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A review by msand3
The Masterpiece by Émile Zola
3.0
2.5 stars. The fourteenth novel in the Rougon-Macquart cycle (both in published order and in Zola’s recommended reading order) is a love triangle among an artist, his wife, and his painting. At one point the wife must battle against her own idealized image, over which Claude obsesses for years. She loses her husband to the image of her ideal past self which she can never possibly live up to (even when she was younger), and which her husband can never truly obtain through his art.
This is one of my least favorite novels in the cycle for a couple reasons. As this is Zola’s most autobiographical novel (Sandoz is obviously a fictionalized Zola), the characters and events feel too imbued with insider information, as if Zola had an axe to grind. While this may have been a fascinating insight for Zola’s contemporary readers, and may still have some appeal for anyone taken with early Impressionist artists and their world, for me it comes across as dated, even as Zola attempts to make larger universal points about the "troubled genius" trying to make his way in a world that can only scoff at him or exploit him. But this is such an old trope that it doesn’t make for a very original or enlightening topic. Secondly, the ending is perhaps Zola’s most melodramatic, which is saying quite a lot considering some of his endings! It was perhaps a bit too over-the-top even for me, and I call Zola one of my favorite writers.
That being said, there are some beautiful moments of ekphrasis throughout the novel, as Zola describes in vivid detail both the visual elements of the canvas, as well as the labors of the artist to bring forth those images. On top of this, Zola includes some of the most stunning and sumptuous descriptions of Paris I’ve ever read. As with most of his novels, the setting becomes both a symbolic commentary on the events in the plot and, particularly in this case, like another character -- a “lover” that rips Claude apart as much as his devotion to his idealized muse, both of which he can never fully attain.
For these reasons, the novel isn’t a total wash for me. There are images and scenes that ring with the same beauty and truth (sometimes quite grim) that pervade the best of Zola’s work, but also moments that were either not relatable (since I am neither an insider in this world nor an artist) or a little too maudlin. Perhaps it is worth a look only after reading Zola’s greater works.
This is one of my least favorite novels in the cycle for a couple reasons. As this is Zola’s most autobiographical novel (Sandoz is obviously a fictionalized Zola), the characters and events feel too imbued with insider information, as if Zola had an axe to grind. While this may have been a fascinating insight for Zola’s contemporary readers, and may still have some appeal for anyone taken with early Impressionist artists and their world, for me it comes across as dated, even as Zola attempts to make larger universal points about the "troubled genius" trying to make his way in a world that can only scoff at him or exploit him. But this is such an old trope that it doesn’t make for a very original or enlightening topic. Secondly, the ending is perhaps Zola’s most melodramatic, which is saying quite a lot considering some of his endings! It was perhaps a bit too over-the-top even for me, and I call Zola one of my favorite writers.
That being said, there are some beautiful moments of ekphrasis throughout the novel, as Zola describes in vivid detail both the visual elements of the canvas, as well as the labors of the artist to bring forth those images. On top of this, Zola includes some of the most stunning and sumptuous descriptions of Paris I’ve ever read. As with most of his novels, the setting becomes both a symbolic commentary on the events in the plot and, particularly in this case, like another character -- a “lover” that rips Claude apart as much as his devotion to his idealized muse, both of which he can never fully attain.
For these reasons, the novel isn’t a total wash for me. There are images and scenes that ring with the same beauty and truth (sometimes quite grim) that pervade the best of Zola’s work, but also moments that were either not relatable (since I am neither an insider in this world nor an artist) or a little too maudlin. Perhaps it is worth a look only after reading Zola’s greater works.