Books read in June

The following are short reviews of the books that I read in June. The marks I have given them in the brackets are out of five.

Luncheon of the Boating Party – Susan Vreeland (3.3)
This novel is the imagined story of the Impressionists; in particular, Auguste Renoir and in even more particular, his painting of the Luncheon of the Boating Party. It’s not especially well written with too much repetition and off-putting changes in narrative voice, but when it focuses on the art and technique of painting it is at its best. The depictions of regatta races, lengthy meals, indolent bicycle rides and languid afternoons are ideal for a film. The motif and historic interest is supplied by the group of painters that created a movement and challenged a regime.

Vreeland writes well of the emerging style, explaining how Renoir and Monet had discovered together that “juxtaposed patches of contrasting colour could show the movement of sunlit water”. She notes that the tantalising impressions rather than faithful reproductions owe much to train travel. “The squinting and the speed made the countryside whiz by, transforming market gardens and houses into blurred shapes, momentary sensations of colour and light without detail.” Renoir believes that everything has layers which he builds into his paintings, loving the texture of the paint and the shapes, sounds and sensuality of a place.

Vreeland’s Renoir is lusty and full of life. He chronicles actors and actresses, dancers, boating parties, friends, wine, prostitutes and duels. He favours the low-brow and although he knows there is an underside to this style of life, he doesn’t dwell on depression. He champions the seductive life of Montmartre that we have come to recognise from romantic novels and films about this period.

Of course, part of his love of life is a love of women and he paints them as he would like to touch them, admitting that he can’t paint a woman he doesn’t love, which makes him sound like a dirty old man. He views them as objects and the sexual analogy is far from subtle as “With his brush loaded and juicy, he pushed the wet tip gently into the hidden folds of her skirt, and stroked again and again, pushing farther, gently, wet into the wet already there.” We get the picture.

Will & Me: How Shakespeare Took Over My Life – Dominic Dromgoole (4.3)
In this semi-autobiography about his relationship with the bard, Dromgoole (artistic director of the Globe Theatre) contends that Shakespeare wields a massive influence over the English in both language and culture. He writes a little about Shakespeare the man, mentioning his politics, his religion and his background, but these snippets of information about Shakespeare’s life and times probably tell us more about Dromgoole himself than his subject.

In fact, this is definitely not a book about Shakespeare but rather about Dromgoole’s experience of him. His private history mingles with generalities and concepts and he writes about himself as a social misfit with brutal candour. He is unaware that he doesn’t exactly have a stereotypical upbringing (his mother was an actress turned teacher and his father a theatre director and TV executive) and his upper middle-class genes practically scream out from the page.

He writes well about the plays themselves – their language and characters which give them their magic. The biggest threat to Shakespeare, as Dromgoole sees it, is the over-analysis of what he calls the ‘Shakespeare industry’ who give the plays an interpretation comprising modern constructs that simply had no place in his time. He scorns the concept production in which a director “who has only half or quarter understood a play” chooses a style and then “relentlessly forces everything to fit.” He argues that there is no consistent style in the world, so why should there be in the theatre?

Some of the most interesting aspects of the book are about stagecraft and the art of acting. He also has words of wisdom about the process of theatre including the stage itself, the wings and the rehearsal room.

On the whole it is Dromgoole’s eulogy to Shakespeare, the human not the god, tempered with realism and sounding a cautionary note to would-be scholars.


Valeria’s Last Stand – Marc Fitten (4.5)
In describing this novel, I want to use such words as whimsical, delightful and charming. Like a mediaeval morality tale, it proves that foolishness in love is not the sole prerogative of the young. In deepest Hungary, Valeria, a grumpy old battleaxe, is smitten by a potter who adopts her as his muse. This angers the proprietor of the local pub, Ibolya, who has designs on him herself. The village depends on her favours as she is the one who controls the alcohol, so everyone takes sides.

Meanwhile Ferenc is hopelessly in love with Ibolya, despite having a wife himself, and the potter’s assistant attempts to ignore the attentions of Zsofi who he thinks is just a good friend. The mayor has them all dancing to his tune as he parades his pretty young wife and promises development that never materialises, despite the frequent visits from Korean dignitaries.

When a chimney sweep arrives (most of the men are known only by their profession), the villagers take heart, as apparently chimney sweeps are lucky, according to rural superstition. He quickly seduces the women (many of whose flues haven’t had a thorough sweeping in ages) and antagonises the men, but he is unaware that the bicycle he rides into town is profoundly unlucky. With overtones of Annie Proulx’s Accordion Crimes we are treated to a quick history of how the contraption has passed through many tragic circumstances. The novel is earthy, rustic and ribald, almost like one of the Canterbury Tales, with a moral twist of mob mentality, manipulation and turning on the weak.

The writing is both magnificently evocative language and eminently readable. Fitten’s characters come to life through his rudimentary and ironic descriptions. It is light-hearted in the vein of The Number 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith or A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka. Like these novels, there is a cynical edge, and the seam of politics is never far from the surface. There is a conflict throughout between the pride of history and traditions, and the irritation that these are only preserved because no one cares enough to attack them.