The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova
I read lots of books. It’s about time I share some thoughts about them on my blog.
I was lucky enough to get a copy of The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova a few weeks before it pubs (thanks, Little, Brown!). I’ve been meaning to read The Historian forever, but I’ve heard that, while the lush descriptive passages occasionally hinder the narrative, The Historian is a great read.
So, too, is The Swan Thieves. The book opens with a violent attack of a painting by an artist, Robert. Following his arrest he is passed into the care of a psychiatrist, Marlowe, and refuses to speak about the attack—or anything else, in fact. Marlowe tracks down important people from Robert’s past to uncover his motivations, and it is the conversations between these sources and Marlowe that form the bulk of the narrative. Although I found it a little odd that the narrative voice seems to change little despite coming from multiple speakers, it seems to me that this conversational structure, as well as the book’s thematic focus on painting, play to Kostova’s strengths by shifting the focus from plot to description. Her prose is so richly detailed that although there is a mystery unfolding, the slow revelation of the person behind Robert’s silence is the real pleasure of the novel. Her luminous writing never feels like a hindrance because it is precisely what makes the story work.
Interwoven with the main narrative is the story of a female painter in late 19th century France. Initially rendered as letters and then as straight narrative, this story concerns Beatrice de Clerval as she struggles with her art and her feelings for a man who is not her husband. These vignettes, I found, were something of a distraction; lacking the richness of the main narrative and unfolding somewhat predictably, I often wanted to skim them. The end of the novel ties this narrative to Robert’s story in a meaningful way, but I admit I didn’t find it all that compelling. However, Kostova spends considerably less time with this narrative thread than the one concerning Robert, so I wouldn’t say it greatly took away from my enjoyment of the book.
The novel’s conclusion, while satisfying on certain levels, to me left something to be desired. I won’t reveal anything here, but Kostova makes an interesting choice with respect to Robert; on an intellectual or literary level I think it makes an intriguing statement, but as a reader I was a little disappointed. This, along with a couple of strange intrusions of Marlowe’s sexuality, are my main quibbles with what is largely a gorgeous, engrossing book. Deliberate in its leisurely pace, this is a story that explores love, obsession, art, and loss in a voice that makes it difficult to turn away, even as things fall apart.
