Well, I remain conflicted. I didn't love it as much as I thought it would, but that is largely because it wasn't quite what I expected. I thought it might be a charming tale of a spinster wandering around Venice, heartwarming and witty in turn, and perhaps not without a healthy dose of the fey and whimsical (which I am sometimes - nay, often - in the mood for). Well, that's not quite what it was.
It does start off in a similar vein (as you may well know). Julia Garnet's closest friend dies and, lonely and unattached, she decides to go to Venice for six months. Before long she has managed to become entangled with a handsome art dealer named Carlos, a young boy who runs errands for her and whom she unsuccessful tries to teach English, and a young man and woman engaged in restoring a church or something. Incapable of making friends in England, she seems beset with them here.
So far, so charming. But did I mention that Miss Garnet's Angel mirrors the Apocryphal account of Titus? And that that story is also retold in sections between chapters (that, I have to confess, I started skipping)? This is a technique with some literary precedence - Stella Benson did it in the 1930s with Tobit Transplanted, which I've yet to read - but I don't know the original story well enough to notice how close the influence was.
So, why was I not entirely sold? Well, I guess I found the writing and plotting just a bit blah. Here's an excerpt I noted, though I forget why...
The notion which had come to Julia Garnet, as she lay looking at her fingers twisting the fringe of the pearl-white coverlet (which, she had learned, during the course of the Signora Mignelli's care of her, was a survivor of the Signora's once extensive dowry), was that there existed in life two kinds of people: those who tangled with their fate, who took issue with what life brought them, who made, in short, waves, and those who bore heir circumstances, taking life's meaning from what came to them, rather than what they wrested from it.
It seemed to her, lying watching the bars of the sun cross the white walls and making them jump from side to side as she tried the child's experiment of winking alternate eyes, that from her limited knowledge St George, Florence Nightingale and Old Tobit fell into the first class, while Socrates, Jane Austen and Tobias fell into the second. Jesus of Nazareth, she decided after further contemplation, belonged to both categories - and so possibly did Karl Marx.And I suppose there's no reason why Vickers should have created a sweet character in Miss Garnet; I have myself to blame for my expectations. I'd have loved either a sweet character or an amusingly cantankerous one. What we actually got was rather an unpleasant woman, I thought. She thinks, of a friend who visits, 'There were horrible depths of meanness in her character - no wonder she found herself on her own now.' Well, Julia G, you're also on your own now. And how come you absolutely loathe your closest friend, who has made the effort to visit you?
These things I could perhaps have forgiven, but the tone of the novel takes a serious knock on a couple of occasions, where Vickers launches into sexual controversy (including paedophilia) for no obvious reason - and certainly no sense of consistency in the novel.
I'm aware that these may not be popular opinions, particularly given the praise I've heard lavished on Vickers over the years. I didn't hate the novel by any means (if I had, I'd probably have reviewed it far more quickly! I love writing those reviews, when of sacred cows), but I did feel rather disappointed. It simply didn't do very much for me, and left me a tiny bit underwhelmed. It was fine. Which does not a compelling review make, does it?