Un museo londinense expone por primera vez los tesoros de los garamantes, un antiguo pueblo del norte de África, y los visitantes aguardan en filas eternas para ver las dos piezas más célebres de la exposición: la madeja y el niño de oro. Se dice que el niño está maldito, y los rumores alzan el vuelo cuando se produce un intento de asesinato en el museo. La llegada de la policía coincide con la visita de dos prestigiosos académicos, momento en que el director del museo debe enfrentarse a una red de intrigas que se va complicando entre celos, ambiciones, rencores y secretos mal guardados. Con la Guerra Fría como telón de fondo, Penelope Fitzgerald arremete sin piedad contra las élites culturales, políticas y universitarias. Presuntas falsificaciones, sospechas de espionaje e intereses políticos se funden en una novela trepidante, con elementos de misterio y comedia costumbrista. Una carga de dinamita literaria colocada estratégicamente en los cimientos de una de las instituciones más refinadas de Londres: la de los museos.
Penelope Mary Fitzgerald was a Booker Prize-winning novelist, poet, essayist and biographer from Lincoln, England. In 2008 The Times listed her among "the 50 greatest British writers since 1945". The Observer in 2012 placed her final novel, The Blue Flower, among "the ten best historical novels". A.S. Byatt called her, "Jane Austen’s nearest heir for precision and invention."
For a mystery story that was written simply to entertain her terminally ill husband, Penelope Fitzgerald's first novel is better than you might expect. The story is set in the British Museum in the 1970s, but not in the public spaces we are familiar with. Instead, we are taken into the back rooms of the museum, the offices and work spaces and store rooms that the public never sees. The plot, related to an exhibition of a mummified royal child in the style of Tutankhamen, hangs together fairly well, and as in a classic mystery, the nobler characters all warm to each other on sight, and the less noble ones dislike the noble ones intensely. Then there are a few dark horses so that the murderer gets to remain a mystery to the reader until almost the end.
Back rooms, places the public never see, are a feature of many of Fitzgerald's books I feel her back room locations are linked with her dislike of pomp and pretension—her leading characters are nearly always modest and humble individuals though often with an unexpected streak of rebelliousness. The main character of The Golden Child is very unpretentious, not at all bothered by the fact that other museum employees continually remind him that he's very junior. He is content because he likes his job planning the layout for exhibitions, although he is bothered that the public have to queue for so long, often in the rain and wind, to visit them.
The story takes an odd turning when Waring-Smith, for that is the main character's name is sent off on a package holiday to Moscow for a slightly absurd plot reason. I suspected the real reason might have been to give Fitzgerald's husband an opportunity to recall similar package trips they'd made together the story is full of little references that sound like private jokes she and her husband might have shared a particularly acquisitive museum director has a country house called Poynton where we suspect him of sequestering his 'spoils' a French museum in a place called Poubelle sur Loire is mentioned in connection with a very rubbishy character, 'poubelle' meaning rubbish or trash in French there's a heroic Jewish character called Professor Untermensch who escaped the Nazis during WWII there's a chipped and faded mosaic of Lenin's hero Chernyshevsky in a rundown street in Moscow called after Tolstoy.
The sites Waring-Smith visits in Moscow are mostly those that were open to tourists in the Soviet era, places like the Pushkin Museum, Lenin's tomb, the State Circus and the Space Pavilion, all of which must have featured on the Fitzgeralds' own package holidays, as the details sound very realistic. Waring-Smith discovers that in Moscow, people have to queue just as much as the patrons of the Museum in London, Six hours’ wait for the Lenin Mausoleum, three or four for the Pushkin. [People] must wait another eternity to get back their hats and coats which were compulsorily deposited; their feet were trampled, ribs broken. In Lenin’s words, what was to be done?
The theme of people being seduced into going to see what they had been told was worth seeing, whether the mummy of Lenin in Moscow or the mummy of the Golden Child in London, is at the heart of this entire book in a way, because Waring-Smith uncovers more and more nefarious secrets associated not only with the running of the museum but with the mummified royal child inside its golden covering inside its golden sarcophagus inside its glass exhibition box, itself like a series of nested spoilers.
It's always interesting to read a writer's first novel. Usually all the themes and some of the characters of future books are clumsily present in embryo form. And it's not the case to have great expectations. But I've never read a novel by an esteemed author with less artistry than this. It's like she wrote it in a month for either a joke or money. It's a pastiche of the murder mystery genre. To begin with it seems like it might be entertaining. An exhibition of ancient world tomb artefacts with a supposed curse attached is held at a London museum (a thinly disguised British Museum). But the longer it goes on the more offensively slapstick and daft it becomes. There are entire pages where she overlooks any thought of artistry and just rambles on, clearly finding her joke much funnier than it is. I rarely give any novel one star but because lots of people haven't read Penelope Fitzgerald I feel duty bound to warn them off this one.
Penelope Fitzgerald writes a whodunit. Except I didn't know it was going to be a whodunit, because having read a fair share of Fitzgerald I figured I knew what to expect and skipped the back cover summary. The initial chapters reminded me of Mad Men set in a museum, without all the screwing. Maybe more like Desk Set. Reminiscent of Human Voices, but much more tightly plotted, and unlike HV it doesn't constantly refer to people by abbreviations of their positions—DD(S), DDP, RDP, etc. There's a ridiculous trip to the Soviet Union—did someone say Winter Garden by Beryl Bainbridge?—and then the murder mystery, complete with cipher, on top of that. What would the world have been had Penelope Fitzgerald decided to keep writing murder mysteries as her publisher intially urged her to do? The Booker Prize would certainly have been poorer for it. My momma always said, a book was like a box of chocolates—no wait, that's not right, but in the case of this book it's true.
Silly me also thought that Fitzgerald had invented the Garamantes/Garamantians and was poking fun at the fact that Herodotus is hardly a trustworthy history source. Turns out that they did once exist, and are actually referenced by Herodotus (however much that amounts to), even if present-day Garamantia and the hieroglyphs are very obviously Fitzgerald's creation.
If you’re old enough, you will remember the King Tut craze. (And the Steve Martin song inspired by it.) I was a junior in high school when we were taken on school buses to stand in line for hours, snapping photos of each other, as well as of a fake pyramid and a painted “Nile River” that wound around the outside of the museum, until we could file past the relics, which I’m guessing we couldn’t take photos of since I have none. The waiting took hours longer than seeing the actual exhibit, but a least we were able to stand under canopies which helped shield us from the New Orleans weather. In this story the thousands queuing in the London rain have no shelter.
Inspired by the 1977 phenomenon of the traveling King Tut, though changing the artifacts to those of the Garamantians, Fitzgerald wrote this, her first novel, to entertain her husband. It is amusing, maybe even hilarious if your tastes run more to the comic than mine do. The baddies are caricatures and sometimes I had trouble separating one from the other. The goodies are more satisfying, though still types: one who bumbles along, even to Russia, and another who is a brilliant single-minded eccentric. But the characters are all in service to a somewhat intricate (and at times confusing) plot for Fitzgerald’s concept—the murderous machinations going on behind the scenes of a famous international exhibit at the thinly disguised British Museum.
“Un gran museo es como un Estado soberano en guerra.“
Pues aquí tenemos una pequeña novela de crimen casi de broma, un poco Trece rue del percebe o Mortadelo y Filemón donde lo que menos es lo que pasa y lo que más son las escenas surrealistas, los toques de humor y la ironía con la que se critica al Museo Británico y a quienes lo gestionan.
Es una chorradita de historia pero muy divertida para pasar un rato entretenido sin más pretensiones.
¿Harías horas de cola para ver la exposición del famoso tesoro maldito del niño de oro? 😂
This is the second of Fitzgerald's books I've read and I didn't enjoy it any more than the first. To me, she tries to write in a similar style to Jane Gardam but it just doesn't work for me. I forced myself to read more than I wanted to and there's no point in that. This sort of twee English eccentricity just becomes annoying after a while.
Estaba muy entusiasmado en leer este libro ya que encontraba muy atractiva la historia. Pero no logré enganchar nunca con la historia y los personajes, se me hizo lenta y sin sentido. Sin embargo, logré terminarlo.
I think that any absurd book is going to be loved or hated, and I have certainly hated my share of absurd books (notably, A Confederacy of Dunces, and The Sellout, neither of which I could finish because they were far too puerile for me.) Well this book is completely absurd,, and I thought it was hilarious and it endeared me even more to Penelope Fitzgerald. One thing I love about this book is that, in the middle of all its nuttiness, there is the truth of the way that a big museum is--that almost everyone who works there doesn't give a damn about the public aspect of it, that they are all a little mad and blinkered by their careers. Also, the way any big institution is--everyone staying in their specific job unless/until retirement or death happens, so incredible wars for power over little things being waged by superannuated and highly genteel people. How Fitzgerald manages to get so much into play in such a slim volume, especially because all of this has less time on the page than the craziness that is a conspiracy to hide the truth about an exhibition to preserve the museum's reputation, and the wildness of a surreal trip to Soviet Russia by one of the low functionaries of the museum, whose real purpose is concealed by his joining a package tour and who is tailed by a sinister figure who is ultimately a scholar of highest calling....oh, I am never going to do this justice. What in the world was the septuagenarian Fitzgerald smoking when she developed this plot? (I've read that she claimed that she developed her novels by knowing exactly what the first paragraph and last sentence would be, nothing else.) The next time someone speaks of old women as if the color of their hair betokened the color of their thoughts, sit them down with this novel, not as penance but as education.
¿Te apetece una lectura ligera, entretenida y amena?. Pues no busques más: lee „El niño de oro“. Adéntrate entre las bambalinas de lo que supone organizar una gran exposición en un museo londinense en la época de la Guerra Fría. La gran expectación y el misticismo que rodean a la madeja de oro y al niño de oro, hace que ante ellos desfilen todo tipo de visitantes y se levanten todo tipo de medidas de seguridad para asegurar que la exposición transcurre sin problemas.
Un libro muy entretenido con toques de misterio intercalados con crítica social y pullas a los favoritismos que ocurren en el entorno de los museos. La política detrás de los permisos para sacar ciertos objetos de valor de un país para ser expuestos en otro, traiciones, maldiciones, carreras a contrarreloj, falsificaciones, acusaciones de espionaje, robos, asesinatos… todo además a espaldas de ese público que lleva horas haciendo cola para visitar la exposición del momento.
La autora además sabe introducir algún toque de ironía y humor que la hacen una lectura de lo más adictiva y ágil. Un libro que me acompañó en las esperas de aeropuerto y me vino fenomenal para desconectar y descansar. ¿Te animas a desafiar a la maldición que rodea al niño de oro? 3,75 ⭐️
I had not heard of Penelope Fitzgerald (freely confessing my appalling American ignorance here) when I started reading The Golden Child. It took me a while to "understand" what I was reading: the first novel (from 1977) of a Booker Prize-winning novelist. At first it seemed to be an odd, old-fashioned whodunnit. As I read, I began to see a little more of what Fitzgerald was doing--telling a story that has elements of mystery and satire, and presented from the original, idiosyncratic point of view of a gifted writer. There's the parody of museum culture and the slightly surreal take on Cold War politics, perhaps the part of the story that seems most dated today, although still enjoyable and fascinating, as a look at recent history.
What is most striking is Fitzgerald's economic prose style. The amount of story that she manages to tell in very few words is astonishing. I read this book during my recent conversion back from e-readers to print, and I was surprised every time I turned a page--it felt as if I had absorbed a whole chapter's worth of story in just two pages of comfortably medium-size print. This is why writers win prestigious awards. I don't believe this kind of style can be taught, although, never having taken any writing classes, I am obviously making a number of dubious assumptions here.
As a writer, I found this book top-notch from the standpoint of style. I want to reread it slowly and carefully, to learn by example how to compress my natural wordiness into something more concentrated; not to copy or imitate, but to develop my own skills. And I want to read some of Fitzgerald's later works, to see her style at its best.
As a reader, I did find the story a bit thin, but it is a first novel. Because I work in a museum that is a bit like the American counterpart of the setting, a slightly disguised British Museum, I very much enjoyed the look behind the scenes of museum culture and blockbuster exhibitions, especially remembering the King Tut exhibition that was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC around the time The Golden Child is set. Museum life and culture have changed a great deal since the late 1970s with the adoption of computers and other modern technology, but the politics of large not-for-profit institutions changes very, very slowly, and a lot of what Fitzgerald writes about here is still true in spirit, if not always literally.
For readers new to Fitzgerald, I would suggest starting with later books that other readers have recommended. But if you already know her work and haven't read this, it's still an amusing, clever and slyly humorous work that won't disappoint reasonable expectations.
This was Fitzgerald's first novel and it shows, I think. Though many of the hallmarks of her craft are in evidence there is little of the masterly restraint of her more mature novels. Nonetheless there is much to enjoy. The setting is a thinly disguised British Museum which is holding an exhibition of Garamantian artefacts which includes the Golden Child. As the exhibition opens to massive public interest a series of mysterious events begins to unfold. As usual Fitzgerald draws her characters with grace and style and a tongue in the cheek humour, though in this novel they are with the exception of Waring, more akin to archetypes than real folk. The museum with all its intrigue and anachronistic machinations is deliciously realised and Len Coker's subversion of them deeply satisfying. In spite of this in my view the novel goes off piste in its middle section when Waring a character that was beginning to irritate me by now is sent off to Moscow with the golden doll in his luggage. Although there are some fantastic images of Moscow and Mosow life I found myself bored and tired of this section particularly the farcical interlude in the Moscow State Circus. I wanted to get back to the sinister museum where the Curse of the Golden Child was being played out. None of the panache of Fitzgerald's vintage novels but an interesting and entertaining read.
I have only read two Penelope Fitzgerald novels before, and both were strange and quirky but enjoyable. Of the three that I have now read, this was definitely my favourite. It is odd and quirky, very funny in parts, and utterly absorbing.
In this story of the exhibtion of The Golden Child - Fitzgerald is poking gentle fun at the world of museum exhibitions. As the characters and situations she has created in this novel are eccentric and often absurd, but entirely delightful for all that. The poor suffering public, queue endlessly, some people coming time and again to see this great event. While the museum bureaucracy is shown as rigid, petty and sometimes corrupt. This novel is so extremely well written it is hard to believe that this was Penelope Fitzgerald's first novel.
Acabo este libro y la verdad es que estoy contento. Lo disfruté mucho. Es una novela muy absurda y comida, dirían que kafkiana por ahí, con mucha influencia de Ágatha Christie. Es ágil y muy dinámica. Además de que si logra dar giros inesperados en la trama y la ambientación me gusta.
Algo que quiero destacar es la crítica a la acumulación intelectual, y por ello de poder, que denuncia la novela:
“ el objeto del Museo es adquirir poder, no sólo expensas de otros museos, sino en general. El arte y los tesoros de la tierra se juntan para que los conservadores puedan acurrucarse sobre ellos como los antiguos dinastías y mostrar esto o aquello, según su capricho.” (P. 25)
Algo que creo que no se hizo muy bien fue la construcción de los personajes. Son muchos y es muy difuso cuál es cuál. Hay veces que se refieren a uno “El Director” y luego como “Sir Richard” cuando son el mismo personaje. Es difícil distinguirlos y seguirles el rastro. Solo cuando ignoras este detalle y solo continuas leyendo es cuando lo disfrutas bastante.
Historia muy loca y divertida que, a su vez, es una feroz crítica al funcionamiento institucional relacionado con la Cultura. Me lo he pasado en grande.
The Golden Child is a brisk romp through a light mystery/thriller plot with finely-tuned, authentic characters, some of whom admittedly die as the plot thickens. The protagonist is an immediately likable, lower-level worker at the British Museum, Waring Smith, whose life seems driven and shaped by external forces around him, but who does finally rise to a more decisive demeanor when the denouement arrives.
I came to read The Golden Child, Penelope Fitzgerald’s first novel, after already reading several of her other novels. If she was casting about for ultimate “her voice” in this first novel, then I must say it had the effect of pointing her in a different direction altogether, for none of her later novels are anything like The Golden Child. The elegant prose—to become her signature style later—is already evident, as is her ability to create realistic, credible characters. But whereas later novels are more serious and more dramatic, The Golden Child is almost a caper.
The story’s action plays out around a highly-popular museum exhibit called “The Golden Child,” which is the major item in a collection of relics from an ancient African civilization called Garamantia. While Garamantia exists, The Golden Child exhibit is fictitious, modeled by Fitzgerald on the world-famous Tutankhamun exhibition shown by the museum in 1972. But there is something mysterious about The Golden Child; it is even suspected to be the cause of sinister, inexplicable happenings. Not only museum administrators, but other experts all appear to be interested in examining the exhibit closely.
Waring Smith comes close to being garroted in the museum, but is then surprisingly sent to Moscow on an unclear mission related to authenticating the exhibit. He fails in this mission, but gathers more suspicious information. While Smith is in Russia, an “accidental” death of the museum’s long-time patron complicates the plot. Smith returns, and another violent death occurs.
Meanwhile, the highest officials of the museum appear to be part of some conspiracy related to the exhibit and the two deaths. Smith, with the help of another museum coworker, begins to untangle the mystery of the exhibit and the conspiracy. Fitzgerald does a nice job of cleverly tying up loose ends, and late plot twists will keep readers gripped to the end. The handful of sinister, shady figures are nicely balanced with several comic characters that make up the story.
All in all, this is an entertaining book, and a clear indication that Fitzgerald would go on to become one of Britain’s best-loved authors.
[Note—This reader has also reviewed the following by the same author: The Bookshop, Offshore, The Beginning of Spring, Human Voices, and The Blue Flower.]
Regular readers of my blog may well be aware of my fondness for the work of Penelope Fitzgerald. I’ve been making my way through her novels, not always in order of publication, over the past few years. The Golden Child (1977) was her first novel, a hugely entertaining tale of internal politics, mystery and mayhem, all set amid the most British of institutions, a prestigious London museum.
The museum in question, a thinly veiled version of the British Museum, is hosting an exhibition of precious treasures from the African Republic of Garamantia – more specifically, the Golden Child and its various accompaniments and grave goods. Outside the museum, families and schoolchildren are queueing in their droves, patiently waiting for hours on end in the hope of catching a brief glimpse of the relics once they make it through the door. Inside the museum, however, all is not well…
In her later novels, such as the The Bookshop and Offshore, Penelope Fitzgerald became known for her darkly subtle observations of a class-bound English society. But in this, her first published novel, she seems to have been finding her way — and having some fun. In keeping with such a lighthearted mystery, she populates her tale with a motley cast of characters who, apart from her protagonist Waring Smith, could largely be classified as screwballs. Set in the British Museum, this tale features exotic artifacts, political chicanery and a supposed curse; fittingly, the place is occupied by a tribe of petty schemers obsessed with career advancement and personal glory. All of which provides Fitzgerald with plenty of opportunities for merciless send-ups — reminiscent of the wit of Charles Dickens — or perhaps Dorothy Parker: Hawthorne-Mannering, the Keeper of Funerary Art, was an exceedingly thin, well-dressed, disquieting person, pale, with movements full of graceful suffering, like the mermaid who was doomed to walk upon knives. He was deeply pained by almost everything he saw about him. It was said that he was born into the wrong century, but what century could have satisfied the delicate standards of Hawthorne-Mannering? His appointment had been, in a sense, an administrative error, or perhaps a last resort. The museum Director, faced with the entreaties of his Keeper of Woven Textiles and his Keeper of Unglazed Ceramics, both of them intent only on personal ascendancy, looked at them with unwavering courtesy. He saw them as two old fakirs, one sitting on a pile of rags, the other on a heap of cracked pots and broken earthenware. A New Statesman reviewer called this a “mildly sinister comedy”. I heartily agree.
Entretenido y con toques de humor. Cuesta un poco entrar al principio pero es gracioso conocer las bambalinas de un museo. No me ha gustado que no he sentido que me dejase participar en la solución de los misterios.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Comedia inteligente al más puro estilo inglés con el Museo Británico como escenario y que mezcla un crimen, asuntos de espionaje y política internacional y una crítica ácida al mundo académico y cultural.
Para nada me esperaba el tono de este libro. Me esperaba una novela muy seria y me he encontrado con un “thriller”cómico y bastante absurdo. Me ha entretenido y me ha hecho reir así que lo recomiendo.
Lectura interessant però que se m'ha fet força pesada. Es podria dir que és un thriller però no segueix l'estructura habitual i està adornada d'un humor britànic que pot arribar a ser delirant.