B
Title: The Birth of Venus
Author: Sarah Dunant
Publication Info: Random House 2003
ISBN: 0812968972
Genre: Literary Fiction
I didn’t think I’d ever get into this book, despite a bookmark placed three-quarters of an inch into the text. In fact, I put another book in my bag, thinking I would give this one back to its owner with a “Thanks – it was good.”
I rarely tell someone I didn’t like a book they let me borrow.
Then, on the bus that morning, SLURP. I got sucked in, to the point where I finished the rest of the book in a nonstop readathon where I carried that book everywhere, even reading parts of it aloud to my son while he had his bottle. I finished it last night – and then, it kept me up.
The part that kept me up is what’s keeping the book from getting an A.
Alessandra Cecchi is the daughter of a prominent fabric merchant in Florence at the end of Lorenzo d’Medici’s political dynasty during the 15th century Renaissance. Born with an unstoppable curiosity and considerable artistic talent, Alessandra understandably chafes at the restrictions placed on women at the time, and The Birth of Venus chronicles her life from her early teens as her sister marries and her brothers continue to torment her, through her own marriage and life outside of her parents’ home.
Unable to study painting as she would have were she born a male, Alessandra tutors herself in secret, reading books on technique and hiding her contraband art supplies in various places in her room, supplies purchased for her by her slave, Erila. She sketches on scraps of paper, making her own paint tints from household by-products like egg yolks and burnt copper scrapings, while dreaming of her own studio, her own teacher, and her own commissions to paint.
Her father brings home a painter from northern Europe to paint the walls and ceiling of their family chapel, and Alessandra is unable to stay away from him. Intrigued and attracted to not only the painter himself, but his talent – what she calls “God in his hands” – Alessandra sneaks out of her room, creates fictional reasons to find him, and breaks just about every rule of daughterly propriety for just a few seconds of his time and for his evaluation of her untutored but enthusiastic artistic efforts.
Alessandra’s story is set against the swift, almost pendular political swing that occurred in Florence after the death of Lorenzo d’Medici. Girolamo Savonarola, a Dominican monk, orchestrates from his pulpit an almost complete reversal of the culture of Florence. Savonarola overthrew the Medici’s rule, and established a democratic republic focusing on moral rectitude, religious observance, and fear. Instead of the flourishing artistic development present under Medici, Savonarola subtly attacked the standing of the rich and opulent, creating laws against personal vanity, and sending out teams of boys to bully and cajole women into parting with fur collars, silver buttons, and anything else that would cause them to stand out apart from anyone else. Women were forbidden to attend church, and were forbidden from being present on the street without their husbands.
As her world is shifting, Alessandra is married off to an older gentleman, and is betrayed by her family and by her new existance as a wife when the future she had envisioned as a married lady is revealed to be built on lies. Worse yet, the freedom she had yearned for from her locked position as an unmarried female was taken away from her by the political shift in the climate of Florence. But Alessandra continues to attempt development of her artistic talent, and tries to ignore her attraction to the painter while seeking his opinion and perhaps his instruction, unable to stop fueling the curiosity and talent within her.
Alessandra is a marvelous character- she is foolhardy and brave, impetuous and clever, wicked smart and talented, but prone to nearly shooting herself in the foot on several occasions. It is Alessandra’s character that prevented me from putting the book down. While I grew irritated with her stubbornness at times, her negotiation of a changing society that no longer welcomed her gender or her passions as an artist or as a woman was inspiring and fascinating.
Further, Dunant’s writing style is lyrical, almost poetic, and evokes a tone appropriate for the memoirs of a Renaissance lady, the device used to tell Alessandra’s story. In online reviews and discussions I’ve found, more than one reader has mentioned that they went back to the beginning after finishing the book and started again, and that more was revealed in the second reading. Since this is a borrowed copy and I have a TBR pile that wants to pimpslap me into next year, I don’t have the indulgence of a second read, but the moments of foreshadowing and pieces of early story that mirror the ending were noticeable in my first reading, so much so that I put a post-it where I thought something significant had been referred to, only to flip back and find that I had been right. Dunant is a big fan of foreshadowing through symbolism. And, in case you are a member of a book club, there’s a reader’s group list of seriously softball questions in the back of the text I have – from “To what extent is Savonarola the villain of the novel?” to “To what degree is this novel about a city as much as a character?”
I won’t bore you with my answers.
But I will try to explain why this book, as addictive a read as I found it to be, did not merit an A: the ending. I don’t want to get specific because the experience of reading The Birth of Venus is worth borrowing your own copy, and I don’t want to spoil the finale, but suffice it to say that Alessandra’s choices at the end of the book, especially in regard to her opportunity for a happy ending, are infuriating and don’t accurately represent her character – at least, not the character in the first three-quarters of the book.
I laid awake last night thinking about the difference between a romance structure and the structure of this novel, and found myself asking in frustration why she didn’t make different choices when it was within her power at the end to do so. After seizing every chance to crack the border defining the limits of women in society, to see her take a seat one inch from the edge of her own completion was beyond frustrating and seemed to be an incomplete ending and a betrayal of her character.
Several reviewers in online discussions raised their own frustrations with the ending, wondering if the author phoned in the finale because she was done writing, and it’s comforting to know that other people found the Alessandra at the end to be a shadow of the Alessandra of the beginning, though no one could attribute the change in her character to any traceable reason.
Regardless of how the book ended, the middle of it and the characters within, from Alessandra’s mother to her husband Cristoforo (both magnificently infuriating and yet sympathetic creations on Dunant’s part) will stick in my brain for awhile as I chew over the fascinating elements of the story. With the obvious parallel to the increasingly conservative and religiously-fueled culture forming in many societies right now, the questions inherent in the balance of art and religion, creativity and divinity, are still valid and of importance then and now. Certainly The Birth of Venus has given me a lot to think about, and has left me with the feeling that I learned quite a bit- something every good historical novel should do.
But the best part of the book was reading the reviews when I finished, particularly this quote from the Reader’s Paradise Forum (beware: spoilers at site)
This story reminds me of what Harry Lime (Orson Welles) in “The Third Man” said:
“In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love – they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”
Substitute Florence for Italy and the Medicis for the Borgias and it would still be an accurate assessment.
The status of women, the value of art, and the question of the role of religion in society and politics are still subjects that have not been adequately explored or resolved, but within books like the Birth of Venus, the reader has the opportunity to learn from history and, with the exception of the readers guide at the back of the book, ask some very important questions. A poor ending to a fictional account cannot take away from the vital duty of repeatedly confronting these questions.
You’re going to ruin the site’s reputation for focusing on man-titty with reviews like this one. And that’s one of the reasons why I like hanging out here—I never know what I’ll find when I open the page. You’ve given me a desire to read an author I might not otherwise seek out, and your review was excellent without being overly revealing. Thanks!
Thank you for the compliment! It is hard to describe what you don’t like about an ending without giving the whole ending away. But Sarah Dunant’s historical fiction is getting a lot of attention and window-display real estate around NYC that I’ve seen, since In the Company of the Courtesan came out.
Sadly, even though both have an image of a lady on the cover, there is no titty, man or otherwise, on either cover. Historical fiction really needs to work on that. All these details from Renaissance works of art make me look all snobby on the subway. Need man titty. Pronto.
Just as romance has a genre constraint (“HEA! Even when it makes no sense whatsoever!”), certain types of historical fiction, especially historical fiction that focuses on the female experience, has a genre constraint too (“The sassy young thing is beaten down by THE MAN! Even when it makes no sense whatsoever!”). Le sigh. I almost picked this book up when I was at Powell’s a month ago, but I pretty much figured out the whole book just by reading the back cover blurb and the prologue (which is fabulously written, by the way), and I decided that given my huge backlog of books to read already, I had to pass it up.
I bought Misfortune: A Novel instead. *headdesk*
Heeelllp…. please hold off with these juicy reviews that make me want to go out and buy all these books. Work is killing me, moving is killing me, studying is killing me, caffeine overload is killing me.
Maybe in a reverse of the tradition of covering man-titty with a discreet leather cover, you guys could sell fake man-titty covers to hide the arty/academic ones. I’d buy half-a-dozen extra-large in a flash. Imagine the reactions in the library.
I bought Misfortune: A Novel instead. *headdesk*
See, already the impending status as a law student is warping your brain, Candy. Was it not enough to witness my descent into bitterness, depression, and imminent insanity?????? Why, Candy, why?!
As for the Dunant book, it sounds like just the thing when I’m settling in for summer—thanks, Sarah.
BTW, I’m surprised you guys haven’t been all over the Viswanathan/McCafferty plagiarism scandal!
Funny you should mention that, Robin. I was just doing a cursory examination after hearing that Kate Couric ripped Viswanathan a new one on the air this morning, and I’m kind of enjoying in a schadenfreude kind of way the bad press that book production firm 17th Street Productions is getting over this.
What is there to say other than, “Dumbass.”
After reading the back blurb, I too skipped this book. I don’t need more depressing books . . . or movies. I’ll never understand why bad/sad/nasty/unhappy endings are supposed to equal good books (i.e. literary fiction), while if you gave the EXACT SAME BOOK an HEA it would be dismissed as genre fiction (i.e. romance).
Brokeback Mountain is about all I can take for a good long while. I spent the whole movie frustrated that these guys—or Ennis at any rate—couldn’t reach out a hand for what they wanted. During the span of this film (mid-1960s to mid-1980s) Gay culture was blooming/booming in San Francisco. I just wanted them to throw their stuff in the back of Jack’s truck, drive west, and buy a nice little bit of land in Napa. Beautiful movie. Very well acted. I’ll NEVER watch it again. I want stories about people who FIGHT for what they want, and who succeed in that fight.
I’ll just keep on living in my soap bubble . . .
This is a great book, even with the ending…what is it about the endings though! Had a similar reaction to Year of Wonders!
I read this at about the same time as I read The Borgia Bride by Jeanne Kalogridis and it was an interesting exercise to look at Rome vs Venice at around the same time in history!
I didn’t really find this depressing at all though.
I started to listen to this book on audio CD. Perhaps it was the narrator, who seemed to give every female character the sneering voice of Cruella de Ville, but I couldn’t get beyond the third CD in the set. It’s interesting, because my reaction to the heroine was that she was a TSTL Mary Sue, rather in the cliched romance heroine mode, only the author seemed to mention vomit, sweat, blood and stink a lot so it could count as mainstream.
I felt her reaction to her husband’s secret was unconvincingly melodramatic considering that it really worked to her advantage in terms of her life’s passions. One of those cases where you theoretically understand the emotion but you just aren’t convinced this character really feels it. IE, it’s continually emphasized that freedom and art are important to this character, but there’s no equal foreshadow or support for the particular loss she sustains in her marital situation. So all of her intense reaction to that seemed to just come out of the author’s desire to make it really dramatic.
From your description of the ending, it seems that was a similar case of setting up a character and not carrying them through their emotional logic.
The audio experience may have been entirely different from the reading experience. I just fell in love with The Number One Ladies Detective Agency series BECAUSE of the wonderful reader’s voice and accent. I’ve always wondered if I’d have liked those books as well in print.
Anyway, count me as one who couldn’t get into THE BIRTH OF VENUS. (Though I’ll admit I’d like to know who the painter was supposed to be.)
Hmm. I read this one and can’t perfectly remember the ending. I do recall getting very excited when I read the first few pages in a bookstore when it first came out, and struggling over whether or not I should buy it (or eat… that’s the kind of budget I’m talking about… did I hear there are other current/prospective law students? Oh the humanity.)
But I’m glad I waited and borrowed it from the library. I keep having that experience with literary fiction, where it starts out brilliantly, then peters out. Or cheaps out. I can handle a downer ending as long as it’s not cheap.
Looooots of literary examples come to mind, though there’s probably nothing more cheap-ass cheap than when a series mystery/suspense writer kills off any and all potential romantic partners for the main character (cough… Tami Hoag).
I don’t know if I would call The Birth of Venus ending cheap. Quite. Without what happens in the end you don’t have the events that set the stage in the prologue, without which you wouldn’t have the same hook. Not the same story, really.
Those literary heroines, though! I don’t think they want to grasp happiness. Urgh. Now you’ve got me thinking about why.
Maybe it’s because she wasn’t a sassy young thing anymore when her opportunity for happiness came? She was pretty comfortable where she was. (Correct me if I’m wrong. I think I read it a year ago and my brain is fried from exams.)
This book has been on my tbr for ages. I’m going to have to move it to the top of the heap because of your review.
Someone mentioned The Borgia Bride, which I also loved. There’s been a short run of decent historical fiction lately. The Philippa Gregory books are good reads, though I thought the Virgin’s Lover was weaker than the others. And The Crimson Petal and The White—forget the author’s name, some guy—was fascinating, though it definitely tilts toward the literary end of the fiction spectrum. But hey, if you ever want to read about Victorian hookers, that’s the book to read.
Oh, first off, I second The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber.
And second, probably the last thing you want to do is read another book set in that time period, but your review reminded me of The Secret Book of Grazia dei Rossi, by Jacqueline Park, which is the story of a young Jewish woman who is living in Italy at that time and whose life is affected by Savonarola. A real page-turner, despite being about 500 pages of first-person, and the ending is satisfying.
I’ve really wanted to read this Dunant book, too, although I hear her latest is not so good?
Funny you should mention that, Robin. I was just doing a cursory examination after hearing that Kate Couric ripped Viswanathan a new one on the air this morning, and I’m kind of enjoying in a schadenfreude kind of way the bad press that book production firm 17th Street Productions is getting over this.
I’m finding the Harvard admissions angle pretty interesting, too. Apparently Viswanathan was referred to her agent by one of those big ticket college prep firms, and her agent referred her to Alloy, which actually shares the copyright! I have lots of questions about who did what here, and I don’t think we’ve near got the whole story yet. The Harvard Crimson apparently broke the story for anyone who’s interested: thecrimson.com
Haven’t read this yet, but your description of why the ending is unsatisfactory reminds me a bit of “Corelli’s Mandolin”, another book where happiness was within grasp and allowed to slip away. Corelli’s actions at the end seemed totally out of character and only made me angry at the author.