ALLURE OF THE ARTIST Susanne Dunlap Explores the Fascination with Creative Artists in Historical Fiction
and serious plays all the time and the house was filled with books. Everyone we knew was in or wanted to be in the arts. It never occurred to me to not be in the arts, first as an actress, then an opera singer and balladeer, then a novelist.” Beyond her own personal connection to art and music, Cowell says, "I find writing about artists of all kinds to be fascinating: it is always the individual struggling to say what is precious to her or him to the world. And we write of course of the particular world each artist had to contend with, which shows us history. It gives me courage that once Monet sold so few paintings that he and his wife went hungry. It shows me the great works we take for granted (Hamlet, the water lily paintings, Beethoven’s 9th Symphony) involved a lot of struggle and uncertainty, just as we endure today whatever our field.” Also mining her personal history for interest in writing about musicians or artists is Rita Charbonnier, author of Mozart’s Sister (Crown, 2007). “I studied music, singing and acting, I played in theatre and sometimes I still do, so it was quite natural for me to deal with art and artists in writing as well. The ‘psychological type’ of the artist is very familiar to me, because it is my psychological type… and also because most of the people I hang out with are creative people.” It fits that many authors have creative backgrounds in other fields. The same part of the brain, the same inclinations apply to making art of all kinds: engaging the imagination, being able to enter into someone else’s mind to bring a musical composition to life, for instance, or to have the vision to bring forth a beautiful image from paint and blank canvas. That same ability helps writers dig into the psyche of historical figures to add flesh and blood and emotions and reveal a truth that goes beyond the history books.
They’re not the political movers and shakers, or witnesses to the biggest moments of history, or even necessarily household names. Yet something about artists of all kinds, about their unique lens on their times, inspires historical novelists to examine their lives and milieus and to get at their underlying truth. Sometimes these are famous figures—a few books about Beethoven have come out this year already, for instance. At other times, novelists seek out the unsung, or the forces in the background that made the lives of famous artists possible. Of course, these two roles are more likely to be filled by women—a perennially popular focus for historical novelists. To get a glimpse of the why behind the fascination with creative artists in historical fiction, I asked a few of my fellow historical novelists to share their reasons for focusing on artists, musicians, actors, and writers. Often, the author’s personal background played a role in their choice of subject. That was certainly true for Stephanie Cowell, author of Marrying Mozart (Viking, 2004) —about the Weber sisters and their relationship with Mozart; and Claude and Camille (Crown, 2010)— about Claude Monet and his first wife, Camille Doncieux. “ I grew up with parents who felt the arts and artists were the center of the world. They were both visual artists. We went to museums
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FEATURES | Issue 95, February 2021
But not all authors who turn to historical artists and musicians for inspiration necessarily have that background. Something else draws them to these individuals. Quite often, it’s part and parcel of illuminating the forgotten women of history. Just as women populate the unseen underpinnings that make up the richer historical tapestry of wars and political battles, so are they frequently vital in a great male artist’s or musician’s achievements. Sometimes the limitations imposed on female artists by institutions controlled by men have limited their opportunities and output, and consigned them to the shadows of history. That’s a tempting mine of rich subject matter. As Barbara Quick, author of Vivaldi’s Virgins (Harper, 2007) notes, “I was drawn to the Ospedale della Pietà, the famous foundling home in Venice [where Vivaldi taught], as a setting for a novel before I really understood the emotional hook for me—really, I don’t think I fully understood it until I had finished writing the novel. One can feel like an orphan without being an orphan. One can feel like a musician without ever mastering anything more than a fountain pen. Vivaldi’s music gave me the doorway into his soul. It wasn’t at all a stretch for me to understand the loneliness and yearning of [his best student] Anna Maria dal Violin.”
