The novel is a biography of the life of Jennet Mallow who is first and foremost a painter. It is through her paintings that most, if not all, of the turning points in her remarkable life come. At an art school early on in the novel, Jennet meets her future husband, David Heaton. The two get married quickly and establish lives as the royalty of the art world. Their paintings provide a substantial income for them and they are able to live part of their lives in Spain where they have their first child.
David Heaton leads a troubled life as an adulterer and an alcoholic that would cause a huge amount of grief to Jennet if she didn't have her own equally troublesome issues. Throughout the novel we are introduced to different people on the international art scene. From wealthy dealers with their own priorities to other talented artists who are far from being saints. This was one of my favourite features of the novel. There is an interesting dichotomy between the art dealers with their good business sense and these hugely talented artists who don't have an ounce of common sense. Both these groups of people significantly affect the lives of Jennet and David. But just how much they affect Jennet is what makes the book a page-turner. Jennet came from a stable family background: her father was a soldier and then a priest, she was accepted into Oxford University but her time there was short-lived because of the outbreak of a war. After finishing the book one of the pressing questions that still lingers on is whether Jennet could have enjoyed just as successful a career as an artist if she hadn't married David and become embroiled in his problems.
Francesca Kay's language is what makes the book simply outstanding for a debut novelist. There are two examples that reoccur. One is how Kay describes what Jennet is thinking at a particular time. Here's a memorable example:
She will never paint them; she knows that at the time, they are not gathered together for a portrait but for a transaction of another kind. Still, the painter in her narrows her gaze, squints to get the scene and its purpose into vision. With her painter's eyes she strips fold on fold of fabric off the men to assess the underlying structure.
The other is how Kay sets a scene using colour. Here's a taster:
Ice. Not the deep Antarctic sort, crystalline, blue-tinged, but thin ice, nothing much more than a membrane separating the water from the air. Ice that comes so suddenly it seems to seize the moment - arresting on the seashore a wave just on the point of curl, imprisoning the rising bubbles in a mountain tarn. How to show that thinness, the colourlessness full of colour, the way that ice in sunshine is both mirror and source of light? White light. Purity and danger.
I was somewhat overwhelmed that Kay managed to maintain such a high standards of writing right the way down to the last sentence of the novel. The book certainly rewards careful reading. I found myself quietly celebrating at several points in the novel. Towards the end events start happening very quickly. Several characters die systematically and there is a sort of revision (or, to put it more crudely, a repeat) of events that have already happened. However, its also at this point, that the narrator ever so slightly comes to life with the reminder that this is a biography. Perhaps, therefore, it would be wrong to criticise Kay for this sudden change in pace.
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