Tuesday, 10 July 2012

What (who) I'm reading now

Richard Mason is an author whose dreams of being a famous writer came true unexpectedly early in life, proving both a burden and a blessing.

Born in South Africa, he moved with his family as a young boy to England. At the age of 18, while still in his first year at Oxford university, he wrote his first novel, The Drowning People. Published the following year, it became a literary phenomenon, selling 5 million copies in 20 languages and putting Mason into the spotlight of media attention, both acclaiming and critical.

Image source: www.flavorwire.com

Not too surprisingly, the mix of hype and expectations that followed effectively paralysed him as a writer. He had used the money from The Drowning People to set up a foundation in South Africa to pay for gifted children from poor backgrounds to attend privileged private schools. The pressure to produce another novel successful enough to sustain their futures led him to clinical depression and a breakdown.

His second novel, Us, was written under this pressure, to suit a commercial market dictated by a highly commercial American publisher offering a stellar advance. He said later that it nearly tore the soul out of the book and the heart out of him, and that it took him a long time to rediscover the joy of telling a story. 


But rediscover it he did, with his third novel, The Lighted Rooms, which really got me interested in Mason as an author. In this he wrote with amazing compassion and insight about ageing and Alzheimer's (in the shape of an engagingly dotty elderly central character) in a story that shifted from nursing homes to cutting-edge scientific research in present day Europe to Boer War concentration camps (drawing angry parallels in the process between the US destruction of Iraq and British atrocities in South Africa a century earlier).

And this brings me to his fourth and latest novel, History of a Pleasure Seeker, which I recently finished ...
Image source: www.richardmason.org

Set in Amsterdam in the early 1900s, the protagonist and pleasure-seeker of the title is Piet Barol, an ambitious and charming young man "extremely attractive to most women and to many men". Born to poverty but usefully educated by his French mother in the arts of piano-playing, sketching and seduction, he secures a place for himself as tutor to the troubled young son of a wealthy family in one of the finest mansions on Amsterdam's Gilded Curve.


Maarten Vermeulen-Sickert, his employer, is a hotel magnate with an appreciation of culture and the arts; his family, while close, is fraught with repressed desires. Gifted at sensing and meeting other people's needs while fulfilling his own at the same time, Piet earns Maarten's respect and trust whilst doing a fine job of freeing the libido of his wife and becoming indispensable in various ways to his children.


There are rich descriptions of the Vermeulen-Sickert's Amsterdam home, art collection and gilded life-style, interwoven with real historical events such as the Wall Street crash of 1907 and the opening of New York's Plaza Hotel. But it's the dynamics and nuances of the family's life and Piet's insidious but indelible impact on it that are so well written. Some of the most memorable (and amusing) scenes are his seduction through music - the refined drawing-room concerts in which Piet makes finely-considered judgements on matters of which piano key offers the best means for negotiating his tightrope path between eroticism and deception, Bizet or Chopin over Bach.


It's a nicely-plotted, very sexy novel, full of vivid characters and rich period atmosphere, and also very funny in parts. And as events in Amsterdam's Grachtengordel come to a climax in more ways than one, Piet inevitably meets his downfall yet lands on his feet as we know he will, and the last section of the book sees him on an ocean liner headed for Cape Town, his sights on a new world. The book ends with the words "To be continued" (when last have you seen that in a modern novel?) and they made my day - I can't wait for the next round of adventures of this character - who a Guardian reviewer has dubbed a sort of 'highly cultivated, bisexual Flashman' of the pre-first world war era! The same critic, incidentally, feels that Richard Mason is properly repaying with this novel the faith his publishers placed on him at the age of eighteen ...


Photographs taken in Amsterdam in February 2011

Sunday, 1 July 2012

What to wear to an English summer opera



No, I'm not turning my hand to fashion blogging; this was a question an invitation had me pondering last weekend.

The venue: a country estate on the border of Suffolk; the order of events: drinks in the manor house, then a picnic and opera performance in the gardens; the music: Mozart and Leoncavallo; the guests: sounded awfully posh. So floaty summer dresses, kitten heels and a ghastly hat? No. The weather forecast: pouring rain and high winds.

Fashion notes: 1) if you're over a certain age a sensible mac and umbrella are the only essential wardrobe items, no matter what the social event; 2) never pack away the wool scarves and boots - you will need them in mid-summer; 3) the boating blazer in deck-chair stripes is best left to the sort of Englishman bred on regattas and country home weekends for whom eccentric dress sense comes in the DNA.
Stanley Hall's Midsummer Opera Festival is in its 12th year now. It's not Glyndebourne, but it might be one day (see here). The venue is the gardens of an Elizabethan manor house, its owner turned impresario.


The present Hall was built in the early 1500s, but the gardens show traces of inhabitants going backwards through the Norman Conquest and medieval times to Roman occupation.




As the rain started  pelting down again we moved towards the marquees ...


dodging farm trucks and equipment



to find our seats on a floor of wood-chips where the orchestra was already assembled
and a set with a view to the gardens through rain-soaked sheeting


Pagliacco preparing his harlequin's make-up 



and with the wind shaking and rattling the tent roof and flaps they were off in full flight ...



All photos taken at  Stanley Hall Opera, Halstead, Essex, June 2012.  

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

By the Grand Canal

Re-reading recently William Riviere's By the Grand Canal has reinforced the strong desire I had in Venice to have been able to see this city in the days before mass tourist travel.
(minus the crane and motor-boats - on the Ponte dell'Accademia, straddling the Grand Canal - would this view have looked much different?)
Set in 1918, a British diplomat involved in negotiating the peace after World War I decamps to Venice to stay in a crumbling palazzo on the Grand Canal where he succumbs to intrigues involving old patrician families and mysterious opera singers.

Riviere's Venice is all oil lamps, brackish air, women in silks of Tiepolo's blues and yellows, walled gardens, labyrinthine canals and gloomy churches ...


Finding glimpses of daily life for locals intrigued me (see Venice's vanishing population) ... in backstreets and squares


and behind shuttered houses
amongst the proud history (the winged lion of San Marco in Venice's flag, below, with six tails - one for each sestier of the city)

Passing by a second-hand book shop one day, I noticed this tabby cat on a trestle table covered with old prints and books, determinedly batting its paw under a box of prints (searching for a mouse, I thought?). It was the title of the book next to it  that caught my eye - Non Toccare il Gatto (don't touch the cat) ... I had to take a picture. 
Later I found two photos on Flickr (taken by different people at different times) of what seems to be the same cat on the same table with the same book - clearly fixtures and a good ploy for luring customers. I also discovered that the book is a translation of English writer Mary Stewart's (1976) mystery novel Touch Not the Cat.


Our last evening in Venice fulfilled the purpose of the trip: a birthday celebration! Walking through Piazza San Marco on the way to dinner, the square was glowing in golden light ... 



Dressed to party, my girls paused for a photo under the flags ...


Turning left along the Grand Canal, I snapped these gondoliers putting their boats to bed ...

only realising much later that it was the exact spot where the cover picture on my copy of Riviere's book was taken!
Passing the Bridge of Sighs lit up by the sinking sun ...


we were headed for a wonderful treat - the rooftop terrace of the Danieli ...


where children and adults gathered at a long table on the edge of the terrace with spectacular views of the city and lagoon
The Danieli is built around the Dandolo Palace and a long time ago gave a perfect vantage point for Venice's powerful merchants to watch boats returning from the East with their bounty.

while the sun set around us 


and the moon rose


Much later, walking back through Piazza San Marco, we found it flooded by the high tide (acqua alta) seeping up through the stones ...


Time to whip off the party shoes and prepare to do some serious wading ...


 ... to the accompaniment of musicians who played on regardless through rising waters! Il Titanic?


By early the next morning the square was dried out and quiet. There was just time to find a café open for coffee ...
with a view to the pigeons and early risers on the Piazza, before heading for the waterway and home ...


Arrivederci Venezia!

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