**THIS REVIEW FIRST APPEARED IN Alternating Current's ONLINE REVIEW COLUMN The Coil**
She saw Bren’s future was filled with love — those beautiful boys — and a wife who wasn’t her. (p. 106)
There is a sense of ambition to The Fortune Teller that begins with the synopsis, which invokes a kinship with the writing of Dan Brown and M. J. Rose in the way that young men in 18th-century Europe sought to form connections with influential figures, drawing on a respected and admirable lineage. The novel promises its reader suspense, romance, and secrecy, with a possible glimmer of genre intersectionality, all of which I found incredibly appealing and which drew me to it. If the above metaphor is to be carried through, however, then The Fortune Teller is a bit like a physical book version of the hot-headed d’Artagnan: all words and little physical evidence to support those statements.
The backbone of the novel is its protagonist Semele Cavnow, who quickly becomes underwhelming and problematic within the first few chapters. Apart from having an interesting name that does not instantly scream WASP, Semele’s character does not give the reader anything new to work with, as the novel quickly dives into the familiar trope of a young and successful woman with a dream job that earns her a lot of money. She is presented by Womack as having a
carefully crafted persona, the expert manuscript appraiser, only thirty-two, remarkably young for her achievements. She dressed in high-fashion vintage, wore only mascara and lipstick, and sported a sleek Ziegfeld bob that looked straight from the twenties. (p. 6).
One of the novel’s strengths is the way it immediately brings the reader’s attention to the contemporary events that are the focus of the novel, creating a rush of movement and excitement that builds on the initial anticipation generated by the jacket blurb. Sadly, this immediacy is created to the detriment of character development and backstory, especially Semele’s, who remains a shadow floating around in the present with a practically non-existent personality, save her obsession with her career. The past, which could have potentially complemented Semele’s character and made it bloom into something bigger and better, instead remains dormant, artificially tacked on to the contemporary plotline.
This was the main issue in the novel: the divide between past and present that made it seem like two separate novels are awkwardly crammed into one spine. Ionna’s storyline was a more engaging read than Semele’s and was the only character in the novel who felt complete and real despite living centuries ago, constructed from historical facts and supplemented by the imagination. The Fortune Teller makes history the victim of the same kind of privileged tone that characterized the present plotline. Specifically, Womack’s clear evidence of research at times took on a feeling of extraneousness, serving no other purpose than to act as padding for the story and to show off a little. There are not many such passages, but those few that are there stick out to a reader who is familiar with history and is likely to see the patchwork quality of the prose, like in this case:
Every artist in Italy was buying the book to understand dimensional mastery, “the Dei Aspect” as they called it. The Book of Optics demonstrated how to create two-dimensional pictorial representations of three-dimensional space. (p. 171).
There were rare moments of self-recognition and attempts at self-redemption, as if the writing itself jolted awake and wanted to correct its mistakes by presenting the reader with a rare instance of social critique, like Mathai’s horror
When [he] saw Elisa’s manuscript shoved between five others on one of the reading tables […] astonished. What had been a prized possession for them was merely another token in Admentos’ library. (p. 131).
It was at these moments that my hope would rise. It was moments like Semele’s recollection of her trip to Amsterdam and the meaning of the cards left with the swaddled babies that felt like the real essence of what the novel could have been but was not. Instead, it was caught up in impressing the reader with the familiar, and rather melodramatic, story that leans toward overreaction and carefully placed descriptions of luxury and comfort. Even the use of the tarot card names for the chapter titles felt flimsy.
The Fortune Teller is a novel that is not entirely sure what it wanted to be, mixing romance with suspense with historical fiction, even veering off in a failed attempt at mystery in the end which does not work due to the limited cast of characters and Semele’s loud bias, making it easy to guess the culprit. Predictable and familiar in all the places where it could have been emotional and impactful, it delivers a selective and dramatized version of history that feels scripted. The past and present are segregated in a way they should not be, the former used to support the latter in a way that differs from the organic tone in the novels of Dan Brown and M. J. Rose, the level toward which the novel subconsciously continues to aim. It is a novel that can be described in the words of Semele herself:
She enjoyed a good gothic novel as much as the next person, but that was not her real life. (p. 9).