Who's Using Who?: The Muse

The Muse by Jessie Burton

Ecco

Pp. 390

The parallel stories in this novel lead the reader to wonder just exactly who is whose muse? It begins in London in 1967 when aspiring Caribbean writer, Odelle Bastien, finds employment at an art gallery, falls under the tutelage of the enigmatic co-director Marjorie Quick, and is seduced by the charms of Lawrie Scott who appears to have a valuable painting to assess. Interwoven chapters focus on the story of Olive Schloss, daughter of Harold and Sarah, who becomes involved with wannabe artist, Isaac Robles, while in Arazuelo in Spain, 1936. Isaac also dreams of being a revolutionary much to the chagrin of his half-sister Teresa who works as a housekeeper for the Schloss family and just wants to avoid trouble.

Of course the names and dates recall the Windrush generation, the Spanish Civil War and the treatment of Jews leading up to WWII. Meanwhile, there are themes of unrequited love, parent-child relationships, and the difficulties of creative women wanting their art to be taken seriously. Lots of people are manipulating each other and hiding secrets in order to score points. It all becomes somewhat messy and incoherent as the author tries to pack too much detail into her story (there is a bibliography at the back to prove she has done her research) and it doesn’t tie together very well. Although the descriptive passages are fantastically evocative, the characters are all one-dimensional and the story itself is unengaging and predictable. In both stories there is a sense of dislocation, privilege and misunderstanding, the notion of shared responsibility and mutual history, and overwhelmingly, the dangerous man trope.

Spanish landscape by Olga Zaitseva

Olive paints pictures and asks Isaac to take the credit for it, aware that her art-dealing father won’t admire it if he knows the true artist. When Isaac protests she should own the paintings, she rejoinders, “Do you know how many artists my father sells? Twenty-six last time I counted. Do you know how many of them are women, Isaac? None. Not one. Women can’t do it, you see. They haven’t got the vision, although last time I checked they had eyes, and hands, and hearts and souls. I’d have lost before I even had a chance.” Of course, this is the provenance of the painting that falls into Lawrie’s hands – there is no mystery to this novel. Olive argues, “They believe it’s Isaac’s painting, and that’s all that matters isn’t it? What people believe. It doesn’t matter what’s the truth; what people believe becomes the truth.”

The attempt at post modernism and attitudes to post-truth are as lazy as the themes of stolen art in Nazi times and the blatant dramatic irony of the impending Kristallnacht. Other descriptive aspects of the prose, however, are a highlight of the novel making the evocative images of Arazuelo in July seem like a painting. “From the hills came the dull music of bells as the goats overtook these smaller sounds descending the scree through the gauze of heat. Bees, drowsing on the fat flower heads, farmers’ voices calling, birdsong arpeggios spritzing from trees. A summer’s day will make so many sounds, when you yourself remain completely silent.” The novel is competent but the craftsmanship is on clear display.