Corelli's Mandolin

Ask, and ye shall receive. Just as I prayed to the literature gods for a true page-turner, they delivered one right into my lap.

I will admit that at the beginning, Corelli's Mandolin was difficult to latch on to. There is a review on the cover of the book that says, "An exuberant mixture of history and romance, written with a wit that is incandescent." (Los Angeles Times Book Review) Although the statement about the humor is true - the book is hilarious in an subtle way - the brief mention of history is a bit of an understatement. It feels like the entire history of Greece is discussed, in depth, to the point that I found myself skipping forward paragraphs praying for dialogue. But after about 100 pages, I realized why it was so important for this painstaking history to be established.

Pelagia, the daughter of a Greek doctor living on the island of Cephallonia, is first betrothed to a Greek man from the town. However, at a later point in the novel, she falls in love with an Italian soldier. I thought I knew quite a bit about WWII, through school and synagogue, but I had no idea about the relationships between the Greeks and the Italians. In fact, I didn't know much about any of the tension that went on in that part of Europe. So I'm not sure about the "common reader," but seeing Pelagia fall in love with an Italian soldier would have meant nothing to me if not for the careful world that De Bernieres built at the beginning of the novel.

Once the setting and characters are established, Corelli's Mandolin travels down a beautifully winding path. Through De Berieres wordy but whimsical prose, the reader is pushed to reconsider what they know about music, love, mortality, and loyalty. The characters are unusual and realistic in a wonderfully touching, relatable way. I saw pieces of myself in Pelagia, in Corelli, in Carlo, in the doctor. Every time I had to put the book down I was disappointed, and couldn't wait to pick it back up again. I ignored my boyfriend for about four straight days.

The love story between Pelagia and Corelli was one of the best in my recent memory. Towards the beginning of the book, as I mentioned, we see Pelagia engaged to a man from the village. This love story seems unsure, strained, rushed; at first, I thought it was just my odd opinions on love and marriage that tainted their storyline. But once Corelli came into the picture, I realized that De Bernieres, the crafty man, built the story this way on purpose. Consider Pelagia and Mandras that friend that you have that met her boyfriend six months ago and is already shopping for engagement rings (don't lie, you know you have one. We all do). You know they're moving too fast, that it won't last, and that things will go straight to the gutter once the sex appeal wears off.

And, of course, you're right. Pelagia and Mandras come to an uncomfortable and nauseating close, leaving the reader to wonder exactly where poor Pelagia is headed. But then we meet the force that is Antonio Corelli. The relationship between Pelagia and Corelli is almost the exact opposite of what we saw with Mandras. The two get to know each other slowly, almost painfully so. They travel gradually from enemies to acquaintances, from acquaintances to friends, and from friends to more (I will leave the description simply at "more" - anything else would give too much of the story away). Through these steps I felt truly lucky to travel with them, and more than once I caught myself grinning like an idiot at the pages. A slow, genuine, and beautifully real love forms between the two characters. The kind of love that gives you hope and makes you never want to watch reality dating shows again.

Perhaps even more inspiring than the love between Pelagia and Corelli is the love that Corelli has for his mandolin, Antonia. It made me nostalgic for the days that I loved to play my clarinet - before a scholarship to music school beat the love for the instrument right out of me. De Bernieres writes about music in a striking, gentle, almost fantasy-esque way. It seems to peel itself right off of the pages and dance around inside of your head, longing to be heard. He also creates a wonderfully funny and sweet comparison between a woman and a mandolin, which perhaps explains the way every musician understands the dating world. After finishing the book, I now desperately want to learn to play the mandolin.

There is also a fantastic little guest role by a pine martin named Psipsina ("kitty" or "cat" in Greek, I don't remember which") that made me melt. But that is probably because I'm a cat lady.

And so, from 100 pages on, Corelli's Mandolin was attached to my hip. I didn't want to put it down until I knew how it resolved, and fell asleep with my face in the pages more than once. Once I reached the last 150 pages, I went as far as to ban my boyfriend from the apartment for the night so I could finish the book in peace (after two years, he is thankfully more understanding about this than he used to be). I fully suggest the story to anyone who doesn't mind getting bombarded a bit by the details of history, who appreciates a thoroughly realistic and solid world behind their characters. I suggest that you read this book with an open mind and let yourself get swept away by the honest, imperfect love between Pelagia and Corelli. Also, be sure to note their experiences with life and death, with religion and politics, and let them help you reconsider the way that you live your own life. We could all use a lesson on appreciating the things that we are given, whether big or small. 

"I feel guilty about leaving alive, when all my friends are dead [...]."
"In the Odyssey, Achilles says, 'Put me on earth again and I would rather be a serf in the house of a landless man than kind of all these dead men who have done with life,' and he was right" offered the doctor. "When loved ones die, you have to live on their behalf. See things as though with their eyes. Remember how they used to say things, and use those words oneself. Be thankful that you can do things that they cannot, and also feel the sadness of it. This is how I live without Pelagia's mother. I have no interest in flowers, but for her I will look at a rock-rose or a lily. For her I eat aubergines, because she loved them. For your boys you should make music and enjoy yourself, doing it for them."