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candelibri's review
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
4.5
An unabashed fan of all things Ferri, I was compelled to add my two cents to the fray.
Cecilia is Ferri’s imagining of the life of St. Cecilia, the incorrupt Roman Catholic virgin martyr and patron saint of music. The story goes that she was married off at sixteen to a pagan nobleman, Valerian, who she warned away from her marriage bed by telling him an angel would punish him if he tried to take advantage of her but love and protect him if he respected her. When he asked to see the angel, she told him that he’d be able to if he went to be baptized. After going, he came back to see the angel crowning his wife with flowers. They were later both martyred by the prefect Turcius Almachius.
Now to Ferri’s story: Part One begins with Cecilia as a young girl grappling in her diary with her place in her family. Her mother has had upwards of four miscarriages and Cecilia has lost a living sister, Annia, to a childhood illness. Add to that, a playmate, Quintus, died in her stead when he took a “punishment” or rather a consequence meant for her. Rather than giving her comfort over a child’s perceived guilt, her father instructs her that that gods have used her as an instrument of justice - that it was her playmate’s destiny to die. There is no place for guilt but pride in one’s duty to the gods. (Thanks, Dad!) Yet this is something that torments young Cecilia continuously and forms her from a young age.
Part Two jumps to two months before Cecilia’s marriage to Valerian. Cecilia’s mother has given herself over completely over to the goddess Isis, abandoning her only living child in favor of her many deceased ones, leaving a bereft Cecilia more and more utterly alone. Yet once she and Valerian marry, she becomes even more isolated - he visits her bed infrequently and leaves her for his many pressing responsibilities. However with continuous losses plaguing her at every turn, Cecilia finds herself questioning both the Roman and Egyptian gods and their capriciousness at allowing suffering with no chance for healing.
“I see Claudia again, and her eyes that are begging not to live but to die, to be reunited with her child…If with death God did not grant Claudia the mercy of finding her child, did he at least have the compassion to erase in her every memory?”
Yet her loneliness drives her into her husband’s reluctant embrace, especially when she finds that he is spending an inordinate amount of time with one of her servants. With visions of her increasingly withdrawn mother fresh in her mind, she throws herself at her husband, in order to be wanted by anyone.
Part Three brings us directly into Cecilia’s introduction to Jesus - her longtime nursemaid Carite had apparently converted shortly before Cecilia’s marriage and not had the courage before now to share her newfound faith during Cecilia’s depression but during her sickness had called upon a brother Alexander when there was no one else to treat her. Now while this jump into Cecilia’s conversion seems disjointed, it is not quite out of the blue but it could have been more seamlessly transitioned into.
“Carite gave me her milk. Carite led me to your fountain. The soul of Annia, omen of your eternity. Quintus, dark sorrow, the substitutes death and then the thread that led me to you. Valerian, yes also Valerian, the blow that wounded me. My God, how many threads in the fabric you destined for me alone.”
Yet the deeper she immerses herself in her newfound religion, wrapping it about her like a protective blanket, the more she discovers the frayed edges - those who are not in it for the same reasons, who would twist it for their own purposes.
At first, Ferri’s writing reminded me very much of Maggie O’Farrell’s style. If you enjoyed Hamnet, I believe you will enjoy this as well. It is also translated by Ann Goldstein who translated the bulk of Elena Ferrante’s works so you are getting as close to the meaning of the Italian as you could wish for. Yet, on the other hand, while I can appreciate artistic liberties, it sits wrong with me that this saint/historical figure was denied her martyrdom. That her husband was relegated to brute. That her religious experience seemed to be on par with to her mother’s spiritual ravings. If I could wish for anything, it would be that Part Three had been hashed out or edited just a bit more and that Cecilia had found the peace in martyrdom that had been hinted at all throughout the book.
Cecilia is Ferri’s imagining of the life of St. Cecilia, the incorrupt Roman Catholic virgin martyr and patron saint of music. The story goes that she was married off at sixteen to a pagan nobleman, Valerian, who she warned away from her marriage bed by telling him an angel would punish him if he tried to take advantage of her but love and protect him if he respected her. When he asked to see the angel, she told him that he’d be able to if he went to be baptized. After going, he came back to see the angel crowning his wife with flowers. They were later both martyred by the prefect Turcius Almachius.
Now to Ferri’s story: Part One begins with Cecilia as a young girl grappling in her diary with her place in her family. Her mother has had upwards of four miscarriages and Cecilia has lost a living sister, Annia, to a childhood illness. Add to that, a playmate, Quintus, died in her stead when he took a “punishment” or rather a consequence meant for her. Rather than giving her comfort over a child’s perceived guilt, her father instructs her that that gods have used her as an instrument of justice - that it was her playmate’s destiny to die. There is no place for guilt but pride in one’s duty to the gods. (Thanks, Dad!) Yet this is something that torments young Cecilia continuously and forms her from a young age.
Part Two jumps to two months before Cecilia’s marriage to Valerian. Cecilia’s mother has given herself over completely over to the goddess Isis, abandoning her only living child in favor of her many deceased ones, leaving a bereft Cecilia more and more utterly alone. Yet once she and Valerian marry, she becomes even more isolated - he visits her bed infrequently and leaves her for his many pressing responsibilities. However with continuous losses plaguing her at every turn, Cecilia finds herself questioning both the Roman and Egyptian gods and their capriciousness at allowing suffering with no chance for healing.
“I see Claudia again, and her eyes that are begging not to live but to die, to be reunited with her child…If with death God did not grant Claudia the mercy of finding her child, did he at least have the compassion to erase in her every memory?”
Yet her loneliness drives her into her husband’s reluctant embrace, especially when she finds that he is spending an inordinate amount of time with one of her servants. With visions of her increasingly withdrawn mother fresh in her mind, she throws herself at her husband, in order to be wanted by anyone.
Part Three brings us directly into Cecilia’s introduction to Jesus - her longtime nursemaid Carite had apparently converted shortly before Cecilia’s marriage and not had the courage before now to share her newfound faith during Cecilia’s depression but during her sickness had called upon a brother Alexander when there was no one else to treat her. Now while this jump into Cecilia’s conversion seems disjointed, it is not quite out of the blue but it could have been more seamlessly transitioned into.
“Carite gave me her milk. Carite led me to your fountain. The soul of Annia, omen of your eternity. Quintus, dark sorrow, the substitutes death and then the thread that led me to you. Valerian, yes also Valerian, the blow that wounded me. My God, how many threads in the fabric you destined for me alone.”
Yet the deeper she immerses herself in her newfound religion, wrapping it about her like a protective blanket, the more she discovers the frayed edges - those who are not in it for the same reasons, who would twist it for their own purposes.
At first, Ferri’s writing reminded me very much of Maggie O’Farrell’s style. If you enjoyed Hamnet, I believe you will enjoy this as well. It is also translated by Ann Goldstein who translated the bulk of Elena Ferrante’s works so you are getting as close to the meaning of the Italian as you could wish for. Yet, on the other hand, while I can appreciate artistic liberties, it sits wrong with me that this saint/historical figure was denied her martyrdom. That her husband was relegated to brute. That her religious experience seemed to be on par with to her mother’s spiritual ravings. If I could wish for anything, it would be that Part Three had been hashed out or edited just a bit more and that Cecilia had found the peace in martyrdom that had been hinted at all throughout the book.
paperavatar's review
3.0
Not completely finished with the book yet, but I'm not sure I'll finish it soon, simply because the language is stilted and the constant tense-switching is awkward. This may just be a translation issue -- it could be a beautiful story in Italian.
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