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I, Mona Lisa Paperback – October 31, 2006
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Jeanne Kalogridis
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Print length544 pages
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LanguageEnglish
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Publication dateOctober 31, 2006
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Dimensions5.5 x 1.36 x 8.25 inches
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ISBN-100312341393
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ISBN-13978-0312341398
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Review
“From sexual passion to mortal danger, the dramatic shift of real historical events will keep the reader turning the pages.” ―Philippa Gregory, author of The Other Boleyn Girl on The Borgia Bride
“Entertaining.” ―USA Today on The Borgia Bride
“...a dramatic tale from a heady mix of royal power plays and passion.” ―Publishers Weekly on The Borgia Bride
About the Author
Jeanne Kalogridis lives with her partner on the West Coast, where they share a house with two dogs. She is the author of The Borgia Bride, The Scarlet Contessa, The Devil's Queen, and other dark fantasy and historical novels. Born in Florida, Kalogridis has a B.A. in Russian and a master's in linguistics, and taught English as a second language at The American University for eight years before retiring to write full-time.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
My name is Lisa di Antonio Gherardini, though to acquaintances I am known simply as Madonna Lisa, and to those of the common class, Monna Lisa.
My likeness has been recorded on wood, with boiled linseed oil and pigments dug from earth or crushed from semiprecious stones and applied with brushes made from the feathers of birds and the silken fur of animals.
I have seen the painting. It does not look like me. I stare at it and see instead the faces of my mother and father. I listen and hear their voices. I feel their love and their sorrow, and I witness, again and again, the crime that bound them together; the crime that bound them to me.
For my story begins not with my birth but a murder, committed the year before I was born.
It was first revealed to me during an encounter with the astrologer two weeks before my birthday, which was celebrated on the fifteenth of June. My mother announced that I would have my choice of a present. She assumed that I would request a new gown, for nowhere has sartorial ostentation been practiced more avidly than my native Florence. My father was one of the city’s wealthiest wool merchants, and his business connections afforded me my pick of sumptuous silks, brocades, velvets, and furs.
But I did not want a gown. I had recently attended the wedding of my uncle Lauro and his young bride, Giovanna Maria. During the celebration afterward, my grandmother had remarked sourly:
“It cannot last happily. She is a Sagittarius, with Taurus ascendant. Lauro is Aries, the Ram. They will constantly be butting heads.”
“Mother,“ my own had reproached gently.
“If you and Antonio had paid attention to such matters--” My grandmother had broken off at my mother’s sharp glance.
I was intrigued. My parents loved each other, but had never been happy. And I realized that they had never discussed my stars with me.
When I questioned my mother, I discovered that my chart had never been cast. This shocked me: Well-to-do Florentine families often consulted astrologers on important matters, and charts were routinely drawn up for newborns. And I was a rare creature: an only child, the bearer of my family’s hopes.
And as an only child, I was well aware of the power I possessed; I whined and pleaded pitifully until my reluctant mother yielded.
Had I known then what was to follow, I would not have pressed so hard.
Because it was not safe for my mother to venture out, we did not go to the astrologer’s residence, but instead summoned him to our palazzo.
From a window in the corridor near my bedroom, I watched as the astrologer’s gilded carriage, its door painted with his familial crest, arrived in the courtyard behind our house. Two elegantly appointed servants attended him as he stepped down, clad in a farsetto, the close-fitting man’s garment which some wore in place of a tunic. The fabric was a violet velvet quilt, covered by a sleeveless brocade cloak in a darker shade of the same hue. His body was thin and sunken-chested, his posture and movements imperious.
Zalumma, my mother’s slave, moved forward to meet him. Zalumma was a well-dressed lady-in-waiting that day. She was devoted to my mother, whose gentleness inspired loyalty, and who treated her slave like a beloved companion. Zalumma was a Circassian, from the high mountains in the mysterious East; her people were prized for their beauty and Zalumma--tall as a man, with black hair and eyebrows and a face whiter than marble--was no exception. Her tight ringlets were formed not by a hot poker but by God, and were the envy of every Florentine woman. At times, she muttered to herself in her native tongue, which sounded like no language I had ever heard; she called it “Adyghabza.”
Zalumma curtsied, then led the man into the house to meet my mother. She had been nervous that morning, no doubt because the astrologer was the most prestigious in town and had, when the Pope’s forecaster had taken ill, even been consulted by His Holiness. I was to remain out of view; this first encounter was a business matter, and I would be a distraction.
I left my room and stepped lightly to the top of the stairs to see if I could make out what was going on two floors below me. The stone walls were thick, and my mother had shut the door to the reception chamber. I could not even make out muffled voices.
The meeting did not last long. My mother opened the door and called for Zalumma; I heard her quick steps on the marble, then a man’s voice.
I retreated from the stairs and hurried back to the window, with its view of the astrologer’s carriage.
Zalumma escorted him from the house--then, after glancing about, handed him a small object, perhaps a purse. He refused it at first, but Zalumma addressed him earnestly, urgently. After a moment of indecision, he pocketed the object, then climbed into his carriage and was driven away.
I assumed that she had paid him for a reading, though I was surprised that a man with such stature would read for a slave. Or perhaps my mother had simply forgotten to pay him.
As she walked back toward the house, Zalumma happened to glance up and meet my gaze. Flustered at being caught spying, I withdrew.
I expected Zalumma, who enjoyed teasing me about my misdeeds, to mention it later; but she remained altogether silent on the matter.
Copyright © 2006 by Jeanne Kalogridis. All rights reserved.
Product details
- Publisher : St. Martin's Griffin; First edition (October 31, 2006)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 544 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0312341393
- ISBN-13 : 978-0312341398
- Item Weight : 1.14 pounds
- Dimensions : 5.5 x 1.36 x 8.25 inches
-
Best Sellers Rank:
#981,477 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #386 in Renaissance Historical Fiction
- #3,483 in Biographical Historical Fiction
- #25,080 in Contemporary Literature & Fiction
- Customer Reviews:
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Customer reviews
Top reviews from the United States
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I, Mona Lisa opens with the Pazzi conspiracy. You can almost hear the swords clanging together in the great Florentine cathedral, surrounded by priceless Rennaissance art. With this fascinating beginning, we meet the main charactor, Lisa di Antonio Gherardini, the woman depicted in the famous painting Mona Lisa. Little is known about Lisa - in fact, it is only recently that the art history community has committed unequivocably to her identity as the subject of the Mona Lisa. The author uses Lisa's anonymity (aside from the fact that she is subject of the most famous painting in the world) to link her to the Pazzi Conspiracy and the most famous family of Rennaissance Florence: the Medici. Lisa's merchant husband comes across as a slimy boor in this novel - I felt sorry for him post-humously, as we really know nothing about him and the novel truly is a character assassination. I felt uncomfortable with the author's use of a private person, even a long dead one, as a tool to create a story of intrigue about Lisa Gherardini. Aside from this discomfort, the story Kalogridis weaves is fascinating!
Kalogridis creates a very realistic vew of fifteenth century Florence. It is fascinating to "meet" various historical figures and connect those historical figures to a supremely interesting world. Twentieth century political scandals are nothing compared to the political intrigues of the Rennaissance! Between a doomsday professing preist who becomes an iron fisted leader of Florence, the scandalous Pope Alexander VI, murderous power struggles amongst the great families of Florence, fifteenth century teenage angst, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and a fascinating series of cameos by other Rennaissance greats, this novel is a great choice for historical fiction enthusiasts and lovers of thrillers alike!
But somehow it ended up on my TBR stack anyway. And I was surprised that when I picked up "I, Mona Lisa" I wasn't really able to put it down. In spite of the fact that it was written predominately in first person, and yes, was set in Italy (Florence to be specific.)
Lisa is the daughter of a wool merchant who is shocked when soon after the tragic and possibly planned death of her mother she is summoned to meet Lorenzo de' Medici, the elderly ruler of Florence. Though Lorenzo is dying and the meetings, and his overwhelming affection puzzle Lisa, they produce a way for her leave her father's home and his new found religious fervor and devotion to the doomsday preaching monk Savonarola. Giuliano, Lorenzo's youngest son, with whom Lisa falls into a passionate love affair.
But Florence is being threatened on all sides, and the Medici's seem likely to soon loose their hold over their city. And Lisa is prepared and determined to run away from her own home to live with her love-even though it may place her in intense political danger.
When the Medici's do come crumbling down and Lisa learns some astonishing secrets about herself, her mother and an astonishing murder that happened the year before she was born that make her crave revenge. With the help of Leonardo de Vinci (who is determined to paint her) can she help ring the corruption out of Florence and ever live a life of peace and safety with those she loves?
This really was an excellent book. There was mystery, spy stuff, romance (although no explicit sex scenes, unlike "The Borgia Bride") and a very strong female character, who never shrinks to do what it, takes to save her loved ones.
I can't say this falls into the category of the best books I've ever read, but I really did enjoy reading it. My only real complaint is the cover-you can't really see the famous painting that inspired this, and so many other stories.
Five stars.
Top reviews from other countries
Besides, there are many allegations made and the reader doesn't have any way to judge what may be history or what is just a fantasy.
Was there any hint or suspicion that Mona Lisa might have been Leonardo's daughter? That she was a spy for the Medicis? That Giocondo was a leading figure in the anti-Medici faction? These are historical figures, and if there had not been any previous suspicion about them, then a novel is a free ride for anybody. The work becomes historical, if we name it by a person, who certainly existed. The writer could have said something about these issues. She maintains that her work is part history and part fiction. Obviously, the events of everyday life may be fictional, but serious assertions can change the way the reader looks at the history.
After this book Kalogridis wrote The Devil's Queen. That was a better balanced and altogether much better book.
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