**Time for another unfavorable review of a popular book**
Though I love beautiful prose, I find that when a book is overwritten, I am pulled out of the story. Instead of being absorbed in the pages or feeling invested in the protagonist's troubles, I am constantly kept on the surface because of the constant reminder that... well, I am reading. I am reading words that the author thought sounded pretty together, and that's why there are so many of them on the page, because the author could not quite stop themselves. When it comes to writing a plot- or character driven- narrative, sometimes less is more.
Take, for instance, this description of a dress:
The gown rustles and slides around her, speaking a glossolalia all of its own, the silk moving against the rougher nap of the underskirts, the bone supports of the bodice straining and squealing against their coverings, the cuffs scuffing and chafing the skin of her wrists, the stiffened collar hooking and nibbling at her nape, the hip supports creaking like the rigging of a ship. It is a symphony, an orchestra of fabrics
and imagine 340 pages of this flowery over-description. There's a section where Lucrezia is described opening a package using two compasses, and it goes on and on. Seriously.
Sometimes, the descriptions are awkward:
"the horses pass through the narrow gates like a knife through bread"
The plot is basic and flows like a tide of molasses - sickly sweet and tedious. The characters are cardboard, cliche - down to the outwardly strict nurse who secretly harbors a heart of gold. Lucrezia, of course, has no faults. There is a particularly cringy scene straight out of a Disney movie in which Lucrezia nurses back to health a handsome young man, who of course becomes the love interest (*barf*).
I particularly had a bone to pick with the characterization of Lucrezia, who is based on a historical figure. Not much is known about the circumstances of her life except for the fact that she married young to a man ten years her senior, and died soon after (later rumored to be poisoned). I understand creative, poetic liberty in writing a character, but I noticed a trend in historical fiction that female protagonists must tick off certain traits:
-She must be different from those around her/does not fit in (Check: Lucrezia is sensitive, intuitive, intelligent, talented, artistic... unlike her snobby, superficial sisters)
-Despite these traits, her family does not love/accept her (Check: Lucrezia's mother is cold toward her, her siblings are half-written but mean)
-She is attuned to the natural world (Check: Lucrezia's fascination and encounter with the tigress, Lucrezia "falling in love" with the painting of the marten)
-She is delicate but beautiful in an understated way (Check: Lucrezia is thin, small for her age, the author goes on and on about her hair; even the segments about Lucrezia being sick/about to puke are detailed in a delicate, flowery way)
-She must be quiet but headstrong (Check: "it is not.... in my nature to acquiesce, to submit")
Also, why have Lucrezia state this so self-assuredly and then act mousy and weak anyway? For a *strong, smart, female character* she has a lot of lapses in judgment.
All of this is to say that for me, Lucrezia does not stand out from any other historical fiction protagonist I have encountered (ex. Circe, who is also "not like other girls"). She has been pigeonholed into a role, a neat box, as if to pander to the expectations of the genre. Why can't the main character throw tantrums, have sloppy habits, be acne-riddled, frizzy-haired, enjoy gossiping, hoard superficial trinkets, be human? I think this does a disservice to the real figure of Lucrezia, who is plopped into the cardboard cutout of "list of qualities the main character must have to be better than everyone else around her without explicitly saying so." The author's modern mentality is superimposed on the 1500s figure, which made Lucrezia an even harder sell for me. She pushes for freedom and independence during a time when women - especially the nobility - were taught to be subservient. Marriage and childbearing were their lot from birth, so I didn't buy that Lucrezia was shocked and horrified by her betrothal to an older man. Simply put, I did not care about Lucrezia because I could not overlook the author's choices - both writing style and characterization.
I was also disappointed because the Italian Renaissance is such a storied, animated place in time, but this book failed to transport me there. Instead, I kept checking the progress of my ebook, impatiently waiting for something to happen that would change my mind. Sadly, nothing did.