Mona's Eyes

Everyone I know seems to be raving about Thomas Schlesser's best-selling novel Mona's Eyes (#1,383).  I know every book has its readers, but I couldn't wait to finish this one.  If I had not had to read it for my book club, it would definitely have wound up in my Did Not Finish pile, and I could have gotten on to Robert Harris's Agrippa much sooner.

In case you haven't heard about this translated book, Mona is a ten-year-old Parisian girl who suddenly loses her sight for a short period.  As physicians struggle to find a clinical reason for this, her grandfather Dade steps forward to escort Mona to her weekly appointment with a psychiatrist.  However, he has decided Mona will benefit far more by visiting a different work of art each week for a year and imprinting those images on her mind.  So far, so good.

However, I found the execution preposterous.  Dade (who is named after author Schlesser's own artistic grandfather) may hold her hand and buy her ice creams on the way to and from the three museums he takes her to, but he speaks to her as though she is taking graduate level art courses at university.  She, of course responds with unbelievably mature insights into the works (despite calling the subject of one such picture "Whistler's mommy"!).

The further into this book I got, the more things bothered me.  Did no art exist prior to Botticelli?  Or from other cultures than Western European and American art?  Why was more than a third of the book dedicated to abstract modern art on canvas or sculpted form when the author argues that art can exist in multiple forms?  Where are they here?  Why didn't he take the opportunity to enlighten Mona about art thievery when he was in such a rush to bring her to see the Klimt work at the Museum d'Orsay before it was returned to its rightful owners (at much inconvenience to Dade!)? When I came across a factual error in his description of the David, I had to wonder what else was wrong in what he had to say.

It's why I avoid the eager docents at our regional art museums who are bursting to share their art history major backgrounds with unwitting visitors.  I would much rather they left me to the business of looking for myself.  I would never recommend this pretentious book to anyone else.