Quick (Northern Edge) takes readers into the cloistered world of the Ospedale della Pietà, a convent orphanage and music school. Narrator Anna Maria dal Violin, an actual violin prodigy and 18th-century resident of the Venetian Pietà, is among the orphanage girls who studies under maestro (and priest) Antonio Vivaldi. Anna Maria's strong spirit shines throughout, whether stealing into the Jewish ghetto to learn about her parents, struggling to master Vivaldi's grueling violin passages or doing penance for her independent nature. Quick creates a hauntingly authentic setting rife with cruel punishments and brief moments of grand rewards. Anna Maria's quest to discover her identity is the centerpiece, though readers may find it less intriguing than the other story lines (among them Vivaldi's relationship with renowned young singer Anna Girò). It's a noble effort that misses a few high notes. (July)Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Vivaldi's Virginsby Barbara Quick
"QUICK'S DESCRIPTIONS...SOAR OFF THE PAGE EVOKING VIVALDI'S OWN COMPOSITIONS."�SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
Abandoned as an infant, fourteen-year-old Anna Maria Dal Violin is one of the elite musicians living in the foundling home where the "Red Priest," Antonio Vivaldi, is maestro and composer. Fiercely determined to find out where she came from, Anna/p>/i>… See more details below
"QUICK'S DESCRIPTIONS...SOAR OFF THE PAGE EVOKING VIVALDI'S OWN COMPOSITIONS."�SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
Abandoned as an infant, fourteen-year-old Anna Maria Dal Violin is one of the elite musicians living in the foundling home where the "Red Priest," Antonio Vivaldi, is maestro and composer. Fiercely determined to find out where she came from, Anna Maria embarks on a journey of self-discovery that carries her into a wondrous and haunting world of music and spectacle, bringing eighteenth-century Venice magically to life.
"Quick gives us a vivid sense of both the pleasures and the frustrations of living within [the] cloistered world...of Venice....An accomplished novel."�Chicago Tribune
"Anna Maria's strong spirit shines throughout....Quick creates a hauntingly authentic setting rife with cruel punishments and brief moments of grand rewards."�Publishers Weekly
"An affecting tale...a diverting and entertaining read."�Philadelphia Inquirer
"Quick has chosen a fascinating backdrop. Her novel shimmers with details about music and Venice in the early 1700s, as well as life within the Piet�...A good read."�Booklist
In Venice's crumbling waterways, the Ospedale della Pietà is a foundling orphanage that takes in all children, be they from noble families or homeless. In 1709, Anna Maria dal Violin is the star of the coro,the Pietà's musical ensemble of voices and musicians, which is the jewel of Venice. Her violin master is none other than "Red Priest" Antonio Vivaldi. And while Anna plays with the skill and emotion that makes her a star, her willful independence keeps her status low within the walls of the orphanage as she tries to balance finding the truth, becoming a woman, and being allowed to play the music so much a part of her soul. Quick, who has written for newspapers like the New York Timesand the San Francisco Chronicle, finely details the different aspects and classes of Venetian society, especially delving into the lives of the women of the Pietà. The rich tapestry of Venice unfolds before us so that we can take in all the decadence and excitement of La Serenissima in its last great era. Recommended for all fiction collections. [See Prepub Alert, LJ3/15/07.]
Anna M. Nelson
The 18th-century world of Venice and famed composer Antonio Vivaldi come to life in this novel. The story depicts the imagined life of the real Anna Maria dal Violin, an orphan at the Ospedale della Pietà who was his renowned pupil. Through Anna Maria's eyes, Quick introduces readers to the dazzling world of Venetian society, but she does not flinch from portraying the darker side of a city in decline. Anna Maria experiences a life of ambiguity. As an orphan living a cloistered and regimented existence, she wants desperately to uncover the mystery of her mother's true identity. As she blossoms into a young woman and an amazing talent, her private pain drives her to risk all in order to discover who she really is and where she came from. Like Tracy Chevalier's Girl with a Pearl Earring (HarperCollins, 1999), this book has great appeal, especially for teenage girls; it also offers much to those readers interested in the composer and his influence on Venetian society in the early 1700s.
Catherine GilbrideCopyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
- HarperCollins Publishers
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Meet the Author
Writer and poet Barbara Quick is the author of the novels Vivaldi's Virgins and Northern Edge, winner of the Discover Prize. A Golden Web is her first book for teen readers. An avid traveler and student of other languages, she has run an international boardinghouse; written everything from self-help books to humor columns to grant requests for disadvantaged children; and done whatever jobs she needed to do from landscape gardening to catering to editing to allow her to continue writing. She lives with her teenage son, Julian, in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she takes frequent classes and occasionally performs with a Brazilian dance troupe.
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Read an Excerpt
Anno Domini 1709
Since I was first taught to dip a quill and pen my ABCs, I have imagined writing to you. I have written many such letters in my mind, and you have read them. They made you weep. With the power of exquisite music exquisitely performed, they called you back to this place to claim me.
Have I ever been in your thoughts, as you have been in mine? Would my eyes remind you of the infant I was when last you saw me?
When I happen on my reflection in a dark window, I am sometimes startled to see a young woman's face looking back at me. How much more surprised would you be to see the transformation wrought by Time?
Here, within these stone walls where you left me, I have grown like those plants that are cultivated indoors, with shallow roots and always turning toward whatever sunshine can be stolen from the day outside.
I have heard that children often resemble their parents. I have looked at my long-fingered hands and wondered, are they like your hands? Is my profile like yours? Do you have fair hair that seems not to belong with your dark eyes? Is there also a hunger inside them?
Until this morning, I had no hope that any letter of mine could ever reach you—nor any assurance beyond the promptings of my own imagination that you even lived.
Today all of that has changed.
Who you are, where you are—both are as much matters of darkness to me as before. But I pray to the Holy Virgin, even though I have never seen her. I play my violin for God, even though I cannot know if He has ever listened. Whycan I not then write to you? Sister Laura has never, as far as I know, lied to me before. And today Sister Laura told me to write to you.
But I must explain.
On this one day a year, the figlie di coro—the daughters of the choir, as both the singers and instrumentalists are called—are allowed to visit whatever blood relations on the outside are willing to welcome them. Girls look forward to it, plan for it, dream about it, and then spend the rest of the year hoarding every detail of it, like squirrels with their treasure of nuts, until the next year's visit comes around.
Last year on this day, while servants beat rugs and shook out draperies, I sat beneath the arch of my favorite window, near the rooms occupied by the privilegiate of the coro. The window affords a splendid view, through the iron grating, of all the life that moves upon the water below. I sat on the little bench there, in the silvery storm of dust that danced in the light, my arms wrapped around my violin. I heard and then watched Maestro Vivaldi climb the stairs.
He has been my teacher—and one of the very few men who has ever seen my face or spoken to me—for nearly half my lifetime. I was only a girl of eight when, newly ordained as a priest, Antonio Vivaldi, native son of Venezia, was hired by the governors of the Pietà to be our master of the violin.
I can remember the day when Sister Laura brought me before him. Don Antonio sat in the sacristy unwigged, his hair as red as the branding irons they would use to mark the infants when they were left here—just like the one that marks me on my foot, a small, ornate letter P to designate a foundling enrolled at the Pietà.
"What's this?" Don Antonio asked. Looking up from the papers and quills that lay in disorder on his writing desk, he protested that he was hired to teach the advanced students, not the piccoli.
Sister Laura pushed me forward, even though, with all my heart, I longed to turn away and run. The color of his hair frightened me—it put me in mind of the flames of Hell. And the impatience in his voice bespoke a man who had no love of children.
But Sister Laura urged him to hear me play.
When I was done, he took the instrument from me and examined my hands, turning them over in his. He tipped my face up so that he could peer into my eyes, and it was then that I could see the happiness my playing had given him. He asked me my name.
"They call me Anna Maria dal Violin," I told him.
Sister Laura explained to Don Vivaldi that none of the foundlings is allowed to know her surname, if she has one. Many of the babies brought to the Pietà are sent out to the country after they are enrolled, to be nursed and raised by a foster mother until they return, at the age of ten, to complete their education. But I was one of those suckled by a wet nurse here (we still had wet nurses, nenne, then, who lived on the premises). My musical training was begun as soon as I was able to hold a violin.
I hoped she'd explain further, for my benefit as well as his. But she only stood there beside me, with one of her hands resting on my shoulder. That hand was trembling. Sister Laura was my teacher until Maestro Vivaldi came to the Pietà.
"Anna Maria dal Violin," said this red-headed priest. "You will be one of our fourteen iniziate, an apprentice musician in the coro. Work hard!" He turned back to his papers then, dismissing us with a wave of his hand.
I felt myself fill with happiness like the water that fills the empty bucket when it is dropped into the well. Sister Laura told me that she had never heard of an eight-year-old being made an iniziata. It would mean classes and rehearsals with the girls and women of the coro, under the direction of Maestro Vivaldi.Vivaldi's Virgins
A Novel. Copyright � by Barbara Quick. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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