The Violins of Saint-Jacques
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On an Aegean island one summer, an English traveller meets an enigmatic elderly Frenchwoman. He is captivated by a painting she owns of a busy Caribbean port overlooked by a volcano and, in time, she shares the story of her youth there in the early twentieth century. Set in the tropical luxury of the island of Saint-Jacques, hers is a tale of romantic intrigue and decadence amongst the descendents of slaves and a fading French aristocracy. But on the night of the annual Mardi Gras ball, catastrophe overwhelms the island and the world she knew came to an abrupt and haunting end. The Violins of Saint-Jacques captures the unforeseen drama of forces beyond human control. Originally published in 1953, it was immediately hailed as a rare and exotic sweep of colour across the drab monochrome of the post-war years, and it has lost nothing of its original flavour.
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A short book by Patrick Leigh Fermor, very early in his career, and his only work of fiction, as far as I can tell.
The narrator retells the story of an elderly woman he meets in the Aegean, a tale of her early life in a (fictional) Caribbean island, just east of Guadeloupe and Dominica.
The writing style is very... extravagant. It is very wordy, very descriptive, and very flamboyant. It is a bit much for me, and until the crises (no limiting to a single crisis in this book, there are many) begin, the story doesn't grip me, and it was heading to two stars. Once the narrator gets in to the swing of things the unnecessary (to me, I am a simple man) falls away and the story is well told.
An interesting book, much more highly acclaimed by other than me, but interesting nevertheless.
