What happens when a student surpasses his teacher? What if that student is an orphan girl and the teacher is one of 18th Who were the most famous composers of Venice in the 17th century?
In her debut novel The instrumentalist, Harriet Constable blends historical fact with artfully crafted fictional details to explore admiration and resentment, ego and legacy. And while the book is rooted in time and place, it nevertheless sheds light on gender dynamics that will be all too familiar to today’s readers.
The instrumentalist follows Anna Maria della Pietà, born in Venice in 1696, from her childhood in an orphanage to the dizzying heights of musical fame as a violinist and composer. This premise may sound far-fetched – certainly it is hard to imagine another moment in European history when a penniless girl could be celebrated for her musical talent – but Anna Maria was a real person and the Pietà (the girls’ orphanage and music school where she lived) was a real place.
However, Anna Maria’s determination to go beyond her humble beginnings comes at the expense of her friendships: “I’m going to be the best. That’s what I have to do,” she says. Instead, her life revolves around the one eccentric, mysterious teacher who recognizes her talent.
Although his name is not mentioned throughout the book, classical music fans will recognize Anna Maria’s teacher as Antonio Vivaldi, who worked on the real Pietà between 1703 and 1715. The instrumentalist, His relationship with his protégé Anna Maria borders on inappropriateness – “You’re getting quite charming, you know” – before developing into a full-blown rivalry when she becomes a maestro herself.
“You are a girl, a woman,” he says when she confronts him about claiming credit for her composition. “What did you think? That you would go down in history as one of the greatest composers of all time?” Despite her society’s liberal attitude toward female musicians, Anna Maria’s gender remains fundamentally limiting: her name will not “be remembered forever,” unlike that of the man who gives his name to her pieces.
A strong sense of social justice, of righting historical wrongs, permeates the novel – and while fiction with an agenda doesn’t always produce the most interesting prose, Constable’s prose is as eloquent as Anna Maria’s violin: “(The notes) call to her, spell out a melody, ask her to drag it from the air into a manuscript.”
All Constable’s protagonist wants is to be remembered – but for every historical Anna Maria we revive, a corresponding Vivaldi must fall. While the novel focuses specifically on Anna Maria’s story: “Scholars agree that without the Pietà and (its musicians) the Coral figures(Vivaldi’s) music would not exist today” (from the author’s note).
Constable’s description of Vivaldi’s insidious appropriation of his students’ work (“this (the collaboration) must remain our secret”) is as disturbing as it is familiar – any woman who has ever experienced the men around her being intimidated by her brilliance or wanting to take credit for it will be able to identify with Anna Maria’s story.
Perhaps less understandable is the clearly happy ending. After their problematic teacher is fired after a decisive power struggle, The instrumentalist leaves the protagonist as the newly installed Music Mistress of the Pietà, with all her ambitions realized. Yet, although it feels a little superficial, the book’s resolution is again based on fact – the real Anna Maria became Music Mistress of the Pietà, where she remained until her death at the age of 86. Sometimes people really do live happily ever after.
In a world where progress on women’s rights seems painfully slow, it is encouraging to remember that history is full of Anna Marias who have exceeded society’s expectations and are just waiting to be rediscovered. That in this world there will always be Vivaldis – but thankfully there will always be Anna Marias too. Tell her story, say her name – if The instrumentalistJudging by Anna Maria’s portrayal, she would actually like that very much.
Published on 15 August by Bloomsbury, £16.99
