Iain Pears

Flavia di Sefano is dispatched to Venice after a member of the Titian Committee, charged with authenticating work by that famous Renaissance painter, is found stabbed to death in a public garden. Although she is not exactly a police officer, as a member of Rome’s Art Theft Squad she is told to offer assistance to the local police with respect to any art-related aspects of the case, an offer the local officer in charge of the matter truly despises. Meanwhile, art historian and sometime show more dealer Jonathan Argyll is in Venice in the process of finalizing the buying of some minor artwork from an elderly aristocrat, although he is constantly being stymied by an officious companion to the old lady. When a second art committee member dies and the art collection Jonathan is after disappears, the two must team up again to try to solve the mystery amidst the byzantine machinations thrown up by every aspect of Venice herself…. This is the second book in Iain Pears’ 1990s series and like its predecessor The Raphael Affair it is replete with details of the world of fine art and collectibles, along with sharp observations about Italian, and in this particular case Venice especially, society. Because Mr. Pears himself is an art historian, the methods of detection and other problems of art are completely believable, and his journalist past renders his observations of society both accurate and, occasionally, hilarious; recommended! show less

This book took me 13 years to finish.

Well, sort of. Back in 1998 when I bought it, I got about 2/3 of the way through before giving up. I don’t remember what the reason was exactly. It might have been my expectations – I framed this story as a mystery in my head (I think this is how it was marketed) and wasn’t prepared for the amount of atmospheric (non-mystery-solving) detail it has. Yes the reason that each person writes his part of the narrative is because someone is killed, but show more none of them is directly involved in trying to find out who and why. That’s probably what did it. That and the amount of political intrigue concerning the toppling of Cromwell’s Republic and the Restoration of the Monarchy. I didn’t know much about that and so trying to piece it all together was too much and a lot of the implications whizzed right by me.

This time around I had access to a robust internet and so could do some reading beforehand. It certainly helped. Also I readjusted my expectations of this book and read it more as a historical fiction piece rather than as a mystery. Having the murder take a back seat to each narrator’s own doings certainly made things easier. Now I’ve read it I’m glad I hung onto it even though I couldn’t get through it the first time. I do that with books that seem to have potential.

I certainly can see why I stopped where I did; Wallis is a repugnant person with a vicious little mind and a judgmental attitude. Bigoted Asshole about sums him up. I don’t know if that’s what he was actually like, but he made my flesh crawl and I had to force myself read his piece of the story. There is so much interconnected detail that I didn’t allow myself to skim for fear of missing something important and becoming lost later on. Of all four narrators, Wallis is the least sympathetic with Prescott coming in a close second. Cola was smarmy and always seemed to be trying to ingratiate himself into something and wasn’t so attractive either, but neither was he repulsive. Through the accounts from the others we learn that he is not what he seems, nor is he exactly what others think either. I love that kind of thing. Unreliable narrators don’t scare me off; I rather enjoy their twisted views. Our final narrator was a bit deluded, but likeable enough. Wood had to balance a precarious social position with his conscience and in any age, that’s difficult to do.

Mild spoilers -

No, none of the narrators had much sympathy from me. All of that was reserved for Sarah Blundy. Every time I read a novel set in a time where individuals could be trampled on, violated and taken advantage of with impunity I am even more thankful I’m a child of the later 20th century. In the end, I didn’t like what she became though; I could have done without the Christ-figure, thanks. Wasn’t her fate awful enough without that? But I guess once Pears got going with the religious aspect of the story he couldn’t resist going a few steps beyond. Maybe it’s the atheist in me, but I found the whole thing ridiculous. As Wood got through his tale and it started meshing with Prescott and Wallis’s I knew the ultimate solution would be something religious. It didn’t matter much to me though. I can’t work up a froth about the distinctions that made everyone so rabid back then. Catholic, Protestant, whatever, it’s all basically the same superstitious wankery to me and so even in the end, when intellectually I knew why everyone was freaking out, emotionally it had little effect. (And before anyone gets on me about it, yes I know the basic differences between C & P dogma – the Pope as God’s rep on earth, the transubstantiation etc, but I don’t care about them…they are stupid to me, but then again, all religion is). Ok, I’m letting it go.

As an inside look at the life and times though, I think it’s excellent. I loved how a man who insisted on quarterly baths is called fastidious. Descriptions of food, living conditions, clothing and most of all the “medical advances” of the day all made me cringe. Although in 400 years people of the future will probably cringe at our primitive surgical remedies and clumsy drug regimens that do not cure, but only mask symptoms. Still, to die like Anne Blundy did is intensely horrific. And I know that knowledge and enquiry had to start somewhere, but to not know what blood is and what it’s for is inconceivable. Ditto for needles, injections and transfusions. It’s hard to put oneself back into that darkly ignorant time. Same with political equality and jurisprudence. It all has to start somewhere, but it’s difficult to read about it with any serenity.

So approach this book as one about memory and the presentation of events; how they differ and how through omission and misdirection a narrator can manipulate the reader. Approach it with the understanding that there is no sleuth, no who-dunnit, no detection, but that the mystery will be revealed in pieces by each narrator and it will be up to you to frame the solution. Read it with curiosity about how English people struggled with being subjects and being citizens and the differences between the two. And of course, read it with the idea that religion ruled all and is the most powerful control mechanism ever devised. show less

An intellectual, elegant, philosophical novel that nevertheless is deeply touching. It tells the stories of three men, each devoted to a particular idealized woman, at three different points in human history: near the end of the Roman Empire, in the Middle Ages, and during World War II. The thread that connects the three is the eponymous philosophical manuscript.

First Line: Jonathan Argyll lay contentedly on a large slab of Carrara marble, soaking up the mid-morning sun, smoking a cigarette and considering the infinite variety of life.

Hapless art dealer Jonathan Argyll has delivered a Titian painting to the Moresby Museum in Santa Monica, California, and expects payment momentarily. While he's waiting he's been observing, and what he's seen makes him glad he's not connected to the private museum. The Moresby Museum has no focus, due to the whims of show more its billionaire owner. The curator has grandiose plans for expansion, and the billionaire's family members seem to be spending most of their time trying to plot the museum's demise, since it's cutting into their inheritance.

At a party to celebrate the acquisition of a Bernini statue,the billionaire is killed, and the art dealer thought to have brought the Bernini statue with him from Italy is the prime suspect. However, Argyll knows di Souza and doesn't think he's capable of murder. After thinking over the entire situation, he makes a phone call to Italy and asks for the help of Flavia di Stefano of the Italian National Art Theft Squad.

Ever since I was a teenager and watched each week's episode of It Takes a Thief, I've had a weakness for jewel and art thieves. (Well, at least as portrayed by Robert Wagner and Fred Astaire!) Part of the charm of Pears' Art History series for me is the convoluted plot when someone has found a treasure, gets possession of it, and then tries to get it home free. The author's background in journalism and art history is perfect fodder for his series.

When I'm not learning interesting tidbits about art history, I'm learning about the culture of Italy-- a country that's always been high on the list of places I must visit.

" It was his own fault; he crossed the wide boulevard which led past the Moresby and on to his hotel in the cavalier fashion he had adopted for dealing with Roman traffic, and discovered that drivers in California, while generally slower, are not nearly as accurate as their Italian counterparts. A Roman shaves past your legs and makes your trousers billow in the wind but disappears over the horizon with a triumphant hooting of the horn, leaving no real damage behind. The driver of this particular vehicle either had clear homicidal tendencies or little skill; he flashed past, saw Argyll, blew his horn and swerved at only the last moment, very nearly consigning Argyll to the hereafter in the process."

And if convoluted plots, art history and culture weren't enough, there are Pears' marvelous characters. The Englishman, Jonathan Argyll is an endearing bumbler who tends to see himself as Superman's younger athletic brother. Flavia di Stefano of the Art Theft Squad is extremely self-assured, very intelligent, and uses sarcasm to good effect. It's fun to watch these two play off each other.

Whenever I pick up one of Iain Pears' Art History mysteries, I know an intelligent, entertaining read is awaiting me. show less