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Black Opera
Conrad Scalese is a writer of librettos for operas in a world where music has immense power. In the Church, the sung mass can bring about actual miracles like healing the sick. Opera is musicodrama, the highest form of music combined with human emotion, and the results of the passion it engenders can be nothing short of magical. In this world of miracles, Conrad is an atheist - he sees the same phenomena, but sees no need to attribute them to a Deity...until his first really successful opera gets the opera-house struck by the lightning bolt of God's disapproval. Conrad comes to the attention of the Prince's Men, a powerful secret society, who are trying to use the magic of music to their own ends - in this case, an apocalyptic blood sacrifice. Life is about to get interesting for Conrad.
688 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2012
23 people are currently reading
796 people want to read
About the author
Mary Gentle
44 books204 followersThis author also writes under the pseudonym of Roxanne Morgan
Excerpted from Wikipedia:
Mary Gentle's first published novel was Hawk in Silver (1977), a young-adult fantasy. She came to prominence with the Orthe duology, which consists of Golden Witchbreed (1983) and Ancient Light (1987).
The novels Rats and Gargoyles (1990), The Architecture of Desire (1991), and Left to His Own Devices (1994), together with several short stories, form a loosely linked series (collected in White Crow in 2003). As with Michael Moorcock's series about his anti-heroic Jerry Cornelius, Gentle's sequence retains some basic facts about her two protagonists Valentine (also known as the White Crow) and Casaubon while changing much else about them, including what world they inhabit. Several take place in an alternate-history version of 17th century and later England, where a form of Renaissance Hermetic magic has taken over the role of science. Another, Left To His Own Devices, takes place in a cyberpunk-tinged version of our own near future. The sequence is informed by historically existing ideas about esotericism and alchemy and is rife with obscure allusions to real history and literature.
Grunts! (1992) is a grand guignol parody of mass-market high fantasy novels, with orcs as heroes, murderous halflings, and racist elves.
Excerpted from Wikipedia:
Mary Gentle's first published novel was Hawk in Silver (1977), a young-adult fantasy. She came to prominence with the Orthe duology, which consists of Golden Witchbreed (1983) and Ancient Light (1987).
The novels Rats and Gargoyles (1990), The Architecture of Desire (1991), and Left to His Own Devices (1994), together with several short stories, form a loosely linked series (collected in White Crow in 2003). As with Michael Moorcock's series about his anti-heroic Jerry Cornelius, Gentle's sequence retains some basic facts about her two protagonists Valentine (also known as the White Crow) and Casaubon while changing much else about them, including what world they inhabit. Several take place in an alternate-history version of 17th century and later England, where a form of Renaissance Hermetic magic has taken over the role of science. Another, Left To His Own Devices, takes place in a cyberpunk-tinged version of our own near future. The sequence is informed by historically existing ideas about esotericism and alchemy and is rife with obscure allusions to real history and literature.
Grunts! (1992) is a grand guignol parody of mass-market high fantasy novels, with orcs as heroes, murderous halflings, and racist elves.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 115 reviews
August 24, 2012
This book began well, with an interesting hook (music influences the natural world) and an unusual character (a librettist who also happens to be an atheist with an interest in the new field of Natural Philosophy, AKA science), but the second half of the book fails to live up to the promise of the first, in my opinion.
*SPOILERS BELOW*
One of my biggest complaints is how Gentle treats the major premise of the book. It is never entirely clear what the rules are for how music influences the natural world. On its own, that would be OK, but our hero, who occasionally insists that these are not miracles but rather natural phenomena that we don't yet understand *never makes any attempt to figure out these rules*. This is especially puzzling since he is attempting to write an opera that will counteract another opera which is supposed to cause volcanic eruptions. How can you counteract something when you don't know how the firs thing acts? One of his own operas has apparently already cause a lightning strike. He ends up rather feebly trying to use a happy ending and forgiveness to counteract the negative emotions of the Black Opera, but this seems like a last minute idea, which is perplexing given his own stated goals. Also, it apparently doesn't work. So. Huh?
My other major gripe is the love story. It is the eternal love triangle, which Gentle seems to want to give a new twist. So the woman, the object of the obsessive love of two men, is actually a kind of zombie! Also, she is the lead singer of the Black Opera! And one of its masterminds! And thus responsible for wiping out Naples! So what does our hero do, when he discovers that his One True Love, whom he hasn't seen in five years, is 1) married to his composer, 2) dead, 3) a liar, having conducted a secret affair with said composer the entire year that he and she had lived together, and oh, yes, 4) A MASS MURDERER, as in responsible for MANY THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE BEING SLAUGHTERED? Forgives her, of course. Isn't that moving? What's more, he decides its OK that she will not choose between him and his rival, and the three of them form some kind of dysfunctional triad of evil polygamous love. Isn't that a beautiful story? Um. No.
If I could rewrite this book, I would have it turn out that there is no Black Opera, or rather, that our hero's "counter-opera" IS the Black Opera, and the King who commissioned it is actually the mastermind, tricking his opera company into creating the wave of destruction. Which would make sense given that opera within the book (as opposed to Church chanting) seems to only result in natural catastrophes. Also, the historic Frederick II of the Two Sicilies was originally hailed as an enlightened and liberal monarch, but eventually bombed his own cities when they rebelled against his increasingly unpopular policies. So having him willing to destroy his own city would have a nice historical resonance. And the villains, the mysterious "Prince's Men," would actually have been serving a prince (who became a king). It would make so much more sense!
*SPOILERS BELOW*
One of my biggest complaints is how Gentle treats the major premise of the book. It is never entirely clear what the rules are for how music influences the natural world. On its own, that would be OK, but our hero, who occasionally insists that these are not miracles but rather natural phenomena that we don't yet understand *never makes any attempt to figure out these rules*. This is especially puzzling since he is attempting to write an opera that will counteract another opera which is supposed to cause volcanic eruptions. How can you counteract something when you don't know how the firs thing acts? One of his own operas has apparently already cause a lightning strike. He ends up rather feebly trying to use a happy ending and forgiveness to counteract the negative emotions of the Black Opera, but this seems like a last minute idea, which is perplexing given his own stated goals. Also, it apparently doesn't work. So. Huh?
My other major gripe is the love story. It is the eternal love triangle, which Gentle seems to want to give a new twist. So the woman, the object of the obsessive love of two men, is actually a kind of zombie! Also, she is the lead singer of the Black Opera! And one of its masterminds! And thus responsible for wiping out Naples! So what does our hero do, when he discovers that his One True Love, whom he hasn't seen in five years, is 1) married to his composer, 2) dead, 3) a liar, having conducted a secret affair with said composer the entire year that he and she had lived together, and oh, yes, 4) A MASS MURDERER, as in responsible for MANY THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE BEING SLAUGHTERED? Forgives her, of course. Isn't that moving? What's more, he decides its OK that she will not choose between him and his rival, and the three of them form some kind of dysfunctional triad of evil polygamous love. Isn't that a beautiful story? Um. No.
If I could rewrite this book, I would have it turn out that there is no Black Opera, or rather, that our hero's "counter-opera" IS the Black Opera, and the King who commissioned it is actually the mastermind, tricking his opera company into creating the wave of destruction. Which would make sense given that opera within the book (as opposed to Church chanting) seems to only result in natural catastrophes. Also, the historic Frederick II of the Two Sicilies was originally hailed as an enlightened and liberal monarch, but eventually bombed his own cities when they rebelled against his increasingly unpopular policies. So having him willing to destroy his own city would have a nice historical resonance. And the villains, the mysterious "Prince's Men," would actually have been serving a prince (who became a king). It would make so much more sense!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 6, 2016
I don't even like opera. But after just two distinct (very distinct) examples, I'm really starting to like Mary Gentle's work. I'd actually noticed the striking black spine of The Black Opera on the shelf at my local library quite some time ago, but didn't decide to check it out until after I'd already read Grunts.
I was not disappointed.
The Black Opera is set in the city of Napoli (known to the English as Naples, and to the Romans as Neapolis), sometime in the 1830s—the exact year is unspecified, but it's sometime after King Ferdinand II took the throne of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in 1830 and before the ascension of Queen Victoria to the British throne in 1837. Then, as now, Napoli lay between two active volcanic regions: the Phlegraean Fields and Vesuvius—the volcano whose eruption in 79 CE buried the ancient city of Pompeii.
Conrad Scalese—Corradino, to friends—is a librettist, writing the lyrics for operas while living with the rest of Napoli in the shadow of Vesuvius. He's a lively and vivid character, with whom modern readers can easily sympathize—an outspoken atheist in a country still very much in the grip of the Inquisition, an honest man in the midst of widespread corruption, and a dutiful son working valiantly to pay off his wastrel father Alfredo's gambling debts even though, technically, those died with Alfredo.
Scalese can take care of himself in a fight, too; he's an ex-soldier, adept with fist, blade and pistol, and his sharp-witted and loyal manservant Tullio Rossi has been by his side ever since the war—but even so he has no recourse against the Holy Office of the Inquisition, whose power in Italy did not wane completely until much later in the 19th Century. After a lightning strike burns down the Teatro Nuovo, where Scalese's latest opera had just premiered (to great success and no fewer than five ovations, let it be said), thugs in priestly garb break into his apartment to drag him off to trial—the theatre's lack of newfangled lightning rods being less of a problem, apparently, than the blasphemous nature of Scalese's libretto for Il Terrore di Parigi, ossia la Morte di Dio ("The Terror of Paris, namely the Death of God").
Oops.
So far, The Black Opera could be a straightforward historical novel. Conrad does not exactly inhabit our own history, though. His Naples is a much more... haunted place, one where Corradino's late father Alfredo can return as a ghost, visible to anyone in the room, able to harangue his son from beyond the grave. A place where more substantial "Returned Dead," raised by priestly miracles, can take up their lives again, even if they can no longer draw breath. A world where a secret society of "Prince's Men" can plan to stage an opera which, through the power of music, might actually summon up... something that at the very least does not seem to be in the best interests of Naples, or Neapolitans. Remember that volcano...
Conrad quickly finds himself in opposition not just to the Inquisition but also to those who wish to stage this "Black Opera." Fortunately, Corradino has at least one powerful patron of whom he has been heretofore unaware, a personage who expects him to help produce a magical opera of his own, to counteract the plot of the Prince's Men. And he has just six weeks to succeed...
Throughout The Black Opera, Mary Gentle's prose is lively and casual—she's not so much a literary author as a consistently readable stylist. The Black Opera is also full of colorful Neapolitan language—enough to need a glossary, which makes for some fun (and decidedly not safe-for-work) reading after the novel itself.
I admired Conrad's steadfast adherence to his skepticism. It must be even harder to remain an atheist when you're living in a literally haunted world, where ghosts and miracles are frequent and empirically verifiable occurrences. Such things are much more elusive in our own reality—The Black Opera is historical fantasy, in other words, as Mary Gentle freely admits. But she introduces her fantasy elements sparingly, at least to begin with, giving us a chance to settle in and accept the differences between Conrad's world and our own.
I also really enjoyed Gentle's portrayal of the theatrical community to which Conrad belongs, and the way its members joined forces against the Prince's Men. I do have some familiarity, through my daughter's involvement in theatre, with how difficult it is to put on an elaborate production, and Gentle gets so much of that behind-the-curtains chaos and drama right.
Her sympathetic portrayal of non-cisgender characters like Sandrine and Paolo was believable as well—a gentle reminder that gender fluidity is not, after all, a 21st-Century invention.
Some significant anachronisms did give me pause, despite Gentle's ironic disclaimer that she employed "the same careful and exact attention to detail as the bel canto composers"—and sent me online to research. It seems extremely unlikely to me that anyone would throw "Darwinism" at Scalese as an insult, for example, even if the shoe would certainly fit. The events of The Black Opera could have occurred no later than 1837, whereas Charles Darwin did not return from his voyage on the Beagle until 1836, and did not publish On the Origin of Species until 1859. And France introduced the metric system in 1799, but it doesn't seem to have been adopted in Italy until even later, in 1872.
Conrad's interest in "acoustics," on the other hand, appears to be entirely possible—it's a very old discipline. In addition to the above dates (what, you think I had those memorized?), Wikipedia also tells me that in about 20 BCE, "the Roman architect and engineer Vitruvius wrote a treatise on the acoustic properties of theaters including discussion of interference, echoes, and reverberation." So there's that. These are minor quibbles anyway, compared with how much I enjoyed the momentum of the story.
Grunts may have started the process, but The Black Opera confirmed it: I'm now a Mary Gentle fan. In the language of opera: Bravo! Bravissimo!
I was not disappointed.
The Black Opera is set in the city of Napoli (known to the English as Naples, and to the Romans as Neapolis), sometime in the 1830s—the exact year is unspecified, but it's sometime after King Ferdinand II took the throne of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in 1830 and before the ascension of Queen Victoria to the British throne in 1837. Then, as now, Napoli lay between two active volcanic regions: the Phlegraean Fields and Vesuvius—the volcano whose eruption in 79 CE buried the ancient city of Pompeii.
Conrad Scalese—Corradino, to friends—is a librettist, writing the lyrics for operas while living with the rest of Napoli in the shadow of Vesuvius. He's a lively and vivid character, with whom modern readers can easily sympathize—an outspoken atheist in a country still very much in the grip of the Inquisition, an honest man in the midst of widespread corruption, and a dutiful son working valiantly to pay off his wastrel father Alfredo's gambling debts even though, technically, those died with Alfredo.
Scalese can take care of himself in a fight, too; he's an ex-soldier, adept with fist, blade and pistol, and his sharp-witted and loyal manservant Tullio Rossi has been by his side ever since the war—but even so he has no recourse against the Holy Office of the Inquisition, whose power in Italy did not wane completely until much later in the 19th Century. After a lightning strike burns down the Teatro Nuovo, where Scalese's latest opera had just premiered (to great success and no fewer than five ovations, let it be said), thugs in priestly garb break into his apartment to drag him off to trial—the theatre's lack of newfangled lightning rods being less of a problem, apparently, than the blasphemous nature of Scalese's libretto for Il Terrore di Parigi, ossia la Morte di Dio ("The Terror of Paris, namely the Death of God").
Oops.
Here I am, yet again at the mercy of the irrational!
Who have law and power on their side.
—p.12
So far, The Black Opera could be a straightforward historical novel. Conrad does not exactly inhabit our own history, though. His Naples is a much more... haunted place, one where Corradino's late father Alfredo can return as a ghost, visible to anyone in the room, able to harangue his son from beyond the grave. A place where more substantial "Returned Dead," raised by priestly miracles, can take up their lives again, even if they can no longer draw breath. A world where a secret society of "Prince's Men" can plan to stage an opera which, through the power of music, might actually summon up... something that at the very least does not seem to be in the best interests of Naples, or Neapolitans. Remember that volcano...
Conrad quickly finds himself in opposition not just to the Inquisition but also to those who wish to stage this "Black Opera." Fortunately, Corradino has at least one powerful patron of whom he has been heretofore unaware, a personage who expects him to help produce a magical opera of his own, to counteract the plot of the Prince's Men. And he has just six weeks to succeed...
Throughout The Black Opera, Mary Gentle's prose is lively and casual—she's not so much a literary author as a consistently readable stylist. The Black Opera is also full of colorful Neapolitan language—enough to need a glossary, which makes for some fun (and decidedly not safe-for-work) reading after the novel itself.
I admired Conrad's steadfast adherence to his skepticism. It must be even harder to remain an atheist when you're living in a literally haunted world, where ghosts and miracles are frequent and empirically verifiable occurrences. Such things are much more elusive in our own reality—The Black Opera is historical fantasy, in other words, as Mary Gentle freely admits. But she introduces her fantasy elements sparingly, at least to begin with, giving us a chance to settle in and accept the differences between Conrad's world and our own.
I also really enjoyed Gentle's portrayal of the theatrical community to which Conrad belongs, and the way its members joined forces against the Prince's Men. I do have some familiarity, through my daughter's involvement in theatre, with how difficult it is to put on an elaborate production, and Gentle gets so much of that behind-the-curtains chaos and drama right.
Her sympathetic portrayal of non-cisgender characters like Sandrine and Paolo was believable as well—a gentle reminder that gender fluidity is not, after all, a 21st-Century invention.
Some significant anachronisms did give me pause, despite Gentle's ironic disclaimer that she employed "the same careful and exact attention to detail as the bel canto composers"—and sent me online to research. It seems extremely unlikely to me that anyone would throw "Darwinism" at Scalese as an insult, for example, even if the shoe would certainly fit. The events of The Black Opera could have occurred no later than 1837, whereas Charles Darwin did not return from his voyage on the Beagle until 1836, and did not publish On the Origin of Species until 1859. And France introduced the metric system in 1799, but it doesn't seem to have been adopted in Italy until even later, in 1872.
Conrad's interest in "acoustics," on the other hand, appears to be entirely possible—it's a very old discipline. In addition to the above dates (what, you think I had those memorized?), Wikipedia also tells me that in about 20 BCE, "the Roman architect and engineer Vitruvius wrote a treatise on the acoustic properties of theaters including discussion of interference, echoes, and reverberation." So there's that. These are minor quibbles anyway, compared with how much I enjoyed the momentum of the story.
Grunts may have started the process, but The Black Opera confirmed it: I'm now a Mary Gentle fan. In the language of opera: Bravo! Bravissimo!
June 29, 2013
Naples, in the 1820’s. Conrad Scalese is an up and coming opera librettist, and a veteran of the Napoleonic Wars (which, in this version of Europe, ended in a negotiated peace after Waterloo which allowed Napoleon to keep his throne) He wants nothing more than to write opera, and one day be free of the staggering debts left him by his rakehell father. Conrad is also an atheist, despite the apparent miracles performed by the Catholic Church during their Sung Mass, which include raising ghosts and returning (some) people from the dead. When Conrad’s latest opera produces a possible miracle of it’s own, Conrad is consecutively accused by the Inquisition of heresy, and recruited by the King of the Two Sicilies into a shadowy conspiracy. Tasked with reproducing an ‘opera miracle’, Conrad must struggle with his own atheism, the Mother Church, a murderous secret society, a former lover and his own temperamental performers. And failure could mean the fall of nations and the death of millions.
I’ve really liked Gentle’s previous work that I’ve read. Illario was decent, and has some interesting things to say about gender, art, and power politics. A Sundial In a Grave: 1610 was fun and challenging. Ash: A Secret History was brilliantly entertaining and inventive. So I went into Black Opera with high hopes. What I found instead was something that was occasionally interesting, often quite frustrating, and, worst of all, kind of boring.
Gentle has a habit of dragging out certain scenes. Relatively simple conversations will sprawl over two or three chapters, with sometimes a page or more passing between every line of dialogue, as Gentle slows time down to a crawl, or pauses to examine minor side-details. I’ve noticed it before, but here I found it to be particularly grating. After a strong opening that drew me in, Gentle seemingly continues that with the sudden and unjust arrest of the presumed protagonist by the Holy Inquisition. However what should be an inciting incident that kicked off the story with a bang instead becomes bogged down as the scene goes on and on, with Conrad Scalese, said arrested protagonist, bickering with his priestly captor over the merits of faith and the possible moral bankruptcy of atheism. It’s a bad sign early on, and the story proceeds in a similar fashion from there - an intriguing setup that initially hooked my attention, before losing it with a slow, tedious pace. By the halfway point, I found myself starting to skim. When Gentle switches gears and ploughs through seemingly momentous events at a breakneck pace, the change is very welcome, but also disorientating, and only really serves to make it seem as if Gentle herself is too bored with these sections to slow them down and scrutinise them.
The alternate history setting, something Gentle has used to great effect in Ash, here feels more like an excuse for anachronisms (pizza, the Mafia), and to be freed from the annoying constraints of actual historical events (Napoleon being dethroned after Waterloo). It felt lazy and half-hearted to me, even though I generally believe the setting should serve the story, and not vice versa.
Speaking of the story, there’s also a lot of plotting and counter-plotting that sometimes becomes a little needlessly over complicated. Various character launch intricate schemes that seem ridiculous considering the looming apocalypse, and as a result the horrible catastrophe that threatens the world if Conrad and his allies fail loses any sense of real danger. Given what they know and what their goal is, characters just don’t seem to act in believable ways. For eg; If a secret society are plotting an event which threatens to wipe out the greater part of the western Mediterranean, causing millions of deaths, and you happen to encounter and identify a high-ranking member of said secret society, there better be a damn good reason why you don’t bring the hammer down upon that agent, because every ounce of common sense suggests doing exactly that. The behaviour and actions of the characters is infuriating at times, particularly towards the end of the novel, when I began to straight-up hate Conrad. Some characters are well developed, but other key figures are not. The love interest in particular felt very flat, which becomes a gaping flaw when the latter half of the book rests on the power of Conrad’s feelings for her, which seem inexplicable to the reader.
I held out hope, thinking a good conclusion could rescue things somewhat. But the climax was awful, and only magnified the things that had been annoying me previously. I really had to push myself to finish the last fifth of the book, and not just give up.
A disappointing, frustrating book, and certainly the weakest of the five Gentle novels I’ve read to date. It gets an extra star because of general goodwill I feel for the author, and for Gentle’s highly competent and polished prose.
I’ve really liked Gentle’s previous work that I’ve read. Illario was decent, and has some interesting things to say about gender, art, and power politics. A Sundial In a Grave: 1610 was fun and challenging. Ash: A Secret History was brilliantly entertaining and inventive. So I went into Black Opera with high hopes. What I found instead was something that was occasionally interesting, often quite frustrating, and, worst of all, kind of boring.
Gentle has a habit of dragging out certain scenes. Relatively simple conversations will sprawl over two or three chapters, with sometimes a page or more passing between every line of dialogue, as Gentle slows time down to a crawl, or pauses to examine minor side-details. I’ve noticed it before, but here I found it to be particularly grating. After a strong opening that drew me in, Gentle seemingly continues that with the sudden and unjust arrest of the presumed protagonist by the Holy Inquisition. However what should be an inciting incident that kicked off the story with a bang instead becomes bogged down as the scene goes on and on, with Conrad Scalese, said arrested protagonist, bickering with his priestly captor over the merits of faith and the possible moral bankruptcy of atheism. It’s a bad sign early on, and the story proceeds in a similar fashion from there - an intriguing setup that initially hooked my attention, before losing it with a slow, tedious pace. By the halfway point, I found myself starting to skim. When Gentle switches gears and ploughs through seemingly momentous events at a breakneck pace, the change is very welcome, but also disorientating, and only really serves to make it seem as if Gentle herself is too bored with these sections to slow them down and scrutinise them.
The alternate history setting, something Gentle has used to great effect in Ash, here feels more like an excuse for anachronisms (pizza, the Mafia), and to be freed from the annoying constraints of actual historical events (Napoleon being dethroned after Waterloo). It felt lazy and half-hearted to me, even though I generally believe the setting should serve the story, and not vice versa.
Speaking of the story, there’s also a lot of plotting and counter-plotting that sometimes becomes a little needlessly over complicated. Various character launch intricate schemes that seem ridiculous considering the looming apocalypse, and as a result the horrible catastrophe that threatens the world if Conrad and his allies fail loses any sense of real danger. Given what they know and what their goal is, characters just don’t seem to act in believable ways. For eg; If a secret society are plotting an event which threatens to wipe out the greater part of the western Mediterranean, causing millions of deaths, and you happen to encounter and identify a high-ranking member of said secret society, there better be a damn good reason why you don’t bring the hammer down upon that agent, because every ounce of common sense suggests doing exactly that. The behaviour and actions of the characters is infuriating at times, particularly towards the end of the novel, when I began to straight-up hate Conrad. Some characters are well developed, but other key figures are not. The love interest in particular felt very flat, which becomes a gaping flaw when the latter half of the book rests on the power of Conrad’s feelings for her, which seem inexplicable to the reader.
I held out hope, thinking a good conclusion could rescue things somewhat. But the climax was awful, and only magnified the things that had been annoying me previously. I really had to push myself to finish the last fifth of the book, and not just give up.
A disappointing, frustrating book, and certainly the weakest of the five Gentle novels I’ve read to date. It gets an extra star because of general goodwill I feel for the author, and for Gentle’s highly competent and polished prose.
July 23, 2014
FBC RV:
INTRODUCTION: Mary Gentle has written a couple of the most memorable sffnal novels I've read, namely the two alt-history novels A Sundial in the Grave: 1610 and Ilario, both deserving a place on my all time "more favorites list". She also has written the somewhat (in)famous Orthe duology of which the final volume Ancient Light courageously follows the logic of the story to its more natural conclusion, rather than the more standard "it'll be alright in the end" that even last year's Embassytown - which follows the same kind of story - presented. So any new novel by her is a priority for me and I've been impatiently waiting for The Black Opera since it was announced a few years ago.
Here is the blurb which is generally accurate though it does not really convey the richness of the book:
"Naples, the 19th Century. In the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, holy music has power.
Under the auspices of the Church, the Sung Mass can bring about actual miracles like healing the sick or raising the dead. But some believe that the musicodramma of grand opera can also work magic by channeling powerful emotions into something sublime. Now the Prince's Men, a secret society, hope to stage their own black opera to empower the Devil himself - and change Creation for the better!
Conrad Scalese is a struggling librettist whose latest opera has landed him in trouble with the Holy Office of the Inquisition. Rescued by King Ferdinand II, Conrad finds himself recruited to write and stage a counter opera that will, hopefully, cancel out the apocalyptic threat of the black opera, provided the Prince's Men, and their spies and saboteurs, don't get to him first. And he only has six weeks to do it."
ANALYSIS: While Ilario and 1610 were clearly sfnal, The Black Opera is fantasy-nal as it has souls, returned dead, ghosts and music as magic. It is also lighter and the least "serious" of the three with action that resembles an operatic plot in many instances. I am not that familiar with opera terminology and customs but I enjoyed the parts set into its world - bare-bones plot - bad guys want to use a special opera to bring down society for the greater good of course, good guys have to write/compose/perform a "counteropera" to stop the bad guys, though of course things are subtler in many ways.
The main characters of the book are part of the opera world in a role or another with a few kings, emperors, cardinals and soldiers added in since we are in sff hence we deal in saving the world and they are quite vivid and stand out with different personalities.
The action takes place by and large in the 1820's South Italy - home of the opera after all - though there is some backstory and some detail about the rest of the world. As mentioned above the operatic touch means that the novel balances between over-the-top fun and more serious stuff, but the author's skill is such that it is always a pleasure to read as the dialogue is crisp and funny - with occasional touches of subtlety and depth - and you slowly get to care about the characters and their fate. In traditional operatic mode there are powerful emotional scenes - while Mary Gentle's storyline twists and turns quite a lot.
If there is a weakness beyond the general lightness, "this is a story and it cannot be truly real" and of course assuming that the balancing act mentioned above works for you - I would say it is the choice of Kingdom of the Two Sicilies as the focal point of the movers and shakers of the action which of course makes sense from an opera point of view but not really from a sffnal point of view so to speak.
Overall The Black Opera is a highly recommended novel for 2012 but its ultimate lightness will keep it from my top of the year.
INTRODUCTION: Mary Gentle has written a couple of the most memorable sffnal novels I've read, namely the two alt-history novels A Sundial in the Grave: 1610 and Ilario, both deserving a place on my all time "more favorites list". She also has written the somewhat (in)famous Orthe duology of which the final volume Ancient Light courageously follows the logic of the story to its more natural conclusion, rather than the more standard "it'll be alright in the end" that even last year's Embassytown - which follows the same kind of story - presented. So any new novel by her is a priority for me and I've been impatiently waiting for The Black Opera since it was announced a few years ago.
Here is the blurb which is generally accurate though it does not really convey the richness of the book:
"Naples, the 19th Century. In the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, holy music has power.
Under the auspices of the Church, the Sung Mass can bring about actual miracles like healing the sick or raising the dead. But some believe that the musicodramma of grand opera can also work magic by channeling powerful emotions into something sublime. Now the Prince's Men, a secret society, hope to stage their own black opera to empower the Devil himself - and change Creation for the better!
Conrad Scalese is a struggling librettist whose latest opera has landed him in trouble with the Holy Office of the Inquisition. Rescued by King Ferdinand II, Conrad finds himself recruited to write and stage a counter opera that will, hopefully, cancel out the apocalyptic threat of the black opera, provided the Prince's Men, and their spies and saboteurs, don't get to him first. And he only has six weeks to do it."
ANALYSIS: While Ilario and 1610 were clearly sfnal, The Black Opera is fantasy-nal as it has souls, returned dead, ghosts and music as magic. It is also lighter and the least "serious" of the three with action that resembles an operatic plot in many instances. I am not that familiar with opera terminology and customs but I enjoyed the parts set into its world - bare-bones plot - bad guys want to use a special opera to bring down society for the greater good of course, good guys have to write/compose/perform a "counteropera" to stop the bad guys, though of course things are subtler in many ways.
The main characters of the book are part of the opera world in a role or another with a few kings, emperors, cardinals and soldiers added in since we are in sff hence we deal in saving the world and they are quite vivid and stand out with different personalities.
The action takes place by and large in the 1820's South Italy - home of the opera after all - though there is some backstory and some detail about the rest of the world. As mentioned above the operatic touch means that the novel balances between over-the-top fun and more serious stuff, but the author's skill is such that it is always a pleasure to read as the dialogue is crisp and funny - with occasional touches of subtlety and depth - and you slowly get to care about the characters and their fate. In traditional operatic mode there are powerful emotional scenes - while Mary Gentle's storyline twists and turns quite a lot.
If there is a weakness beyond the general lightness, "this is a story and it cannot be truly real" and of course assuming that the balancing act mentioned above works for you - I would say it is the choice of Kingdom of the Two Sicilies as the focal point of the movers and shakers of the action which of course makes sense from an opera point of view but not really from a sffnal point of view so to speak.
Overall The Black Opera is a highly recommended novel for 2012 but its ultimate lightness will keep it from my top of the year.
September 26, 2016
Black Opera is an exercise in patience. Patience on this reader's behalf while she struggles through 688 pages of bland description upon annoying description upon redundant description upon repetitive description, with about twice as many bloody adjectives as were used in this sentence, and excruciatingly aggravating (and again, unnecessary) internal monologue.
Alternative history is more than just a "what if" scenario. It's not just throwing supernatural elements into historical fiction and hoping it'll pay itself off by its inherent 'value'. And historical fiction in general certainly isn't about showing off all the research you've done during the course of writing your book.
Mary Gentle doesn't show, she tells. And she tells the reader a lot. Black Opera could have been approximately 60% shorter if Gentle hadn't decided that every eyebrow wiggle, every thought, every time Conrad stands up in the presence of King Ferdinand and is worried about this breach of etiquette (yet breaches even more etiquette only three sentences later) needed to be in the book. These weighed the narrative down until it was impossible to get through.
Black Opera's second big problem is pacing. Gentle smears out inessential scenes and tidbits, while more important plot points are sometimes rushed through. For a book in which a secret society seeks to bring about the end of the world as we know it, for a story that has not one, but two love triangles, for a tale about an atheist with massive debts and migraines in Inquisition times, there is no tension whatsoever. The story plods on through forced interactions between cardboard characters; even the supernatural elements have no satisfactory payoff - in fact, it might have been a slightly less bad book had they been taken out in the first place.
Conrad's atheism doesn't make him feel like a beacon of enlightenment in an age of darkness - it makes him a 19th century Neapolitan version of the Typical Internet Nice Guy. He's an obnoxious, unsympathetic, entitled asshole. Black Opera wants to imply that only a scientific thinker could have saved the world, but Gentle failed in making me believe that Conrad's is in any way a scientific or even a rational mind. He is fickle and hypocritical, and thinks with his penis throughout the entire book.
The plot is rife with convenient happenstances, ridiculous plot twists, laboured love triangles, no consequences for the main characters beyond minor inconveniences, and the - in my personal opinion - single most aggravating resolution of a main conflict in the history of written language. With internal monologue like: "I am ... more than bewildered by this!", and implying that Conrad is so clever for spewing faux-philosophical and wholly unscientific bullshit (because he's an atheist, as neither he nor the narrative will ever let the reader forget), Black Opera is a book that should never have been published.
Alternative history is more than just a "what if" scenario. It's not just throwing supernatural elements into historical fiction and hoping it'll pay itself off by its inherent 'value'. And historical fiction in general certainly isn't about showing off all the research you've done during the course of writing your book.
Mary Gentle doesn't show, she tells. And she tells the reader a lot. Black Opera could have been approximately 60% shorter if Gentle hadn't decided that every eyebrow wiggle, every thought, every time Conrad stands up in the presence of King Ferdinand and is worried about this breach of etiquette (yet breaches even more etiquette only three sentences later) needed to be in the book. These weighed the narrative down until it was impossible to get through.
Black Opera's second big problem is pacing. Gentle smears out inessential scenes and tidbits, while more important plot points are sometimes rushed through. For a book in which a secret society seeks to bring about the end of the world as we know it, for a story that has not one, but two love triangles, for a tale about an atheist with massive debts and migraines in Inquisition times, there is no tension whatsoever. The story plods on through forced interactions between cardboard characters; even the supernatural elements have no satisfactory payoff - in fact, it might have been a slightly less bad book had they been taken out in the first place.
Conrad's atheism doesn't make him feel like a beacon of enlightenment in an age of darkness - it makes him a 19th century Neapolitan version of the Typical Internet Nice Guy. He's an obnoxious, unsympathetic, entitled asshole. Black Opera wants to imply that only a scientific thinker could have saved the world, but Gentle failed in making me believe that Conrad's is in any way a scientific or even a rational mind. He is fickle and hypocritical, and thinks with his penis throughout the entire book.
The plot is rife with convenient happenstances, ridiculous plot twists, laboured love triangles, no consequences for the main characters beyond minor inconveniences, and the - in my personal opinion - single most aggravating resolution of a main conflict in the history of written language. With internal monologue like: "I am ... more than bewildered by this!", and implying that Conrad is so clever for spewing faux-philosophical and wholly unscientific bullshit (because he's an atheist, as neither he nor the narrative will ever let the reader forget), Black Opera is a book that should never have been published.
August 26, 2012
Read this for book club... well, that and because I really like Mary Gentle.
Here, in an alternate 19th-century Italy, we encounter Conrad Scalese - a professional opera librettist. Unfortunately, right now, he's being unexpectedly pursued by the Inquisition. You see, last night the hall where his latest opera was being performed was struck by lightning, burned to the ground - and the Inquisition blames his music. Because, as it's well known, religious music can often cause miracles to occur - and, sometimes, secular music can do the same, although this is an occurrence the Inquisition would like to avoid at all costs.
As an atheist, and firm believer in the natural sciences, Conrad has no truck with miracles. However, he admits that unexplained phenomena - such as the Returned Dead, when deceased people walk, vampire-like, and other 'miraculous' events do occur. Regardless, like most people, he'd rather not be in the hands of the Inquisition.
So when no less than the King himself offers Conrad an unusual assignment which would let him out of his arrest - of course he takes the commission. He is to write an opera - but not just any opera. A mysterious group of Satanists are embroiled in a plot to write a Black Opera which will cause volcanoes to erupt, wreak ecological devastation, and moreover, summon Lucifer and put evil in charge of the world. Conrad's job is to write an opera that will stop this from happening - a "counter-opera."
A countdown-style thriller proceeds to unfold...
The book is just full of wonderful details. Structurally, the plot of the book mirrors the plot of an opera itself, which is fun. There are tons of throwaway lines, which are just amazing (like the one about who Darwin married). The timeline plays fast and loose with history - although the background is vivid and thoroughly researched. I didn't care. It may bug some people.
It's not a perfect book. I often feel that Gentle's characterization is a bit opaque - I'd like to see more of her characters' interior lives. The whole race-against-time plot device is a little old, and the Grand Climax is a bit over-the-top.
However, the ending of the book made me up my rating from 4 stars to 5. I nearly cheered. I feel like I've read literally hundreds of stories just waiting to see this obvious solution to a common dilemma proposed. Gentle finally did it.
Here, in an alternate 19th-century Italy, we encounter Conrad Scalese - a professional opera librettist. Unfortunately, right now, he's being unexpectedly pursued by the Inquisition. You see, last night the hall where his latest opera was being performed was struck by lightning, burned to the ground - and the Inquisition blames his music. Because, as it's well known, religious music can often cause miracles to occur - and, sometimes, secular music can do the same, although this is an occurrence the Inquisition would like to avoid at all costs.
As an atheist, and firm believer in the natural sciences, Conrad has no truck with miracles. However, he admits that unexplained phenomena - such as the Returned Dead, when deceased people walk, vampire-like, and other 'miraculous' events do occur. Regardless, like most people, he'd rather not be in the hands of the Inquisition.
So when no less than the King himself offers Conrad an unusual assignment which would let him out of his arrest - of course he takes the commission. He is to write an opera - but not just any opera. A mysterious group of Satanists are embroiled in a plot to write a Black Opera which will cause volcanoes to erupt, wreak ecological devastation, and moreover, summon Lucifer and put evil in charge of the world. Conrad's job is to write an opera that will stop this from happening - a "counter-opera."
A countdown-style thriller proceeds to unfold...
The book is just full of wonderful details. Structurally, the plot of the book mirrors the plot of an opera itself, which is fun. There are tons of throwaway lines, which are just amazing (like the one about who Darwin married). The timeline plays fast and loose with history - although the background is vivid and thoroughly researched. I didn't care. It may bug some people.
It's not a perfect book. I often feel that Gentle's characterization is a bit opaque - I'd like to see more of her characters' interior lives. The whole race-against-time plot device is a little old, and the Grand Climax is a bit over-the-top.
However, the ending of the book made me up my rating from 4 stars to 5. I nearly cheered. I feel like I've read literally hundreds of stories just waiting to see this obvious solution to a common dilemma proposed. Gentle finally did it.
January 2, 2015
Having recently finished Scott Lynch's 'Lies of Locke Lamora', I was in the mood for Italian-setting historical fantasies, and happy to chance upon Black Opera which filled that craving fabulously!
Black Opera is an alternate history novel set in the operatic circles of 19th century Naples - I say 'alternate history' rather than 'fantasy' based on the general feel of the book, its unrelenting effort to immerse you into the politics and passions of the operatic world, even as it sneaks little hints that some things in BO's universe might not be quite the same as in hors (such as the outcome of Waterloo). It is precisely this loving attention to historical detail that gives the fantasy elements such a great sense of surprise: no one expects the Inquisition to have a couple of supernatural tricks up their sleeve! And how exactly do revenants fit in with Catholic dogma? Adding an ever-questioning, part-time Natural Philosopher atheist protagonist into the mix, Black Opera takes worn urban fantasy tropes and puts them in a new light.
The characters are all insanely lovable, idiosyncratic individuals brimming with ambitions and passions of their own. A love triangle pops up quite early on, which I found quite delicately handled, seemingly falling into a cliché only to swoop back up into an intriguing subversion of the operatic tropes the book has so much fun lampooning. Bonus for featuring (suggested) trans and cross-dressing characters. Would have loved a bit more awareness of Naples' cosmopolitanism or the post-colonial implications of setting operas during the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs, but granted that's a bit besides the point.
My only frustration was a really drawn-out third act that seems to slow pace and get stuffed with superfluous banter just when you want it to go full steam ahead, but luckily it builds up to several surprises at the end!
Black Opera is an alternate history novel set in the operatic circles of 19th century Naples - I say 'alternate history' rather than 'fantasy' based on the general feel of the book, its unrelenting effort to immerse you into the politics and passions of the operatic world, even as it sneaks little hints that some things in BO's universe might not be quite the same as in hors (such as the outcome of Waterloo). It is precisely this loving attention to historical detail that gives the fantasy elements such a great sense of surprise: no one expects the Inquisition to have a couple of supernatural tricks up their sleeve! And how exactly do revenants fit in with Catholic dogma? Adding an ever-questioning, part-time Natural Philosopher atheist protagonist into the mix, Black Opera takes worn urban fantasy tropes and puts them in a new light.
The characters are all insanely lovable, idiosyncratic individuals brimming with ambitions and passions of their own. A love triangle pops up quite early on, which I found quite delicately handled, seemingly falling into a cliché only to swoop back up into an intriguing subversion of the operatic tropes the book has so much fun lampooning. Bonus for featuring (suggested) trans and cross-dressing characters. Would have loved a bit more awareness of Naples' cosmopolitanism or the post-colonial implications of setting operas during the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs, but granted that's a bit besides the point.
My only frustration was a really drawn-out third act that seems to slow pace and get stuffed with superfluous banter just when you want it to go full steam ahead, but luckily it builds up to several surprises at the end!
November 5, 2014
Oh dear, oh dear. Such a great premise (especially if you enjoy music), such poor execution. The pacing is all wrong, and the action so jumbled in places I constantly wondered whether I'd missed something. The love triangle makes no sense. The inner monologue is excrutiating. (I'm sorry, but "I am feeling....bewildered by this!" is NOT how anyone thinks.)
I tried and tried to stay with it, because I was enjoying the detailed (and I mean DETAILED) exploration of how opera is made and the physical reaction music can provoke, but when the "twist" came, the book hit the wall.
I tried and tried to stay with it, because I was enjoying the detailed (and I mean DETAILED) exploration of how opera is made and the physical reaction music can provoke, but when the "twist" came, the book hit the wall.
August 3, 2017
3.5 stars
Now I love Mary gentle. Really. And this I liked, but I didn't love.
At 680 tightly packed pages this is too long and winding. A darmatic opera in teh making of an opera, facing paranormal miracles and counter miracles. Mary Gentle does Alternative-history, with oodles of paranormal, very well indeed.
I just wish this had been shaved a little.
Now I love Mary gentle. Really. And this I liked, but I didn't love.
At 680 tightly packed pages this is too long and winding. A darmatic opera in teh making of an opera, facing paranormal miracles and counter miracles. Mary Gentle does Alternative-history, with oodles of paranormal, very well indeed.
I just wish this had been shaved a little.
July 20, 2012
It is 1835-ish, Naples, with a twist: the Church has miracles down to a science. Or a reliable consequence of the Sung Mass, anyhow; their choristers can cure disease and reshape metal, praise God for His blessings. Only it's not just them. Any opera-goer will tell you that, just occasionally, the *secular* music of the opera-house will *also* invoke a supernatural result -- albeit without the control and direction that the priests can muster.
The Church probably isn't happy about that, but, hey, you can't tell Neapolitans to shut down the opera.
Conrad Scalese, librettist and atheist, has just premiered _Il Terrore di Parigi_, which is a hit, in more senses than one: the opera-house was struck by lightning. The Church *definitely* isn't happy about that, and Scalese's butt is about to be impounded (for heresy or whatever else the Inquisition can nail on) when he gets an offer which, under the circumstances, he can't refuse. It seems that King Ferdinand wants a miracle.
See, a decade or so previously, there was this volcanic eruption -- Mount Tambora. Devastated Indonesia, beat the crap out of Europe ("Year Without a Summer"). Ferdinand has evidence that this was caused by an evil operatic miracle -- a Black Opera, in analog to the Black Mass -- and that it was merely the test run. He is trying to put together a counter-opera.
I was diffident about this book at first, because our introduction to Scalese is his cranky theological arguments with everybody (up to and including the Inquisition). My problem here is that I *am* an atheist, and moreover an atheist in modern America, and moreover I'm not eighteen any more, which means none of this stuff is new to me. I've read all those arguments (back in my talk.religion.misc era) and I can skip them these days. Yes, it's a valid way to characterize history -- drop in someone who matches the reader, show first-person how they *mismatch* the times -- but the idea of a novel of the Great Rationalist Debate bores the snuff out of me.
That is not what this novel is.
This book is -- I'm going to regret this phrase, but what do we call over-the-top SF with starships blasting each other out of the skies as planets explode in the background? We call it "space opera". It comes out of the older idiom "horse opera". (Cowboys blasting, horses explode... yech.) Well, this book is *opera opera*. I'm sorry. It's unavoidable.
You have a hastily-auditioned group of opera stars. You have Scalese, the librettist, and the prickly composer Roberto Capiraso. (Who only avoids the label "prima donna" because this is opera and they have *literal* prima donnas to deal with.) You have the Gnostic secret society that wants to reprise Vesuvius -- this is not their *ultimate* goal, mind you -- who are therefore trying to sabotage every step of the counter-opera. And you have a deadline, which is six weeks away. Commence the rehearsal insanity. The *good* kind of rehearsal insanity, with everybody playing at the top of their game, and then higher.
(You also have men singing the roles of women, women disguised as men, castrati *singing* women disguised as men -- frankly the whole thing is so Mary Gentle that I'm surprised she didn't take up opera twenty years ago.)
Emotionally, this thing pulls out all the stops right at the start -- on high-tension artistic temperament alone. It then adds a steady stream of emotional time-bombs: ambushes, betrayals, secret relatives, secret relationships, extremely public arguments, feuds, fires, ghosts and zombies. And it winds up (this is merely the *predictable* part of the denoument) with an *opera performed in the middle of a volcanic eruption*.
Why Are You Not Reading This Book.
It is rare, at my advanced age, that a story moves me to a ceaseless, subvocal expostulation of "Holy crap. Holy shit. Did she just...? Is she going to...?" Because Gentle goes there. Wherever "there" is. Then the next plot point comes up, and she goes there too, turned up to eleven. There must have been a point where I *might* have fallen off the train -- lost my sense of belief, and then the whole enterprise would have turned ridiculous -- but I never hit that.
I think this is not a perfect book. Chunks of the beginning and ending are too talky. I'm not sure if (spoiler cameo) *really* needed a walk-on role. But if it is too talky, it is the enthusiastic chatter of the true fan -- the opera fanatic, here -- who wants to convey the wonder of it all. I am always a sucker for that. And, really, how could you leave (spoiler cameo) out?
The Church probably isn't happy about that, but, hey, you can't tell Neapolitans to shut down the opera.
Conrad Scalese, librettist and atheist, has just premiered _Il Terrore di Parigi_, which is a hit, in more senses than one: the opera-house was struck by lightning. The Church *definitely* isn't happy about that, and Scalese's butt is about to be impounded (for heresy or whatever else the Inquisition can nail on) when he gets an offer which, under the circumstances, he can't refuse. It seems that King Ferdinand wants a miracle.
See, a decade or so previously, there was this volcanic eruption -- Mount Tambora. Devastated Indonesia, beat the crap out of Europe ("Year Without a Summer"). Ferdinand has evidence that this was caused by an evil operatic miracle -- a Black Opera, in analog to the Black Mass -- and that it was merely the test run. He is trying to put together a counter-opera.
I was diffident about this book at first, because our introduction to Scalese is his cranky theological arguments with everybody (up to and including the Inquisition). My problem here is that I *am* an atheist, and moreover an atheist in modern America, and moreover I'm not eighteen any more, which means none of this stuff is new to me. I've read all those arguments (back in my talk.religion.misc era) and I can skip them these days. Yes, it's a valid way to characterize history -- drop in someone who matches the reader, show first-person how they *mismatch* the times -- but the idea of a novel of the Great Rationalist Debate bores the snuff out of me.
That is not what this novel is.
This book is -- I'm going to regret this phrase, but what do we call over-the-top SF with starships blasting each other out of the skies as planets explode in the background? We call it "space opera". It comes out of the older idiom "horse opera". (Cowboys blasting, horses explode... yech.) Well, this book is *opera opera*. I'm sorry. It's unavoidable.
You have a hastily-auditioned group of opera stars. You have Scalese, the librettist, and the prickly composer Roberto Capiraso. (Who only avoids the label "prima donna" because this is opera and they have *literal* prima donnas to deal with.) You have the Gnostic secret society that wants to reprise Vesuvius -- this is not their *ultimate* goal, mind you -- who are therefore trying to sabotage every step of the counter-opera. And you have a deadline, which is six weeks away. Commence the rehearsal insanity. The *good* kind of rehearsal insanity, with everybody playing at the top of their game, and then higher.
(You also have men singing the roles of women, women disguised as men, castrati *singing* women disguised as men -- frankly the whole thing is so Mary Gentle that I'm surprised she didn't take up opera twenty years ago.)
Emotionally, this thing pulls out all the stops right at the start -- on high-tension artistic temperament alone. It then adds a steady stream of emotional time-bombs: ambushes, betrayals, secret relatives, secret relationships, extremely public arguments, feuds, fires, ghosts and zombies. And it winds up (this is merely the *predictable* part of the denoument) with an *opera performed in the middle of a volcanic eruption*.
Why Are You Not Reading This Book.
It is rare, at my advanced age, that a story moves me to a ceaseless, subvocal expostulation of "Holy crap. Holy shit. Did she just...? Is she going to...?" Because Gentle goes there. Wherever "there" is. Then the next plot point comes up, and she goes there too, turned up to eleven. There must have been a point where I *might* have fallen off the train -- lost my sense of belief, and then the whole enterprise would have turned ridiculous -- but I never hit that.
I think this is not a perfect book. Chunks of the beginning and ending are too talky. I'm not sure if (spoiler cameo) *really* needed a walk-on role. But if it is too talky, it is the enthusiastic chatter of the true fan -- the opera fanatic, here -- who wants to convey the wonder of it all. I am always a sucker for that. And, really, how could you leave (spoiler cameo) out?
July 21, 2014
This book is full of texture. That's the only way I can describe it. The historical setting, the depth of detail where opera is concerned, the truly Italian feel of it all. I don't know much (nothing) about Opera, at least I didn't before reading this, and now I am very interested. I found myself watching and enjoying PBS broadcasts of opera and coming to appreciate an art form I had never enjoyed. That said, this is primarily a fantasy novel built around a premise that is exceptionally unique. The characterization is also top-notch, but Mary Gentle has always been a superb character-creator. Brava!
April 6, 2015
Such a fantastic read! This is a book that sets such a tone, such a time and place, that you feel you have taken a trip to another world and only just returned when you close the cover. I will be looking for more books by this author.
January 10, 2013
About 400 pages into this 500 page tome, I finally figured out who this book was written for: undergraduate philosophy students who are convinced, CONVINCED that their skills at debating metaphysical matters could save the world.
Okay, it was also written for opera fans, but we'll get to that in a minute.
Back to the philosophy students, didn't we all know one of those guys in school? I was a philosophy minor so I know whereof I speak: bucketloads of guys who could not stop debating, no matter the situation and sometimes no matter how trivial the topic (to be fair to philosophy majors, after school I met an MPH student who insisted on trying to debate three women on whether men putting the toilet seat down after use was anti-feminist. Even though the three of us were pretty clear that this was a dumb thing to debate, he persisted). They were, however, also the ones who'd jump on anything related to their favorite topic and drive it into the ground. They were smart, good people, don't get me wrong, but they were also possessed of extraordinary tunnel vision.
Such a guy is Conrad, the protagonist (I can't say hero about this guy. I just can't. I know he does actually do something kind of heroic towards the end and I actually found it moving when other people called him a hero, but for everything except approximately ten pages, I kind of wanted to punch him) of "The Black Opera." He is an atheist in a very religious society, and very conscious of how fish-out-of-water this makes him; however, other than some over-extended debate at the beginning, the whole "everyone else is religious but me" situation gets mostly dropped, leaving Conrad reacting with intellectual, oppressed outrage to differences of opinion that don't seem terribly severe. In other words, for much of the novel, Conrad seems like kind of a pill.
Underdevelopment was a major issue in this novel: certain key aspects of this world, such as religion, the Returned Dead (ESPECIALLY the Returned Dead), the Prince's Men (oh, especially them, too. ESPECIALLY the villains), Conrad's writing (we got, what, maybe two lines of it? Ever?) and the main female character Leonora were tragically underdeveloped.
Why this was written for opera fans: even aside from the novel revolving around the act of writing and producing an opera (one with extremely high stakes), there was something operatic about the whole thing. It was easy to picture the novel as an opera itself, something like Ariadne auf Naxos with a play-within-a-play deal. Conrad is even a tenor. The female lead is named Leonora, which has got to be the most popular opera heroine name ever. There were two love triangles in the opera they were writing: there were kind of two love triangles in the story. I get it! I do! But "operatic," unfortunately, does not necessarily equal "good." In this case it didn't. It really, really didn't.
Before I venture into the spoiler html, I have to pick on a couple of smaller things: first of all, pacing. Pacing was a problem. Even considering the "climactic scene" start and end points as conservatively as I can, the scene was 80 pages long. CONSERVATIVELY. And let me tell you, I felt every one of those pages. It was supposed to be intense, but it was really just monotonous.
Also, and this is terribly nitpicky of me, it was hard not to throw the book across the subway car when I read a 19th-century count telling someone "you need to lay down." Excuse me? The snobby, let-me-point-out-my-good-breeding-and-education aristocrat made a grammatical error that I suspect wasn't even too common back then?
Venturing on to the various revelations that were supposed to be shocking, or something:
End of rant. I think the main reason this book raised such rage in me is that it could have been good. I love music, and I love fantasy, and I wish someone would write a GOOD book where music and magic are combined. This could have been it, but oh, it really wasn't.
Okay, it was also written for opera fans, but we'll get to that in a minute.
Back to the philosophy students, didn't we all know one of those guys in school? I was a philosophy minor so I know whereof I speak: bucketloads of guys who could not stop debating, no matter the situation and sometimes no matter how trivial the topic (to be fair to philosophy majors, after school I met an MPH student who insisted on trying to debate three women on whether men putting the toilet seat down after use was anti-feminist. Even though the three of us were pretty clear that this was a dumb thing to debate, he persisted). They were, however, also the ones who'd jump on anything related to their favorite topic and drive it into the ground. They were smart, good people, don't get me wrong, but they were also possessed of extraordinary tunnel vision.
Such a guy is Conrad, the protagonist (I can't say hero about this guy. I just can't. I know he does actually do something kind of heroic towards the end and I actually found it moving when other people called him a hero, but for everything except approximately ten pages, I kind of wanted to punch him) of "The Black Opera." He is an atheist in a very religious society, and very conscious of how fish-out-of-water this makes him; however, other than some over-extended debate at the beginning, the whole "everyone else is religious but me" situation gets mostly dropped, leaving Conrad reacting with intellectual, oppressed outrage to differences of opinion that don't seem terribly severe. In other words, for much of the novel, Conrad seems like kind of a pill.
Underdevelopment was a major issue in this novel: certain key aspects of this world, such as religion, the Returned Dead (ESPECIALLY the Returned Dead), the Prince's Men (oh, especially them, too. ESPECIALLY the villains), Conrad's writing (we got, what, maybe two lines of it? Ever?) and the main female character Leonora were tragically underdeveloped.
Why this was written for opera fans: even aside from the novel revolving around the act of writing and producing an opera (one with extremely high stakes), there was something operatic about the whole thing. It was easy to picture the novel as an opera itself, something like Ariadne auf Naxos with a play-within-a-play deal. Conrad is even a tenor. The female lead is named Leonora, which has got to be the most popular opera heroine name ever. There were two love triangles in the opera they were writing: there were kind of two love triangles in the story. I get it! I do! But "operatic," unfortunately, does not necessarily equal "good." In this case it didn't. It really, really didn't.
Before I venture into the spoiler html, I have to pick on a couple of smaller things: first of all, pacing. Pacing was a problem. Even considering the "climactic scene" start and end points as conservatively as I can, the scene was 80 pages long. CONSERVATIVELY. And let me tell you, I felt every one of those pages. It was supposed to be intense, but it was really just monotonous.
Also, and this is terribly nitpicky of me, it was hard not to throw the book across the subway car when I read a 19th-century count telling someone "you need to lay down." Excuse me? The snobby, let-me-point-out-my-good-breeding-and-education aristocrat made a grammatical error that I suspect wasn't even too common back then?
Venturing on to the various revelations that were supposed to be shocking, or something:
End of rant. I think the main reason this book raised such rage in me is that it could have been good. I love music, and I love fantasy, and I wish someone would write a GOOD book where music and magic are combined. This could have been it, but oh, it really wasn't.
February 9, 2024
I found this a delightful read: a story about opera that is itself full of opera tropes, like lost love, girl-dressed-as-boy, sudden reversals and a ghost. Of course, like opera it also has an over-long finale and a side-plot that now I've finished reading doesn't actually seem to accomplish much except to set up a dramatic return to the stage for one character, but honestly? I didn't care at all; I was just there for the show.
Conrad is such an endearing protagonist and the rest of the cast are charming, too. The setting is itself a love letter to Naples, its people and its love of song. As you get towards the end you realise they're not just operatic tropes peppering the prose but the whole story is itself an opera about an opera, and the resolution of one mirrors that of the other, which I thought rather clever.
To get the best out of this book I think you have to embrace the theatricality of it and let it sweep you along. After all, the plots of most operas are vaguely preposterous but that's kind of the point of them: they're an experience, an event, an escape from reality, in which lies their magic. As long as they remain consistent within their own invented world they're best just surrendered to. Meet the story where it is and just enjoy the ride.
Conrad is such an endearing protagonist and the rest of the cast are charming, too. The setting is itself a love letter to Naples, its people and its love of song. As you get towards the end you realise they're not just operatic tropes peppering the prose but the whole story is itself an opera about an opera, and the resolution of one mirrors that of the other, which I thought rather clever.
To get the best out of this book I think you have to embrace the theatricality of it and let it sweep you along. After all, the plots of most operas are vaguely preposterous but that's kind of the point of them: they're an experience, an event, an escape from reality, in which lies their magic. As long as they remain consistent within their own invented world they're best just surrendered to. Meet the story where it is and just enjoy the ride.
March 7, 2018
Alternate History? Political Intrigue? Magic System based on Opera? All set in Naples during the Kingdom of the Two Siciles? Sign me up.
The Black Opera is an incredible work of craft and characterization that follows atheist and librettist Conrad Scalese, who's been drawn into a political conspiracy after accidentally creating an opera miracle.
I'd recommend The Black Opera to anyone with a love of music, theater, and political intrigue.
The Black Opera is an incredible work of craft and characterization that follows atheist and librettist Conrad Scalese, who's been drawn into a political conspiracy after accidentally creating an opera miracle.
I'd recommend The Black Opera to anyone with a love of music, theater, and political intrigue.
April 29, 2014
I loved this book, and I have no idea how to make my review reflect that. You'll just have to trust me. There was something about it, some incredible potential that wasn't so much squandered as buried. I loved uncovering it. I just wish I was a faster reader.
1. Was the story fun to read? Truthfully, it was a chore. I had to force myself to finish. The pacing was far too slow for me. There were chapters and chapters of strategic conversation, chapters and chapters of the work that goes into art: the invisible strings, the behind-the-scenes labor, drama, and troubleshooting. I did enjoy reading about the creative process while they were plotting the counter opera, but it took some time to get to that point, and I had to make a real effort to enjoy the story within the story and let go of the whole Black Opera premise. The Black Opera itself was just a looming threat until the very end. I wish I could have seen more of it. That said, each time the story unveiled another surprise, I had fun. So this answer is really a kind of "yes, but…".
2. Did the characters intrigue me? Yes, but… they were underused. I adored Isaura and Luigi so much. I wanted to see more of them, but they were true side-characters. You know how in Harry Potter most of the professors and even the villains got a story arc? I mean from book one, I was fascinated with sour old Snape, and his arc was brilliant. Isaura and Luigi didn't really get arcs of their own. You got a sense that there was so much more going on with them, so much more to their lives than their interactions with our hero, Conrad, but it was never really explored.
And Conrad was just… an atheist. His entire personality seemed to revolve around his lack of belief. His willingness to spit in the face of the Inquisition was admirable and led to a great payoff in the end, but other than that, he was sort of one-note. Yes, there was more to him, but none of it seemed as central to his identity as his atheism was. Don't get me wrong. I think it was massively cool to have an atheist be the hero in a FANTASY about GOD. I adored his arguments (although at times they were a bit repetitive) and his willingness to stand up to authority after authority after SERIOUS authority, you guys. He just wasn't as interesting to me as his cross-dressing sister and the rakish chief of police.
3. Did the premise make me think? YES YES YES! I cannot tell you how awesome this premise is, and it was even more breathtaking after I'd finished the book. I don't want to give anything about the ending away (except that the twist I predicted was wrong, and that made me growl a bit), so you'll just have to trust me on that part. But even the initial premise: that of music as magic, of the Black Opera as a means to obliterate civilization as we know it, and the secret society willing to do just that in order to raise a hell they THINK will create a better world… Wow. It was the premise that got me through to the end. Every time I thought about quitting, I reminded myself what the book I was reading was about and just pushed on. I am glad I did, but damn, this tome could have used a more hands-on editor.
On that note, the errors in the book jarred me much of the time. Inconsistent use of italics, at least one random name swap, along with the usual typos and missing words made me think the editor must have been in quite a rush. I believe a premise as mind-blowing as this deserved stronger editing.
So I recommend The Black Opera if the premise sounds like something you can't pass up and you're either a quick or tenacious reader. You won't be unhappy you read it when you're finished, but you might be a little bit stabby while you're still wading through it.
1. Was the story fun to read? Truthfully, it was a chore. I had to force myself to finish. The pacing was far too slow for me. There were chapters and chapters of strategic conversation, chapters and chapters of the work that goes into art: the invisible strings, the behind-the-scenes labor, drama, and troubleshooting. I did enjoy reading about the creative process while they were plotting the counter opera, but it took some time to get to that point, and I had to make a real effort to enjoy the story within the story and let go of the whole Black Opera premise. The Black Opera itself was just a looming threat until the very end. I wish I could have seen more of it. That said, each time the story unveiled another surprise, I had fun. So this answer is really a kind of "yes, but…".
2. Did the characters intrigue me? Yes, but… they were underused. I adored Isaura and Luigi so much. I wanted to see more of them, but they were true side-characters. You know how in Harry Potter most of the professors and even the villains got a story arc? I mean from book one, I was fascinated with sour old Snape, and his arc was brilliant. Isaura and Luigi didn't really get arcs of their own. You got a sense that there was so much more going on with them, so much more to their lives than their interactions with our hero, Conrad, but it was never really explored.
And Conrad was just… an atheist. His entire personality seemed to revolve around his lack of belief. His willingness to spit in the face of the Inquisition was admirable and led to a great payoff in the end, but other than that, he was sort of one-note. Yes, there was more to him, but none of it seemed as central to his identity as his atheism was. Don't get me wrong. I think it was massively cool to have an atheist be the hero in a FANTASY about GOD. I adored his arguments (although at times they were a bit repetitive) and his willingness to stand up to authority after authority after SERIOUS authority, you guys. He just wasn't as interesting to me as his cross-dressing sister and the rakish chief of police.
3. Did the premise make me think? YES YES YES! I cannot tell you how awesome this premise is, and it was even more breathtaking after I'd finished the book. I don't want to give anything about the ending away (except that the twist I predicted was wrong, and that made me growl a bit), so you'll just have to trust me on that part. But even the initial premise: that of music as magic, of the Black Opera as a means to obliterate civilization as we know it, and the secret society willing to do just that in order to raise a hell they THINK will create a better world… Wow. It was the premise that got me through to the end. Every time I thought about quitting, I reminded myself what the book I was reading was about and just pushed on. I am glad I did, but damn, this tome could have used a more hands-on editor.
On that note, the errors in the book jarred me much of the time. Inconsistent use of italics, at least one random name swap, along with the usual typos and missing words made me think the editor must have been in quite a rush. I believe a premise as mind-blowing as this deserved stronger editing.
So I recommend The Black Opera if the premise sounds like something you can't pass up and you're either a quick or tenacious reader. You won't be unhappy you read it when you're finished, but you might be a little bit stabby while you're still wading through it.
August 18, 2017
This book was recommended to me by someone dear. I very much loved reading the book the first time around. The story is thoroughly thought-through and sketches a realistic picture of an alternative nineteenth-century Italy, where operas can work miracles. Mary Gentle creates a world in which words and music can unchain strong emotions as well as unleash disruptive forces of nature. Definitely worth a second read.
May 7, 2012
I have heard good things about Mary Gentle's writing for years now, though this is the first book of hers that I've read. And I have to say, if she is consistently this good, I will definitely be reading more. I was very impressed.
It's Naples in the alt-history 1800s, and magic is real. Not just any magic -- music is magic. A Mass can raise the dead, and, on the more secular side of things, an opera can bring the house down. Literally. As the novel opens, our hero, librettist Conrad Scalese, has just fallen into the clutches of the Inquisition, who are understandably a little angry about the heresies that were surely involved when his most recent opera got the place struck by lightning. Oh, and he's a atheist. Conrad is then rescued by the king, who commissions him to write an opera that will counteract the titular Black Opera being planned by a group of Satanists. Their previous successes included triggering a volcanic eruption in Indonesia, and given that this is Naples, I am sure you can guess what they've got planned for Italy. (Hint: Vesuvius.)
Conrad's personal life is also, shall we say, complicated. Ghosts and the reanimated dead are involved. But mostly he's got six weeks to write an opera while a bunch of Satanists are trying to make his life very difficult.
Okay, I acknowledge that in summary this sounds a little strange. But it is really, really good. Fantasy epic is a hard thing to get right -- and until this I don't think I've seen historical fantasy epic done in quite the same way -- and the stakes kept rising and rising, and there was an excellent plot twist I didn't see coming. The final operatic showdown was just right (bonus points for the location!), and basically I just really loved the plot. If it had any flaws, it's that it could have been trimmed maybe a bit and had some of the religious discussions done with less of a heavy hand, and that the characters other than Conrad were often not very distinct, personality-wise -- but this was more of a plot-driven book than a character one, so I'm not complaining too much.
Recommended wholeheartedly.
It's Naples in the alt-history 1800s, and magic is real. Not just any magic -- music is magic. A Mass can raise the dead, and, on the more secular side of things, an opera can bring the house down. Literally. As the novel opens, our hero, librettist Conrad Scalese, has just fallen into the clutches of the Inquisition, who are understandably a little angry about the heresies that were surely involved when his most recent opera got the place struck by lightning. Oh, and he's a atheist. Conrad is then rescued by the king, who commissions him to write an opera that will counteract the titular Black Opera being planned by a group of Satanists. Their previous successes included triggering a volcanic eruption in Indonesia, and given that this is Naples, I am sure you can guess what they've got planned for Italy. (Hint: Vesuvius.)
Conrad's personal life is also, shall we say, complicated. Ghosts and the reanimated dead are involved. But mostly he's got six weeks to write an opera while a bunch of Satanists are trying to make his life very difficult.
Okay, I acknowledge that in summary this sounds a little strange. But it is really, really good. Fantasy epic is a hard thing to get right -- and until this I don't think I've seen historical fantasy epic done in quite the same way -- and the stakes kept rising and rising, and there was an excellent plot twist I didn't see coming. The final operatic showdown was just right (bonus points for the location!), and basically I just really loved the plot. If it had any flaws, it's that it could have been trimmed maybe a bit and had some of the religious discussions done with less of a heavy hand, and that the characters other than Conrad were often not very distinct, personality-wise -- but this was more of a plot-driven book than a character one, so I'm not complaining too much.
Recommended wholeheartedly.
October 31, 2014
Naples, 1822. The opening night of Conrad Scalese's latest opera is a huge success and things finally seem to be looking up for the impoverished librettist. The next morning he wakes up to discover the cast, crew, director and musicians have fled or gone into hiding, the opera house has been struck by lightning and burned to the ground and the Holy Inquisition are pounding on his door. In this version of history, music can cause miracles, including bringing the dead back, but such miracles are solely reserved for the polyphonic hymns of the Church. Miraculous operas are heretical. Conrad as an atheist is already on dangerous ground, and his future does not look good.
Only a timely intervention by the King of the Two Sicilies saves Conrad from the torture chamber, but his problems have only just begun. A powerful, heretical, devil-worshipping secret society have harnessed the power of opera and plan to bring about a horrifying miracle. Conrad must conceive, write, produce and direct a counter-opera to negate the dark miracle. He has six weeks, and the dangers posed by the ruthless secret society are nothing to the difficulties posed by discovering that his composer's wife is his own long-lost love.
It's a fantastically enjoyable read with an unusual story, mixing fantasy and history in a way that's nothing short of, well, operatic. The suitably epic ending stretches on a bit too long, but Gentle has about a million different elements to resolve, from the various terrifying physical dangers to assorted metaphysical questions which need to be confronted to the musical duel of competing operas and, most tangled and unfathomable and intractable of all, the classical problem of the love triangle, so it's not that it doesn't hold the interest, it's just that there's too much of it.
Only a timely intervention by the King of the Two Sicilies saves Conrad from the torture chamber, but his problems have only just begun. A powerful, heretical, devil-worshipping secret society have harnessed the power of opera and plan to bring about a horrifying miracle. Conrad must conceive, write, produce and direct a counter-opera to negate the dark miracle. He has six weeks, and the dangers posed by the ruthless secret society are nothing to the difficulties posed by discovering that his composer's wife is his own long-lost love.
It's a fantastically enjoyable read with an unusual story, mixing fantasy and history in a way that's nothing short of, well, operatic. The suitably epic ending stretches on a bit too long, but Gentle has about a million different elements to resolve, from the various terrifying physical dangers to assorted metaphysical questions which need to be confronted to the musical duel of competing operas and, most tangled and unfathomable and intractable of all, the classical problem of the love triangle, so it's not that it doesn't hold the interest, it's just that there's too much of it.
October 3, 2016
There was a lot to love about this book. Interesting worldbuilding, compelling characters, and a fascinating story. Plus, as someone who studied opera, I was already pretty predisposed to love it. The staging of the opera itself was very familiar to me, given my background, and added an extra layer of enjoyment to what was already a fascinating story.
I must say I was sort of disappointed by the ending, though. I won't spoil anything, but there were several characters who were forgiven far too easily, considering what they did. It seemed highly implausible, especially compared to the realism of the rest of the book. I have to take a star off for that, which is a pity because it's otherwise fantastic.
So, despite the disappointing ending, this is still a book I would recommend. The good far outweighs the bad.
I must say I was sort of disappointed by the ending, though. I won't spoil anything, but there were several characters who were forgiven far too easily, considering what they did. It seemed highly implausible, especially compared to the realism of the rest of the book. I have to take a star off for that, which is a pity because it's otherwise fantastic.
So, despite the disappointing ending, this is still a book I would recommend. The good far outweighs the bad.
January 22, 2013
This fastmoving novel has a mouthwatering premise -- combat opera! -- and lots of expertly-handled twists and turns. I think that it fails at the end, however. It feels like she wrote it on a wing and a prayer, hoping to light upon the exact right conclusion to the plot, and failed to stick the landing. Also, unless you are totally a fan of opera minutiae, you're going to bog down in the middle, when the ardors of composition and staging come to the fore. Still a fascinating work, with its balance of subtle failures and obvious delights. Certainly not to be missed by opera mavens!
February 8, 2015
3.5 stars. For a full review please see my blog:
http://theidlewoman.blogspot.co.uk/20...
http://theidlewoman.blogspot.co.uk/20...
March 10, 2020
Review originally published in SFX magazine. 3.5 stars.
--
Mary Gentle isn’t one of the genre’s most prolific authors – Black Opera is her first novel in six years – but a book with her name on the cover is an event worth looking forward to. She always goes the extra mile to create rich, unusual alternative-history worlds for her stories – twice picking up a master’s degree along the way, because hey, why not? And whether it’s the alchemical 17th-century England of the White Crow series, Ash’s gritty late-medieval Burgundy, or Ilario’s Visigothic empire of Carthage, for Gentle, history is not simply an exotic backdrop for familiar defeat-the-Dark-Lord tales. Rather, she seeks the fantastical within the historical, deriving her stories and her themes from the imagination and concerns of the periods she picks.
For Black Opera, she turns to Naples in the mid-1800s, marrying the city’s passion for bel canto opera to charged contemporary debates about science and heresy. Ambitious up-and-coming librettist Conrad Scalese finds himself the centre of both ecclesiastical and royal attention when the theatre hosting his new opera is hit by lightning on opening night. The Inquisition blame Conrad’s daringly open atheism; Ferdinand II sees an “opera miracle” – magic raised by the power of song – that he might use to his kingdom’s advantage.
Some years before, he explains to Conrad, a secret society called the Prince’s Men managed to set off a volcano in Indonesia using a handful of singers belting out tunes on a boat. Now they plan to do the same again. And where better for their apocalypse than the Bay of Naples, an area hardly short of a volcano or three? The only way to stop this ‘black opera’ is a spot of counter-programming: the writing, casting and staging of an entirely new opera, so emotionally powerful it’ll drown out the bad guys’ efforts. In secret. In barely six weeks. What could be simpler?
When it focuses on this half-crazed quest, the novel soars. There is an infectious energy to the sequences in which librettist, composer and stars test ideas, try out tunes, and repeatedly tear things up to rearrange them in new ways. Gentle’s skill at meshing together a motley array of characters in common purpose and banter, so evident in Ash’s mercenary band, is on display again here. (At one stage Conrad even observes that opera companies and military units share a similar dynamic of mocking solidarity under fire.) It’s a fun and compelling portrait of the creative process that goes a long way towards making opera come alive even for readers (like this one) whose prior knowledge of the form could be summed up in a sentence.
Much less successful, unfortunately, are the hundred and fifty or so pages either side. After a fairly snappy opening, the novel’s early stages get bogged down in an off-puttingly clunky ‘debate’ about the relative merits of science and religion, followed by an infodump about the Prince’s Men that mostly just repeats, at length, several things we already learned in the prologue. After the fabulous performance of the opera, meanwhile, the novel’s absurdly drawn-out climax tests readerly patience by harping on about a love triangle that wasn’t particularly involving the first six times it got brought up.
In many ways, this is a consequence of the sort of story being told. Black Opera is suffused with a love of its inspiration, from the beats of the plot – twists, revelations, cross-dressing, illicit romantic entanglements, needlessly melodramatic cliffhangers – to the phrasing. Not a page goes by without a passionate curse in Italian; barely a line of dialogue without an exclamation mark. It’s unabashedly larger than life – but it’s more convincing and engaging in its smaller, human scale moments.
--
Mary Gentle isn’t one of the genre’s most prolific authors – Black Opera is her first novel in six years – but a book with her name on the cover is an event worth looking forward to. She always goes the extra mile to create rich, unusual alternative-history worlds for her stories – twice picking up a master’s degree along the way, because hey, why not? And whether it’s the alchemical 17th-century England of the White Crow series, Ash’s gritty late-medieval Burgundy, or Ilario’s Visigothic empire of Carthage, for Gentle, history is not simply an exotic backdrop for familiar defeat-the-Dark-Lord tales. Rather, she seeks the fantastical within the historical, deriving her stories and her themes from the imagination and concerns of the periods she picks.
For Black Opera, she turns to Naples in the mid-1800s, marrying the city’s passion for bel canto opera to charged contemporary debates about science and heresy. Ambitious up-and-coming librettist Conrad Scalese finds himself the centre of both ecclesiastical and royal attention when the theatre hosting his new opera is hit by lightning on opening night. The Inquisition blame Conrad’s daringly open atheism; Ferdinand II sees an “opera miracle” – magic raised by the power of song – that he might use to his kingdom’s advantage.
Some years before, he explains to Conrad, a secret society called the Prince’s Men managed to set off a volcano in Indonesia using a handful of singers belting out tunes on a boat. Now they plan to do the same again. And where better for their apocalypse than the Bay of Naples, an area hardly short of a volcano or three? The only way to stop this ‘black opera’ is a spot of counter-programming: the writing, casting and staging of an entirely new opera, so emotionally powerful it’ll drown out the bad guys’ efforts. In secret. In barely six weeks. What could be simpler?
When it focuses on this half-crazed quest, the novel soars. There is an infectious energy to the sequences in which librettist, composer and stars test ideas, try out tunes, and repeatedly tear things up to rearrange them in new ways. Gentle’s skill at meshing together a motley array of characters in common purpose and banter, so evident in Ash’s mercenary band, is on display again here. (At one stage Conrad even observes that opera companies and military units share a similar dynamic of mocking solidarity under fire.) It’s a fun and compelling portrait of the creative process that goes a long way towards making opera come alive even for readers (like this one) whose prior knowledge of the form could be summed up in a sentence.
Much less successful, unfortunately, are the hundred and fifty or so pages either side. After a fairly snappy opening, the novel’s early stages get bogged down in an off-puttingly clunky ‘debate’ about the relative merits of science and religion, followed by an infodump about the Prince’s Men that mostly just repeats, at length, several things we already learned in the prologue. After the fabulous performance of the opera, meanwhile, the novel’s absurdly drawn-out climax tests readerly patience by harping on about a love triangle that wasn’t particularly involving the first six times it got brought up.
In many ways, this is a consequence of the sort of story being told. Black Opera is suffused with a love of its inspiration, from the beats of the plot – twists, revelations, cross-dressing, illicit romantic entanglements, needlessly melodramatic cliffhangers – to the phrasing. Not a page goes by without a passionate curse in Italian; barely a line of dialogue without an exclamation mark. It’s unabashedly larger than life – but it’s more convincing and engaging in its smaller, human scale moments.
February 9, 2019
I asked at my local library about this book, and was most surprised when they went and retrieved it from the back store for me. (In fact I had a list of about twenty book titles and this was only the second on the list which they had.)
I read Hawk in Silver, Ash, and the Orthe duo years back plus one or two of her shorter books. We knew Mary on cix, and so I was keen to read any book of hers I could find.
Did it live up to expectations? Yes and no.
Mary always manages to surprise in her writing, and is eminently readable. However from the middle of the book onwards I did find it difficult to keep reading with as much enjoyment. Some sections seemed to be prolonged artificially much, and then other parts seemed to gloss over and avoid the necessity to explain or make the action convincing.
Whilst many readers seem unwilling to accept that Conrad, the central figure, could go on loving or forgiving the woman for whom he has held a torch since their time spent together in Venice five or six years previously, I can understand and accept such obsession that can make one blind to reality.
But I was annoyed at careless slips like 'rapdily' in the second sentence of chapter 49, and passages like:
'The first finger missed its top joint.'
'The three remaining fingers were not even stumps, taken back to the knuckles at the palm.'
'The lowest joint of the little finger was gone, the knuckle too...'
which made me try to add up to just how many fingers he had possessed before this injury!
The balance seems incorrect between the different parts of the book, which made reading the second half a feat of endurance, despite the need to read on.
I did like the operatic setting, and the use of element of operatic form in the writing, and certainly it was a page-turner for the first half.
I really don't like the sheer physical size of such a long book - it makes it uncomfortable to hold and read, although I know many of Gentle's books are long. In the first half I found the pace kept me going, in the second it was sheer determination and doggedness. I think her books demand to be read over a fairly short time span to get the maximum impact. My SO began it at the same time as I did and has just finished the first chapter, so I'll be interested to see if he bears this out.
I hesitated about giving it three or four stars, but there is much here that is well-crafted and ingenious. I just wished it had wowed me as much as others of her work have done.
I read Hawk in Silver, Ash, and the Orthe duo years back plus one or two of her shorter books. We knew Mary on cix, and so I was keen to read any book of hers I could find.
Did it live up to expectations? Yes and no.
Mary always manages to surprise in her writing, and is eminently readable. However from the middle of the book onwards I did find it difficult to keep reading with as much enjoyment. Some sections seemed to be prolonged artificially much, and then other parts seemed to gloss over and avoid the necessity to explain or make the action convincing.
Whilst many readers seem unwilling to accept that Conrad, the central figure, could go on loving or forgiving the woman for whom he has held a torch since their time spent together in Venice five or six years previously, I can understand and accept such obsession that can make one blind to reality.
But I was annoyed at careless slips like 'rapdily' in the second sentence of chapter 49, and passages like:
'The first finger missed its top joint.'
'The three remaining fingers were not even stumps, taken back to the knuckles at the palm.'
'The lowest joint of the little finger was gone, the knuckle too...'
which made me try to add up to just how many fingers he had possessed before this injury!
The balance seems incorrect between the different parts of the book, which made reading the second half a feat of endurance, despite the need to read on.
I did like the operatic setting, and the use of element of operatic form in the writing, and certainly it was a page-turner for the first half.
I really don't like the sheer physical size of such a long book - it makes it uncomfortable to hold and read, although I know many of Gentle's books are long. In the first half I found the pace kept me going, in the second it was sheer determination and doggedness. I think her books demand to be read over a fairly short time span to get the maximum impact. My SO began it at the same time as I did and has just finished the first chapter, so I'll be interested to see if he bears this out.
I hesitated about giving it three or four stars, but there is much here that is well-crafted and ingenious. I just wished it had wowed me as much as others of her work have done.
January 5, 2019
"...I don't deny that, by the singing of Mass, the sick are healed, daily, and ghosts are laid to rest, and the walking dead appeased. I've seen this... I do deny that this has anything to do with a Deity! Nothing about it demands a god in explanation." [p. 41]
Black Opera might as well have been written for me: alternate history, bel canto opera, atheists amid miracles, strong female characters (some of them passing as men), complex emotional and sexual relationships, heretics, friendships between members of different social classes ... Yet it has taken me five years to finish reading this book. I read half of it on a rather unhappy holiday, then set it aside. Before I restarted it, I thought this was because I had simply been distracted, or had wanted to forget the context in which I'd read it. Now I've finally finished it, I think it's in part a problem with the space between my hopes and reality.
The novel's set in the 1830s, in Naples, though there is a prequel set in Indonesia in 1815. Conrad Scalese is a librettist whose latest opera, Il Terrore di Parigi, ossia la morte di Dio, has been a rousing success. Unfortunately it has also attracted the wrong kind of attention, in that the theatre in which it premiered was struck by lightning and burnt to the ground. Since this is a world where miracles are commonplace, the destruction of the theatre is regarded as confirmation of Conrad's heresy, and he's arrested -- objecting vociferously that he is an atheist, and that science and philosophy can explain everything.
Explain this, says Ferdinand, King of the Two Sicilies, and tells Conrad about a group of Manichean heretics who are producing an opera with the intention of freeing 'the Prince of this world' -- Satan. Conrad suddenly has a new commission, the creation of a counter-opera: and then discovers that the composer with whom he'll be working is Roberto, Comte d'Argente and the husband of Conrad's lost love, Leonora. Who turns out to be in an interesting condition.
Add an opera plot about conquistadors, Aztecs and Amazons; an opera company replete with colourful individuals; a subversive sub-plot concerning Napoleon Bonaparte (who had a narrow victory at Waterloo); at least one cross-dressing character; at least one trans characters; two types of ghost; vulcanism ...
And yet, and yet. The first half of the novel takes place over six weeks or so, and spends a lot of time discussing the minutae of opera composition: changes to the plot, the characterisation, the music. (There is much more happening but Conrad's focus is on his commission. Otherwise he might notice how repetitive his thoughts were becoming.) The second half of the novel, by contrast, takes place on a single apocalyptic afternoon. The change of pace is jarring, and it took me a while to adjust: and then, as the story winds down, everything after felt a bit rushed.
On one level Black Opera is absolutely fascinating and very enjoyable, and I would probably have adored it if I had liked Conrad more. On another level, it feels like a Baroque opera rather than bel canto: too much filler, not enough dramatic passion.
February 26, 2022
I’ve been in theatre companies that had grudges with other companies but usually for audience size and critical reception; never for the stakes entered into here… and never have I read a more genius interpretation of that old showbiz saw, “The show must go on.”
I find Mary Gentle a frustrating author. Ash: A Secret History is a wonderful book and one of my all-time favourites, but I’ve not enjoyed very many of her other novels. I loved this, though. It has the same sort of mix of Fantasy and SF as Ash does (and there’s a couple of characters who have ancestors that I’m sure served with with her), and it mixes a lot of genres and disciplines in the way that only Gentle can, but it’s flawed in several ways. The first being that there’s a LOT of conversation. Admittedly it’s couched in a way that goes a long way towards not being exposition but a more natural way of getting information across but there are chats that take up more space (it feels) than The Council Of Elrond (and I love that part of LOTR). It also has a conclusion that takes place far too long after the climax. I get that there’s a need to tie up loose ends and ensure that there’s a proper ending for everyone but it feels taken to an extreme here.
Having said that, I did read about four hundred pages of this in a single sitting and freaking loved every moment of it. Gentle can be superb when she’s on form and she mostly is here.
I find Mary Gentle a frustrating author. Ash: A Secret History is a wonderful book and one of my all-time favourites, but I’ve not enjoyed very many of her other novels. I loved this, though. It has the same sort of mix of Fantasy and SF as Ash does (and there’s a couple of characters who have ancestors that I’m sure served with with her), and it mixes a lot of genres and disciplines in the way that only Gentle can, but it’s flawed in several ways. The first being that there’s a LOT of conversation. Admittedly it’s couched in a way that goes a long way towards not being exposition but a more natural way of getting information across but there are chats that take up more space (it feels) than The Council Of Elrond (and I love that part of LOTR). It also has a conclusion that takes place far too long after the climax. I get that there’s a need to tie up loose ends and ensure that there’s a proper ending for everyone but it feels taken to an extreme here.
Having said that, I did read about four hundred pages of this in a single sitting and freaking loved every moment of it. Gentle can be superb when she’s on form and she mostly is here.
November 28, 2018
For a lot of this book, I was really into it. Something about the super detailed, long look at making an emergency opera for magical purposes really worked for me. I think it helped that I've had some voice training; anyone unfamiliar with opera/classical voice terminology might be well advised to brush up on terms before reading, to get the most out of it, as the book doesn't provide definitions and just assumes you're familiar with Italian opera terms (although I think there might be a glossary in the back? Memory fails me here). I'm sure you could read it anyway without understanding them, but you won't enjoy it as much.
But, much as I liked some parts of the book, the ending was a complete flop. The book builds and builds and builds the anticipation, and then... falls flat on its face, in a long, multi-chapter drawn-out finale that doesn't feel convincingly like it has much to do with the build-up. It bored me silly and made me just wish for the book to end already. And then the characters do some astoundingly stupid, arguably outright evil things out of the blue. The worst of it is, I think this could have been such an amazing book with even just better editing to tighten it up, but holy crap this ending was so bad. There's nothing more disappointing than a horrible ending that didn't need to be horrible.
In retrospect, there are other flaws here too. Such as the supposedly super empirical atheist main character, who is supposed to perform a great feat of opera magic, not even attempting to study how to do so. He pretty much just writes an opera like he would any other, no effort at all to study how opera magic works or how to work an opera miracle, even though he keeps talking about how miracles should be studied to figure out how they work. *facepalm* Somehow I didn't care too much about this until after I finished the book, though; I guess I was enjoying the rest of it too much to notice until the end ruined everything.
I did like how the book felt a like it was meant to mirror the melodrama of the opera they were writing. It made me accept a certain level of cheesiness I might not have otherwise.
But man, this book could have been 5 stars, with just a little more work. So close, and yet so very, very far.
But, much as I liked some parts of the book, the ending was a complete flop. The book builds and builds and builds the anticipation, and then... falls flat on its face, in a long, multi-chapter drawn-out finale that doesn't feel convincingly like it has much to do with the build-up. It bored me silly and made me just wish for the book to end already. And then the characters do some astoundingly stupid, arguably outright evil things out of the blue. The worst of it is, I think this could have been such an amazing book with even just better editing to tighten it up, but holy crap this ending was so bad. There's nothing more disappointing than a horrible ending that didn't need to be horrible.
In retrospect, there are other flaws here too. Such as the supposedly super empirical atheist main character, who is supposed to perform a great feat of opera magic, not even attempting to study how to do so. He pretty much just writes an opera like he would any other, no effort at all to study how opera magic works or how to work an opera miracle, even though he keeps talking about how miracles should be studied to figure out how they work. *facepalm* Somehow I didn't care too much about this until after I finished the book, though; I guess I was enjoying the rest of it too much to notice until the end ruined everything.
I did like how the book felt a like it was meant to mirror the melodrama of the opera they were writing. It made me accept a certain level of cheesiness I might not have otherwise.
But man, this book could have been 5 stars, with just a little more work. So close, and yet so very, very far.
November 25, 2022
There is a point in this book when it seems to go horribly wrong. I sat there and thought, "Oh no! She's ruined it!" and I have to admit that part of me still thinks that. And then it dawned on me... this is an opera! I don't know what type of opera it is (I've only ever seen one, the Ring Cycle when it was shown on the telly over a three-week period); is it an Italian comic-opera? In parts it feels like it. Is it ... no, no, it isn't Wagnerian and here my ignorance must draw a line. It IS an opera. It has drama and over-the-top theatricals... it even gets a bit silly at one point (for me) which is an ironic thing to say when you consider that it is set in a world where music, particularly sung music, can act actually make miracles happen, and the central plot is based on the attempt of our (Wagnerian or Beethoven-like?) hero to write an opera that will act as a counter to the plots of an evil secret society planning to create volcanic destruction through their own "Black Opera".
this IS an opera. It is amusing and deadly serious. It has its almost flippant moments (you can almost hear the music) and its dramatic moments which lead upto a grand theatrical moment... and then more.
this IS an opera. It is amusing and deadly serious. It has its almost flippant moments (you can almost hear the music) and its dramatic moments which lead upto a grand theatrical moment... and then more.
October 20, 2024
I was quite enjoying the book for both the setting and concept, but the finale lost me. Most of this was the timing. With two operas launching simultaneously, the roof caved in on one midway through one of the two. The participants had time to dig themselves out of the rubble, take stock of the fact that they had lost members of their company, head to the waterfront amidst the chaos of a collapsing city, take stock of the fact that the ship they were hoping to find had sunk, catch a completely different ship down the coast, march from coast to another site, have a few philosophical discussions along the way, and still get there before the second opera finished in time for them to partake in the finale.
Basically what should have been a matter for an hour or two took up two hundred pages of the book. I just could not buy that they had time for this. And then the finale itself seemed more like a deus ex machina than something earned by the protagonists.
I could see hints of the greatness that I recall from Ash: A Secret History, but only hints. All told, I found it a disappointment.
Basically what should have been a matter for an hour or two took up two hundred pages of the book. I just could not buy that they had time for this. And then the finale itself seemed more like a deus ex machina than something earned by the protagonists.
I could see hints of the greatness that I recall from Ash: A Secret History, but only hints. All told, I found it a disappointment.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 22, 2019
This was my first novel by Mary Gentle - hubby suggested 'Rats and Gargoyles' but I've never been one to enjoy fantasy. This caught my eye; the idea of using opera as a weapon. I gave it four stars because her description is top notch, her eye for detail and obvious knowledge of everything opera is superb. I just left off the one star because the story was weighed down a little by the reader's need to 'stick with it' through the sometimes lengthy opera procedure; however, one has to admire how she managed to weave that into a novel! The characters were finely formed and you didn't feel at any time outside of their emotions and struggles. Innovative writing and quite a full on experience for anyone new to Mary Gentle's work. I will try her other works in due course.
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