While this book has some strong elements, far too many times I found myself shaking my head over its weaknesses. And then when I got to the big payoff -- the description of the "painting that shocked the world," and why and how it did -- my response was, "Meh. That's all he has to say about it?"
There's thing that journalists call: "burying the lead." (Actually, it's "lede," but if I wrote it that way, most readers would think I don't know how to spell.) This means that as a journalist you need to get the key point at the top of your article. Don't save it for the conclusion, which many readers won't get to. This book buries the lead. The lead is the famous painting "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon." Completed in 1907, about 8 years after Picasso first went to Paris, it is considered the first "modern art" painting because it skews perspective of some of the bodies, takes apart bodies to show different parts in different directions, and uses a flat visual plane that makes no effort to give realistic perspective. Some of these elements could be found in other Picasso paintings and those by others at the time, especially the flattening of the plane. But nobody put so much together in a single painting.
OK, so far so good. The problem is that the painting isn't even mentioned until about page 300 of a 400-page book. All the rest is the lead-in about Picasso's upbringing, his conventional artist father, his multiple attempts to reach success in Paris, his affairs, his friendships, and so on. The info about the painting should have been at the front, or at least some anecdotes about the painting and what it meant should have been there. Then we could have had some sense of what this was building to.
Furthermore, the discussion of the painting itself is actually kind of cursory. I summarized it above, and there isn't a lot more in this book. And what there is doesn't exactly sit right with me. The author writes a dozen times about the "ferociousness" of the painting, and I just don't see it. Yes, the women look directly at the viewer -- that is, turning on its head the objectification of women by men. But they're not ferocious as much as they are distorted. And I can understand that this can be perceived as violence towards them, but that's not the only interpretation. Neither do I fully buy in to the author's statement that everyone knew this was a painting of 5 women in a bordello, but that the niceties of the era didn't allow one to say that. Tons of paintings at the time were in bordellos. This could just be one woman shown in five poses in an artist's studio. I just don't see it as violent as the author says it is -- and he doesn't prove it to me.
This is a book weighed down by a lot of research and an author who seems to know a lot about his subject. But he can't get out of his own way in order to tell a crisp story and discern what's important and what has devolved into too much gossip. On top of that, the gossip material has been covered a thousand times in biographies, feature magazine articles, documentary films, etc. It's titillating, sure, but it's been done. In fact, it was being recorded in print even as the events he portrays were happening, because the artists and poets in this book were social media exhibitionists before social media existed.
My first complaint is the title: "the painting that shocked the world." I'll give Mr. Unger a pass by assuming he didn't write the title. But here's the thing. The painting didn't "shock the world" because it wasn't shown to the world when it was painted. According to Unger, Picasso showed it to 10 or 20 influential people, and when only a couple of them seemed to kinda understand it, he rolled it up and left it on the floor of his flat. For seven years. Really. Was it shocking to those who saw it? Yes, apparently. But did "the world" see it? Not by a long shot. And when it was purchased after seven years, it went to a private collector, so it still was seen by a very select few. And by the time those seven years had passed, Picasso, Braque and others had done hundreds of paintings using some of the principles and techniques he started to explore in the painting. So it would not have "shocked the world" at that point, even if it had been on wide display. Dumb title.
The exaggerated title represents the exaggerations or, at least, the breathless prose of the entire book. Over and over we're told that Picasso "changed the world." Literally, changed the world. Not changed painting or art. But "changed the world." Really? No proof is given in this book, except the observation that he became the most famous and richest artist in the world, thus paving the way for celebrity artists since. But how has that changed the world?
At the time Picasso was made a celebrity, the rapidly improving communications infrastructure (telegraph, movies, telephones, color printing, etc.) made celebrities in every field. There were athletic celebrities, movie stars, famous authors, and so on. Picasso was lifted by the tide, not the other way around, as the author claims.
Enough criticism. I'll state what I like about it. It's entertaining to read. It covers a lot of ground, in the sense that scores of artists, poets, essayists, models, collectors, and art dealers are mentioned. The author does a good job of explaining who the people are and reminding us when the return to the stage at a later period. I like that the book is full of direct quotes taken from original sources, such as people's memoirs, interviews with media over the last 100 years, and novels. The author backs up a lot of assertions and anecdotes with first-hand quotes. And he also does a nice job of exploding a few myths that surrounded Picasso, while giving fair measure to a few that are unresolved (was he blackmailed into a homosexual affair for a while when he was broke?). And he challenges Picasso's falsehoods, such as his preposterous claim that he was unaware of African art until the 1940s, when there are people quoted as saying they saw him looking at African art in Paris museums and he had in his possession several pieces of African art that a friend of his had stolen from a museum in 1906 or 1907.
The author does a good job of showing the seamy underside of the Montmartre area and its famous inhabitants, which even in their day were being treated as if their hardships were merely charming. They really didn't have enough to eat. They really lived in squalid rooms without heat, electricity, or running water. There really were pickpockets and muggers all over the place. Their art really was hated, and they had to abase themselves to art dealers to get a few francs.
People really did commit suicide and have huge problems with opium. And the women were basically treated as chattel; the author pulls no punches about how bad that is in retrospect and why it was allowed to happen at the time, though there's no excuse for it. There's a really sad moment when he mentions a lovely young woman who was a sometimes washerwoman and sometimes model; but as a model, it was assumed she'd sleep with her clients since she was modeling nude when they told her to.
One of the best elements of the book is Fernande Olivier, a statuesque woman who was with Picasso during most of the key years in this book. She was married to someone who abused her, and she took up with Picasso in part for protection and in part out of admiration for him and his fellow artists. The author quotes from her two memoirs extensively, and she seems incredibly smart and sharp about Picasso and the atmosphere in which they lived. The love and anger, the heavy doses of opium, Picasso's jealousy, and the intensity with which he worked. She got pretty far with her life, including being paid off by Picasso to not publish her memoirs of life with him until after he died.
And this book does a good job at covering Picasso's influences, from the tortured Catholicism of his native Spain (though his parents weren't religious, it was all around them), to the women he loved (and treated with misogyny for his entire life), to artists such as Cezanne and Braque, to African masks, to poets. You really do get a sense of the fervor of Picasso's painting -- and the rest of his life -- as he explored the depths of his fears and negative outlook on modern life. You realize you wouldn't like Picasso at all, and he would hate you because you wouldn't live up to his standards of smarts and outrageousness. And yet, you'd never forget him either.
So, anyway, there's a lot to like in this book. If you know little about Picasso, this would be a good introduction, though I think if you've read about him already this doesn't break new ground. I like the definitions of how art was changing in that crucial period of the start of the 20th century in Paris, and I think the author does a good job of contrasting the various leading styles of the era. The milieu is captured well, too. But the book is highly repetitious and it fails in the task that is implied in its title: explaining to us why and how "Demoiselles d'Avignon" shocked the world.