Hmmm… Deirdre Madden’s Authenticity, not loving it

I’ve not been reading a great deal this week and when I did I took a break from The Worst Journey in the World and started Authenticity by Deirdre Madden, which TB had picked up at the car mechanic’s garage from the charity book box.

This is what Amazon says about it: “Julia Fitzgerald is a young Dublin artist distinguished by a thick nest of hair and an open manner. In her relationship with older, accomplished painter Roderic Kennedy, her youth contrasts with his world-weary suspicion, particularly of her latest acquaintance, the wealthy but regretful William Armstrong. Madden’s clear, smooth prose explores each character’s psyche, one by one, and readers will revel in learning of their fears and failures. Roderic’s tale of alcoholism and estrangement from his wife is the most tangible of these, particularly enhanced by the finely wrought relationship with his ever-loyal brother, Dennis. In a novel about art, family, and the work that goes into creating and sustaining both, Madden fashions her characters as though painting the smallest details of a still life. If there is a flaw in the rendering, it’s that the relationships–with the exception of the brothers’–run a bit cold. The action is mostly psychological, and although Madden does a superb job in conveying the solitude of making art, it’s at the expense of conveying intimacy between her characters.”

This is what I say about it: “It’s not bad though not brilliant and it’s as close to a holiday read as I go.

This evening I shall resume to The Worst Journey in the World.


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