October 25, 2015 § Leave a comment
Title: The Brotherhood of Book Hunters
Author: Raphaël Jerusalmy
Translator: Howard Curtis
Publisher: Europa Editions, New York (2014)
ISBN: 978 1 60945 230 8
The eighteenth century romance novel tradition with its lush descriptions of landscapes and settings is just one of the many threads Raphaël Jerusalmy weaves into a novel which features the 15th century French poet and rogue Francois Villon, a real-life figure with a shadowy historical record. Add to this the Medici family, a journey to the Holy Land and a Jewish conspiracy as fanciful and ambitious as the Protocols of the Elders of Zion (minus the anti-semitism) and you’ll begin to get a sense of the scope of the author’s vision.
Slowly advancing across the still burning scrubland, through ravines over which darkness was spreading, Djanoush at last reached a promontory from which the outline of the lake could be seen in the distance. His traveling companions gazed down at the fabled landscape in silence. A sparrow hawk hovered, describing broad circles, weaving his flight in the invisible weft of the sky, patrolling the sheet of water in search of prey. The Sea of Kinnereth, as the Hebrews called it, stretched as far as the horizon, lined with wild rushes and willows. The white domes of Tiberias glittered on the western shore. To the east, the grim mass of the Golan rose into the clouds, covering the tranquil waters with its threatening shadow. Opposite, in the distance, where the haze of the lake gave way to a sand-filled mist, Judea began.
The Brotherhood of Book Hunters is a historical adventure story in the style of Alexandre Dumas, Robert Louis Stevenson or James Fenimore Cooper. Or, if we’re looking for more contemporary comparisons, with Michael Chabon’s 2007 novella Gentlemen of the Road, Arturo Perez-Reverte’s The Club Dumas and, in a roundabout way, the short stories of the sci-fi/fantasy writer Fritz Lieber will do nicely. The basics of what ultimately grows into a rather complicated plot are as follows: François Villon is approached in prison by the agents of Louis XI. The French King wishes to shift the power between himself and the Vatican by encouraging the circulation of pamphlets challenging the dogma of the Catholic Church. To this end he tasks Villon with convincing printers & booksellers from across Europe to set up their shops in Paris. And once that is accomplished he sends Villon – accompanied by the poet’s friend Colin da Cayeux (Fafhrd to Villon’s Gray Mouser) – to the Holy Land on a mission to acquire rare manuscripts from the time of Christ which are guaranteed to undermine the Pope’s authority once distributed among the masses.
What the King & Villon do not realize is that more people are involved in this game of Renaissance intrigue than they know. The Medici family, backed by a shadowy organization known as the Brotherhood of Book Hunters, have their own plans for poor Villon. And no one seems to consider the possibility that Villon may just have a few plans of his own.
“What good wind brings you to the Holy Land, Master Villon?”
“Contrary winds. Zephyrs of escape and trade winds of fortune.”
Raphaël Jerusalmy has a true gift for sprawling scenic landscapes and carefully lit interiors – in this way he is the novelistic equivalent to the director John Ford. Often he spends more time on the particulars of a room than the people in it, leaving his characters emotions and motivations opaque through much of the book. There’s a noticeable absence of internal dialogue in the pages of The Brotherhood…, particularly among the main characters. This is a marked and noticeable contrast to the Franzen-style psychoanalytical navel gazing frequently found in contemporary literary fiction. But Jerusalmy seems to be after something else entirely. His prose is performative, delivering moments of deliciously decadent melodrama. Take for example the passage below in which Colin de Cayeux dramatically enters a tavern, summoned there by Villon.
The door of the tavern opened suddenly, blown inward by a gust of wind. Spray and hail crashed onto the flagstones, sprinkling the sawdust and the straw. The dogs growled, the drinkers bellowed, the cats threw themselves under the tables. Their shadows swayed in the red light of the newly fanned flames of the hearth. Threats and curses rang out. Framed in the doorway, dripping with rain, a man stood silhouetted against the whiteness of the hail. He was motionless for a moment, ignoring the tumult. A black velvet cloak floated around his shoulders like beating wings. Only two things were visible on this untimely specter: a wan smile and, below it, the milky reflection of a knife.
Cue the sinister music.
The Brotherhood of Book Hunters was released in English by Europa Editions in 2014, the second of Jerusalmy’s novels to be translated into English, and received moderate attention and lukewarm reviews. His tendency to view his characters with the same panoramic lens he uses for the scenery – zooming in only briefly to record a reaction or fleeting emotion before sweeping off to the next plot twist – is a deliberate, but perhaps not always successful, stylistic tick. His use of the third person omniscient narrator is masterful, but (perhaps as a result) his book is not character driven enough to appeal to the genre reader. Nor is his writing experimental enough to draw the attention of the die-hard translation crowd. What he has done is written a solid, entertaining and (admittedly) cinematic novel filled with lovely passages that fire the imagination – the perfect book for Fall nights curled up in a comfortable armchair under a warm blanket.
Federico checked on last time that the volumes were in good condition, then called the clerk and ordered him to wrap them. He walked Ficino to the door of the shop. The old scholar took off his hat to say goodbye to his host, then again pulled it down over his ears. The rain had stopped. The clerk arrived, holding the precious package at arm’s length, and was already rushing outside, forcing Master Ficino to gallop after him. Federico watched them scampering toward the rainbow that crowned the end of the avenue. He half expected to see them fly away on the horizon and whirl around amid steeples and towers, gaily beating their wings beyond the orange roofs of the city.
January 9, 2014 § 2 Comments
Dr. Matthew Prendel is an enigma. Attractive, quiet, independently wealthy – he is the perennial subject of cocktail party gossip. The most persistent rumor being that he was once shipwrecked on a deserted island. We’re told Prendel’s tale, the “true” version of what happened to him, from his lover. The conceit of the novel is that she, Phoebe Westore, is the author, not Flavia. The book is written in such a way as to support this illusion, opening with a preface where Phoebe explains her relationship to Dr. Prendel. She reveals the promise she made to Prendel to write down the story of the shipwreck only after his death. The Island of Last Truth is her fulfilling that promise.
We were lovers for almost seven years. One of my aims was to endure longer than his shipwreck. As if some kind of rivalry or a competition could be established with something like that. “You always want to defeat impossible opponents, Phoebe; opponents that aren’t even there. You take after your mother.” My victory has been bitter and, in truth, transient, because a “shipwreck” endures much longer than a shipwreck. It is like a lantern: it illuminates what you shine it on and the rest as well.
I don’t want to give too much away. The plot is full of unexpected shifts. Company wastes no time getting her protagonist onto the island and, once there, piles on the suspense. Prendel is not alone on the island. Nor does the story end with him escaping it. Nor is it all about him.
“…Part adventure story, part noir, and part mystery…”* I would add psychological thriller to that list. Laura McGloughlin has written a nuanced translation that captures all of the melancholia and foreboding of Flavia Company’s strange and wonderful novel. What works best in The Island of Last Truth is the perspective from which it is told. The main body of the book, describing Prendel’s experiences, are told to us in the third person by Phoebe. The rhythm of her voice remains consistent as it moves from Preface, to storytelling, and the end of the book where she attempts to fill the gaps in the story she’d been told. So fully realized a character is she that an image begins to form in the reader’s mind: of Phoebe listening to Prendel as he tells her his adventure. And then later writing it all down, occasionally pausing to stare into the distance, lost in her memories. It’s all very intimate. This is not only a book about a shipwreck, but about a woman trying to make sense of the enigmatic man with whom she had a relationship with for over seven years. A man, she comes to realize, she never knew at all.
Publisher: Europa Editions, New York (2011)
ISBN: 978 1 60945 081 6
*taken from the jacket copy
August 24, 2009 § 5 Comments
This week’s Weekly Geeks asks you to choose a book that has been languishing on your bookshelf and ask that age old question, why haven’t I read this yet?
It’s a good meme and a good question. Because the first step is admitting you have a problem. I’m a compulsive book buyer. I’m tempted to go into a long, drawn out explanation touching on my first book memory, visits to the public library as a child, the constant re-arranging & reorganizing of my bookshelf at milestones of my life – but it’s probably safe to assume that most people reading this have the same problem. So let’s cut straight to the chase…
The Nautical Chart by Arturo Pèrez-Reverte (current shelf life: 1 year, 1 month) – This novel was bought during a vacation on Sanibel Island last year, probably at the same time I purchased The Flander’s Panel. If the bookmark stuck between the pages 34-35 is to be believed then this novel was engaged at some point. It’s the story of a hunt for sunken treasure, features a down trodden hero and a beautiful woman with questionable motives. The mystery is built around a lot of clever puzzles involving nautical maps and equipment. Overall it is the kind of book I’d gobble up in two sittings.
The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon by David Grann is a different kind of mystery story altogether (current shelf life: 4-6 months). It’s the true account of the author’s modern day attempt of find out what happened to British explorer Percy Fawcett, who entered the Amazon in 1925 and never returned. Grann researches the history of Fawcett’s expeditions (up to & including his last) and examines his obsession with finding the City of Z. He also tells the stories of the explorers who went in search of Fawcett after his disappearance. All that alone would have made a good book, but Grann takes it one step further (of course he does, he’s a staff writer for The New Yorker). After stumbling onto a clue to the location of Fawcett’s last base camp, Grann makes his own journey into Bolivia in search of the man who disappeared 80+ years before.
Mellon: An American Life by David Cannadine (current shelf life: 1 year, 5 months) – Andrew J. Mellon, along with his contemporaries Rockefeller, Frick and Carnegie, was one of those robber barons at the turn of the century who lived life large. I love reading about these guys. They took bold risks, had fabulous homes, and left huge legacies. They were the great philanthropists of their time, making & giving millions, usually on the backs of their employees. Of that group I would argue that Mellon is the least well known and for reasons that can be easily understood. As the treasury secretary for 4 presidents leading into the Great Depression Andrew Mellon’s popularity has waned (let that be a lesson to you Ben Bernanke!). His part in the 1929 economic collapse has all but overshadowed his other achievements. These included one of the greatest gifts ever given to this country: The National Gallery of Art, which is at the heart of what has become the Smithsonian Collection.
There you have it. My confession. While I’d like to say that these are the only books gathering dust throughout my house, that would be a lie. And as we all know, lying is wrong.
So, I’m interested in hearing what other books are out there being neglected & wrongfully ignored. Please feel free to leave your confession… I mean comment… below.