“This book is a glorious performance . . . Enveloping, seductive.” —Karen Russell A National Bestseller, the mesmerizing story of one woman’s rise from circus rider to courtesan to world-renowned diva—"a brilliant performance" (Washington Post).
|Publisher:||Houghton Mifflin Harcourt|
|Product dimensions:||6.10(w) x 9.10(h) x 2.00(d)|
About the Author
Alexander Chee is the author of the novels The Queen of the Night and Edinburgh and the acclaimed essay collection How to Write An Autobiographical Novel. He is a contributing editor at the New Republic, an editor-at-large at Virginia Quarterly Review, and a critic-at-large at the Los Angeles Times. His work has appeared in The Best American Essays 2016, the New York Times Magazine, Slate, Guernica, and Tin House, among others. He is an associate professor of English at Dartmouth College.
Lisa Flanagan is a classically trained soprano, comedian, voiceover artist, and Earphones Award-winning narrator.
Read an Excerpt
One When it began, it began as an opera would begin, in a palace, at a ball, in an encounter with a stranger who, you discover, has your fate in his hands. He is perhaps a demon or a god in disguise, offering you a chance at either the fulfillment of a dream or a trap for the soul. A comic elementthe soprano arrives in the wrong dressand it decides her fate. The year was 1882. The palace was the Luxembourg Palace; the ball, the Sénat Bal, held at the beginning of autumn. It was still warm, and so the garden was used as well. I was the soprano. I was Lilliet Berne. The dress was a Worth creation of pink taffeta and gold silk, three pink flounces that belled out from a bodice embroidered in a pattern of gold wings. A net of gold-ribbon bows covered the skirt and held the flounces up at the hem. The fichu seemed to clasp me from behind as if alivehow had I not noticed? At home it had not seemed so garish. I nearly tore it off and threw it to the floor. I’d paid little attention as I’d dressed that evening, unusual for me, and so I now paused as I entered, for the mirror at the entrance showed to me a woman I knew well, but in a hideous dress. As if it had changed as I’d sat in the carriage, transforming from what I had thought I’d put on into this. In the light of my apartment I had thought the pink was darker; the gold more bronze; the bows smaller, softer; the effect more Italian. It was not, though, and here in the ancient mirrors of the Luxembourg Palace, under the blazing chandeliers, I saw the truth. There were a few of us who had our own dressmaker’s forms at Worth’s for fitting us when we were not in Paris, and I was one, but perhaps he had forgotten me, confused me with someone else or her daughter. It would have been a very beautiful dress, say, for a very young girl from the Loire. Golden hair and rosy cheeks, pink lipped and fair. Come to Paris and I will get you a dress, her Parisian uncle might have said. And then we will go to a ball. It was that sort of dress. Everything not of the dress was correct. The woman in the mirror was youthful but not a girl, dark hair parted and combed close to the head, figure good, posture straight, and waist slim. My skin had become very pale during the Siege of Paris some years before and never changed back, but this had become chic somehow, and I always tried to be grateful for it. My carriage had already driven off to wait for me, the next guests arriving. If I called for my driver, the wait to leave would be as long as the wait to arrive, perhaps longer, and I would be there at the entrance, compelled to greet everyone arriving, which would be an agony. A footman by the door saw my hesitation at the mirror and tilted his head toward me, as if to ask after my trouble. I decided the better, quicker escape for now was to enter and hide in the garden until I could leave, and so I only smiled at him and made my way into the hall as he nodded proudly and shouted my name to announce me. Lilliet Berne, La Générale! Cheers rang out and all across the room heads turned; the music stopped and then began again, the orchestra now performing the refrain from the Jewel Song aria from Faust to honor my recent performances in the role of Marguerite. I looked over to see the director salute to me, bowing deeply before turning back to continue. The crowd began to applaud, and so I paused and curtsied to them even as I hoped to move on out of the circle of their agonizing scrutiny. At any other time, I would have welcomed this. Instead, I nearly groaned into my awful dress. The applause deepened, and as they began to cheer again, I stayed a moment longer. For I was their creature. Lilliet Berne, La Générale, newly returned to Paris after a year spent away, the Falcon soprano whose voice was so delicate it was rumored she endangered it even by speaking, her silences as famous as her performances. This voice was said to turn arias into spells, hymns into love songs, simple requests into commands, my suitors driven to despair in every country I visited, but perhaps especially here. In the Paris press, they wrote stories of me constantly. I was receiving and rejecting gifts of incomprehensible splendor; men were leaving their wives to follow me; princes were arriving bearing ancient family jewels, keys to secret apartments, secret estates. I was unbearably kind or unbelievably cruel, more beautiful than a woman could be or secretly hideous, supernaturally pale or secretly mulatto, or both, the truth hidden under a plaster of powder. I was innocent or I was the devil unleashed, I had nearly caused wars, I had kept them from happening. I was never in love, I had never loved, I was always in love. Each performance could be my last, each performance had been my last, the voice was true, the voice was a fraud. The voice, at least, was true. In my year away, the theaters that had once thrilled me, La Scala in Milan, La Monnaie in Brussels, the Mariinsky in Saint Petersburg, no longer excited me as they once did. I stayed always in the apartments given over to the company singers, and soon it seemed as if the rooms were a single place that stretched the length of Europe and opened onto its various capitals. The details of my roles had become the only details of my life. Onstage, I was the druidic priestess, the Hebrew slave in Egypt, the Parisian courtesan dying of consumption, the beautiful orphan who sang as she walked in her sleep, falling into and out of trouble and never waking up until the end. Offstage, I felt dim, shuttered, a prop, the stick under the puppet. I seemed a stranger to myself, a changeling placed here in my life at some point I couldn’t remember, and the glass of the mirror at the entrance to the palace seemed made from the same amber of the dream that surrounded me, a life that was not life, and which I could not seem to escape no matter where I went or where I sang. And so their celebration of me that night at the ball, sincere as it was, felt as if it were happening in the life neighboring mine, visible through a glass. I tell you I was distracted, but it was much more than that. For I was also focused intensely, waiting for one thing and one thing only, my attention turned toward something I couldn’t quite see but was sure was there, coming for me through the days ahead. I’d had a premonition in accepting the role of Marguerite that, in returning to Paris this time, I would be here for a meeting with my destiny. Here I would find what would transform me, what would return me to life and make this life the paradise I was so sure it should be. I had been back in Paris for a little more than a month now, though, and my hopes for this had not yet come true, and so I waited with an increasingly dull vigilance, still sure my appointed hour was ahead of me, and yet I did not know what it was or where it would be. It was here, of course. I rose finally from a third curtsy and was halfway to the doors to the terrace when I noticed a man crossing the floor quickly, dressed in a beautiful new evening suit. He was ruddy against the white of his shirt and tie, if handsomely so. His hair was neatly swept back from his face, his blond moustache and whiskers clean and trim, his eyes clear. I nodded as he came to stand before me. He bowed gravely, even ostentatiously. Forgive me this intrusion! he said, as he stood upright. The diva who throws her suitors’ diamonds in the trash. The beggars of Paris must salute as you walk by before they carry your garbage shoulder high. I made to walk past him, though I smiled to think of his greeting. I had, in fact, thrown diamonds in the garbage twice, a feint each time. My maid knew to retrieve them. I did it once to make sure the story would be told in the press, the second time for the story to be believed. I was trying to teach my princes to buy me dresses instead of jewelsjewels had become ostentatious in the new Paris, with many reformed libertines now critical of the Empire’s extravagance, and there was little point to a jewel you couldn’t wear.
Barnes & Noble Review Interview with Alexander Chee
The Barnes & Noble Review: How did you first begin to conceive of The Queen of the Night?
Alexander Chee: I first started to think about it in 1999. I found a postcard recently that my friend Shauna Seliy sent me that year. She's a wonderful writer, author of a novel called When We Get There. She sent me a postcard of the Karl-Friedrich Thiele backdrop for the entrance of The Queen of the Night. On the back of it, she wrote a Hungarian proverb: "When you catch your bear, it will dance for you."
BNR: So that was something of a spark.
AC: Right. I remember I loved the image, and I put it over my desk to look at. In 1999 I was still finishing rewrites on Edinburgh and getting ready to start sending it out that fall. My agent said to me at the time, "What's the next book?" I said, "Oh, I'm not sure." She said, "Well, try to come up with something; everyone is going to ask what it's going to be." There were all these things that had been swirling around at the time. I had felt a kind of pull towards these old junk shop stereograph photos, these nineteenth-century photos. I began to collect those.
BNR: That's the kind of photo where you have two images that are slightly offset from one another in some way, so that when you view them with a stereograph you create a 3D-like image.
AC: Yes. So I found images from the Minneapolis-St. Paul Ice Festival of 1882. There were these beautiful photos of a castle made of ice, taken at night, illuminated by torches. You could see a fish frozen into the cubes of the blocks of ice. In one of them, there's a woman in a hooded fur robe carrying a torch, and you couldn't quite see her face. That one in particular was very powerful to me. I don't know why. I loved looking at all of them, but that's the one where I would linger.
Sort of around the same time, I ran into my friend, the late David Rakoff, and he told me the most incredible story about Jenny Lind, the Swedish Nightingale, and how she had retired at the age of twenty-nine in 1850. P. T. Barnum approached her about doing a farewell tour of the United States, and she asked him for something like a half-million- dollar advance, and he provided it, which at the time was like an astonishing sum of money. She accepted, toured for two years, and they both became very rich. She was also the first entertainment celebrity in America to endorse products, some of which are still with us, like the Jenny Lind crib, for example, which many people have or slept in when they grew up, and maybe had never known what it was, but that crib was one of the things that she put her name to.
Pablo Neruda even had a Jenny Lind ship's figurehead in his home, which is so frightening and beautiful to look at. I saw a photo of it online, and it's amazing.
BNR: So you had a story of Jenny Lind's farewell tour.
AC: She was greeted by huge crowds when she arrived, and treated as a civilizing influence, arriving from northern Europe to the Americas. The House of Lords stopped business for two days so they could all go to her farewell concert in London. I can't think of a contemporary entertainment celebrity who would command that sort of interest now. So, yes, she was that kind of a celebrity. It was fascinating to me.
I had imagined she was traveling with a circus on that tour, that Barnum toured her with a circus. When I looked her up and found out that wasn't true, I was disappointed. And then I thought, Oh, that's the novel.
BNR: "Wait a minute. I can make up my own version of this story."
AC: Precisely. I remembered that I was a novelist.
The story from David merged in my mind with that card from Shauna, and so I wrote two paragraphs up, summarizing this, titled it "The Queen of the Night," and sent this to my agent, and then what happened was two years of publishers rejecting my first novel and saying, "Could you do that opera circus novel first?" I eventually really turned against the idea in my mind and put the novel away. I was so angry that two paragraphs could eclipse an entire written novel. My mother has a story of helping a friend with her audition to be an airline stewardess back in the 1960s as they called them back then. She went to the audition with her, and they wanted my mom and not her friend. My mom was this sort of blonde-haired, blue-eyed American Beauty. I thought, "Well, if they want the blonde, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed American Beauty they will have to have the weird, queer sister first." [Laughs] That's how I felt about it.
And then Edinburgh found a publisher, and three years later, I eventually returned to Queen.
BNR: The Queen of the Night is both an emotional adventure and a kind of wild ride through these sort of different milieus. But it's also about the emotional valence of opera and of a particular moment in time, the kind of height and then fall of Second Empire Paris and into the Third Republic of France. It's an extraordinarily rich fictional portrayal of both those milieus. I'm very curious to know whether you came into this thinking, "I'm going to dive into French opera and European opera of this period, and figures such as Verdi," for example or did that sort of simply emerge from telling her story, and then you found yourself kind of getting more involved?
AC: I would say the latter. It was a questioning process. What would this person at this time, with these desires and these abilities . . . what would she do? Who would she know? Whom would she meet?
The dinner with the Verdis thing actually is one of the first things I wrote, thoughthat seemed automatic, very normal, that the composer and his wife would dine with the soprano.
BNR: This takes place when your protagonist, Lilliet, is already a star, and she has this relationship with Verdi and his wife.
AC: Initially, the dinner was a only alluded to in like a sentence. That long passage where she remembers her mother's death and burying her, and then it concluded with her at dinner with the Verdis. Giuseppina is complimenting her on her technique, like, "How do you sound so bereft?" is roughly the question.
BNR: But you decided instead to create an entire scene.
AC: An entire scene with them having dinner. Eventually I realized that was more powerful. The novel was always about that contrast between the tragedies you perform as an artist and then the tragedies that you might also live through or live out. The idea came out of publishing Edinburgh and having people talk to me about the novel over the years that I was promoting it, and this very funny sense I had as people even my brother-in-law, who knows me really well began to speak to me as if the events in that novel were real. [Laughs] I initially had tried to write a more autobiographical novel with Edinburgh, and actually that was not successful. I showed my first agent those pages, she said, "Well, you know, nobody is going to believe this many bad things happened to one person." I thought about how my life had seemed improbable to me at certain points. but it had never occurred to me that it would be, like, literally incredible, unbelievable.
So I liked the idea of imagining this opera diva who was performing in these kinds of tragedies with these kind of overblown plots, who also has her own overblown plot behind her.
BNR: Can you talk a little about Lilliet as a soprano, and her particular "type"? One thing that was new to me in reading this were these different classifications of soprano voice that play into the book, and how she gets her designation.
AC: I went on a date with an opera agent at dinner, for whatever reason, we began talking about Falcon sopranos. I became fascinated with the idea that this voice existed and wanted to know everything about it. That was one of those founding moments for the novel.
BNR: That's the classification Lilliet is given by her teachers.
AC: And it's an old-fashioned term for it. Sometimes it's in use, sometimes not now. The other term for it is "tragic soprano" or sometimes mezzos are considered Falcons, but it really is its own peculiar voice. Maria Callas is probably the most famous Falcon that I can think of.
BNR: The name actually comes from a real- life opera singer?
AC: Right not the bird. Marie Cornélie Falcon, who lost her voice while performing singing the line "Je suis prêt" "I am ready." How much more tragic can you get?
BNR: Lilliet's is given this astonishing freedom and opportunity by having this exceptional voice. It feels like a fairy tale in many places, or drawing on, in the way opera does, a fairy tale. Of course it evokes The Little Mermaid or a similar kind of story, in which having an enchanted voice means having to suffer some loss or sacrifice in order to get this almost divine quality that has this magical power over people.
AC: That was very deliberate. I had become interested in this kind of nineteenth-century French fiction where the character believes that they might have gone insane, but might also be under some sort of enchantment.
BNR: Any in specific?
AC: Yes. Like the work of Théophile Gautier, for example. But for me, it was a way to create a kind of unifying field for all of these different elements that I wanted to put together.
I had always been fascinated by the way in which your singing voice and your speaking voice could be so different from each other, and the way you could lose your speaking voice but still be able to sing. You could effectively have a kind of conversational laryngitis but also perform. As someone who had trained as a boy singer, a boy soprano professionally as a child, I remember also being very aware that my voice had an expiration date. I loved being a soprano. It was one of my very favorite things in life, and thus far, and losing that voice was a profound emotional moment for me in my life. I never became that interested in my adult male singing voice.
In some ways, in The Queen of the Night I'm writing about some of the experience that I had with Edinburgh, where I was entirely unable to speak about what had happened to me as a child, but I could read from the novel. So the novel functioned as a kind of prosthetic voice . . .
BNR: . . . or a mask. Which is another major theme of Queen of the Night.
BNR: There's a whole wonderful piece involving a masquerade and costumes which both accentuate or point up the characteristics of the wearers, or hide them under some kind of opposites.
AC: I'm very proud of the Prussian bear costume [which Lilliet dons at a masquerade].
BNR: How much were you steeped in the historical period, knew about it when you set out on this project? How much of a sense would you say, "Oh yes, I'm . . . " Were you someone who was fascinated with Second Empire in France, or that period, that place in time, or was this all pretty much new territory for you?
AC: It was pretty new territory. I was fascinated with nineteenth-century America. I had a friend joke that by growing up in Maine, I had sort of grown up in that! The past is still very present for me. My mom's family is a very old Maine farming family, and has been in the state for over 300 years on the same farm. They have the King George III deed to the property. My mom was born in a house that is held together with wooden pegs.
I could go to the family graveyard and look at Revolutionary War–era graves. Imagining the start of that graveyard was kind of the way that I came to that graveyard scene of the novel.
That was the easy part, in a sense. The harder part was France, for sure.
BNR: How did you go about researching that part?
AC: I just thought to myself, like: Who was alive then? Who was writing operas? Who were the big ones? If I was creating a fictional opera celebrity, who would she be hanging out with? Who would teach her? So I just set out to try to learn all of that. I started with a biography of Giuseppe Verdi, and became fascinated by his many relationships and operas and all.
BNR: Verdi, like many of the real historical figures you draw on, becomes a wonderful character.
AC: His commitment to cooking for himself was absolutely incredible!
BNR: His food always travels with him. he's got his Arborio rice packed away so he can make risotto in Paris.
AC: There's a letter I saw in which Giuseppina was sending someone his food order for one of his trips. He was known for giving friends these hams and directions for how to prepare them.
It was very specific. So I loved them, and I loved their passionate, strange, long-term relationship.
BNR: There's a sense in that scene with them of a vision into that somewhat bohemian artist culture. They have access to the world of style and wealth that surround them, but they're making their own rules. Their own stature as artists allows them to be different, and not to be governed entirely by the extremely competitive and intrigue- laden world of fashion and politics.
AC: Right. Yet also it was fascinating to discover things like how Verdi hated Paris audiences, for example, because he thought they were rude for the way that they would not pay attention to the opera! [Laughs]
BNR: So much of what this novel does is give one a real sense of both the sumptuousness and the ruthlessness of that world of the aristocracy at this point leading into the Franco-Prussian War. One thing that you get into are the political intrigues around the emperor, Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, and his wife, Eugénie, and how her wardrobe becomes a key in a political intrigue.
AC: It was amazing to me that something that people treated as something so shallow, like a gown, could be such an incredible political, diplomatic, and even economic tool in the hands of someone like the empress or the comtesse.
BNR: Political intrigue, political ideals, and a real political-historical tragedy become central to this novel. Was that something that you knew you were going to take on as you initially conceived of Lilliet as a character?
AC: No. What is now the end of the novel came from the first pages that I wrote. I showed those to my editor eventually at Houghton, and I remember he said to me: "Well, where is she before this? What happens before? How does she get here?" I remember thinking, Well, do we really need to get into that? Isn't everything that happens next more important? Then I realized that, no, actually everything that happened before is what mattered. That's where the story was.
I had real hesitation before including the political intrigues. But at the same time, like many people, I had become fascinated with courtesans. [Laughs] But in a wary way. There was a sort of ridiculousness that seemed to enter in whenever anyone brought a courtesan into a story, and I didn't want it to be ridiculous.
BNR: What do you think accounts for that?
AC: A misunderstanding of them, a contemporary misunderstanding of them and their powers and the world that they lived inside of. The best relatively contemporary portrayal of a courtesan that I've ever seen was probably in Children of Paradise, a film that was made during the Nazi occupation of France, made in secret, actually. Arletty, who is the actress, plays a courtesan by the name of Garance. To me, that's what courtesans were. Confident. Funny. Shrewd. In that film, she has a lover who is so poetical with her that she becomes exhausted by him. She just wants someone to come over and have sex with her. She doesn't want all the poetry.
One of the things that I wanted to deal with in the novel was that I had always heard that people speak of the political power wielded by courtesans. I had also never read an account of it. When you got down to it, no one, it seemed to me, had really described it. The most famous novel from that period about courtesans is Nana, Émile Zola's Nana, which is a wonderful novel and I loved it, and I pay a certain homage to it at one point, but for all his research, that was not part of what he researched. I thought that was very interesting, because it would have meant probably endangering his political connections.
So it was through the research I was doing into the Comtesse de Castiglione. I was reading the wonderfully researched catalog that the Metropolitan Museum of Art had done around this show that they did of her. Discovering her was like the novelist's dream . . . like a dragon's cave of tragedies.
BNR: She's working, behind the scenes, at political manipulation just as she did in real life?
AC: Exactly. The more that I read about her, the more I really believed in her as a spymaster.
BNR: In the novel, you make Lilliet one of her tools.
AC: One of her tools. Yes and all of that stuff is not invented. The comtesse really did return to Paris after the fall of the Empire and then lived under police protection that was provided for her by Adolphe Thiers. There's not really a reason for that unless there is a reason for that, if you understand me . . . [Laughs]
It's very likely that she could not stay in Italy and also did not want to. And it's very likely that she could not stay in Paris without some kind of protection.
BNR: The flip side of the political power of the courtesans is that Lilliet is essentially, at a critical point in her life, owned as property, as the courtesans were a slave, of a kind, under a very specific regulatory regime.
AC: She's been trafficked, yes.
BNR: How she enters into that specific state emerges both from the vagaries of fortune and her own choices. But she does wind up becoming the property of one of the villains of the book, really the tenor. Where did he come from in your imagination? Because he is certainly one of the most memorable and arresting figures in the book.
AC: Thank you. He was an early character. He entered into the scene probably . . . I probably started writing about . . . included him in the novel in 2004–5, which was about the time that I returned to the writing of the novel. At first he was just a man that she met while he was on leave, that scene, which is now very developed, that happens in the house where she's working as a prostitute. The more I thought about him, the more he grew as a character.
Opera singers were also spies. They may still be! I don't know. When you're an opera singer, you get to travel a lot. Your celebrity protects you, in a certain sense, from certain kinds of intrusions or it can until it doesn't. So the tenor grew in my mind very slowly, but he did grow on me, and the more I thought about him, the more I had fun with him.
Early on in the writing of the novel I had thought it would be interesting to try to reinvent The Magic Flute as a novel, and then I read the libretto and thought this was a terrible idea. But I made a decision to work with the themes of The Magic Flute, and the tenor very obviously became to me the demon who guards Pamina. Then his "fate" was sealed as a character, once I understood him in that capacity.
BNR: You've said this novel has a lot in it that represents what you went through writing and publishing Edinburgh. Do you identify with Lilliet? Obviously, in many ways she is simply this kind of character of the imagination; her escapades or tragedies are only possible in fiction. But to what extent do you see yourself in this book?
AC: I do identify with her a lot. That's true. I did imbue her with certain things from me, like that feeling of never quite feeling at home but my favorite character in the novel is Euphrosyne.
BNR: A friend who, because of the nature of the loyalty that Lilliet feels for her, Lilliet winds up becoming essentially . . .
AC: She's always screwing Lilliet over.
BNR: She's a survivor.
AC: She's a survivor.
BNR: There's a grand theme of "fatedness" in The Queen of the Night. Do you feel like what you set out to do was create a tragedy?
AC: Yes. Most definitely. It is the power cord, the third rail of the novel. In the sense that nothing works without it. Everything else, I felt passionately about, and was interested in. But that was the thing that drove its invention most, was dealing with that fate and the way that let me work with tragedy.
BNR: Is it possible for a writer or a composer to create something that maps to the idea of tragedy in a wholly twenty-first-century mode? Or do we need to access these sort of historical periods when the idea of the Tragic was still sort of central to the culture?
AC: Oh, I think hubris is still very much with us. I used Aristotle's rules for tragedy to plot Edinburgh, and one of the nicest compliments I ever got about it was, someone asked me, "Was this inspired by a Greek myth?" I said, "No. But thank you."
I think people still need catharsis. Maybe now more than ever.
February 10, 2016
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
What a grand, beautiful, semi–historical novel about opera. courtesans, Paris, war, circuses and most of all a strong female character. Yes, it is long winded, but I love books that take you on a lovely journey and gives you something to sink your teeth into. Every night I could return to it and be taken to a new adventure as her life progressed. It left me happy and uplifted. What more could you want from a book?
Have you ever had a book you really liked parts of, and you really disliked parts of it as well? This is THAT book! It had the possibility of being a fantastic novel, but it seemed to keep going in circles, repeating activities so much that I had to wonder if the Author just forgot that a particular subject was already discussed.....multiple times. It did have a wonderful historical flare that it should have stuck with! The story did keep my interest because i I kept thinking a better story was going to come out in the end, but it just didn't.
Lilliet Berne is a popular opera singer with a secret past - one she does not wish anyone to know about. But that is exatcly what will happen if an opera is written about her life by someone who has discovered her secret. From circus performer, to prostitute, to singer, Lilliet has a lot to lose. What follows is a clever plot that takes many turns. It is very much a statement about women in a stringent historical period where it was difficult to maintain one's independence. If you are an opera lover, then you will find the story highly entertaining for its many links and subplots related to famous operas, and Lilliet's story runs parallel to some of these themes. Many famous historical characters have cameo appearances in the story - Brahms, Verdi, and Empress Eugenie to name a few. It is obvious the author did intensive research into the period which shows in the many vivid descriptions of clothing and operas. And of course there is a lovely growing romance between Lilliet and a composer, one in which truly touched me. A very good, long book. Thank you to the author and publisher. I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Lilliet Berne is a famous opera singer in 1882 Paris when an author approaches her to ask her to star in an opera he has just finished writing. When she reads it, she realizes that the story relates her own secret past. As she tries to discover the person who betrayed her confidence, she remembers her humble beginnings as an orphan from Ohio, her travels in Europe with a circus and her success as a singer in the City of Lights. In her adventures, she rubs shoulders with historical figures, such as Giuseppe Verdi, Ivan Turgenev, George Sand and the Empress Eugenie, and survives the Second Empire, the Prussian War, the Siege of Paris and the Paris Commune. The Queen of the Night is a fascinating read about a violent period in the history of France. Lilliet Berne is based on real-life Jenny Lind, a famous Swedish opera singer of the 19th century. She is the main character in her own tragedy/opera with the result that the narrative sometimes is a bit far-fetched. In addition, the fact that dialogues are written without the use of quotation marks can be confusing as the reader can’t be sure if the character is speaking or thinking. While this technique has been used effectively by several authors (A Million Little Pieces by James Frey comes to mind), it is not entirely successful in this book, perhaps because The Queen of the Night is a historical fiction, and this method is a better fit in a contemporary novel. However, Alexander Chee shows he is a great literary author with his intricate writing style and his use of a story within a story. His passion for the opera shines through, and he certainly knows how to keep the reader’s attention until the end of the book. The Queen of the Night was sent to me for free in exchange for an honest review. Please go to my blog, Cecile Sune - Bookobsessed, if you would like to read more reviews or discover fun facts about books and authors.
The second I heard that Alexander Chee had a novel coming out about a Belle Époque opera singer with a secret I went on a mission to figure out how I might ferret out an advance copy. I put The Queen of the Night on pre-order in hardback but I knew I was going to need time to read, and re-read, and digest. Lilliet Berne is what is known as a Falcon soprano (named for the first such singer, Cornélie Falcon), with a voice of incredible darkness and power but a very fragile physical instrument. Lilliet's secrets have secrets, secrets that could be deadly. When she is offered an original role, an accolade that would cap her career, the opera's libretto threatens to bring her secrets to light. The librettist is an unknown, the novel it is based on unknown to Lilliet. As she recalls her life, delving through many layers of intrigue and disguise to determine which person betrayed her, the reader begins to wonder: who is Lilliet and what will happen to her? The Queen of the Night is a novel at the intersection of Romanticism and Realism, two major movements in nineteenth-century art. The surreal nesting of Lilliet's many-layered life inside the harsh reality of an orphan in Paris during the Second Empire. The sturm und drang of the opera next to the monotony of being a grisette in Empress Eugénie's vast wardrobe. The glittering heights of celebrity outline the horrifying years when Lilliet is treated as a possession. Were this to become an opera, Verdi would have to compose the music. Throughout the novel, Lilliet muses on the ideas of fate, hubris, and vengeance, giving us a glorious line: ...the gods did not kill for hubris - for hubris, they let you live long enough to learn. (p46) Lilliet is the Queen of the Night - a role she loves for its dark power and famous for the fiendishly difficult "Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen"/"The vengeance of hell boils in my heart," is Carmen - trapped by the hand of cards dealt to her, is Violetta - caught between her heart and her past as a courtesan, is Leonora - the casualty of a revenge plot decades in the making. As Lilliet notes: "victory, defeat, victory, defeat, victory, defeat." As I was re-reading the book, I noticed that I wanted to listen to Mozart's Don Giovanni and Pucinni's Tosca. Odd, because Giovanni is a baritone role, clearly not something Lilliet would sing, and Tosca did not premiere until 1900, well after the events of the book. But there is something echoed in Lilliet's struggle against what she views as a curse brought on by hubris: Giovanni brazenly inviting his doom to supper and Tosca singing her haunting aria "Vissi d'arte" about art and prayer. Tucked in among all the activity with circuses and Emperors and celebrity and opera, there is the simple story of a teenage girl who believes she is to blame for a karmic misfortune. In her haste to get away she commits error after error as any inexperienced, grieving teenager might do, stumbling into misfortune and by sheer strength of will and cleverness keeping herself alive. She becomes the famous Lilliet, leaving the adult woman to salvage what is left of the little girl from the Minnesota prairie. Whatever your thoughts on opera as a music form, this coming-of-age tale with its mysterious twists and turns is the heart of Chee's novel. A brilliant book to start 2016.
Confusing. Disjointed timeline interfers with plot. Traditional timeline would help the reader and make the story more enjoyable. Introspective first person narrative is too repetative and long-winded.
I am so in love with this book! It resonates with me on so many levels, as a woman, as a lesbian, as someone who often feels cursed and blessed at the same time, as an outsider. The position of women during this time period was so precarious, so caged, and I felt that entrapment with the female characters in the book but also how it could have been and was overcome by women of the time, but also how that too was another kind of entrapment. I loved Lilliet so (and at times, didn't love her with just as much feeling). I know next to nothing about opera, but feel that the book gave me a great foundation and appreciation for it and a renewed appreciation and interest in late 19th century history. The plot is intricate and fascinating, the characters, both real and imagined, came to life on the page for me and took me for a fantastic ride. As a writer of historical fiction myself, I'm jealous of this book. It is simply wonderful.
Loved loved loved! This is the story of Lilliet Berne, an American opera sensation in 1880s Paris. Her dream is to be the first to perform an original work. When finally a new libretto is presented to her, she's quite pissed to discover it's the story of her life--secrets very few knew. Following her quest to unmask the one who betrayed her was without question one of the best experiences I've ever had from a book. Well worth the long, lingering read!
VERDICT: Beautiful rendition of the world of operas, but complicated and confusing plot in a very long novel. If you love operas however, you should definitely give it a try. Une fois n’est pas coutume, this will be a challenging review. I requested this book, because the synopsis sounded so good (bravo to whoever wrote that synopsis, that’s an art!) and I REALLY wanted to love The Queen of the Night, and there are definitely some very good elements in it. But they did not manage to captivate me. Here is why: I love Paris and French history. This historical novel is mostly set in Paris at the end of the Second Empire and the beginning of the Third Republic (end of the 19th century). Napoléon III and the Empress Eugénie are very important to the story, as well as Napoléon’s famous mistress, Countess of Castiglione, in the context of some spy mission. Remember, that period is also the time of the Franco-Prussian War. There are very good scenes recreating the ambiance of the times, especially in Les Tuileries and later during La Commune. Oh, even Madame de Pompadour is around! I love the world of music and the opera. The opera (also the circus) is central to the plot, with the heroine Lilliet Berne being a Falcon soprano, a rare type of voice. It is at one level an interesting reflection on the beauty and fragility of the human voice. The novel was actually vaguely inspired by the life of Jenny Lind, a Swedish opera singer. According to the author, this work was “meant as a reinvention of the Mozart opera (The Magic Flute) as a novel” – and the different parts of the book are organized like acts of an opera. There are fabulous descriptions of Gounod’s Faust and other operas by Verdi, Donizetti, Mozart, and Bizet, and many times I stopped reading to go listen again to some specific arias. I loved the way the author evoked voices and music – also pieces by Chopin. We meet the Verdi family, as well as Cora Pearl, Delsarte and Pauline Viardot-García. And le Palais Garnier, the Paris opera house, is being built! There are also famous authors, such as George Sand and Turgenev (as well as indirect references to Nana by Zola), and many of these people evolve in the same world and know each other. So all these elements were really neat. And I thought the male author did a good job at putting himself into this woman’s shoes. BUT… First, this is way too long! Being almost done reading In Search of Lost Time by Proust, you cannot accuse me of not being used to reading long books… However, the writing needs to be superb to be enjoyable after even 400 pages. These days, a novel with 576 pages means the editor was not strict enough. I remember listening to an interview, and the author mentioned how her editor had her cut down the book by 200 pages. That would have been a good thing for this book. Also, I found the plot too complicated, not flowing, and I was often totally lost, not knowing where we were in the story, if we were in the present of the narration, in a flashback (there are many), if so to which period of the life of Lilliet, in her dreams, or in the pages of the book she was herself reading. I only kept reading because I had requested the book and I enjoyed when the author was speaking about different arias. The last act is more straightforward and contains several twists that helped redeem somewhat my whole experience.
Hated this book, a complete waste of time