![]() The painting of a dancer, a lover and a clown that is “capable of inspiring love” ironically has no effect on Annie. ![]() But we have a romance to get through first: that of dull Annie and smitten Jesse, who works at the Wallace Collection. ![]() Describing such things, her prose becomes crisp and crystalline. The grimy canvas turns out to be a lost Watteau, and Rothschild is fascinating on the arcana of art restoration, valuation, attribution and sale. Even lower down is the underclass, glimpsed in silhouette, flicking V-signs and keying expensive motors. Below the wealthy collectors and skint aristocrats are would-be chef Annie and her alcoholic mother, Evie, and Ralph Bernoff, luckless owner of the junk shop where Annie picks up a grubby oil painting for a song. ![]() Once it does, its sweep is almost Dickensian, taking us from high to low in society – though Rothschild is clearly more comfortable at the top end. This is a lengthy, baggy book that takes 100 pages to get going. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |