Merivel

Merivel, Rose Tremain

Rose Tremain's 1989 novel, Restoration, was an unexpectedly - to me! - enjoyable work of historical fiction set within King Charles II's extended court, but taking in the Plague, the Great Fire of London and the early flowering of modern science. It was particularly memorable for its central narrator, Robert Merivel, whose journey into - and then out of - the King’s favour it told. Medically-trained but lacking - at least initially - the drive to do good, Merivel was an enjoyable character to spend with, and his rise, then fall, and then rise again made for an engaging tale.

Flash forward more than 20 years, and Tremain’s sequel, the eponymous Merivel, picks up his story in the latter stretches of the King’s reign. While back within the King’s favour, and doted upon by his daughter, he is listless, and looking for some new goal in his life. Taking a trip to the court of King Louis in France, he encounters new challenges, but finds a new amour, as well as renewed purpose in studying animals and promoting their rights. But life is never plain-sailing for Merivel, and his adventures are soon disrupted by a jealous husband, the serious illness of his daughter, and, in the background, King Charles’ own faltering health.

While enjoyable to a point, the pleasures this time are solely from meeting up again with Merivel. The events of his world are largely much less historic in nature, and Tremain really struggles to make them feel as significant as, say, the Great Fire. The novel is also rather excessively haunted by the spectre of illness, age and death. The preceding volume also had its share of death and strife, but its story gave this context and meaning, whereas here, everything it just feels hopeless. Which was maybe what Tremain was trying to achieve, but it makes for a much less satisfying read.

SPOILER WARNING

Finally, I can’t let Tremain’s closing coda to the novel pass without comment. Even for a novel already on a bit of a downer, its closing pages really are a kick in the teeth, and something of a betrayal of everything that’s gone before. This postscript serves no narrative purpose beyond, I interpret, Tremain burning her bridges.