Sunday evening
Sunday, June 1st, 2003 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tamaranthOh, the joy of not having to go back to Sutton tomorrow. Though I do have to go in on Tuesday, as I was pressured into it at 5:30 on Friday afternoon. Will be discussing this with the agency tomorrow morning.
Lucifer's Shadow, by David Hewson, is one of those present-echoing-past novels which is slightly too clever for its own good. The author sins by omission; there's a balance to be struck between surprise and disbelief, and some of the plot twists aren't even hinted at until they occur. Others are executed as masterfully as the identity-blurring in Iain Pears' An Instance of the Fingerpost.
In Vivaldi's Venice, a publisher and an English nobleman promote, and claim authorship of, an anonymous violin concerto. In modern-day Venice, a music student finds himself embroiled in a mysterious household, acquiring an ancient violin and an equally antique musical score. In both, increasingly convergent narrative threads there is romance, murder, mistaken identity and a sordid psychological undercurrent.
Hewson knows how to tell a story; this is a real page-turner, amusing and horrific by turns, featuring famous faces from history (Jean-Jacques Rousseau is the victim of a practical joke straight out of the Decameron). Venice comes alive -- I'm more determined than ever to visit -- in the present as well as the past.
It's a long time since I've found a novel this gripping; possibly that's more to do with my lax reading habits of late, and the comfortable colloquiallism of Hewson's style. Despite its flaws (not least of which is an unnecessary twist -- a flourish, really -- in the very last paragraph) I enjoyed this very much.
A most pleasant day, despite indifferent weather. Pottered, caught up on correspondence, saw Music Theatre London again with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladymoonray and swisstone. Then for sushi at Gili Gilu, and home to a backdrop of Maxwell Parrish sky. How nice to see people again. Job has prevented much of this social stuff ...
Lucifer's Shadow, by David Hewson, is one of those present-echoing-past novels which is slightly too clever for its own good. The author sins by omission; there's a balance to be struck between surprise and disbelief, and some of the plot twists aren't even hinted at until they occur. Others are executed as masterfully as the identity-blurring in Iain Pears' An Instance of the Fingerpost.
In Vivaldi's Venice, a publisher and an English nobleman promote, and claim authorship of, an anonymous violin concerto. In modern-day Venice, a music student finds himself embroiled in a mysterious household, acquiring an ancient violin and an equally antique musical score. In both, increasingly convergent narrative threads there is romance, murder, mistaken identity and a sordid psychological undercurrent.
Hewson knows how to tell a story; this is a real page-turner, amusing and horrific by turns, featuring famous faces from history (Jean-Jacques Rousseau is the victim of a practical joke straight out of the Decameron). Venice comes alive -- I'm more determined than ever to visit -- in the present as well as the past.
It's a long time since I've found a novel this gripping; possibly that's more to do with my lax reading habits of late, and the comfortable colloquiallism of Hewson's style. Despite its flaws (not least of which is an unnecessary twist -- a flourish, really -- in the very last paragraph) I enjoyed this very much.
A most pleasant day, despite indifferent weather. Pottered, caught up on correspondence, saw Music Theatre London again with
ladymoonray and swisstone. Then for sushi at Gili Gilu, and home to a backdrop of Maxwell Parrish sky. How nice to see people again. Job has prevented much of this social stuff ...
