Music and Silence [ペーパーバック]

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.

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.

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.