Overrated? Probably. Formulaic? Certainly. A darn page-turner of The Da Vinci Code ilk? Yup. This is confident and compelling storytelling with a completely beguiling set up. Amsterdam in the 1600s is (for me, at least) a totally gripping novelistic idea. On the other hand, it’s pure Mills and Boon romantic tosh. Which side you come down on depends, I suspect, on your expectations of Burton’s novel.
Burton’s story is set in Amsterdam where country-girl Petronella Oortman has just been married off to wealthy merchant Johannes Brandt. Arriving at his magnificent house on the Herengracht, Petronella finds that her husband is absent and that Marin, his termagant of a sister, rules over a household consisting of Otto a black servant, and Cornelia the maid. Johannes not only fails to greet his new wife but also fails to come to her bedroom at night, but his unexpectedly beautiful wedding gift to her is a replica of their home. Petronella soon finds a miniaturist to furnish this extraordinary object, but alarmingly, the exquisite miniatures seem to take on a life of their own as Petronella tries to uncover whether the elusive miniaturist is controlling the household or revealing its secrets.
What Burton has produced is a heck of an imaginative feat; a young woman steps into married life in Amsterdam’s tumultuous heyday; a city of religious cant and exploitative trade. Then in a fit of inspiration Burton uses an object that sits in the Rijksmuseum as the basis of the story; the real Petronella Oortman’s miniature house. When the dolls house appears in the life of the fictional Petronella it is a remarkably disturbing and ‘intrusive presence’ laying bare the secrets of the household.
But there is a problem; the expectations of Burton’s bestseller are enormous. The reviews, which fill 4 pages of the book, are cluttered with references to Burton’s ‘accomplishment’ and her ‘mesmerizing story’ which is both ‘suspense-powered’ and a ‘seductive meditation’. Poor Burton, she hardly knows her own strength!
The backlash from serious-minded readers has been uncompromising, centring on the implausibility of Petronella and various unresolved and inconsistent narrative threads. I’m not sure what the inconsistent narrative threads refer to but plausibility in a novel really isn’t something I’m looking for in my daily commute (a plausible novel? How quaint). Implausible Petronella might be (a proto-feminist in 17th century Amsterdam is hardly likely) but Burton doesn’t really drop any major clangers. No one changes sex half way through the novel, or forgets they are actually married to the hero. Yes, Nella does take to her bed when she finds her husband in delicto flagrante and then spends most of the rest of the novel defending him. But this isn’t implausible behaviour. On the contrary it’s entirely consistent with being a wife in that period. As Nella’s mother says ‘Life’s hard if you’re not a wife’.
But at this point I have to agree with the naysayers. The characterisation can be flabby; Nella reminisces about the happy hours she has spent talking with Johannes and she’s hardly spent five minutes with the man in the entire novel. Worse, Johannes is badly drawn, unconvincing and acts out of character when his beloved dog is killed. All in all the characters are a rum bunch, feeling more 21st than 17th century.
Burton’s staging is also clunky. Set up character. Set up dark dismal house and dark dismal husband and creepy sister. Chuck in a couple of sub-plots, bring it to a crescendo and wrap it all up in the last chapter. Actually, Burton fails dismally at this point and the last chapter is a stinker with an unbelievable outcomeleaving the reader unconvinced and with only one of the subplots (the miniaturist) having any credibility or real mystery.
So, why go on reading? Because her creation of historic Amsterdam is vivid and compelling and the premise is an original mystery that genuinely draws the reader into a claustrophobic world. The depictions of the Amsterdam upper classes, set against the oppressive religious code of the day are finely given and Burton’s use of language is often apt and sometimes beautiful.
It is also because I put my books into two basic categories: easy reading for the tube, and works that will last and I will read again and again. The Miniaturist is certainly in the former category, but because of the hype Burtons book suffered (due to its filmic quality it has been optioned as a tv series) Burton was catapulted into a different category where serious readers were expecting a cross between the best historical novelists: A S Byatt and Deborah Moggach, maybe.
In reality The Miniaturist is commercial fiction in the vein of One Fine Day – complete with the same degree of hype so that readers come to it with vastly inflated expectations. The Miniaturist isn’t a great novel, but it isn’t terrible either. About par for a first work, commercial or not, I’d say. The sub plots are weak, the clumsy ending should have been cut,and the rather too modern characterisation could easily have been smoothed out without leaving any gaps in the story. Burton, with more judicious editorial direction, might well have produced something so much better.
But this is good straight stuff with much to admire. Criticise all you want (as you probably did about Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code too) but it’s a nicely offered up piece of work with a lot of sparkle, and you’ll probably gallop to the end as well.