This is a complex yet addictive story. It's told in first and third person narration and goes through many different times and viewpoints. It even skillfully goes between past and present tenses. There are no 'chapters' as such just different character sections.

The main story concerns Peter Claire an English lute player in the Danish king's orchestra and Emilia who serves the King's wife (who calls herself the 'almost Queen')

There are several other interlocking storylines happening at the same time concerning the court and various families.

This is historical fiction but it's loosely based on the marriages of King Christian and the story is compelling. There are fairytale elements and ideas about women and servitude and relationships in general. This is the best book I've read so far this year - the ending for one character in particular was problematic but fitting with the character arc and her story.

Ambitious, engaging, flawed

Tremain synthesizes an array of narrators, points of view, writing styles, tenses in this historical novel which, mysteriously, contains little in the way of actual history.

Let it be said at the outset that I have little experience of historical novels, so I’m no judge of this as an example of the genre.

The main arc follows an English lutenist, Peter Claire, as he travels to Denmark in 1629 to join King Christian IV’s orchestra, and is the portrayal of a love story. There is, in addition, the story of Christian and the ruling of his kingdom through a period of great hardship. He is harangued by his second wife, Kirsten, a character of almost infinite selfishness and vindictiveness. Christian himself garners sympathy, however, in his humanity, his vulnerability, and his suffering. The supporting cast includes Christian’s mother, Kirsten’s mother, Emilia’s family, including a sexually predatory wicked stepmother and a strange odd-bod of a young brother who can hear nature speaking and has the ability to charm insects (in one of the most bizarre scenes!). Among many others.

So, the Peter and Emilia love story weaves though many other arcs in a highly episodic fashion. Most chapters are very short, making for swift changes in point of view character / narrator. By page 50 the we’ve had

third person present tense following Peter arriving in Denmark;
Kirsten’s (very!) personal diary;
third person narrative following Queen Sophie, as she gives birth to Christian;
back to Peter;
an episode from Christian’s childhood;
more of Kirsten’s ramblings;
Peter;
the first of several ‘laments’ from the point of view of Peter’s ex employer and lover in windswept Ireland, the Italian Countess O’Fingal;
Emilia’s background;
another of the Countess’ Laments;
a story from Christian’s schooldays.

And the novel goes on for another 400 pages! (Not quite as long as this review! Sorry!)

In part, this is confusing, but the threads intertwine. In part it is jarring, as the transitions are so swift. The main problem is that not enough time is given to any of them to fully explore and develop the characters. Having said this, it still does sort of work! I still care about at least some of the characters, such as Peter, Christian, strange little Marcus, the homely servant Vibeke who undergoes something of a transformation of fortunes (no spoilers here!).

The absence of history is a problem for me. There is very little structure to hang the narratives on, so in many ways it may as well be set at any time. A few historical events happen ‘off-stage’, the main one coming towards the end of the novel where Christian climactically recounts a deeply traumatic event concerning a cherished childhood friend (again, no spoilers!). The trouble is, with the narrative not in the habit of anchoring the actions of the characters in historical events, this story requires such a large dollop of historical information that the emotional impact is lost underneath it. Which is a shame.

The geographical locations are handled well, with effective scene setting, such as the huge forests and the many islands defined by the misty sea which surrounds them. I would very much have liked maps. Maps are always good. I spent time googling them when it would have been far nicer to have had two or three printed in the book itself. The locations play a significant part in the stories.

Tremain’s descriptive powers are considerable, with many of the scenes brought to life with an eye for detail. One particular example of this is the description of the underground chamber that houses the musicians and the convoluted contraption whereby the music is syphoned, via tubes and a grille in the floor, to the King’s Winter Room. No one can see the musicians, but the music can be heard. Almost Gormenghastian!

The writing styles vary with the changes in episodes, but it is very accomplished, although, with leanings towards the literary I would have preferred Tremain to cut out much of the over-explaining that she gives. I find it unnecessary and diluting. For example, the otherwise very effective sentence, ‘Queen Sophie holds her head in her hands, feeling the bones of her skull. The keys to her treasure house are hard and cold against the puckered skin of her breasts...’, which should have ended there, goes on to add, ‘...as cold and hard as her unyielding purpose.’ Just in case you missed it. Such redundancies are common, and, to my mind, weaken otherwise very strong writing.

The theme of music and silence plays out in many scenes and on many levels. What these symbols may represent is open to interpretation. There is something here that equates music with order, a Harmony of the Spheres sort of concept - very much the psychology of Christian who is mentally assailed by things out of order, or unpleasing, or ‘shoddy’. I also detect a correspondence between music and hope. The scene where Peter’s gathering deafness is addressed towards the end of the novel powerfully underscores this interpretation. Interestingly, Kirsten cannot abide music.

The very end of the novel leaves me dissatisfied. I wish it had ended one episode earlier. Instead, it gives the final words to the self-centred Kirsten.

All in all, a very enjoyable read. One that would definitely warrant a repeat reading at some point.

Three stars for plot and four for writing. The problem with this kind of historical fiction is that the fictional characters should be as interesting as the historical ones, and Peter and Emilia just... aren't. They're cute, I guess, but not very bright. Their whole star-crossed lovers story in the second and third acts could have been resolved by Emilia just sending a frickin' letter: "Dear Peter, do you still love me? Please reply." BOOM. DONE.

On the other hand, I did enjoy Tremain's portrayal of Christian IV, and Kirsten Munk is one of the most detestable yet entertaining characters I have ever read about.

Beautiful, but flawed
Some books are beautifully written, some are skilfully and intriguingly plotted, whilst others still possess a pace that compels the reader to turn the page and devour the book leaving them wanting more; few manage to combine all three elements. ‘Music and Silence’ is one of those novels that excels in one of these categories – for its prose is undeniably alluring – and yet fails in the other two. It is written prettily enough, but it lacks pace, and the plot meanders hither and thither, the perspectives constantly toing and froing from one character to another, none of whom I found to be particularly sympathetic.

The lutenist, Peter Claire, his fingers frozen by a Danish winter, pining for a love denied; the Danish Queen Kirsten, despising of her doting husband, scheming and prone to sadomasochistic horseplay with the German Count Otto, or having herself pleasured by black slave boys; the benevolent King Christian IV, touching his elflock for comfort, forever disappointed by all that is ‘shoddy’, including his marriage to his contemptuous and contemptible second wife, his schemes for bringing wealth and happiness to his people seemingly doomed to failure: these are three of the primary protagonists around whom the ‘plot’ revolves. There are many others, but they fail to move me to mention them.

Before coming to this book, I had read another of Tremain’s novels – ‘Restoration’ – which I found to be highly engaging and well paced, so when a friend recommended ‘Music and Silence’ to me as her ‘favourite book’, I had high hopes for it. At the same time, however, I also possessed certain nagging misgivings, for when someone commends a book so highly, the fear creeps in that I will find in it some significant flaw, and so, in this case, it proved to be. Perhaps my failure to find any great satisfaction in the book derives from the fact that it is aimed, predominantly, at a female readership, or then again, perhaps not. It was its lack of pace that made the reading of it so laborious and turgid, for it lay partially read on my bedside table for some seven months or so before I compelled myself to complete it, wolfing down the prose with as much pleasure as if it had been unsalted raw cabbage. Thankfully, unlike the cabbage, it did not leave me with wind afterwards, but neither did it leave me with a desire to read anything else by Tremain, which was a pity.

The 17th century is a fascinating period in which to set a novel, as it was a time of such intellectual, political and social ferment, but, alas, ‘Music and Silence’ somehow manages to render it less interesting than it was. In contrast, ‘An Instance of the Fingerpost’ written by Iain Pears, set in Restoration Oxford and employing four separate perspectives in the narration of the same set of events, is utterly compelling and convincing; it is beautifully written, skilfully and intriguingly plotted, and leaves the reader wanting more at its end.

3.5*
Or maybe 4?
I can’t decide yet.

I’m not sure what I expected of this book, but it certainly wasn’t what I got. It read like a fairytale, not quite real somehow although it was about real historical figures. Hmm.

Some very interesting characters. King Christian IV seemed like a nice man, far too sensitive to be a king. Terribly sad about his careless betrayal of his childhood friend Bro.

Kirsten is a wicked woman but also apparently a proto feminist and very intelligent. Seemed to be way ahead of her time, and yet interestingly her independence of thought and action did not result in her being executed which back in those days would I’m sure have been the norm.

Amelia was a bit of a drip with a curious fixation on her deceased mother.

As for Peter Clare, I could slap him and kick him round the cellar in which he played his wretched lute. What a passive worm he is. Things just seem to ‘happen’ to him, he never takes any initiative. I was glad of the eventual happy ending but at the same time I felt like this twit with no backbone really did NOT deserve to get the girl.

I listened to this on Audible, performed by Jenny Agutter, (very good) hence I’m not sure of the spellings of all these names. Sorry.

Enjoyable and unexpectedly entertaining read.

I read a review in this week's New Yorker on a new Tremaine book that praised her older work, so I went to the library and got Music & Silence, which has a Whitbread Award. It concerns a lute player and his misadventures in 17th C Denmark. Sadly for me, it's written in that faux archaic style which some authors think emulates the time they are writing about, and I find it cloying. How does she know people talked like that? To add to my chagrin, the characters seem to be either saints or depraved evil people. I'm having trouble understanding the Whitbread for this book.

He holds fast to a shroud. Rain begins to beat down on him and the wind whips his elflock around his neck like a noose, but he pays none of this any heed. In moments, his gaze has returned to the men high above him. They are beginning to furl the topsail, dismantling their airy kingdom inch by inch. And when at last they climb down, some of them boys no older than twelve, King Christian holds out his hand to them in a gesture of admiration. And his eye scans the space of sky where the topsail flew and the rain clouds sweep in, billow upon billow.

After completing Mantel's Bring Up the Bodies, I was desperate for more historical fiction so I decided to pick up a book I've been meaning to read and have had on my bookshelves for years. In spite of being read in the wake of the incomparable Cromwell trilogy, I still thoroughly enjoyed this.

Following a multitude of narratives, a mixture of the fictional and historical, Music & Silence is predominantly a character study, following her characters as they fall in love, err, deceive, betray, reflect, and heal, and, for the most part, it is done beautifully. My favourite moment in the entire book is when we follow a young King Christian IV when he learns of 'shoddy work' and receives a bag of buttons as a gift - that's all I'm going to say, but that was by far my favourite chapter in the book. There are many subtle, gently brilliant instances such as these throughout the novel, and they were a pure delight to read. Some perspectives were more interesting than others; I particularly enjoyed Kirsten Monk's sections as she is so vibrantly selfish yet incredibly soft-hearted and naive at times. I found the fictional characters Peter Claire and Emilia to be a little weak at times, especially in comparison to their real counterparts. King Christian VI and Kirsten Monk were by far the most fascinating voices in here, so the book slipped a little in my favour whenever we strayed, for example, to Peter Claire's narrative.

I found the sexual nature of this book at times gratuitous - it tipped into the lewd sometimes and I found some of it uncomfortable to read (particularly in the character of Magdalena). It just felt out of place with the rest of the book, in my opinion. I also thought that some scenes were overdrawn and, when they were completed, had unsatisfying conclusions. Some story-lines felt pointless and fell really flat, disappearing without another murmur, and I found that perplexing.

Overall, I loved many aspects of this book, and will hopefully pick up Restoration by Tremain soon.

The skill with which the various strands of this story are interwoven is extraordinary. It paints a fascinating picture of life and politics in Denmark in the 17th century, as well as it's relationships with other European countries. The story itself took me a little while to become absorbed by, and every so often some of the liberties taken with coincidence struck me as being more typical of the short cuts movies take than those you expect in a sophisticated novel. Nevertheless, by the end I was reading quite enthusiastically to see how the various strands would come together. The author managed to keep the endings for the main character and the love of his life uncertain right to the end, which maintained a good level of anticipation through to the final pages. The story revolves around the court life of Danish King Christian XV, so brings to our attention an area of European history that probably doesn't get much attention in the education of, at least, UK and Southern European countries - this kind of sugar coated education is another benefit of this kind of historical fiction. Overall, OK but not great.

"Music & Silence" by Rose Tremain attempts to weave a complex tapestry of narratives set in 17th-century Denmark. However, the execution leaves much to be desired.

The narrative thread needs to be more cohesive. It jumps between characters and timelines with a disorienting lack of cohesion. The shifts in tone are jarring, disrupting the flow of the story and leaving the reader unanchored.

While Tremain's prose is undeniably elegant, and her characters are vividly drawn, the story often feels disjointed as it jumps between different perspectives and periods without clear transitions. This lack of cohesion disoriented and detracted me from enjoying the novel. Moreover, the abrupt changes in tone - from moments of whimsy to scenes of darkness and despair - made it difficult to immerse myself in the story fully.

Tremain's ambitious attempt to create a self-enclosed world disconnected from the present makes the setting feel unconvincing. While the novel has moments of brilliance, particularly in exploring music and its power to transcend boundaries, its flaws prevent it from reaching its full potential, and the lack of attention to the "little facts" that ground historical fiction, in reality, makes the setting feel unconvincing.

In conclusion, "Music & Silence" is a novel that promises much but delivers little. The fragmented narrative and inconsistent tone make for a frustrating read. It requires patience and a willingness to navigate its narrative maze.

⭐ ⭐ 1/2

This is a really entertaining historical fiction book with a big cast of interesting characters.

Set in 17th Century Denmark the story opens with Peter Claire, a lute player who has arrived at the court of King Christian IV to join his orchestra. As the story develops we are introduced a variety of other characters, such as Queen Kirsten and her lady's maid Emilia, and the plot cleverly weaves all of their stories together.

It is a plot full of scheming, secrets, deceit and passion so there is much there to keep you entertained and at times it can be difficult to decide who you want to root for as many of the characters have highly questionable morals.

I feel like the book would have benefitted from being slightly shorter, particularly towards the end when I was ready for the plot to be wrapped up and it felt a bit drawn out, but overall I really enjoyed this book.

It might be my fault but I got bogged down in this quite lengthy novel. I like Rose Tremain’s writing but I wasn’t gripped by this novel and put it aside for a few days. The book is populated with a number of engaging characters but perhaps that’s the problem I had with it, I never properly knew who the story was about. Having said that I do now want to find out more about 17 century Denmark so it can’t be all bad.