The Italian Teacher (2018)
By Tom Rachman
Penguin/Random House,
352 pages.
★★★★
If the child is the father of the man, as Wordsworth
famously put it, poor Charlie has no chance. He is the offspring of Natalie, a
scattershot Canadian ceramicist, and Bear Bavinsky, a celebrated but bombastic
modernist painter. We first meet Charlie and his sister Birdie in Rome in 1955,
and to say that their household was unorthodox is akin to saying that chaos is
unstable. Rome just happens to be where Bear has flung his paint pots at the
moment. His is an enormous ego and before this novel winds to an end in the
2010s, his residences will have included Toronto, Rome, New York, London,
France, and the Basque country. (Charlie’s nickname “Pinch” is an Anglicization
of the Basque pintxo, the Basque version
of tapas.)
Bear’s egoism has no bounds. He deplores contemporaries such
as Lucian Freud, Andy Warhol, Robert Rauschenberg, and especially Picasso (“that
clown,” in Bear’s judgment) though his lifestyle closely aligns with Picasso’s.
That is to say, every few years Bear has a new wife and sires new children, so
many that Pinch is later surprised to discover the final tally of his
stepbrothers and stepsisters. Charlie/Pinch is our tragic central character. He
knows his father is a rogue, yet he admires him and yearns for his approval, a
need he nurtures across 7 decades. Think of it as an addiction, as Bear is
always all about Bear. He makes promises he has no intention of keeping,
expects to be fawned upon, basks in pubic adulation, refuses to sell his art to
anyone other than museums, barricades himself in his studios, burns most of
what he creates, yet claims Pinch is the only one of his children who
“understands” him. He also gives Pinch a few art lessons, then crushes the
lad’s dreams by telling him he will “never be an artist”–though it’s not clear
he ever actually did more than glance as his art–and rudely dismisses Pinch’s academic
desires to study Caravaggio.
Like a moth drawn to the flame, though, Charlie wallows in
the old man’s glory. He even attempts to write Bear’s biography. If you imagine
this won’t give rise to a healthy adult, you are right, though perhaps not in
ways you’d imagine. Rachman’s sprawling family saga takes us to a lot of places
metaphorically as well as geographically. Rachman’s title is deliciously
ambiguous. On the surface, it references Pinch’s one unassailable talent: his
facility with languages. He is, for instance, Cilla Barrows’ Italian tutor at
university. She is Pinch’s deepest love but one of several failed
relationships. But maybe the book’s title draws us toward a different kind of
teacher: Charlie’s childhood lessons? His artistic desires? An affirmation of
his own inadequacies, real and imagined?
If you are an art fan, there’s a lot of “dish” in this
novel. It certainly takes the piss out of pompous art critics, fashion-driven
dealers, and deceitful gallery owners. There are also provocative observations
about art itself. Bear delivers one of many opinions when he expounds that
concrete isn’t necessarily less beautiful than a leaf: “Not that nature is
better than artifice. Because art is artifice.” Later he opines, “There’s a gap
always between what the object is and what the picture isn’t. That gap … is
where the art is.” These two quotes alert us that this is also a novel about
art, artifice, and whether there is a difference. If you can’t tell, does
provenance matter?
Other themes include questions of self-worth, the blurry
lines between right and wrong, the complexities of family, the corrosive toxicity
of greed, and questions about the purpose of art and how we define an artist. Looming
large above it all, both physically and metaphorically, is Bear Bavinsky, as
thoroughly an unlikable figure as literature has seen in many a moon. You’ll
hate the self-centered SOB, yet he fascinates to the degree that you can’t wait
to flip the page to see what he does next.
Rob Weir
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