"Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those, who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear, which is inherent in a human condition."

Graham Greene

Luncheon of the Boating Party by Susan Vreeland

In a conversation added at the end of her 2007 New York Times bestseller Luncheon of the Boating Party, author Susan Vreeland writes, "Each time we enter imaginatively into the life of another, it's a small step upward in the elevation of the human race. When there is no imagination of others' lives, there is no human connection, and therefore no compassion. Without compassion, then community, commitment, loving kindness, human understanding and peace—all shrivel. Individuals become isolated, the isolated can turn cruel, and the tragic hovers. Art—and literature—are antidotes to that." In and of itself, the philosophical tidbit is fodder for in-depth discussion, for painstaking contemplation, for the solitude of thought that endless refilled cups of coffee cannot even begin to touch. It is a statement of some hopefulness when merely applied to the impracticality of thought alone. When applied, however, to the reality of a creation, it serves some greater purpose in the divine. It's also precisely what Vreeland achieves with her historical fiction following the life of impressionist painter Pierre-August Renoir.

A weaving of poetry, precision of fact and element of fantasy, Luncheon of the Boating Party studies an inspired although sometimes doubting Renoir as he prepares to paint his masterwork of the book's title. As he debates the political situation of the impressionist movement, Renoir gives voice to the still modern dilemmas of an artist: Who is there to impress? What happens when friends stray in their styles? Is there a need for validation by the big academic institutions and government entities? How does an artist survive with so little money, and even less time to chase a dream? There's an easiness of connection the reader immediately feels with Renoir, as if he is not an infallible icon and innovator of history but a man much more intimately flawed. His falters lend the book a great strength.

The artist, however, is not the sole spotlight throughout the novel. With her exhaustive research, Vreeland also gives life to the fourteen models of the painting, showing through each the social climate of France as it recovered from the Franco-Prussian War. Women of the street, actresses, mimes, Russian bankers, writers, bohemians, and loafers: the mix of the group provides a backdrop for varied conversations and explorations. The voice of a chapter's speaker flows seamlessly from one to another to yet another, each highlighting a fact of the many competing cultures of the time.

At times, however, Vreeland finds herself victim to just a bit too much lyricism. As if to compete with the sensuality of the painting, the writer lords over words with a stream of conscious heaviness that doesn't always read as sincere. It's almost as if one is seeing a painting with too many flourishes, as if minimalism cannot afford the rent of Vreeland's ambition. As an only complaint, then, it can be said the book is too much, but were it less, its story, the characters, and the history it imparts would not be quite complete.      

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com