Maggie O’Farrell
Inspired by Robert Browning’s poem, “My Last Duchess,” Maggie O’Farrell’s The Marriage Portrait takes what little is known about the historical Duchess of Ferrara, Lucrezia di Cosimi de’ Medici d’Este, and weaves an unforgettable tale of intrigue and murder in 16th century Italy.
The novel spans nearly two decades with the conception of Lucrezia in 1544 and concluding in 1561. Lucrezia is the third daughter of Cosimo I de’Medici, ruler of Florence. A willful, precocious child with a love for animals and a talent for painting, Lucrezia is forced to marry Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara, when she is fifteen years old. She slowly realizes the duplicitous nature of her husband—loving and gentle on the one hand and mercilessly cruel on the other. Her only function is to provide him with an heir. When she fails to do that, she realizes her days are numbered.
Unfolding in the present tense, the novel opens in 1561 when Lucrezia, just one year into her marriage, barely survives being poisoned by her husband. Suspense is established from the outset and haunts the narrative as it threads its way back in time to Lucrezia’s childhood and early days of her marriage. The timelines alternate between Lucrezia’s past and the day in 1561 when she realizes her husband has poisoned her. That she is in danger of losing her life looms across the pages of the novel.
O’Farrell immerses the reader in the mind and experiences of Lucrezia. Her rich inner life, her painterly eye for detail, her intensity, and her humanity are skillfully captured. When Lucrezia learns that artists frequently conceal an original work by painting over it, she practices layering her own paintings. This layering plays an important role in the novel. The surface conceals what lies beneath. People are never what they appear to be on the surface. Alfonso conceals his cruelty under a veneer of tender love and concern for his wife. Lucrezia conceals her fury and fear under the veneer of agreeable acquiescence to Alfonso’s demands. The artist’s apprentices are not what they appear to be. And at the climax of the novel, even Emilia, Lucrezia’s maid, is not what she appears to be.
The very texture of 16th century court life is vividly captured. The courts and palazzos of Renaissance Italy with their heavy drapes and frescoes, ornate tapestries, billowing dresses, elaborate hair styles, intrigues, and political machinations spring to life. Descriptions are replete with lavish imagery. Some scenes are cinematic. Lucrezia’s encounter with the tiger is described in such visual, auditory, and tactile detail that it is as if one is by her side in the scene. There are times when O’Farrell belabors a point or injures her otherwise lucid and poetic prose with excessive detail. However, these lapses are few and far between and do not detract from a novel that breathes life into a historical figure whose pulsating energy is set against a background brimming with vitality, subterfuge, and suspense.
Maggie O’Farrell has written another powerful page-turner in every sense of the word.