Customer Reviews

Music & Silence

5 star:		(19)
4 star:		(10)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(3)

 

 

Big and bawdy, hilarious and dark, grotesque and graceful, this winner of Britain's Whitbread Award explores complex themes of love, beauty, power and ego, betrayal, politics, ambition and selfishness.

With the intricate structure of a masterful musical piece (like the beautiful air that tragically obsesses one of the minor characters), the story is set in vivid 17th century Denmark and centers around Peter Claire, English lutenist. Arriving in Copenhagen in 1629 to join the Royal Orchestra of King Christian IV, Claire is aghast to discover he will be playing in a cold, dank wine cellar, open to the elements so the wine may breathe. The orchestra's miserable confinement serves the king's ego and ideas of beauty. Through an ingenious system of pipes, the music rises upward without distortion so the disembodied sound appears ghostly or heaven-sent. For Christian, enjoyment without human distraction; for his guests an impressive marvel.

Point and counterpoint, other voices rise as Tremain shifts the narrative among characters. Lusty, beautiful, adulterous young Kirsten, the King's consort who will never be queen, trapped by Christian's love for her, determines to drive him to indifference. Her favorite handmaid, Emilia, thrust from her family by her father's lust for his new wife, awakens to Peter's true love. The King, sunk in fear and melancholy over a fortuneteller's prophecy and the collapse of his once lofty ambitions, ruminates over his passion for perfection and the betrayal of his childhood friend.

Captivated by Peter's angelic beauty, Christian fastens on the lutenist. Likewise captivated by Emilia's melancholy innocence, Kirsten will not be separated from Emilia. Both use their minions without regard for their own wishes.

Peter plays for Christian for the first time: "When the song is over he glances at the King, but the King doesn't move. His wide hands clutch the arms of the chair. From the left side of his dark head falls a long, thin plait of hair, fastened with a pearl. 'In Springtime,' Christian says suddenly, 'Copenhagen used to smell of lilacs and of linden. I do not know where this heavenly scent has gone.' "

And in the next moment we meet his Kirsten: "Well, for my thirtieth birthday I have been given a new Looking-glass which I thought I would adore. I thought I would dote upon this new Glass of mine. But there is an error in it, an undoubted fault in its silvering, so that the wicked object makes me look fat. I have sent for a hammer."

Lesser characters pursue their own driving concerns. The Queen mother guards her treasure from her son's grasping needs. A widowed Irish countess pines after Peter and contrives to follow him to Denmark. Peter's family tries to entice him home. Kirsten's mother hatches plots, which will not advance her daughter. Emilia's stepmother's appetites consume her stepsons. A poor town, buoyed by the King's mining plans, suffers, quite literally, from their collapse.

As the thwarted desires of Peter and Emilia advance and recede (both of them pawns of their selfishly loving employers) dramas and intrigues swirl around them. Each of the interconnecting subplots are fully developed, with histories, secrets and absorbing characters.

Tremain's ("Restoration," "The Way I Found Her") characters, with all their faults and aspirations, connect to the reader through their complex emotional lives. Each (save for Peter and Emilia who are too young and pure of heart) has a dark core. But none are purely villainous. Even monumentally selfish Kirsten, ruled by her passions, occasionally succumbs to momentary tenderness. Or a spontaneous tantrum.

At times the narrative swells with the moral force of a fairy tale, other times it gallops along like a classic romance. Always, the beauty of the author's language, its quiet grace and crashing crescendos, draws the reader into a 17th century world alive with people whose human responses are timeless.

I would never read a novel in "historical romance" genre, which is what I assumed _Music and Silence_ was when I first saw it in paperback while living in the UK last summer. One day I commented to a friend (an Oxford postgraduate student in early modern British and European history) that I hadn't read a good historical novel in a while. As a student of early modern English history, I have often been disappointed in an author's research concerning and story development within such a rich and vibrant context. My friend recommended _Music and Silence_ as an antidote to my ennui. I bought the book the next day and didn't want to put it down for the following four. I would have read it faster but I didn't want the book to end!

Having bought it in Britain, I read a different edition from that which most Americans will see; for that I make no apologies. I must say that "The best thing from Denmark since 'Hamlet'" was NOT emblazoned on my copy and I don't see the wisdom behind that marketing tactic. The image--a portrait of King Christian right-side-up and, below it, an upside-down portrait of the Queen--is not only visually appealing, but its significance deepens as the story unfolds. Why the American edition has a different cover mystifies me.

Anyway, since it's been a while since I read the book and I (in a moment of silliness) lent my copy to someone who never returned it, I can't comment in great detail on the strengths and weaknesses of the book (others before me have provided many helpful remarks to that end). To speak of impressions rather than observations for a moment: in response to negative comments about the book's "believability," I would point out that appreciating historical fiction demands that one suspend disbelief in the way one might if seeing a play. Can one "believe" an actor is dying of hypothermia if the room is a comfortable 70 F? Only if one enters into the world the actor creates is such "belief" possible. The point of fiction, as I have understood it, is not to create "believable" characters so much as to show, in narrative, universal aspects of human experience, even in particular or outlandish situations. Books that could just as easily be features on the five o'clock news do not entertain, inspire, or endure. _Music and Silence_, however, does the first two with ease; may it also accomplish the third.

This is my first exposure to the writing of Rose Tremain. I cannot put this book down...it is with me constantly. I wish I could simply stop my life for a full day, to journey back to 17th century Denmark, instead of snatching moments of it here and there.

Her characters are so vivid, and so delightfully crafted! I don't feel like an outside observer, but I feel part of the story itself. And every so often Ms. Tremain turns a phrase that I must stop and relish, read and reread, only to go back to it later on to enjoy it yet again. Marvelous writing. I can hardly wait to explore her other titles.

Rose Tremain's "Music and Silence" marks her return both to the historical novel and to the 17th century. As in her earlier, supreior novel, "Restoration," she treats her readers to a behind-the-scenes look at the private lives of the nobility, as told from the perspective of fictionalized factotums who are but pawns in the hands of their betters. The narrative focus shifts back and forth among a large cast of characters, which includes King Christian of Denmark and his Royal Consort, Kirsten Munk, but the heart of the novel is really an English lutenist, Peter Claire, who falls in love with one of Kirsten's women-in-waiting, the emotionally fragile Emilia, and in whose features the King senses the angelic presence of a childhood friend. There are palace plots and intrigues to unravel, such as that of Kirsten's own mother to replace her in the king's affections with a serving wench, and skeletons in the royal closet, chief among which is Christian's mistreatment of the very friend, Bror Brorson, of whom Peter is a reminder, in an act of perfidy that continues to haunt him into old age. But the story is best when it focuses on the fates of lesser mortals, such as Peter and Emilia, whose happiness is imperiled by the piques and passions of their royal employers, although the king's coming to terms with the memory of Bror makes for a satisfying story arc that gives the novel closure. The historical backdrop to "Music and Silence" is much less flamboyant, and therefore less compelling, than it was in "Restoration," which drew upon the plague and the fire of London, but its quieter story is no less engrossing, and no less instructive of the period it embodies. All in all, a good read.

This was my favorite read of 2001. I hadn't ever read a book by Rose Tremain and merely picked it up because I was on my way to Copenhagen from London on a business trip. I became so involved with each of the characters that I made a special trip to the palace where the fictional story took place, bought postcards of the people on whom the fiction was I presume loosely based, and remembered parts of the book as I passed through the rooms. I also went up the round tower thinking all the time of the storyline in which this tower took part. What I think is so amazing though about this book is not just the historical details but the sexy sense of humor throughout, the understanding of music and the meaning of music in people's lives, and the author's wicked depiction of the king's wife. I really couldn't put it down, longed to get back to it when I did, and mourned the end of the story. I tried to get by book group to read it. It is definitely a book group read. So many characters to discuss; so much history; and so much interesting sexuality! The whole thing was just delicious reading!

Rose Tremain's gorgeous novel, Music and Silence, is the best book I have read in several years and one of my alltime favorites, by far.

The book's central character is Peter Claire, an English lutenist, who, in 1629, arrives at the palace of King Christian IV of Denmark to join the royal orchestra. Things are not quite what Peter expected, however, and he is more than surprised when he learns the king requires his orchestra to perform in a freezing cellar, among a group of squawking hens, while the orchestra's exquisite music floats up to the Vinterstue via a series of trapdoors and pipes.

Although Peter Claire is the central figure in this novel, there are many others whose stories are no less important. One of these stories belongs to Kirsten Munk, wife of Christian IV and the "almost Queen" of Denmark. Kirsten despises music and chooses to spend her time either dreaming of the Swedish Count Otto or frolicking with him, whichever the case may be.

Kirsten's favorite lady-in-waiting, Emilia Tilsen, also plays a very important role in this magical book, for Emilia Tilsen and Peter Claire fall in love at first sight on the grounds of Rosenborg, the palace that Christian built for his unfaithful wife. But will Peter's and Emilia's love be allowed to blossom or will it wither on the vine? When the adulterous Kirsten is banished from court, she takes Emilia with her, thus jeopardizing the young girl's future happiness with the English lute player.

Music and Silence is also the story of the beautiful Irish countess, Francesca O'Fingal, a Bologna-born Italian beauty whose husband, Johnny, is the subject of a metaphorical subplot. We learn his story from Francesca via her notebook, aptly named, "La Dolorossa." And, if this isn't magic enough, Francesca and Johnny both have a connection to Peter Claire.

And then there is Marcus Tilsen, Emilia's five year old brother, a fey imp of a child whose thoughts are "plucked from the air" and who seems to possess magical powers, powers that will one day be needed to save the life of Peter Claire.

If these fascinating characters are not enough to keep any reader thoroughly engrossed, we also learn the story of Emilia's father, Johann and his second wife, Magdelena, a bewitching woman who has learned to use her wiles well, but never wisely. Another wonderful character is Christian's mother, the miserly Queen Sofie, a woman whose antics lend much comedic lightness to this gorgeous tale.

Tremain is a master storyteller and a master at characterization. We really come to know each character through the author's skillful first-person narration. While each one occupies a special place in our thoughts, it is Peter Claire who stands at the center, the connecting point from which all the other stories radiate.

While some of these characters are more good than bad, and others more bad than good, none are without both virtues and vices, something that only endears them to us. The Dowager Queen Sofie may be a miser, but she is a comic one. Kirsten may be selfish and self-centered, but she, too, has moments when she finds it in her heart to love unselfishly.

Music and Silence is a lavish feast of a novel set against the fascinating historical background of 17th century Denmark. It encompasses characters of tremendous depth and a wide range of emotion. Tremain's writing is absolutely flawless; the smallest detail is given as much love and attention as is the largest set piece. This elegant and stylish book is an unparalleled accomplishment for Rose Tremain and an unparalleled treat for any sophistical reader. No one could ask for more.

Music & Silence is an epic historical novel that manages to be both complex and accessible. Set in 17th Century Denmark, it focuses on the surprising influence of music on King Christian and the people who surround him. Peter Claire, a lutenist of striking appearance, arrives in Denmark to take his place with the royal orchestra. He has second thoughts about his fate when he learns that the musicians must play in a damp cellar in order that the king and his guests may hear the music ascend, as if by magic, through specially designed ducts. This reveals the extent to which all who live in such times must submit to the whims of royalty, even when the sovereign is a basically just man. Christian immediately sees Peter as a kind of angel, both because of his musical talent and his resemblance to a boyhood friend of the king's. Christian has many troubles --he is plagued by chronic stomach pains; his scheming wife, Kirsten, is having an affair that everyone knows about; finally, the royal treasury is nearly bankrupt and he is desperately seeking ways to raise money. Peter, meanwhile, falls in love at first sight with Emelia, Kirsten's favorite maid, and is torn between his feelings and his duty to the king. Kirsten is in many ways the book's most interesting character. Conniving and vindictive, she has just enough of a conscience to feel ashamed at her many transgressions. She also has a speculative (if morbid) mind and voices many of the novel's most perceptive passages. Rose Tremain has the ability to create an utterly convincing sense of time and place without burdening the reader with excessive or irrelevant historical factoids. Both the characters and plot are complex and well-rounded. As in real life, contrivance is balanced with the unexpected and random. In the audio version that I listened to, the reader, Jenny Agutter, does a fine job of narrating.

Rose Tremain has developed into a first-rate historical novelist. <Restoration,> which she wrote a decade earlier, was her first strictly historical novel and <Music and Silence> is her culminating point. It is all that one can ask for in a novel. Lovers of intrigue will find riches here, as will fans of romance without the treacle. As historical novels go, this one is rich in terms of story, some would say thin in terms of history. However, historical detail and accuracy is not Tremain's aim here. In fact, whole chapters owe more to the tradition of magical realism than to historical fiction. Tremain is looking to Corelli, Scarlatti and Couperin for her inspiration, with a brief sidebar or two to Marquez. So readers looking for a history fix a-la Uris or Flanagan should look elsewhere.

If comparisons were needed, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to liken Tremain at her best to Mark Helprin at his. Both often take an incident in the historical tapestry and reweave it into something entirely original and bold. They are similar as well in their occasional weaknesses. Some of their characters are beautifully developed, while others are aborted before they gain any real dimension or texture. Neither goes in much for concrete details. Instead, they rely on poetic imagery and color to provide sensory impressions. Both also draw on the tradition of magical realism in that they combine the mythic with the profane, and combine the possible, the probable, the improbable and the impossible in their fictions. For Tremain, <Music and Silence> marks her furthest venture yet into this genre.

The plot of the novel shifts kaleidoscopically amongst figures both real and imagined in 17th century Denmark, Norway and England. Each succeeding chapter offers a juxtaposed narrative, so those looking for pure linear story-telling might be uncomfortable with Tremain's style. However, the narrative never really drifts far afield, and Tremain remains firmly in control, presenting us with a composition that is at once baroque in terms of its spiraling dimensions, and modern in terms of its strange cadences and even its occasional dissonance.

This is the one novel that I am enthusiastically and unhesitatingly recommending to friends and acquaintances when the conversation turns to books. Number One with a Bullet.

Music & Silence brought to life the most memorable characters. King Christian IV of Denmark is an absolute ruler who commands his orchestra to play from the cellar, yet he is almost a slave to his Consort, Kirsten, who has to be one of the most selfish, petty, vulgar, yet humorous characters I have ever met in fiction. And one who I actually felt pity for at the end. Peter Claire, the talented and decent lutest for the King, holds the story together yet is not the focus. Emilia, Kristen's "general lady" truly has a good heart. Her stepmother, Magadelena, a big, baudy peasant woman has a sexual appetite that includes her stepsons. George Middleton, Peter's future brother-in-law is an overweight successful gentleman who is genuinely in love with Charlotte, a young naïve innocent who is lives a charmed life surrounded by people who love her. Sophie, the Dowager Queen, and Ellen Marsvin, Kirsten's mother, are survivors saved by cynicism. No one is perfect, no one is totally evil (well maybe Kirsten), no one totally wins and no one totally loses. The short chapters told from different viewpoints give a quality of different instruments playing in the orchestra, some are direct and bold while others merely provide the background. I particularly looked forward to reading Kristen's version "From her private papers." Besides great characters, Tremain does an excellent job of painting the cold and dampness of Denmark. Although a different time and place, a different writing style, and different characters, if you enjoyed "Crimson Petal and White" you will certainly enjoy "Music and Silence" - even more so.

Setting a historical novel at the time of King Christian IV offers many ambiguities. For one not only is the fate of the main characters in suspense, but also are the real ones. The paucity of literture on the king and his consort adds to the suspense of the story.
This book is imbued with a strong sense of fantasy and what could be termed a form of magic realism. At times one feels as though one has entered a private world, much like the one that one of the characters a five year old named Marcus periodically inhabits.
But perhaps the most perfectly realized character in the book is not King Christian, his mother Sofia (who finds new ways of hoarding gold as Denmark heads towards bankruptcy), Peter Claire the lutinist, or even Emila, but the kings consort, Kirstin. Kirstin is the uncrowned queen of Denmark and quite the sensualist. No cruelty seems beyond her and the "selections from her private papers" are some of the best parts of the book. She is a creature of pure selfish instincts however she might argue against this view. Rose Tremain says in an interview published at the end of the book that she enjoyed writing these sections most of all. The reading of these sections are just as enjoyable.
Tremain also has a good sense of creating a fantastic world filled with many stimulating details. Her gift for prose makes even a blank piece of paper appear sexy, quite a feat for even the most polished prose stylist.
This is a remarkable book and the author well-deserves all the praise that she has received for this work.