Already a subscriber? Log in
To make matters worse, the story jumps confusingly in time and place. One minute Agnes is cleaning Chartres cathedral, whilst flirting with an antiques restorer; the next, she’s in a psychiatric hospital, attempting a Charlotte Corday impersonation, dripping knife in hand. A few grisly murders might have perked things up a bit, but tragically the lives of the lifeless characters are spared.
Chartres itself takes pride of place. The author has done an enormous amount of research, and there must be many fascinating things to say about this gracious edifice, but descriptions of it are unconvincingly plonked in leaden chunks into dialogue:
‘The farther spire,’ Mother Veronique gestured magisterially, ‘was built by Bishop Fulbert, who founded the famous Platonic School of Chartres. It was part of the cathedral saved by the Blessed Virgin from the great fire of 1194. The 19th-century architect Viollet-le-Duc considered it the most perfect spire in Europe. The other spire is of a much later date,16th-century.’
Only one person engaged my interest: a malicious elderly woman whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to destroy Agnes’s reputation. Mrs Beck, with uproarious relish, falsely accuses Agnes of stealing and fornicating. But just as I was developing a lively sympathy, her personality became as cartoonish and implausible as the rest of the cast’s.
I was surprised that this lame novel could have come from the same hand as the haunting Miss Garnet’s Angel. Finishing The Cleaner of Chartres was as unsatisfying as cleaning a dirty house, only to find it just as dirty and untidy again the following day.
Also in Book Reviews
Also by Zenga Longmore
Latest
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in