I confess to reading historical fiction partly as a diverting way to fill historical gaps and pique my interest in further explorations. Sometimes, however, I enjoy historical fiction more when I know a little bit about the topic already—which is one reason why Sarah Dunant’s latest novel was such a pleasure. This book, like its predecessors, offers a particular sort of satisfaction to those familiar with the history, the places, and the people.
Victor Hugo did not nudge Dunant over the edge and down the slippery slope, where so many novelists, film makers, Showtime series producers have happily slid before her. She shrugs off the Borgia baggage of sensationalism, alternative facts and fake news in hope of getting the story right.Those who appreciate a little reality in their escapism will thank her for it.
Taking on the Borgias must have presented a different sort of challenge. An author known for her arresting details (the serpent tattoo in Birth of Venus), clever writing strategies (narrating In the Company of the Courtesan from the dwarf’s perspective), and powerful plot twists (making Suor Zuana in Sacred Hearts into a Friar-Lawrence-cum-Prospero, who brings lovers together in the end) chose to confront the constraints imposed by the historical Borgias (whose lives, after all, offer plenty of “fact” to stimulate this author’s fertile imagination).
She also recognized that a few days’ surfing safari on Wikipedia would not suffice for historical background. Readers can tell she has read widely in primary as well as secondary literature, not only because of the concluding bibliography, but also because of the way things in the book look (Lucrezia’s Ferrara apartments look right), sound (we hear Tromboncino and the nuns of Corpus Domini—not Handel, as on Showtime), and smell. Not to mention how characters speak—Cesare’s portentous speeches to Machiavelli ring true; Lucrezia’s humanistic arguments with Pietro Bembo seem to take a page from Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier.
Don’t get me wrong—this IS fiction. There are plenty of imaginative flights too: the portrait of Machiavelli as diplomat, tested by Cesare Borgia, and as husband, tested (with particular charm) by his new wife; the discreet treatment of Lucrezia’s relationship with the poet Bembo (sorry—no bodice ripping here); the suggestion that Lucrezia contracted syphilis from her husband (offering another opportunity to bring in a wise convent apothecary to try to set things right , rather like Suor Zuana from Sacred Hearts); Lucrezia’s challenging relationship with her pious, skinflint father-in-law, Ercole I d’Este, and the even more challenging one with her rival sister-in-law, Isabella d’Este, Duchess of Mantua (always ready for the most polite cat fight).
The ending left me a bit puzzled. Given where we were historically, with not many pages to go, I was anticipating a third volume to fill out a Borgia trilogy. Instead, there was a rather brief postlude, sorting out Lucrezia as mother and matron and Macchiaveli as exile, husband, and father. There’s material enough for a third volume, if Dunant wished to take it on.