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Shostakovich, a grumpy tunnel-visioned genius wrapped up in his creativity becomes frustrated when he realises the extent of his family's suffering for the first time. He may be cantankerous, but he also has the capacity to love and care deeply. He's not easy to live with, testified to by his wife Nina who has a wonderful rant about the difference between the perceived genius and the unaware family man, but we're in no doubt we're in the presence of a rounded person, a testimony to the writing.
Karl Eliasberg wants to be accepted but the level of his self-esteem is way below that of his talent. He idolises Shostakovich and his desperate attempts to be notice noticed are sympathetically puppy-like. Sarah Quigley has engendered so much empathy here, that the reader inwardly cheers as hardship brings out the best in him and he finds resources that didn't seem to be there a hundred pages earlier. There are also the musicians, notably Nikolai, trying to go on under a great weight of guilt and then a greater weight of sadness. (Yes, indeed, I cried.) The list of colourful characters that populate Ms Quigley's Leningrad just go on and on, each becoming animated beyond the page.
For anyone unsure of the fictionalised versus the factual, the author kindly sets out her stall for perusal and reference in notes at the back. For instance, for the sake of the novel Sarah Quigley has linked the Seventh Symphony with the siege itself. Some historians suggest that the symphony is anti-totalitarian and therefore equally aimed at the Russians. That's also hinted at in the novel; therefore she ensures that all bases are covered.
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[[Category:Literary Fiction]]