Dave's Book Blog: "The Marriage Portrait" by Maggie O'Farrell

Tuesday 8 August 2023

"The Marriage Portrait" by Maggie O'Farrell

As with O'Farrell's most recent bestseller, Hamnet, this book is written from a close-up psychological distance such that you were inside the coherent thoughts of the narrator, despite keeping the narrator in the third person. What I disliked most about Hamnet was the too-good-to-be-true superwoman at the heart of that book, a real Mary Sue character. In this book Lucrezia, the narrator, despite being an incredibly good artist, and having almost supernatural intuition, does have weaknesses and doubts, which made her seem more human, although she still seemed unbelievably psychologically mature for a sixteen-year-old (obviously the Florentine elite grew up quickly in those days).

Hamnet is also flawed, in my opinion, with some stereotypical male characters, whereas the principal man in TMP, the husband Alfonso, is the most wonderful villain I have read for ages. Yes, he is capable of sudden and brutal violence. Yes he is controlling. But he is so much more than the textbook male baddy as repeatedly represented in so much modern fiction. He is charming and charismatic and cultured. He can be tender and loving, to the extent that there are times when Lucrezia doubts her instinct that he means to murder her. The scene in which he finally sees the marriage portrait and has to pronounce on whether he likes it or hates it was a moment of visceral tension. His presence alone was sufficient to elevate the book to masterpiece level. He was a wonderfully complex character who reminded me of Count Fosco in The Woman in White, or Dracula.

I met a lady on the Thameslink train between Gatwick Airport and London St Pancras who said she'd found this book had too many descriptions. Descriptions can certainly disrupt the flow of a narrative and slow it down but, in this book, as with Hamnet, the atmosphere is built up by the accumulation of acutely observed details which gives massive verisimilitude, perhaps particularly important in historical fiction, and a wonderfully rich and deep texture. And we must remember that the narrator is an artist and sees things with the eye of a painter: "The building ahead of her is astonishing ... A long stretch of red-tiled floor sweeps away from her, with pale repeating arches on either side. Light enters at an oblique angle from invisible lofty windows, high above their heads, warming the apex of the arches, alchemising the white plaster to lozenges of gold. Candles gutter and flare, piercing the dust, each at the centre of their own glowing corona. The lines of the roof, the lines of the aisle lead the eye irrevocably all the way to an altar surrounded by painted saints with golden halos, and windows of many-coloured glass." (The Duchess Lucrezia on her wedding day) I loved this aspect of the book.

The plot starts in the present with the most wonderful hook: Lucrezia is convinced that Alfonso means to murder her. It then jumps back to her childhood and the 'present' and'past' narratives are then intertwined. About half-way through the book I thought both narratives were effectively over and wondered how O'Farrell could spin out the remaining moments into the second half; nevertheless she managed this without the pacing seeming lob-sided. The ending was well signalled by earlier foreshadowings (and there was a rather obvious deus ex machina) but the tension (would it be a tragedy or have a happy ending?) was maintained until the last few pages.

Beautiful prose, an entertaining story and a wonderful villain. I was impressed.

Spoiler alert

This is a discussion of the end of the book.

I wasn’t surprised by the ending. There was plenty of foreshadowing.

But it left me with an unpleasant feeling. It is clearly intended to be a ‘happy’ ending and the author managed to manipulate me so that I did feel happy for Lucrezia.

But the maid died (unwillingly) in her place. My happiness at Lucrezia’s survival means that I am happy that the maid has died. It is as if I am agreeing that there are people who matter and there are people who don’t matter. It’s amazingly common in stories that pawns are sacrificed for higher value pieces but that doesn’t make it right.

Of course, it also happens in real life. Bodyguards die protecting their principals. One of the rescue divers died in the mission to rescue the young Thai footballers trapped in the Tham Luang caves but most people believe that the rescue was a success because all the young people were saved.

It could be argued that fiction is designed to reflect real life and if lower status people are worth less than higher status people in reality, this is what should happen in literature. But I believe that great literature should challenge accepted beliefs. This means that The Marriage Portrait is not great literature, rather it is comfort reading.

I wish Maggie O’Farrell had ended the book, not with Lucrezia’s triumph as an artist, but with the family of Emilia, wondering what has happened to her, grieving her, never able to reach closure. Or perhaps with Lucrezia, who has in effect caused the death of the faithful Emilia, making some sort of atonement.

But no. It’s happy ever after. So the author's message is that little people don’t matter.

Selected quotes:

"Cosimo, like most adults, was working from his own version of events." (Venison baked in wine)
"He cleared his throat: a two-note sound." (Everything changes)
"The faces of the Florentines lining the street and blurred by motion, daubs of paint dissolving in water" (The Duchess Lucrezia on her wedding day)
"She has always had a secret liking for this part of the embroidery, the 'wrong' side, congested with knots, striations of silks and twists of thread." (Honey water)
"The people who applaud the loudest, Lucrezia notes, are the ones who talked through the performance." (Sisters of Alfonso II, seen from a distance)
"She then leans over and thrusts the edge of the letter into the sconce burning on the wall of the stairwell. For a second or two, it seems the flame cannot believe its luck, refusing to consume the page. Then it comes to its senses, asserting its grasp, turning the edges of the paper black, shrivelling and devouring them." (Sisters of Alfonso II, seen from a distance)