Amazon.co.uk Review
Brian Moore is best known for his mysteries of faith and fanaticism.
The Statement focuses on a murderously unrepentant Vichy collaborator whom the French Catholic church has long sheltered. And in
The Colour of Blood--set in an unnamed Iron Curtain country--a cardinal wonders if people aren't using religion "as a sort of politics". Religion and politics again feature in
The Magician's Wife, but this time they are accompanied by their long-time companion, illusion. Once again, France is the setting--Second Empire France, though, along with its prospective colony, Algeria.
Moore opens the novel with a bizarre detail. It is 1856 and Emmeline Lambert watches a mechanical gatekeeper salute a departing dignitary. This nuts-and-bolts major-domo is the creation of her autocratic husband, Henri, formerly France's greatest magician, retired and hard at work on such minor contrivances. "Now he was an inventor, a scientist," Emmeline thinks. "But would a real scientist spend his days making mechanical marionettes?" Her impatience with his compulsive tinkering is only one part of a troubled marriage, which seems to consist largely of fossilized accommodations and painful discretion.
According to their visiting dignitary, however, the prestidigitator's country needs him. Colonel Deniau, head of Arab affairs and in many ways the real magician of the tale--or the magician's enchanter--has a mysterious project in mind. The plan is to flatter Henri into creating a series of mind-blowing tricks. According to the colonel, an Algerian marabout, or living saint, is "said to possess miraculous powers" and might call for a holy war. If Henri outperforms the Algerian, he will seem the greater marabout "and convince them that God is not on their side but France's."
The Magician's Wife is a condemnation of colonialism, of which illusion is always a key ingredient. Moore's novel, however, is far from a tract: he infuses his drama of the past with our present anxiety. He also creates, quite literally, a magical narrative. Though the Algerians may consider Henri the devil incarnate, and his wife may slight his legerdemain, you will be awed by his fantastic skills and the apparent effortlessness with which the author relates them.
Review
From the reviews for The Statement: 'Unputdownable, utterly riveting' Mark Porter, Sunday Express 'Once you have opened its first page you won't be able to stop reading.' A. N. Wilson, Evening Standard
Intrigue in the court of Napoleon III, from one of Ireland's finest novelists. A magician is asked to use his conjuring skills for France's benefit. The wooing of the Lamberts by the glittering French court and their subsequent adventures in Algeria are recounted in this powerful narrative. (Kirkus UK)
The drama of embattled faith that makes up his preoccupying theme takes one of its most unusual and interesting forms so far in this impressive new work from the Canadian author whose long career has recently peaked with such compact and well-crafted novels as No Other Life (1992) and The Statement (1996). Moore's latest is set in mid-19th century France and Algeria, its rather remarkably varied actions seen through the eyes of Emmeline Lambert, the country-bred (though in no sense ignorant) young wife of Parisian "illusionist" Henri Lambert, a magician of such renown that he and his spouse are invited to join a weeklong party at Compiegne, the rural estate of Emperor Napoleon III. Emmeline's initial reluctance to attend yields to even more troubled feelings when the casual amorality and bloodthirsty "sport" indulged in by her aristocratic fellow guests reveal their shallowness, and when she learns that Henri will be commanded to display his powers before the Arab rulers of Algeria, a territory the powerful Emperor hungrily covets. Emmeline dutifully accompanies Henri to that strange new land, and, as her mistrust of her country's, and Henri's, benevolence deepens, she simultaneously becomes drawn toward the Arabs' culture and moved by the simplicity and selflessness of their faith ("All they ask is God's help to guide them in the right path. Isn't that what all of us should ask?"). Emmeline's open rebellion against her husband's duplicity is perhaps the only false step in a superbly constructed story that offers both an ingeniously managed plot and thoughtfully detailed portrayals of two remote, and utterly different, civilizations, all in fewer than two hundred and fifty pages. Surrendering to the spell of Moore at the top of his game is like watching a master illusionist at work. Few of his more celebrated contemporaries come even near him as a pure storyteller. The Magician's Wife is another triumph. (Kirkus Reviews)
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