; if one looks at the top of the page, one is referred to page 294, for the key to the numbers and symbols on page 292. By the time one gets back to the map on page 292 and begins to sort out the symbols, one is ready to ruin Venice's delicate ecology by tossing the book into the nearest rio.].
And this is a shame, because the principal author, Alison Bing, clearly loves Venice, as her rapturous prose in the opening pages, as well as her informative chapter on "Understanding Venice and the Veneto", which has been sandwiched between Day Trips and a less-than-practical section on the language, demonstrate [Unless one has studied Italian, it is hardly useful informing one--under 'basics'--that the language has two forms of 'You': "use the polite Lei (lay) if you are talking to strangers, officials, or people older than you. With people familiar to you, or younger than you, you can use the informal Tu (too)." If one knows that much Italian grammar (and the proper tenses of the verbs that accompany the pronouns), one hardly needs the rest of the vocabulary, which is mostly lists of food, and phrases that I can guarantee, you will not need in the most serene city of Venice: -Vorrei noleggiare una bicicletta- [I would like to rent a bicycle]. Far more useful would be -sciopero domani-, a notice that is likely to be suddenly slapped on the wall of a vaporetto stop as you wait for the water-bus, informing you of the next day's city-wide transportation strike.].
Bottom Line: They don't write Lonely Planet Guides these days like they did in those days.