The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell

Title: The Marriage Portrait
Author: Maggie O’Farrell
Publication: Knopf, hardcover, 2022
Genre: Historical Fiction
Setting: 16th Century Italy

Description: Lucrezia is the overlooked daughter of Cosimo I de Medici, the Duke of Florence and, because she was a difficult baby, consigned in her infancy to a wet nurse away from the family, where she absorbed gossip and the local dialect. When returned to the ducal nursery, she barely fits in, either with the older sisters being groomed for dynastic marriages or the brothers being trained as courtiers and military leaders, while the only talent Lucrezia has is for art. When her sister dies on the verge of marriage to Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara, fifteen-year-old Lucrezia is required to step into her shoes and leave home forever to marry an older, sophisticated man who needs an heir to stabilize his rule. He commissions a portrait of her to commemorate their marriage, and work on the painting takes place as Lucrezia becomes aware that her situation is precarious and, except for the maid who accompanied her from home, she is friendless.

My Impression: This book captivated me from the beginning, although it is disturbing in its reminder of the vulnerability of women in this time (and many others) – even a young woman who is educated and from a powerful family can be given in marriage with no consideration of anything but dynastic and political suitability. This is not news, of course, but O’Farrell’s skill is depicting this setting and story makes the reader forget anything but Renaissance Italy exists. Lucrezia is transferred from one gilded cage to another, which she realizes offers more freedom than she had at home, but only if she can provide her husband with an heir. The parallels with Anne Boleyn were unavoidable to me but my book group was more interested in considering whether Lucrezia’s father would have insisted on the marriage had he known Alfonso was violent and cruel and whether her older and savvier sister might have better navigated the marriage.

Lucrezia recognizes that she is in an alien place without allies and cultivates the resilience that she has developed to survive. Enmity comes from all sides in her new home, including from Alfonso’s cousin and closest companion:

“Good day to you,” he says, in the curious way that he has, barely moving his lips, his words leaning into each other, “Duchess.”

The final word is spoken with a drawn-out emphasis. It is an utterance that has been held back by a miniscule but deliberate pause. She knows it; he knows it. It has air and space around it, that word, that title, and in that space swarm many things he is not saying, numerous ideas he is thinking but at the same time withholding.

Lucrezia does what she always does in situations such as this. She did not grow up with four older siblings, who continually put her down, kept her in her place, excluded, teased and belittled her, and learn nothing. The dynamic he is hoping to create is as familiar to her as the shape of her own fingernails. She is expert at dodging such invisible blows.

I think creating outstanding works of historical fiction requires self-knowledge and discipline, among other attributes. These include but are not limited to language: avoiding archaic language that would turn off the reader while still being as accurate to the time frame as possible; historical accuracy: avoiding glaring anachronisms while still portraying the story the author wants to tell; research: striking a balance between showing knowledge of the period without boring the reader or overwhelming the story with too much detail; and what I will call narrative smirkiness: even the otherwise estimable Gladys Malvern did this in a YA novel about the Apostles, saying something like, “That Jesus, he’s acting as if he’s founding a religion.” This is when the author shows off his or her knowledge about the future and anything that jars the reader from immersion in the story should be avoided. Are there other pitfalls for authors of historical fiction?

As O’Farrell brilliantly crafts the story, it is Lucrezia’s skill as an artist, her childhood as a girl who observed and endured and developed compassion, and the creation of the marriage portrait that enable her to cope with a married life that is fraught with danger.

The actual portrait - commissioned in the book by Alfonso but in actuality by Lucrezia’s family - is attributed variously to Alessandro Allori and Agnolo Bronzino and is owned by the North Carolina Museum of Art, which I will have to re-visit on my next trip to NC.

Source: Library. This is my twentieth book for the 2023 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge hosted by The Intrepid Reader.  It's also a mystery to some extent - what really happened to Lucrezia?