A complete lack of swordfights
Sep. 10th, 2008 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyphomandraWhich applies both to these books as well as most of the theatre I've been seeing. I watched Slings & Arrows (Canadian TV series about a theatre company, excellent) earlier this year and have since then desperately wanted to see a good production of Macbeth, or failing that a decent ensemble cast piece heavy on character interactions. Sadly, almost everything I've been to is either heavy on the monologuing to audience or directed in such a way as to inhibit all character interactions. And they almost all either finish with a fairly contrived death (Niu Sila was particularly annoying in this respect, as I'd really liked it until then) or in media res (True West, whatever the backwards Pinter one was where he justified his adultery and last night's Blackbird), both of which, to me, indicate a problem with endings. I have tickets for a few more things, tho', and will continue to live in hope (or read about Robert Lepage's latest play, now premiering in London, and think pining thoughts).
Arturo-Pérez-Reverte, The painter of battles. A former war photographer is painting a mural on the inside of an eighteenth century watchtower, in homage to the battle artists of the past and his own experiences; the subject of one of his more famous photographs, a candid portrait of a defeated soldier, tracks him down.
It did make me think of theatre - it has that sort of set-up, and I kept remembering Death and the Maiden while reading it, although I've only seen the movie version with Sigourney Weaver. But it works well as text, because I don't think I'd want these characters to say everything and I don't think they could; the flashbacks Faulques (the painter) has to the war need to be internal, and there's also always the problem of creating art to match a prose description. There's an interesting contrast to that here, with many famous battle paintings described (I ended up looking some up as well), but part of the reason that Faulques is painting at all is that his photographs cannot express what he wants to say. Not that he knows what that is, necessarily, but the painting gives him a chance to find out.
This book is also about the loss of heart - Olvido, Faulques' girlfriend, who dies before the novel starts, but also more abstract ideas of passion as opposed to intellect, and the ability, or inability, of people to move beyond themselves. Because of that it is hard to really get into the characters, and although I enjoyed this and will probably re-read it, I don't think it's a complete success. The reveal, at the end, doesn't quite work for me because I haven't gotten to know the people involved in the way I should; it comes across as weakness rather than the fatal flaw of true tragedy. I think part of the problem for me is also Olvido; she’s the sort of female character who shows up in books written by male novelists, beautiful and talented and significantly younger than the male lead, and accomplished in male fields (she also works as a war photographer, having crossed over from modelling). She’s presented as someone who plays – and wins – at the games men set up for women in society, using all her obvious talents. She's the sort of character you find difficult to imagine growing old.
But she is seen only through Faulques' memory, and there were some moments here that made me wonder whethere she was meant to be more than that. This line is predictable enough - “Women envied Olvido in a sisterly way, and men adopted her at first sight, immediately taking her side,” but Faulques goes on to think, "“Had Olvido been a male in the early years of the century, Faulques could easily imagine the transformation: still in his dinner jacket having breakfast in a chocolateria alongside the servants…”, which is an unusual jump. I was hoping the reveal would do that as well - open up Olvido to being more than just a figurehead - but I didn't think it did.
Star-crossed, Linda Collison. Patricia Kelley has spent ten years at an English boarding school, the illegitimate daughter of a West Indian plantation owner. She is a “Viking of a girl”, with red-gold hair, freckles and a firm set to her chin, as well as the usual rash temper and outspoken character, and after her father dies she stows away on board a ship to Barbados to claim her inheritance. This seems an impressively ill-thought out plan in many respects (particularly the bit where she has only brought cheese with her) but, fortunately, she is discovered by the bosun’s mate, Brian, who develops a touching crush on her and sneaks her up on the deck at night disguised as a sailor (she is also lamentably flat-chested). The captain then finds her, and she is about to be put off the ship when the surgeon offers her a job as an assistant.
The next three hundred pages involve Patricia being remarkably selfish. She doesn’t always get what she wants – no plantation, and she ends up having to marry the surgeon – but these things always work out for the best (the surgeon dies of yellow fever) and at no point does she go out of her way to do anything for anyone else. Mrs Blake, the captain’s wife, looks after Patricia, makes her clothes, combs her hair, etc etc but when Mrs Blake is in labour and asking for her help Patricia demands (stamping her foot!) that the surgeon take over, as it’s not her job (although subsequently she proves to be an excellent ship’s doctor), and her marriage fails to have any effect on her flirtation with Brian. In the dramatic concluding fight, when she and Brian are escaping Havana, she thinks about helping Brian fight off one of the Spanish guard before going ahead and fleeing anyway, yet when they do meet up again she tells him how she’s not a typical woman and he has to respect her desires for independence. Everything goes one-way in this book, and it’s always towards Patricia. And, like so many things I’ve read recently, she seems to start her life with the book – no friends from her school? No context?
Having said that, there are a couple of good bits. The bit where she nurses the unpleasant lieutenant through yellow fever stood out, and it’s unfortunate that the lieutenant then disappears from the text, because the tension with him was much more interesting than anything Patricia has with the other characters. The final hundred pages during the siege are also more exciting. The medicine isn’t bad – she credits Joan Druett’s books, thus reminding me I keep meaning to read more of them – although there is the apparently obligatory trepanning at sea sequence. I liked the sea/ship stuff, as well. I would actually read nonfiction by this author, but I’d be reluctant to go near another novel.
Arturo-Pérez-Reverte, The painter of battles. A former war photographer is painting a mural on the inside of an eighteenth century watchtower, in homage to the battle artists of the past and his own experiences; the subject of one of his more famous photographs, a candid portrait of a defeated soldier, tracks him down.
It did make me think of theatre - it has that sort of set-up, and I kept remembering Death and the Maiden while reading it, although I've only seen the movie version with Sigourney Weaver. But it works well as text, because I don't think I'd want these characters to say everything and I don't think they could; the flashbacks Faulques (the painter) has to the war need to be internal, and there's also always the problem of creating art to match a prose description. There's an interesting contrast to that here, with many famous battle paintings described (I ended up looking some up as well), but part of the reason that Faulques is painting at all is that his photographs cannot express what he wants to say. Not that he knows what that is, necessarily, but the painting gives him a chance to find out.
This book is also about the loss of heart - Olvido, Faulques' girlfriend, who dies before the novel starts, but also more abstract ideas of passion as opposed to intellect, and the ability, or inability, of people to move beyond themselves. Because of that it is hard to really get into the characters, and although I enjoyed this and will probably re-read it, I don't think it's a complete success. The reveal, at the end, doesn't quite work for me because I haven't gotten to know the people involved in the way I should; it comes across as weakness rather than the fatal flaw of true tragedy. I think part of the problem for me is also Olvido; she’s the sort of female character who shows up in books written by male novelists, beautiful and talented and significantly younger than the male lead, and accomplished in male fields (she also works as a war photographer, having crossed over from modelling). She’s presented as someone who plays – and wins – at the games men set up for women in society, using all her obvious talents. She's the sort of character you find difficult to imagine growing old.
But she is seen only through Faulques' memory, and there were some moments here that made me wonder whethere she was meant to be more than that. This line is predictable enough - “Women envied Olvido in a sisterly way, and men adopted her at first sight, immediately taking her side,” but Faulques goes on to think, "“Had Olvido been a male in the early years of the century, Faulques could easily imagine the transformation: still in his dinner jacket having breakfast in a chocolateria alongside the servants…”, which is an unusual jump. I was hoping the reveal would do that as well - open up Olvido to being more than just a figurehead - but I didn't think it did.
Star-crossed, Linda Collison. Patricia Kelley has spent ten years at an English boarding school, the illegitimate daughter of a West Indian plantation owner. She is a “Viking of a girl”, with red-gold hair, freckles and a firm set to her chin, as well as the usual rash temper and outspoken character, and after her father dies she stows away on board a ship to Barbados to claim her inheritance. This seems an impressively ill-thought out plan in many respects (particularly the bit where she has only brought cheese with her) but, fortunately, she is discovered by the bosun’s mate, Brian, who develops a touching crush on her and sneaks her up on the deck at night disguised as a sailor (she is also lamentably flat-chested). The captain then finds her, and she is about to be put off the ship when the surgeon offers her a job as an assistant.
The next three hundred pages involve Patricia being remarkably selfish. She doesn’t always get what she wants – no plantation, and she ends up having to marry the surgeon – but these things always work out for the best (the surgeon dies of yellow fever) and at no point does she go out of her way to do anything for anyone else. Mrs Blake, the captain’s wife, looks after Patricia, makes her clothes, combs her hair, etc etc but when Mrs Blake is in labour and asking for her help Patricia demands (stamping her foot!) that the surgeon take over, as it’s not her job (although subsequently she proves to be an excellent ship’s doctor), and her marriage fails to have any effect on her flirtation with Brian. In the dramatic concluding fight, when she and Brian are escaping Havana, she thinks about helping Brian fight off one of the Spanish guard before going ahead and fleeing anyway, yet when they do meet up again she tells him how she’s not a typical woman and he has to respect her desires for independence. Everything goes one-way in this book, and it’s always towards Patricia. And, like so many things I’ve read recently, she seems to start her life with the book – no friends from her school? No context?
Having said that, there are a couple of good bits. The bit where she nurses the unpleasant lieutenant through yellow fever stood out, and it’s unfortunate that the lieutenant then disappears from the text, because the tension with him was much more interesting than anything Patricia has with the other characters. The final hundred pages during the siege are also more exciting. The medicine isn’t bad – she credits Joan Druett’s books, thus reminding me I keep meaning to read more of them – although there is the apparently obligatory trepanning at sea sequence. I liked the sea/ship stuff, as well. I would actually read nonfiction by this author, but I’d be reluctant to go near another novel.
