Claude and Camille

I hesitated before reading Stephanie Cowell's Claude and Camille because the genre of Impressionist painter historical fiction had disappointed me thus far (see Luncheon of the Boating Party or The Painted Girls). I needn't have worried; a bit like Monet himself, Claude and Camille is in a class by itself when it comes to this genre.

As any enterprising reader might guess from the title, Claude and Camille is the story of the see-sawing, ultimately tragic relationship between Claude Monet and his first wife, Camille Doncieux. As Wikipedia will tell you in a matter of seconds, she died at 32 of cancer, so no spoilers to say there's no happily ever after here. What Cowell does well, she does very well indeed, and that is to improvise. As she notes in the afterward, the historical record contains very little about Camille, and so Cowell was able to invent a story, populated by real people, artists mainly, and events, but largely of her own invention. What she has created is lovely.

One of the strong suits is the way Cowell incorporates painting, as a noun but especially as a verb, into the work. Because she is not overly constrained by facts, she is free to get into Monet's head in a way that other works of this genre haven't done. As a result, Monet's paintings are sprinkled throughout, while the act of paining, as important and life-giving to Monet as breathing, dominates. Too, I was struck by the way in which she situated Monet in the spaces where he created so many masterpieces, and that his lily pads were not the centerpiece. The church, the haystacks, London in the fog: I could picture Monet's paintings through Cowell's carefully chosen words, which were frequently no more than allusions.

Readers who love the arts, and especially Impressionism, will be smitten. Those who are iffy on the subject may well like Claude and Camille well enough, but I'm a little more hesitant to recommend it to that crowd.