Customer Reviews

The Portrait

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This short novel is by one of my favorite writers, Iain Pears. His novel, An Instance of the Fingerpost, goes down as one of my favorite all time reads.

His newest novel, The Portrait, is well written, and intriguing. Saying that, it has its problems.

Summary, no spoiler:

This story is told entirely by the narration of a painter named Henry MacAlpine. Henry now lives in isolation on an island off the coast of France, and has agreed paint a portrait of his old friend and nemesis, William Nasmyth, a famous art critic. The story takes place over a series of days in the year 1913.

As Henry paints this portrait, he reminisces about his relationship with William, and the book is told entirely in the form of a monologue from Henry.

The book is filled with a sense of menace, as Henry recalls past events and relationships, and it becomes clear that Something Bad might happen.

The story is well told, but because of its form, this monologue, I found it a rather slow read, and had to put it down at times lest it become tedious.

In the hands of most other authors, this book would've lost steam early on....but Pears is such an adept writer that he manages to keep you hooked.

Highly recommended, and yes, the ending is a goody.

In a change of pace from his previous intricately plotted and lengthy novels, Iain Pears here writes a novella-length study of an artist painting a three-part portrait of the most famous art critic in England in the years of 1910 - 1913, a man with whom he has had a significant history over many years. The critic, William Nasmyth, has come to Houat, a small island off the Brittany coast, where the artist, Henry Morris MacAlpine, has been living in exile for several years.

As he paints Nasmyth's portrait during the course of several days, MacAlpine addresses him about their past in London, the state of the art world and its artists during these years of post-impressionism, their mutual friends and lovers, and Nasmyth's role in the success or failure of MacAlpine's artist-friends. Sometimes angry and hostile, sometimes snide, and occasionally sentimental, MacAlpine reveals the sordid details of Nasmyth's life and ego-driven personality, which he intends to use in the portrait, a triptych--his view of Nasmyth as he was, as he is now, and as he will be.

The artist, articulate and observant, feels totally realistic, a person we come to know, not by what he says, but by what he implies and then forces us to conclude. Nasmyth, we see, loves power, the making or breaking of artists. MacAlpine's friend Evelyn and his model Jacky are depicted realistically, and the reader, who comes to know them through MacAlpine's reminiscences about them, empathizes with them for their treatment by Nasmyth. Gradually, the reader becomes aware that MacAlpine intends to make Nasmyth pay for past crimes, and though the reader may figure out generally how the novel will conclude, Pears has saved some surprises. When the novel draws to its close, the reader feels the rightness of the conclusion.

Because the novel is a dramatic monologue, the reader comes to know only the speaker and his point of view. No conversations with other characters exist to show how they interact with each other, and the reader never sees other characters in action. This leads to a novel which "tells about" what happens, instead of recreating it and allowing the reader to share it. The author must build suspense and tension through words, rather than through action scenes, a device which leaves the reader at arm's length. Filled with personal details which reveal the heart and soul of a struggling artist, the novel is a fascinating glimpse of the art world during the age of post-impressionism and of one artist who seeks revenge on a critic. Mary Whipple

Having read and been a great fan of Pears' two previous novels "An Instance of the Fingerpost" and "The Dream of Scipio", both much more voluminous than his latest novel. I thought picking up the much shorter book for a quick read was worth the time and money and most assuredly it was. "The Portrait" is an intriguingly intimate yarn centering around a reclusive painter's decision to accept a commission to paint a portrait of an art critic and former acquaintance. The writer interjects the reader into the artist's small studio on a remote and rugged island off the coast of France and begins to unveil a tale which keeps the reader's attention by becoming evermore dark and suspenseful. I must confess, I did find the plot to be a wee bit transparent by the middle of the novella, but didn't find that that diminished the book in the slightest as I felt as a reader that the plot is almost not as important as the dynamic of artist versus critic which is so expertly written and most certainly applies not only to the characters in the book, but also in a broader and more general sense as a debate between art versus criticism in general, and I might add not a bad little novella of suspense to boot, peppered with wry wit and some of the most well written and quotable lines I have read in any novel as of late. In short I would definitely highly recommend "The Portrait", and would add that any reader who likes this novel and hasn't read any other of the author's works might find it well worth the time to dig into Pears' lengthier tomes.

Pears pulls off a difficult task in The Portrait, asking his readers to stay with a single spoken monologue uninterrupted by descriptive passages, internal monologues, or conversation with other characters. In the hands of a lesser writer this easily could have been a disaster, but Pears handles it with aplomb.

The speaker is Henry MacAlpine, a well-known and successful portraitist from early 1900's London who years ago abandoned all of that to live a stripped down life on a tiny rough island off the coast of Brittany. The listener is his long-time (though they've had no contact for years) friend/mentor/nemesis William Naysmith, England's foremost art critic come to the island to sit for a second portrait by MacAlpine.

Over the course of several days, through MacAlpine's uninterrupted speech, we learn how MacAlpine became an artist, how the two men met, how Naysmith first mentored then befriended then betrayed MacAlpine, why MacAlpine left London for his island. What we don't learn, not until the very end (and no, I won't be telling you), is why Naysmith came to the island to sit for the portrait, why he continues to sit during MacAlpine's often angry and insulting ranting, or why MacAlpine agreed to paint him and continues to do so.

These questions lend a bit of suspense and mystery to the work, though to be honest the major mystery is pretty easily deduced quite early in the book. As is the book's conclusion. The pleasure, however, is not in the destination but the journey. In this case, the singular voice of MacAlpine, the shades of emotion conveyed through that voice, the bits and pieces of personal and artistic history that come together to form a compelling whole, the comeuppance of a powerful and abusive critic, the attempt by the reader to unravel the trustworthy and the not-so-trustworthy from MacAlpine's narration.

Throughout it all Pears is in complete control. He never holds a note too long, knows just when it's time to shift tone or speech pattern or topic and does so effortlessly and smoothly. The same is true as he nears the end, which in terms of length is just about as far as the novel can go. Any farther and the style and structure rather than compel would alienate, would annoy, would begin to crumble under its own weight. Instead, it ends not only as it should but when it should (something all too rare recently it seems). An excellent read with nothing out of place. Highly recommended.

In the monologue of the reclusive painter, Henry Morris MacAlpine, "The Portrait" reveals, why Henry has accepted the commission of his former protector and friend, the art critic William Nasmyth, to paint William's portrait.

Henry has invited William to his modest home on the island of Houat, just off the coast of Brittany, small and populated mostly by fishermen. Over the course of several sittings, Henry paints William's portrait, at the same time reflecting on the events from his life and their common past at the beginning of the 20th century.

Henry's monologue tells the reader more about Henry himself than about the viciousness of William - from Henry's youth in Scotland and apprenticeship in the printing shop, through the beginning of his painting career, time spent in Paris and his relationship with William. Evelyn, a young, independent woman painter, is introduced as Henry's love, and Jacky, the model, as her friend. The tragic events from the past unfold, and a sense of menace looms over as Henry describes his portrait plans for the triptych. All the fragments of the puzzle come together, creating a terrifying whole.

The form of monologue, used by Pears also in "An Instance of the Fingerpost" is an interesting tool, because the point of view is skewed and the narration is regulated by the character, who tells the story. Here, the monologue goes rather slowly, and many details initially seem irrelevant, but there is nothing superfluous. I was surprised by the subtle, but definite shift in my attitude to Henry, as I was reading -at first, I believed him and really saw William as a villain - towards the end I realized that Henry himself is not much better and his role in the tragedies he remembers and accuses William of causing, is at least as significant as William's.

The author's specialty, art history, is visible in the way Henry is shown as a painter - I loved his story about the design for a tin, when he felt like an artist for the first time.

The very end did not strike me as I thought it would. Maybe I counted on more emotionally moving imagery... But I liked the story and was happy to have read it - it got me thinking of the artists, their view of the world, their attitude and freedom.

Artists who specialize in portraiture are good at details. The twitch of an eye, a shadow, the rapid parade of expressions and moods that cross even the most unremarkable faces --- all these the painter is trained to notice and capture on canvas. Henry Morris MacAlpine has a lifetime of observations to embellish the portrait of the man who was once his greatest influence.

In the 1890s, MacAlpine was a rough young artist from Scotland, struggling to make his way in London and Paris. William Nasmyth --- writer, critic, and arbiter of all that was sophisticated and trendsetting in the London art world --- took a liking to the young painter, attracted by his naiveté and the energy of seeing something for the first time, even if it was through someone else's eyes. He took MacAlpine under his wing and educated him, gave him a grounding in taste and culture, contacts and experience.

Of course, because he was a painter --- and specifically a portrait artist --- MacAlpine saw far more than he was intended to see. He observed how his friend treated women, his family, and other artists. He saw his selfishness and how he relished his power, able to make or break artists with one review or simply through well-timed comments to other influential people. Eventually, he saw enough to make it impossible to continue their relationship and the painter fled England and his own career with no explanation.

Brittany is a good place for ghosts. MacAlpine, living alone in a hut on a stormy island, far away from anything to do with art, is unable to escape the spirits of two women --- one an artist, the other a model --- who both owe their ruin to Nasmyth. Years later, the artist invites his old friend to his remote island to paint his picture and tell him all he knows.

THE PORTRAIT is told in a first-person narrative. Simply, the artist talks to his friend as he paints. It's hard not to want some defense, some reaction, from Nasmyth. How does he answer the charges MacAlpine lays at his door? But that's not in keeping with the book. The artist controls the portrait and the narrative; his account of Nasmyth's face tells us all we need to know.

Best known to American readers as the author of AN INSTANCE OF THE FINGERPOST, Iain Pears has given us his own psychological portrait of art, power, and the remnants of a curdled friendship.

--- Reviewed by Colleen Quinn

Living in a milieu far removed from his intoxicating days as a rising painter gaining increasing esteem for his flattering portraits, Henry MacAlpine has isolated himself in a form of penance...

Perhaps the penance is for the things he did, for his past selfishnessnes, his past surrender to the "Establishment", the easy painting that would please and sell swiftly rather than the more difficult portraitures that strip down, as he puts it, to the skull and even to the soul.

But my sense is that his penance is not really for these things.

It is for what he WILL do...

Iain Pears is a writer of distinction. More than that, although he writes literature that I believe will be enjoyed by readers of wit centuries from now, Pears is also a writer who can tell a rattling good story. His turn of phrase - delicious! I grew to know this Henry MacAlpine as he unburdens himself to his subject, so that MacAlpine was not just painting a portrait of the self-satisfied old friend, the "great" critic William Naysmith, but he is also painting a portrait of himself.

We see it all - his attitude to sexuality, religion, penance, art, men, women, crime, superficiality, everything. We see how he has altered and developed, and how he has remained what he is, for in the flowing change and in the constancy both... that is where the truth and validity of a human being lies. We change. We do not change. That is our lot. Perhaps in this sense, at the mercy of events, we are true to MacAlpine's vision of humanity - ludicrous in the face of the great forces such as a storm. But MacAlpine in all his imperfect self is also revealed by his monologue... and we know we do not take his view as a point of absolute truth (a lovely trick, that. Pears did the same thing in "Instance of the Fingerpost", leaving an unsettling notion that the last narrator was the "real" truth, but careful reading reveals that it is all just... points of view, self-deceptions, however true the narrator attempts to be). Perhaps, then, we are not so ludicrous, and perhaps we transcend the forces of nature.

Iain Pears's palette-rich writing shows such a balance of line and colour in the careful choice of words, phrases, flow of written thoughts. I can almost smell the texture - it is like "reading" a painting. The book glows with colour, the subtle highlights of the artist's brush.

Some reviewers have not taken to the monologue style used in this book - I found it extremely effective, and also such a delicious irony in that the critic, wordy and pompous as he clearly was, has absolutely no say here. He is drawn to MacAlpine's retreat in what seems at first his own choice, but right from the start, I sensed that this was not exactly the case.

Iain Pears leads the reader through an extraordinary thread of narrative that is remembrance through the eyes of one man. We learn of MacAlpine's fascination with the image of death, the futility of man in the grip of forces greater than he is, an image of decaying flesh washed up on the shore. We learn also (but suspect it early on) what MacAlpine considers the real crime that would impel a certain act of murder.

That the denouement is inevitable and foreseen by the reader does not diminish the fascination of this wonderfully dark novel. Pears could have written a different book, a book in which the reader is "fooled" ? la typical thriller plots. But this book is not a thriller. It is a portrait that creates knowledge, and paints ever more deeply to find motivations and reasons and shadings and colourings, not merely the bare facts. Consider this: we know within quite a few pages what is to come. But like Garc?a Marquez's extraordinary "Chronicle of a Death Foretold", it's not WHAT... it's why, how... Give us the details; it's the details we want.

I found this work very satisfying. I did not find the monologue style tedious at all, and as soon as I realised Pears WANTED us to suspect what was coming, I read not to find out the end, but to "read" the brush-strokes.

For those who will approach it in this way, I think that there is a gripping and fascinating reading experience waiting for you.

For those who want a twist in the tail with an unexpected ending, no... This miniature portrait of a book is probably not for you.

Read the book as a revelation of the skull and soul of two men, and perhaps you too will love this book as much as I did.

Mr. Pears's chilly stripped-down revenge thriller unfolds in monologue form and does so splendidly. Its outcome is predetermined from the very beginning, but the telling is delicious, and its tour of the early-20th-century art scene is engrossing.

Iain Pears writes two completely different types of novels, a series of entertaining art mysteries, and the serious, erudite "Instance of the Fingerpost" and "Dream of Scipio." For the first time he's blended the two in "The Portrait," a monologue by an artist in exile from the London art scene who invites his friend and well-known critic William Naysmith to his remote island to have his portrait painted. The entire book is a monologue, the artist McAlpine forcing Naysmith to listen as he paints. Through McAlpine alone, Pears tells the story of the lives of both of these men, from McAlpine's struggles as a young, naive Scotsman trying to escape from the bleak highlands, to Paris and art school in the late 19th century, to London and success for both. We are left to imagine Naysmith's side of the conversation only from McAlpine's comments on the critic's reactions as McAlpine for the first time reveals how much he knows of Naysmith's real life. But as the story unfolds, we're also treated to two insiders' views of the art world at the turn of the century, the effect of the French Impressionists when introduced to London, the emergence of Picasso and Matisse who so quickly eclipsed them. The role of the critic as the true power in the art world is deftly portrayed by Pears in Naysmith, and we soon suspect that Naysmith has done more than just destroy careers with his biting criticism. And McAlpine has been far from an innocent bystander. I didn't anticipate the ending, but was delighted to realize that Pears had deftly set it up without my ever realizing it.

This little novel owes much to "Embers," a novel employing the same monologue device to an encounter between two friends estranged for many years, who come together for a last time over dinner and the revelation of a secret. Pears writes as beautifully as ever, and his story is as riveting as his other two serious novels, although far less grand in scope. The novel is well worth your time; I only wish Pears were more prolific.

The lives of an artist living in exile and a critic are revealed as the critic sits for his portrait. As the portrait progresses the artist narrates, rendering a vivid picture of their sordid past. As the narration unfolds you begin to see where it may lead. Even so the ending still provides a chill worthy of Hitchcock.