The Clockmaker’s Daughter by Kate Morton

Kate Morton is, for me anyway, hit or miss. I loved The Lake House, and have plans to blog it sometime in the future. I disliked The Forgotten Garden because it was just so implausible. But I really enjoyed The Clockmaker’s Daughter. It is precisely the type of book I love – fictional but set during the Victoria era in England, a mysterious house, a group of artists, a mystery going back over 100 years, and even some eerie haunted house action.

20181203_104330

The premise is pretty simple. Elodie, a young lady living in modern-day London, works as an archivist and discovers a hidden satchel in her office one day. The satchel, as it turns out, belonged to a famous Victorian-era painter named Edward Radcliffe who suffered a major tragedy in his life and stopped painting before his masterpiece – which was never found – could be finished. In the satchel is his sketchbook with a portrait of a house which Elodie recognizes, though she’s never been there before. There is also a photograph of a gorgeous young woman, Lily, who was used as Radcliffe’s model, though her true  identity is unknown.

20181203_104638

It’s Lily’s character who is the narrator throughout the book, though in a very unusual way. SPOILER ALERT: Lily is a ghost who haunts the mysterious house seen in the sketch book and oddly recognized by Elodie, and how she got to be the resident spirit haunting the house is a major storyline in the book. It’s actually quite a clever literary device, I thought, and it doesn’t mar the flow of the words. I hate that, when a writer tries something they think will be “cool” or “new” and it ends up being more irritating than anything else.

20181203_104805

In feeling, this book reminded me of The Little Stranger, which I blogged last year, and which is truly one of the more eerie books I’ve read in the past few years. Anything with the whole haunted house vibe already earns brownie points in my book, and the house in this book is straight outta literary porn – hidden compartments, twisty staircases, leaded windows that may or may not reflect ghostly presences, a huge, sprawling garden in which anything can happen, and of course, those wide-windowed bedrooms that hide forbidden love affairs, hidden diaries, and any number of secrets.

20181203_104557

I think the only character I didn’t much care for Elodie. I know I’m mean sometimes, but goddamn it, grow a spine already! Sheesh. What a total and complete wimp this girl is. She’s engaged to someone she acknowledges she doesn’t feel deeply for, she is totally happy to let others plan her wedding and essentially run her life, she refuses to tell her landlady Mrs. Berry that she’s moving out to get married, and she is so out of touch with her own emotions and motivations that she can’t figure out why she keeps using the mystery of the satchel and the sketchbook and the photograph of Lily as her escape. HELLO! You don’t want to marry the guy, sweetie! It’s not rocket science! I saw that on page 4. But I like strong women so it’s no surprise that she vaguely aggravated me. 🙂 Anyway, she and  Mrs. Berry have a lovely ritual of having a cocktail together in the afternoons, and being that I fell in love with this drink when I was in Venice, it seemed quite appropriate to recreate it here.

20181203_104935

She reappeared carrying a tray loaded with a jug fizzing orange. Mrs. Berry had been on a trip to Tuscany with her watercolor group the previous year and had developed a penchant for Aperol Spritz. She filled a generous glass for each of them and passed one across the table. “Salute!”

20181203_104059.jpg

INGREDIENTS
3 ounces Aperol
3 ounces Prosecco
1 ounce soda water
3-4 ice cubes
Orange for garnish

METHOD
In a large wineglass or old-fashioned glass, put the ice cubes.

20181203_104729

Pour over the Aperol. Isn’t it pretty?

20181203_104512.jpg

Pour over the Prosecco.

20181203_104244

Add the splash of soda water.

20181203_104132

Garnish the glass with the orange slices, admire the color and be reminded of sunset in Venice before chugging it down. Good stuff! But it goes down so smoothly that you don’t feel it, at least until you try to stand up and can’t. Not that it’s ever happened to me.

20181203_104003.jpg

Advertisements