Tracy Chevalier

The book is set in seventeenth-century Holland and recounts the story of a young maid who becomes, first, a painter's assistant and then the subject of a portrait. Layered together are the young woman’s intimate personal story (her family, her working environment, her betrothal, and the blandishments of a wealthy merchant), the depiction of the milieu, and the execution of a portrait, complete with the interplay of light and shadow and the construction of colors. Another theme is the painter’s obsession, which subordinates everything (even the girl’s honor) to the demands of his art. It was a major commercial success, but in all honesty it strikes me as a modest book: one finds neither an incisive analysis of the characters’ emotions, nor a compelling depiction of the setting (which lingers in the background without truly defining the work), nor does the creation of the artwork take center stage, along with the transition from religious painting to portraiture, in which real figures emerge. The style possesses the merit of being very simple and clear, but the narrative pacing unfolds monotonously, devoid of tension.

In this novel, Tracy Chevalier, author of the bestseller *Girl with a Pearl Earring* (see the review on this site), measures herself against Venice, the “City of Water,” and one of its immortal treasures: Murano, the “Glass Island.” In the preface, Chevalier wonders > whether the artisans of the City of Water and the Glass Island seem to age more slowly than those in the outside world. (...) Painters, writers, carvers, knitters, weavers, and—why not?—glassmakers: creators often live in a suspended state that psychologists call flow, where hours pass without them noticing. An admiration for art led the author to devise a narrative that purports to trace Murano's history across the centuries, from a primal state of perfection and isolation to present-day reality, steeped in consumerism and craftsmanship alike. It is a grand historical fresco that prompts Chevalier to resort to a bold device: the story of Orsola and her family recurs through the centuries, with the same characters, passions, and vicissitudes, in an ever-shifting context. We begin in 1486, in a Venice still powerful and wealthy, moving to the early eighteenth century, when the decline of the Serenissima has become undeniable, and then on to the handover to Austria in 1797, when Venice lost its independence, up to the First World War and years closer to our own. A bold device, I said, because Orsola does not age at the pace of History, but much more slowly; and while this may symbolize Venice’s immobility, this literary expedient renders the narrative implausible. It is better, therefore, not to follow the author across the entire novel, but to linger on the first part, “Goblets, Beads, and Dolphins”: set in 1486, it encapsulates the essence of the book. Orsola is a girl, later a young woman, born into a family of Murano glassmakers. She yearns ardently to learn the craft. > Orsola’s life revolved around an endless pile of laundry, tending the vegetable garden, and cleaning chores, but whenever she could, she found ways to slip into the workshop under the pretext of delivering messages or bringing biscuits to the workmen. (...) Then she would have lingered to watch them fashioning vases or tumblers and decorating goblets. Secretly, she visits a rival family, seeking out a woman who is a renowned artisan and merchant. This woman teaches her how to make glass beads and advises her to work on them in the kitchen, away from the workshop. It seems like a minor subterfuge, but these beads will ultimately save the family financially upon the sudden death of Orsola’s father, taking with him much of the workshop’s masterly skill. Chevalier is adept at painting the setting and familial dynamics, explaining glassmaking techniques, and depicting the Venetian merchants who enrich themselves off the isolation to which Murano was condemned by the Republic’s regulations. The incompetence of the eldest brother, who has assumed the role of head of the family and fails to grasp the importance of commercial ties, forces Orsola to venture into Venice—to discover the “City of Water” with its canals and gondoliers, taverns and brothels, the magnificence of its palazzi, and its disreputable quarters. > It seemed as though every gondolier on the canal was cheerfully hurling insults, almost singing: > Buzaròn, Mona!, Magnamerda!, Visdecasso!, Cover your ears, Giacomo shouted, and she laughed at the vulgarities Together with the city and its merchants, Orsola also meets the handsome fisherman, with whom she falls in love, breaking once again the rigid rules of Muranese society, which dictated marrying within the same families to preserve the secrets of the trade and the island's isolation. Maliciously, perhaps, the handsome fisherman > gets hired as an apprentice in the workshop, learns the art of glassmaking, and then flees abroad, taking with him the closely guarded knowledge and skills. Was it love, then, that ended a monopoly ensuring wealth and prestige to Murano and Venice? We may well believe it; yet the fact remains that Orsola is left waiting for a longed-for love, whose sole token will be a glass dolphin > , sent to her across the centuries. We must admit that Chevalier is no Ken Follett, if we wish to frame her within the realm of historical thrillers: she lacks the ability to pace the narrative, to create surprises and plot twists (on this site, one can read reviews of Ken Follett’s *A Place Called Freedom* and *World Without End*). As with the English author, the characters lack psychological depth: for instance, the figure of Orsola, a tenacious yet unhappy heroine (what is this woman's mystery?), is not analyzed in her human and sociological dimensions. Yet how could she be, when the author traverses centuries as though a fifteenth-century artisan shared the exact same inner life as a woman of the eighteenth or twentieth century! Chevalier possesses an elegant style of writing, an enjoyable English with linear, limpid syntax; an extensive yet accessible vocabulary makes for effortless reading without diminishing its quality. Her attention to the Venetian vernacular, the precise environmental descriptions (such as the actual routes between the island and the city), and the explanations of glassmaking techniques and commercial mechanics all demonstrate how deeply the author immersed herself in the history, and above all in the “City of Water” itself. Ravaged by tourism and the abandonment of its inhabitants, Venice still retains an incredible allure, captivating and commanding love, even as we strive to destroy it. Why not read it? In the end, it is prolix and implausible.