Such stuff as dreams are made on

I rarely read books recommended to me, for the same reasons that others seldom care for the books I recommend to them.  But a short time ago, a friend -- who had never before suggested a book to me  -- enthusiastically recommended Sarah Winman's Still Life.  I downloaded it, and then forgot about it until I serendipitously confronted a combination of a bad cold and an extracted tooth.  

I needed something not too heavy to read.  Not too heavy, but not simple-minded either.  I gave Still Life a try.

My decision to accept her suggestion wasn't totally blind.  I knew Still Life took place in England and Italy between the last years of World War II and 1979.  I knew it was in part an enraptured tribute to Florence -- one of my favorite cities.   

What I wasn't expecting was a Dickensian novel, set in the less distant past.  The novel presents a rich variety of characters -- rich enough to be confusing at first -- each well fleshed out.  The point of view changes from chapter to chapter, and even within each chapter.  The two central characters, perhaps -- but this could be disputed -- are Ulysses and Evelyn.  Ulysses is introduced in 1944 as a British army private, who is the aide and driver for Captain Darnley.  Ulysses is a friendly, likable boy from east London.  Darnley is a well-educated young British officer with a love of art.  The unlikely pair (unlikely because of their ranks) become friends, and spend much of their time sightseeing, even as the war rages about them.  

The second central character is an unmarried woman from Kent, in her mid-60s, also intensely interested in art, who is in Italy to help salvage the nation's heritage of art. .  She runs into Ulysses and Darnley near Orvieto, midway between Florence and Rome, and the three Brits enjoy each other's company. 

The dialogue by both Captain Darnley and Evelyn does tend a bit to the didactic -- offering detailed, erudite lessons in art history (and history in general) not only to Ulysses, but also to us, the readers. Didactic and conversationally unrealistic, perhaps, but entertaining as well.

Most importantly, for the novel's plot, Ulysses laps it up and proves essentially a sponge, absorbing not only knowledge of Italian art from his two companions, but a sense that this world of thought and knowledge is the life into which he should have been born -- rather than into the working class world of Whitechapel.

From this beginning, the novel blossoms forth, adding new acquaintances, or introducing old acquaintances, one by one.  The scene changes back and forth between the depressing -- but unexpectedly diverse and interesting -- lives of the habitués of a pub in London, and the lives of those dwelling in a square near Florence's Santo Spirito basilica, not far from the Arno river on the Oltrarno side.   

We watch the lives of the characters unfold over a period of 35 years, as they grow, age, and occasionally die, to be replaced by new births.  The story feels somewhat bittersweet, but ultimately more upbeat than you might expect.  People separate, go their separate ways, and reunite.  And as bodies age, minds and hearts grow.  Ulysses draws uncomfortably close to stagnation, having returned to London after the war, but events eventually call him back to Florence -- joined by his closest friends.

If London represents stasis and small-mindedness, Florence represents growth, an embracing of life and an openness to new ideas and new kinds of people.  

Yeah, it's a feel-good story, but a welcome tonic for recovery from a bad cold and a sore tooth.

The novel also has touches of magical realism.  There is Claude, the Amazonian parrot who not only talks, but seemingly understands, and offers both commentary and sage advice to whomever will listen, throughout the novel.

Claude opened his eyes.  Peg, he said quietly.  What is it, sweetie?  And she leaned in close to him.  What is it?  (Her ear now at his beak.)  What?

Don't marry Ted.

There are at least two trees, one in London and one in Florence, who pass on the wisdom accrued from their centuries of life to favored human friends. 

And there is the rather surprising realization, obviously a reflection of the author's interests, that the female characters are, with one major exception, lesbians, whose loves and friendships drive much of the action, and that many of the male characters -- whose love lives are treated with perhaps less gusto than those of the women -- are gay (but not Ulysses himself).  It's all statistically unlikely, but we accept the plot and characters without question -- until we think about it later.

The opening scenes of Florence, where Evelyn is introduced to us while she is staying at a small, rather rebarbative pensione,  project the same golden aura over Florence, even in wartime, as did similar scenes in E. M. Forster's novel, A Room with a View.  Not surprising, as we later learn that Evelyn had met Forster in Florence, when they were both very young, where she had encouraged him to break away from his domineering mother and to think and act for himself.

The final chapter of the book ends the otherwise chronological progression, and goes back to 1901, when Evelyn as a young girl first stepped off the train in Florence.  The chapter describes Evelyn's early life and first love -- with one of the maids at her pensione.  An interesting chapter, but it feels like a bit of an afterthought.  I felt it could have been omitted, or parts of it integrated into the chronological narrative.

And now?  I'm ready for another visit to Florence.  You will be, too.