Grace Notes
One thing that Bernard MacLaverty got right about the creative life - which oddly enough other novels about artists by artists haven't, is the never-not-working-ness of art (also true about science). The constant engagement in the discipline, whether at the forefront of one's awareness and absorbing all one's attention, or while thinking of something entirely different, until some stimulus brings it to the fore. His composer protagonist is constantly becoming aware aware of rhythm, sound, silence and breathing, the elements of her music. Things bring back to her the words of her teachers. Far too many novels about artists miss that sense of the constant presence of the work; it gets tidied away into the office or the studio and out of the novel's consciousness, and the novel is completely bound up with - usually - relationships (sometimes politics), and the works of art are portrayed as arising from a completely autobiographical or self-expressive impulse, with no sense of the constant musing, drafting, sketching and working out required, or, for that matter, the influences. But dearie me, I'd like to read a novel about a modern creative woman that does not feature unplanned motherhood/spousal abuse/depression, any or all of the above. Misery and muddle seem to be obligatory to demonstrate sensitivity.
posted by Anonymous at 20:51   comment? e-mail lynda@okalrel.org 0 comments