Spanish Modernist classic : Miguel de Unamuno's "Niebla" (Fog) translated by Elena Barcia

"Niebla" by Miguel de Unamuno

Translated by Elena Barcia

Elizabeth Mac Donald: A Matter of Interpretation

 A Matter of Interpretation 

by Elizabeth Mac Donald

A Musical Review

The long, hard road to vengeance... The Sheriff's Catch by James Vella-Bardon

The Sheriff's Catch by James Vella-Bardon

Of thrillers and historical fiction

I recently had the pleasure of attending the Maltese book launch (and book-signing session) of James Vella-Bardon’s The Sheriff’s Catch, the first volume of a projected “historical thriller” pentalogy.  The author himself spoke about the inspiration for his novel and this led me to consider it from a new perspective.  Here is a revisited and revised version of my review, originally posted on Goodreads

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Historical fiction has seen such a rise in popularity over the past decades, that it's easy to forget that it is, in fact, a long-established and venerable genre. One could say that some of the earliest literature (including, say, the Iliad) is "historical", being based on actual facts which had happened in the past. The genre as we know it became particularly popular in Europe in the 19th Century, through the works of such authors as Scott, Balzac and Hugo. The historical novel was often the vehicle for Romantic ideals, and sometimes helped forge national identities in young newly-formed states (one thinks of Manzoni's I Promessi Sposi).

What contemporary writers have at their disposal, in contrast to their predecessors, is a freedom to mould the genre to their own ends. Thus, I recently enjoyed Amy Sackville's Painter to the King, a re- imagining of the life of Velazquez rendered in modernist, stream-of-consciousness narration. On the other hand, "neo-Victorian" novels by the likes of Sarah Waters and Alison Littlewood are not only set in the 19th century, but also borrow tropes from genres of the time (including the Gothic and the sensation novel).

With The Sheriff's Catch, Maltese-born and Australia-based James Vella-Bardon, adds his name to historical novelists to look out for. His novel introduces us to our 16th century protagonist, sharpshooter Abel de Santiago who, after an orphan's upbringing in Malta, ends up joining the Spanish army and campaigning in the Netherlands. When his supposed friends kill his young, pregnant wife, ‘Santi’ deserts the army and embarks on a mission of revenge which leads him through several ordeals, not least a stint as a galley slave with the Spanish Armada. It is no spoiler to reveal (since it is stated on the back-cover blurb) that by the conclusion of the book, Santi will arrive in Ireland, at a time when the country is being terrorised by the marauding English troops - or "Sassenachs", as the natives refer to them.

Author James Vella-Bardon

Vella-Bardon's book takes us back more than four hundred years, but like the historical novels of Arturo Perez-Reverte, its models are the epic, swashbuckling 19th Century classics by authors such as Dumas. As was often the case with its literary forebears, The Sheriff's Catch was adapted for serialization prior to being published in book-form, and one can feel it in the thrust of the plot. There are continuous twists and end-of-chapter cliffhangers, which ensure that the reader is hooked from one passage of the novel to the next. Indeed, the constant sense of danger and Santi's reckless, death-wish attitude tend to make the narrative rather breathless, although there are passages when the reader is allowed to take a step back and delve deeper into the protagonist's character. This could be felt particularly in the final chapters, where the introduction of a female figure (possibly/hopefully an important character in forthcoming volumes?!) seems to give a different, yet no less enjoyable perspective to the book.

There is plenty to admire in this first instalment of the Pentalogy. It is clear that much research has gone into the novel, evident for instance, in the minute descriptions of the weapons and paraphernalia of war. Yet, this knowledge is lightly worn, and Vella-Bardon avoids the common mistake of suspending the flow to provide us with an encyclopaedic entry on the era portrayed.

The first-person narration, together with the graphic, and sometimes garish, evocation of the historical setting (smells and bodily fluids included), help provide a sense of total immersion into the period without making the reader feel spoon-fed. The sense of authenticity can also be felt in the dialogue - just to give an example, the style of the language changes to reflect the characters' switching from one language to another, with the use of a more archaic syntax and vocabulary when the characters are speaking Latin. It is not easy at all to mark a change in code without changing the language of the narration, but Vella-Bardon manages it nicely.

Until we meet again, Santi...

Paperback, 336 pages

Published March 15th 2018 by Unbound

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In his talk at the book-launch James Vella-Bardon explained that he chose 16th century Europe as the stage for his tale since this was an exciting century, a time of unprecedented upheaval. It also gave him the opportunity to pit against each other three very different cultures. 

The novel's hero Santiago was raised in Malta, which was then ruled as a fiefdom by the Knights Hospitallers, who paid a yearly tribute of a Maltese falcon to the King of Spain.     Most of us Maltese are immersed in Anglo-centric literature, and because of that we sometimes fail to appreciate what a great cultural and military power Spain was.  Vella-Bardon’s novel is a corrective in this regard.  At the time of the events portrayed, Spain was living its Siglo de Oro, a “Golden Century” (actually, longer) which started with the great voyages of exploration and ended with the death of Pedro Calderon de la Barca in 1682.   

One of the greatest Spanish composers of the period was Cristobal de Morales (1550-1553).  Here’s his Parce Mihi Domine, performed by the Consort of Melbourne, with piano improvisations by pianist Gemma Turvey.  This mixture of “old” and “new” fits Vella-Bardon’s novel very well.

De Morales is known for his sacred works.  The wordlier Santi might have been more used to sprightlier instrumental dances.  Here’s a ricercada by Diego Ortiz (1510-1570) a Spanish composer and music theorist in service to the Spanish viceroy of Naples and later to Philip II of Spain. 

And if you want a musical taste of 16th Century battles, here’s Clément Janequin: La bataille.  it precedes the Armada by a few decades, but it is a colourful evocation of war.  This performance by Jordi Savall and his Hesperion XXI is one of my favourites:

 

Elizabeth I not only promoted her kingdom’s military aspirations, but also sought to support artists and musicians, quite ironically relying on various Italian musicians to bring new musical trends to her shores.  It was Golden Age for English music, one which would eventually come to an end with the death of Henry Purcell.   An idea of the wide range of composers working at the time is given by the Triumphs of Oriana a collection of 25 madrigals by different composers published in 1601, most likely in honour of the Virgin Queen:

 

The music of William Byrd, a Catholic tolerated at the Protestant Court in view of his immense talent, sometimes reveals a dark strain, obliquely referring to the religious upheavals going on in Reformation England.  Ne irasciris is a good example. 

 

For some Elizabethan instrumental fare, here’s “Mal Sims” by Giles Farnaby (1563-1640):

In the final chapters of the book, the action moves to Ireland.  As Vella-Bardon explained, the country was then in its “late medieval” period.  This however in no way implies a “regressive” culture.  On the contrary, the Celtic way of life was extremely sophisticated, with its own traditions, art and complex legal system. 

 

Turlough o Carolan, a blind Celtic harper, composer and singer, lived between 1670 and 1738.  However, his music has its roots in ancient Irish traditions. 

 

 

The Irish context is also a good excuse for the author to introduce an element of Tolkien-inspired epic fantasy, here represented musically by Steve Hackett and  Italian pianist-organist Marco Lo Muscio.

 

 

I'll leave you with the novel's tantalising book trailer:

Portrait of the Artist... "Painter to the King" by Amy Sackville

Velázquez Re-imagined 

Every so often, a novel comes along that challenges one’s expectations of the genre. Amy Sackville’s Painter to the King is one such work. It is, ostensibly, a fictional biography of Diego Velázquez, covering in particular the decades he spent in the service of King Philip IV of Spain and the relationship which developed between the artist and the monarch who was his royal/loyal patron. Sackville is surprisingly faithful to the ‘facts’, even down to what may seem trivial historical details. Yet, her novel is by no means a straightforward retelling of the life of Velázquez. For a start, she adopts a sort of stream of consciousness narration – which is often breathless and febrile, on occasion seemingly tentative or improvisatory. It feels as if we have stepped into a painting which is taking shape or as if we’re standing behind the painter, watching as he sketches at his easel. This impression is strengthened by the very ‘visual’ descriptions, full of colour and movement and the play of light and dark. Indeed, the chapters often have the atmosphere of a tableau, a scene ready to be set down for posterity.

At intervals, the third person approach is interrupted by the narrator intruding with her own ruminations. One should always be wary of identifying the author with the novel’s subject, but it is difficult not to see Sackville herself in the thirty-something narrator embarking on a literary pilgrimage on the steps of Velázquez. It is an inspired touch gives the novel a personal meaning and reveals it as a labour of love. At the same time, however, it can be taken as a warning that, despite all endeavours at authenticity, it is difficult, if not impossible, to recreate the past and particularly the thoughts and feelings of historical figures. This novel is, indeed, biographical and historical but is equally a very contemporary ‘imagining’ of the past.

Las Meninas (1656), often described as the artist's greatest achievement

And this brings us to the heart of what is, ultimately, a highly philosophical novel. I felt Painter to the King to be an exploration of the correlation between art and artifice, truth and reality, public personas and private feelings. The characters the novel are constantly preoccupied as to what will survive after their death – the King’s obsession with having his portraits painting is a way of ensuring his memory remains. But even though Diego is notorious for his devastating honesty and his inability to “lie” in his portraits, can we be sure that the King we know is not shaped by the painter’s imagination, just as Diego and his monarch speak to us through Sackville’s prose?

I found this to be a challenging novel, one which I read over a number of weeks alongside less demanding fare. But it is an impressive achievement and I would be surprised and disappointed if this is not – deservedly – recognised when the time for literary awards arrives.

Published April 5th 2018 by Granta Books

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There are plenty of recordings of Spanish baroque music which could work as a soundtrack to this book.  This is one:

This is another album, featuring works from the Siglo de Oro.  Jordi Savall, one of my favourite artists, is brilliant at building themed programmes of early music and presenting them in concerts and on CD:

https://open.spotify.com/album/7hjesZSIUJuSpk1gfUfyjZ?si=CYvKwaR4TYyYSA5zSw1WIg