Eve Holland is a scientist, unsure about the limits of her ambition. Comfortable, but unchallenged by her relationship with Harry Strakhan, the tempo of her life changes irrevocably when Harry introduces her to his relative Count Nikolas Strakhan, conductor, pianist, lascivious rake--and enormously fat. Nikolas' concert leaves the tone-deaf Eve unmoved, but her curiosity about this larger- than-life figure develops into an obsession that compels her to unearth the legendary history of the once-svelte "quick-change artist who sometimes wears all his costumes at once." Half-American, half-Russian, Nikolas descends from one of Catherine the Great's boy-lovers and mid-Western millionaires. A child prodigy he dreams of becoming a concert pianist, but his ambitions for true brilliance are thwarted by the realisation that whilst he is a perfect mimic and consummate performer who can achieve technical flawlessness, there is a silence at the centre of his music--brilliant as he is, he is not gifted enough to make the piano sing, although he is endowed with a sexual genius for making women sing. Grown up and cast adrift from both his family and true talent, Nikolas's diasporic story sweeps the Western world in a palimpsest of beguiling ambition, seductions, heartbreak, confidence trickery, debauchery, and--just once--genuine heartbreak. The Emigré glitters with refracted light from the world of the social élite into whose affections Nikolas inveigles himself in London, Paris, Switzerland and the United States. Brady's sparse prose is as refreshing and rare as the Beluga caviar that is a recurrent narrative motif, writing that sharply condenses a vision of the declining European aristocracy in a century that has outlived it. Posed with equal precision is the novel's preoccupying question about the relationship between talent and economic privilege: "Performers have always come in two parts: talent and money. Maybe the proportions vary, but the one is no good without the other. Which is to say that, one way or another, any devil's gift must cover both." This is Brady's fourth novel. The Theory of War-- for which she won the Whitbread Book of the Year in 1993--and Death Comes For Peter Pan established her reputation for brilliant, elegaic writing on traumatic histories. Equally accomplished, the metronome of Brady's writing in The Emigré is set to the different beat of insightful comedy that every so often exceeds beyond perfect timing into extraordinary evocations of desire and human ambition. --Rachel Holmes
Joan Brady is an American-British writer. She is the first woman and American to win the Whitbread Book of the Year Award for her novel Theory of War. She was married to writer Dexter Masters and has a son who is also an author: Alexander Masters.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
Eve Holland, a young American scientist living in London, is bored with life and bored with Harry, her predictable boyfriend, and is therefore excited to meet his charismatic godfather (Count Nikolas Strakhan). Nikolas's epic life could fill a Tolstoy novel: he is as crafty as a fox, as stubborn as a mule and as mesmerising as Rasputin. Sad to say, although Brady's writing is exquisite, the story itself doesn't live up to its promise and is too pedestrian for my taste. 5/5 for the writing. 3/5 for the story.
Fantastic writing, great story, brilliant characters. I loved every page of this book. Joan Brady’s novel traces several strands; there is the relationship between American narrator Eve and her boyfriend Harry, also American – very American, she feels at times. Harry’s godfather is eminent but flawed conductor Nikolas Strakhan, who is a true European, his family going back to the Bolshevik-driven exile of the well-to-do class in revolutionary Russia, to the émigré salons of Paris and Switzerland. So there is this clash of worlds inherent in every meeting between the three characters. Much of the story Eve narrates (in Wuthering Heights fashion) is actually told to her by Harry’s maternal grandmother, Beatrice, who has delved into the family history, it would appear, to know every detail of Nikolas’s murky past – he is not only creative as a musician. An early hint at his mercurial character is shown in the passage in which he plays his first piano teacher at chess; it is more than a game, more than a pastime, and a real power struggle is being played out. She always beats him, so he enlists the help of the masters by the simple expedient of looking up their works, and exacts a very singular tribute from her when he does finally beat her. There is something merciless about Nikolas even at this early age, and, as a character, he never fails to disappoint. The other big relationship in the book is Nikolas’s affair with one of Britain’s emerging new money heiresses, fabulously wealthy from trade rather than any stuffy idea of birthright; though he could call himself a count, Nikolas has no ties to such an old world. He would rather steal from her on a short-term basis and make his own way, than be her gilded pigeon. This relationship will come back to haunt him, and prompt him into an audacious act that the astute reader may be able to see coming – but that doesn’t take away the joy of the story. It’s also, at times, very funny, which takes much of the gravitas out of it. The writing is full of a compelling energy, and I look forward to tracking down Joan Brady’s other novels.