Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Book Review: Stealing Heaven, by Marion Meade
I can be an odd, contrary sort about reading fiction set in time periods I'm particularly fond of. It's not that I'm a rabid nitpicker - my memory is so abysmal that I'm not likely to catch small errors, so if something bugs me, it's probably something major. But for some reason, I rarely become captivated by books set, for example, in the Imperial Roman time period, or in the Middle Ages. (Books set in the Italian Renaissance seem to escape this curse for some reason, although that may be my love for the time trumping anything else.) So when my friend Persia loaned me her copy of Stealing Heaven, a novelization of Abelard and Heloise, I let it sit on a shelf for a while, because I never worked up the desire to read it. But, driven by desperation, I picked up the book on the way out the door yesterday, because work right now consists of babysitting a photographer working in our period rooms, and there's a lot of down time involved while he moves lights and takes multiple shots. I had it finished by the end of the day, which is testimony enough to its power to hold my interest. The book is written capably enough, with only a few jarring intrusions (somebody gets called a "dirty potato," or something like that) but with a smooth and readable style. The story, however, is majorly lopsided. Heloise is the viewpoint character. Her feelings, emotions, actions, and movements are all explained carefully. But we get so little sense of Abelard's character, that despite his description as the lynchpin around which Heloise's life revolves, he almost fades into MacGuffin territory. Heloise's life changes, she moves hither and yon, enters, leaves, re-enters convents, primarily because of her relationship with Abelard, but everything we see of him is so heavily filtered through her eyes that his character falls flat. Another problem with the book is a vast reliance on telling, instead of showing. Heloise, fresh from the convent, is almost instantly hailed in Paris as the "very wise Heloise," and yet we never show her actually doing much with her brain. As the book starts, she is shown to be a highly educated woman, but the only way we know this is because the author tells us so explicitly. I'm not sure if it's a failing of the author or the purpose of the book, but I have very little sense of Heloise as someone composed of both brain and heart. It can be done: Harriet Vane (Sayers) and Mendoza (Kage Baker) are both involved with men who love them for their minds as well as their bodies. But it's Heloise's body that is dwelt on, her sexual energy and passion and rebellion that is the focus of the story. Her intellect is continually referenced, but never demonstrated, except in a brief discussion on Boetheus which is overshadowed by her twitterpating. It seems to me to be missing the point of structuring a novel around a person like Heloise. Again, it's a good book, and an entertaining read. But for me, it's not a book I feel like rereading to extract more morsels out of. I am, however, looking into a biography of Abelard and a volume of their letters. 8:20 p.m. - 2005-06-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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