18 minute read
Re-Imagining New York
Gregory Maguire's Novel, A Wild Winter Swan
Gregory Maguire is best known for his “Return to Oz” series, beginning with the massive 1995 bestseller Wicked, which inspired one of the most popular Broadway musicals of the current millennium. He has become one of the most insightful and consistently entertaining voices in modern fantasy literature, turning out volume after volume of sharp, funny, psychologically complex re-imaginings of childhood classics and fairy tales. He locates stories like the Oz books, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, A Christmas Carol, and The Nutcracker firmly in the historical periods that produced them, peopling them with recognizable humans who respond to their magical situations in both historically and emotionally realistic ways.
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His latest, A Wild Winter Swan, continues and varies this pattern. The fairy tale that gives this historical fantasy its shape is Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Wild Swans.” But rather than modernize Andersen’s characters, he creates a 20th-century protagonist in Laura Ciardi, a dreamy, discontented semi-orphan who lives with her grandparents in a handsome but dilapidated five-story Upper East Side brownstone. Laura’s life is in disarray for a number of reasons, when the sudden arrival of a mysterious, swan-winged boy offers a possible alternative to the oppressive future her elders have mapped out for her.
The link between A Wild Winter Swan’s modern setting and the magical world of Andersen’s story might not seem immediately apparent at first; however, as Maguire explains, “Besides the obvious and wonderful existence of the monument to the author, erected in Central Park six years before my novel takes place, Andersen’s stories seem largely to concern how ostracized people can be made whole through a magic spell and the charms of their own innate virtues. Think ‘The Ugly Duckling.’ Think ‘The Little Mermaid.’ New York City has always been a beacon to those who have not felt safe or beloved where they were born and has called them home to its enchanted streets and avenues. (‘If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.’) Andersen’s homely rural and fantastic tales have every right to be in New York—because everything and everyone can find a place there, too.”
Laura is a character who longs to find her place in that world, but is isolated from her peers by her learning disabilities, and from her family by a constellation of tragedies. Her Italian immigrant guardians are loving but distracted by their struggle to assimilate into upper-middle-class America, seduced (as Maguire suggests the entire era was) by the glamour of American success: “[I]sn’t there some magic in the images of New York from the 1950s and early 1960s? Those images that made it into the romantic movies and the society photo shoots and advertisements for luxury goods? Into the sitcoms of the 50s and early 60s, too. A candy-coated time of trust in American industry, government, and prosperity. I didn’t grow up in New York City, but upstate New York; still, the City supplied us all with a sense of a beating heart for American culture of that time. It was the center of the world.”
The novel is set in December 1962 because, Maguire says, “I wanted to set this story in a time of innocence for the nation, and also to evoke my own relatively trouble-free childhood days. . . . Many, like myself, grew up as protected and therefore ignorant as Laura is.” For Maguire, Laura’s story is both universal and personal: “To a child with six siblings growing up in Albany, New York, as I was, the notion of living as an only child in a brownstone in the Upper East Side of Manhattan would have seemed magic in itself—not unlike Sara Crewe in A Little Princess, whose garret bedroom is secretly turned by her kindly next-door neighbor into a little chamber of cozy delights. But as my own birth mother died in childbirth when I was born, and I spent some of my earliest months in a Catholic orphanage before being reunited with my family, I still feel Laura’s sense of dislocation. . . . Laura is alone, which makes her susceptible to a magic visitor from a fairy tale.”
In the novel, during preparations for an elaborate Christmas dinner at which Laura’s grandfather hopes to secure an investor for his gourmet grocery, a strange young man literally flies into Laura’s window. Her efforts to conceal the interloper, with whom she becomes romantically fascinated, are both hilarious and poignant. At the same time, Laura begins to realize some uncomfortable truths about herself, and also sees her own fantasies come to messy, threatening life: “The storyteller inside her was defeated by the irruption of real story.”1 In spite of these challenges, Laura is a brilliant observer of the adults around her. Unable to write well and uncomfortable with her outsider status, she narrates her own life continuously inside her head, adjusting details to make the events of her day meaningful, exotic, funny, or simply bearable. “She had heard words in her head for such a long time. She would keep trying to tell herself into her own
life.”2
Because he often uses fairy tales as the inspiration for his novels, Maguire’s work represents a wide variety of time periods and cultures, from Renaissance Italy (Mirror, Mirror) to Romantic-era Germany (Hiddensee) to Victorian Oxford (After Alice). His settings are rendered with rich, realistic detail, which brings his fantastical plots to vibrant life. His own research is part scholarship, part experience: “Of all my books, A Wild Winter Swan was the easiest to research as to setting. The only New York sites it references are Fifth Avenue, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, and the house on the invented dead end street, Van Pruyn Place. I did stroll around the genuine sites, which I knew well enough anyway, to remind myself of the relationship between the Andersen statue and the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, say. I circumnavigated Rockefeller Center to study the bas-reliefs for images of flying figures (there are several).”
His research helped him evoke both past and present New York. “In 1960 or 1961, close to the time in which A Wild Winter Swan takes place, my mother took me via the train from upstate to visit New York City for a weekend. We stayed at the Park Sheraton Hotel on Central Park South; ate at an Automat; saw the Bolshoi Ballet and a Rodin exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art and, on Broadway, “The Sound of Music.” It wasn’t at Christmastime but it was magical nonetheless. Times Square at night!—the exhaust on a cold night coming out of a monstrous cigarette-smoking citizen, advertising Camel cigarettes!—the dizzying competition among neon and spotlit advertisements! I had my own memory of urban magic to draw upon for A Wild Winter Swan.”
In particular, the Ciardi house in A Wild Winter Swan is so lovingly described, so full of lived-in detail, that it is essentially another character in the novel. Maguire took special care to bring to life a kind of house unique to Manhattan:
"My main item of concern, though, was to find a street near the East River that featured brownstones such as the one in which I had lodged the Ciardi family. I started about East 52nd Street, roughly, and made a morning of trekking up to the East 80s. I got more and more worried. There has been a great deal of development in the York Avenue area since the 1960s, and for a while I was afraid that I wouldn’t find any brownstones at all on the numbered streets. There were many brick homes, but they weren’t of the vintage and dignity I was imagining. Then (and I forget which street it is) I came upon a street with three or five townhouses on one side, and one or two opposite. It was all I could find. But that they existed at all in that neighborhood gave me a huge sense of relief. They almost seemed proof that my story could take place after all — that it might, on one level or another, even be true. Or come true — all in good time."
His inspiration, however, comes as much from books as from places. He has said of After Alice, “For this book, I went with my middleschool daughter to Oxford two summers in a row, to walk around and look at buildings, light, trees, buskers, graduates, dons and scouts, and other waking nonsense. Of course, C. S. Lewis was inspired by Oxford, and Tolkien wrote there, and Philip Pullman’s magisterial cycle, His Dark Materials, starts and ends there. But Lewis Carroll got there first. I was trying to write under the influence.”3 A Wild Winter Swan’s New York has its own literary influences, Maguire notes: “[T]wo books from the 60s — books I read when I was young. . . . One was Jean Merrill’s The Pushcart War, published in 1964, which dealt with more humble members of New York society but drew a fresh and full picture for me. The other was Harriet the Spy, by Louise Fitzhugh, also appearing in 1964. Harriet lives in the same neighborhood as A Wild Winter Swan, and I like to think that Laura Ciardi in my book might be passing Harriet M. Welsch on the sidewalks of East End Avenue.”
I agree that anyone who loved Harriet should definitely get to know Laura! Maguire’s readers will appreciate her dry humor, her openhearted fascination with the alien physicality of the swan boy, and her willingness to face discomforting truths. As in all his novels, the magic and wonder of fairy tales and fantasy appears in sharp relief when juxtaposed with the rich reality of his settings and characters. A Wild Winter Swan combines the best of fantasy, historical, and coming-of-age novels into a completely original story with an unforgettable protagonist.
REFERENCES
1. Gregory Maguire
A Wild Winter Swan, p. 79.
2. Gregory Maguire
A Wild Winter Swan, p. 191.
3. Lev Grossman
“Novelist Lev Grossman Asks Gregory Maguire about After Alice,” Omnivoracious, October 26, 2015. https://www. amazonbookreview.com/post/9fe367f4-5aeb-4fd8-ac7d22078419dcd1/lev-grossman-asks-gregory-maguire-about-afteralice
WRITTEN BY KRISTEN MCDERMOTT
Kristen McDermott is a Professor of English at Central Michigan University and a regular book reviewer for Historical Novels Review.
IMMORTAL IN MUSIC & LOVE
BY LUCINDA BYATT
Duchen’s Compelling Epistolary Novel, Immortal
In this 250th anniversary year, Beethoven’s music would have been celebrated in concert halls around the world had “events” not forced performances online. Jessica Duchen’s timely novel reconstructs Ludwig van Beethoven’s life after 1799, roughly the period of his friendship with the Brunsvik sisters, Josephine and her sister Therese (Tesi). Indeed, both sisters’ names were later coupled with the letter found after the composer’s death, which was addressed simply to “My Immortal Beloved”. Duchen has written about musicians and music history before, describing it as “a gold mine of fantastic stories”. Ghost Variations (2016) was about the discovery of the Schumann Violin Concerto in the 1930s, “an era which has innumerable resonances for the present day”. The cast of her new novel Immortal consists almost entirely of historical figures, starting with Tesi herself whose unique voice provides the narrative in a series of letters addressed simply to “My dear niece” – and echoing the famous letter, this choice of an epistolary structure and the mysterious identity of the niece (for most of the book) are particularly apt.
Novelists usually approach historical characters with caution, but “Sometimes disadvantages and advantages turn out to be the same thing in different guises”, Duchen says. “For instance, the main drawback is that you must try to be true to reality – yet this reality is always filtered through written descriptions, which are likely to be subjective to some degree. And that’s also the main advantage. Through fiction, we can explore elements in these personalities that relate to us today and perhaps cast fresh light on them.”
Certainly Duchen’s depiction of Countess Therese Brunsvik von Korompa is a fascinating one. “She was a ferociously independent woman, a feminist decades ahead of her time and an educational pioneer who founded the first kindergartens in central Europe. Tesi is therefore someone a reader of today would relate to, an observer with a sharp, objective eye, and also someone who made a lasting and not always positive impact on the turn of events. She was mistaken for the Immortal Beloved herself for a while – partly because the family may have tried to cover up what could have become a massive scandal.”
When I asked about the long-standing debate about the Immortal Beloved and Duchen’s decision to use Tesi as an unreliable narrator, Duchen said she found it “extraordinary that here is perhaps the most famous composer in existence, yet there’s so much we still don’t know about him. The existing material on the Immortal Beloved was long beset by virulent academic enmities, lack of wide availability, ingrained cultural reverence to what seemed sometimes irrational thinking, and much more.” Duchen acknowledges that “there’s an acknowledged 90 per cent likelihood that Josephine Deym [Brunsvik] was the Immortal Beloved, according to the Beethoven-Haus in Bonn, the world centre for Beethoven research. Still, the evidence remains purely circumstantial and it cannot be wholly proven unless someone exhumes Beethoven and [Josephine’s daughter] Minona for a DNA test, which seems unlikely. Alternative possibilities have been explored by other writers and scholars (and the unlikely outcome of the movie ‘Immortal Beloved’ still confuses people!). But for fiction, one doesn’t need to assert everything is true, just that it is one possible scenario; approaching it as a first-person narrative from someone who may not be entirely “reliable” can present the story complete with its ten per cent of doubt.”
Duchen is a music journalist, a librettist and a pianist: “I certainly know about practising the piano and can empathise with Josephine and Therese’s all-consuming passion for music. I hope this has helped to bring them reasonably well to life, as well as informing the advice they receive from Beethoven.” She uses this intimate knowledge of Beethoven’s music to give a rounded portrayal of the renowned composer, known to Tesi and her sister Josephine as “Luigi”. Duchen’s Beethoven is intensely real and this passionate love story is a compelling read: covering the period of the French revolution through to the Napoleonic wars and their impact on Viennese society, it unfurls against a richly detailed and turbulent backdrop. Moreover, through Tesi’s letters, we are given an insight into the lives of women like the Brunsviks, across three generations, and the men to whom their lives were bound whether through blood, marriage or passion. The flamboyance (and sometimes penury) of aristocratic life is portrayed not only in Vienna but in other settings, among others the Brunsvik family castle, Martonvásár, Budapest and Prague. Duchen “focused on women’s lives because I’m convinced we cannot divorce the study of one person’s life and work from their world. Everything – including the creation of music – is affected by society, war, politics, economics, global conditions and more.” Societal attitudes, too, are important: “They drove the pair apart, destroying Josephine and leading Beethoven into behaviour – notably his obsession over adopting his nephew – that hastened his death. Ultimately this story demonstrates that when one part of humanity is oppressed, everybody loses. We are all connected. This topic remains just as relevant today.”
I asked Duchen about Beethoven’s works for piano in particular, several of which are linked to the Brunsviks: “I adore the lot... I’m currently learning the ‘Waldstein’, Op. 53. It’s challenging to play, but it’s music that makes one feel better about life and the more energy you put into it, the more it gives back to you. I’ve learned Op. 31 No. 3 this year too (one advantage of lockdown was time for piano practice!). Nevertheless, my ultimate favourite is the ‘Hammerklavier’, Op. 106, which leaves me awestruck on every hearing.”
Duchen’s decision to use Unbound, a crowdfunding publisher is “an updating for the digital age of a method known to many 19thcentury writers and composers. Beethoven’s Op. 1 Piano Trios are one example and the Brunsvik sisters were among its subscribers. Later Beethoven effectively crowdfunded his Missa Solemnis: he persuaded ten patrons to invest in it and promised each a signed copy of the manuscript as what we’d call a ‘reward’.” She also emphasises the support: “you’re building a community of enthusiasts around your book. Knowing that people are rooting for you and looking forward to the novel can spur you on. I’ve made some wonderful friends. Writing, famously, can be a lonely business. This way, you feel less isolated.”
Immortal is published by Unbound (2020). jessicaduchen.co.uk
Lucinda Byatt is Features Editor of HNR.
AN UNDERGROUND THREAT
BY KATIE STINE Robards' Dramatic Use of Subplot in The Black Swan of Paris
There is no lack of action in a novel set during Nazi-occupied Paris. Karen Robards’ new novel, The Black Swan of Paris, has ample swashbuckling and high stakes musical entertainment. But underneath all of the glitz and seat-edge sitting, there is a soft, dark, quiet subplot that gives this historical thriller depth.
At a technical level, the subplot is difficult to master. It cannot detract or be confused with the main plot (a Nazi darling entertainer who is actually working for the French Resistance!), but it must also have a reason to be there. The resolution of the subplot must tie into the main narrative arc in order to serve the story, but it also must aid and bolster the existing characters and setting. In the best cases, the subplot is not only a contrasting texture in the fabric of the story, but also works metaphorical magic to extend the ideas presented in the main story.
The Black Swan of Paris explores themes of motherhood, defiance, self-reliance, and betrayal. The main action is a swift ride with heart-pounding action, and thus the contrasting subplot is about mushrooms. Because what better contrast is there to the French Resistance in Nazi-occupied Paris than the sleepy cultivation of mushrooms in rural France? “While researching The Black Swan of Paris,” Karen Robards says, “I came across Les Caves des Roches, or the mushroom caves of Northern France and the Loire Valley. During World War II, the Germans conscripted many of these caves to store deadly V-1 flying bombs. But a few remained in private hands, and their owners or those who had access to them used them for many things, including actually growing mushrooms, which were desperately needed in a time of such severe food shortages.”
The story revolves around an entertainer, Genevieve, with a secret past that she shares with no one. She suspects that her manager is using her to aid the French Resistance, but she has no proof. When she discovers she is correct, and that her estranged parents are involved in the Resistance, her world changes, and she must reexamine her past in order to make sense of her commitment to rid France of the Nazi occupation.
“My heroine, Genevieve, the titular Black Swan,” Robards tells me, “grew up in the Loire Valley at the magnificent Chateau Rocheford. At the time the story opens, Genevieve has been estranged for many years from her mother, Baroness Lillian de Rocheford and her sister, Emmy Granville. I wanted to deepen Lillian’s character while at the same time provide an interest that Lillian and Genevieve shared and that Emmy, the favorite daughter, wanted no part of. I also needed both Genevieve and Lillian to have intimate knowledge of the dangerous marshes in that area.”
When Genevieve returns to her ancestral home, Nazis have occupied the chateau, so she hides from the soldiers, ducking into her mother Lillian’s mushroom cave. This gives the opportunity to explore the family dynamic when Genevieve was younger, as well as allowing Genevieve to meet the remnants of the local Resistance cell, pushing the main plot forward. At first, this is the deceptive feint of a quality subplot. By visiting the cave, Genevieve remembers the closeness of her family, needling the feelings of betrayal that urged her to sever ties long before the Nazis came onto the world stage. Yet it also provides a supporting opportunity to move the main plot forward— Genevieve meets the Resistance fighters there. The subplot never detracts from the main narrative arc, and in fact, propels it.
Soon, Genevieve finds her estranged sister, and they begin to talk of their parents and their past. More backstory unfolds and the mushrooms are obliquely mentioned once again, this time in a more threatening manner. Not all mushrooms are meant to be consumed by humans. Quietly, the mushrooms let the rest of the explosive main plot unfold, lurking in the background.
This mushroom subplot works on multiple levels. It provides a space to explore backstory, which is notoriously difficult to fit in without the expository dump. It also provides the depth of supporting characters. As Robards notes, “Keeping in mind that each character is the hero or heroine of his or her own story and that subplots exist to serve the main plot…I wanted Lillian to have agency, to have a way to protect her family and contribute to the Resistance that did not depend on her husband or daughters and was uniquely hers. The mushrooms and the mushroom cave filled the bill on all counts, while adding richness and color to the story.”
In a more subtle manner, the mushroom subplot gives contrasting texture. The description of the cave is dark, quiet, and pungent— the exact opposite of Genevieve’s experience as an entertainer. Her
