Iain Pears

Pears has written at least two different kinds of novel. There is his Jonathan Argyll series of art history murder mysteries, straightforward, well written but easy-reading genre novels; and there are his heavier, more complex and more unusual historical novels, the bestselling The Instance of the Fingerpost and The Dream of Scipio, which weave together different narrators and/or different timescales.

The Portrait falls somewhere between the two. It draws on Pears' knowledge of the world of show more art like the Argyll books, but in a very different way. In one sense it is not a complex book - there is only one narrator. But the narrative takes the unusual form of a monologue which is sustained throughout the novel's 200 or so pages - the one-sided conversation which the artist Henry McAlpine inflicts upon his captive audience, his former friend and art critic William Nasmyth, while painting his portrait.

The narrative device takes a little while to get used to, but the emerging picture of the relationship between artist and critic in the early years of the 20th century is well drawn. Pears, in the voice of McAlpine, describes extremely effectively both the joys (a beautifully evoked 'epiphany moment' of creation) and struggles of the creative process. The theme of portraiture, and the choice of whether to paint what the sitter wants to see or attempt to paint the truth as seen by the painter, is an interesting commentary on the unfolding story, as layers are stripped away and the truth (or one perspective on it) begins to emerge.

Little clues early on, and carefully chosen turns of phrase throughout, soon help to build the suspense, the realisation that something else might be going on besides old friends catching up during the painting of a portrait. The inevitable outcome is fairly soon obvious - this is not a fault of the story-telling, as this is not a who-dunnit-style murder mystery but an exploration of the psychology of revenge and self-justification.

A compelling, slightly disturbing read that matches Pears' longer books in seriousness of theme. show less

In my extremely brief assessment of Arcadia I posted after finishing it a few weeks ago, I described the story as an “odd bit of fantasy.” I still stand by that statement because it is very unique. The synopsis only hints at some of the more creative elements of the story. Yes, there are three interlocking worlds, and each of those three worlds has the capability of being the past, present or future of all of the characters or none of them. There is a psychomathematician, a profession I show more am not certain I can explain even directly after a chapter describing what she does. There is a magical portal. There is what appears to be advanced technology. There is an entire spy subplot which is amusing. See? Odd. Note, I just never said it was an easily understood odd bit of fantasy.

The same phrase could easily apply to The Library at Mount Char, with its twelve Librarians and their special powers. However, that is about all that one can use to compare the two. While one is all blood and violence and mystery and superpowers, Arcadia is much like the pastoral setting into which Rosie stumbles. It is a quiet, cerebral novel. There is more verbal parrying than actual fighting, and the entire novel is at a rather high intellectual level.

The story plays with the idea/definition of time, which makes the three worlds important in being able to decipher the definition. However, in order for this to be effective, it means that Pears does not spend a lot of time building the historical context behind the various worlds. Rather, he focuses on the current events in each and lets the action provide some of the clues. Then, in a stroke of masterful writing, he connects each of these disparate worlds together in such a fashion that all of it makes perfect sense, and the historical context, so vital to a fantasy novel, simply slips into place.

I describe this novel as fantasy because some of the settings are downright nonsensical in their origins. However, I have seen booksellers label this as literary fiction, something that does make sense on some level. There is the concentration on words rather than action to drive the story. In fact, the action is practically nonexistent when compared to other fantasy novels. The problem with classifying Arcadia within the literary fiction genre is that this classification only seems truly appropriate upon finishing the novel. Once you see how Pears ties all of the pieces together, then you realize that the fantasy/science fiction elements are not necessarily as strong as you believed while reading it. Then again, isn’t the very fact that the story makes some believable sense at the end a sign of a good fantasy novel?

I know this review makes absolutely no sense, but Arcadia is one of those novels that defies description, let alone classification. Everything of note would take to long to explain, so it is just better to say that it is a weird, not-so-little story that is, frankly, mesmerizing in its quirkiness. It is best to just go with the flow as the story unfolds. Don’t bother to try to define time or understand the science behind some of the action. It is best to let the words and the worlds wash over you. Then, in time, the story becomes makes sense, and the brilliance of Pears’ story becomes clear. show less

Protagonist(s): Art dealer Jonathan Argyll and Flavia de Stefano of the Italian National Art Theft Squad
Setting: present-day Venice, Italy
Series: #2

First Line: "The initial discovery was made by the gardener of the Giardinetti Reali, an old and stooped figure whose labours generally pass unnoticed by the millions of tourists who come to Venice every year,even by those who eat their sandwiches amidst his creation as they get their breath back from overdosing on architectural splendour."

In show more selecting long-time members of the TBR shelves, I found myself immediately hooked by this second in the Art History mystery series by Iain Pears. Not only do you get an excellent idea of the shenanigans in the art world, you get a wry and witty picture of modern Italy and its police force. The story opens with the murder of American art historian Louise Masterson, a member of the scholarly international Titian Committee. She is found stabbed to death in a bed of lilies at the Giardinetti Reali. Then another Titian Committee member drowns in a canal, and the first head of the Committee is found suffocated in his home in France. Flavia de Stefano of the Italian Art Theft Squad is sent to lend a hand in the investigation and soon finds herself working once again with art dealer Jonathan Argyll.

These books are so interesting in their details of life in Italy and of art that that would be the selling point for me--but there's more. Not only is Pears an artist at painting the scene, he's a master at peopling that scene with brilliant characters and witty dialogue. Sometimes I wonder why on earth a book has set so long on the TBR shelves. This is one of those times. show less

Arcadia tells three intertwining stories: (1) of Anterworld and apparently a story come to life of Henry Lytten who (2) lives in 1960s England and is sort of continuing the Inklings' legacy while (3) a woman named Angela Meerson a brilliant mathematician somewhere in the future discovers the ability to either jump into alternate universes or back and forth in time, and must protect her project from other scientists who want to get their grubby mitts on her data.

If that all sounds confusing, show more it is. This is an ambitious, convoluted story and I loved it. There's a fantasy world and lots of story references and heady scientific discussions all mixed in, and the storytelling is such that there's just enough of a cliffhanger or "aha!" moment at the end of the chapter that made me want to keep reading. It sort of reminded me of Thursday Next without all the most madcap elements, but it's an original story all its own and I plan on reading more of this author soon. show less