Last year, when I reviewed The Paris Seamstress, I wrote that it was my favourite novel by Natasha Lester, and indeed, it was in my reading highlights list for 2018. But here we are, a new year with a new novel by Natasha, The French Photographer, and yes, I’m saying it again…this is my favourite novel by Natasha Lester. I’d go so far as to say that it is her best yet. There’s a strength to the writing in this novel, a reckoning with regards to her themes that just elevates this novel into a class of its own. It’s brilliant, insightful, and wrenching; an ode to all of the women who fought for their right as journalists and photographers to report on WWII. History is rife with inequalities against women, and here, in The French Photographer, Natasha rips the dust cloth off and shakes out the rot that is steeped into the history of women in journalism, exposing it all, in its shocking and distasteful glory.
"As a woman, she had absolutely no access to press camps, which meant no access to briefings, or to maps, or to news about hot spots and likely strafing attacks and the day’s objective or anything else that would actually give her an idea which part of the country was safe and which wasn’t. When Jess had pointed out that this would put her at more risk that the men, nobody seemed to care. And she still had to wait in line with her stories; hers were sent back to London where the censors tore them apart and then directed them on to Bel, which meant that her words occasionally make no sense as she wasn’t allowed to review them. Whereas the men submitted theirs direct from France after their very own sensor had checked them and allowed the men a final edit."
Inspired by war correspondents such as Lee Miller, Iris Carpenter, Lee Carson, Catherine Coyne, and Martha Gellhorn, The French Photographer not only examines the misogynistic treatment of these war correspondents within their work environment, but also the way in which the war was reported on, particularly with regards to the treatment of women, post Allied victory. The stories the people at home ‘didn’t need to hear’, and which male reporters weren’t interested in reporting on because when balanced against bolstering morale for the war efforts, these crimes against women weighed less. The entitlement that some members of the armed forces had towards women, particularly German women after the Allied victory, can be summed up aptly by the title Jessica May gives to her piece written after the war: “I’ve Got A Pistol and There Ain’t Nobody Going to Stop Me Having Her” – which was based on Iris Carpenter’s recollections in her memoir. The French Photographer tells an important story, and the extent of Natasha’s research gives this work of fiction a gravity and merit that offers it up as a worthy source for historical insight, as well as a springboard for further reading. This novel is strongly feminist, and while Natasha’s work has always been this way, The French Photographer is sharper, less subtle, and all the more powerful for it.
"Nobody else would take those pictures; a male photojournalist would never think nurses worthy of any interest besides the prurient. And of course the War Department wouldn’t let Bel have Jess’s pictures because then everyone would know that a woman had been in a combat zone and that, apparently, was the real problem, not the death and dying and undocumented bravery of that small tent full of women in Monte Cassino."
The French Photographer is a dual narrative, but both eras are firmly linked. D’Arcy, in 2004, is an art handler, charged with the responsibility of packing up a collection of photographs from a famous photographer, whose identity has remained secret for decades. As D’Arcy digs deep into the collection, she begins to discover connections between herself and the photographer that don’t sit well with her. This is where Natasha excels at story building, applying human connections to her narrative that span generations. Keeping the sections short, the story moves along at a fast pace, building the tension within both eras, and as we near the end, Natasha switches perspectives to two other characters, major players whose voices offer an essential finish to this heartbreaking family story. And it is heartbreaking, more tragic love story than romance, mirroring real life with precision.
"There were almost too many things happening for D’Arcy to grasp them as individual hurts and losses, as well as wonders and astonishments. She suddenly felt as if she understood Balzac’s belief that a person was made up of ghostly layers, layers that image-taking stripped away each time a photograph was taken."
There are some really beautiful passages of writing in this novel. Atmospherically rendered, inviting the reader to immerse themselves into the world the characters were inhabiting. A saturation of the senses, so to speak.
For example:
"D’Arcy felt as if she were being lured little by little into a forest, as if a trail had been laid for her the moment she stepped foot into the chateau and she could do nothing but continue inexorably on into the gloaming."
And this:
"How lovely the night was, the gentle whisper of flower stems stretching and yawning and then curling in to slumber, the swish of the last bird’s wings flying home to roost, the rustle of night creatures awakening. Lemon and chive-scented air. The taste of champagne grapes on her tongue."
Glorious! Needless to say, I highly recommend The French Photographer – an illuminating and transporting read that will take your breath away.
Thanks is extended to Hachette Australia for providing me with a copy of The French Photographer for review.