Tag: Excerpt

Book Extract: The Italian Couple by J. R. Rogers

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When I was contacted recently by J. R. Rogers about reading and reviewing his historical fiction novel, The Italian Couple, I was immediately attracted by the unusual setting – Eritrea – and the period in which the book is set – just before the beginning of the Second World War.

Unfortunately, given the size of my author review pile, it’s going to be several months (let’s be honest, possibly quite a lot longer than that) before I can read it.  In the meantime, I’m delighted to bring you an extract from the book.

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The Italian CoupleAbout the Book

Colonel Francesco Ferrazza, a disciplined and inflexible Royal Italian Army officer with Italy’s Fascist Military Information Service, and his attractive British wife, Emilia, are posted to Asmara affectionately referred to as ‘Little Rome’ by Mussolini.

He is astonished when, in 1938, he is ordered by his Rome superior to set in motion an unusual but clandestine sabotage operation of the engineering marvel that is the Asmara-Massawa cableway that links Italian Eritrea to the sea.  Built by the Italians it is the longest aerial line of its kind in the world but it is of such strategic importance the army comes to realize they may have made a mistake in constructing it. They fear it could fall into the hands of neighbouring Ethiopia whom they defeated in a colonial war just two years ago.

Ferrazza sets out to find someone to carry out Operation Red Lion and meets Mario Caparrotti, an amateur race car driver and cableway mechanic who has unfettered access to the engine room. The colonel entices him with his wife and the reluctant Emilia unhappily plays her part by becoming Caparrotti’s lover.

Unexpectedly, Gyles Aiscroft, a Rome-based British freelance foreign correspondent, and an old family friend of Emilia’s parents arrives in Asmara.  Emilia finds herself drawn to him and confides her plight to him.

As the clock counts down the final hours, the colonel belatedly begins to grasp that in ‘Little Rome’ nothing is what it seems, no one can be trusted and, when serving Mussolini, failure will never be condoned.

Format: ebook (434 pp.)                    Publisher: n/a
Published: 11th April 2018                 Genre: Historical Fiction

Purchase Links*
Amazon.co.uk  ǀ  Amazon.com
*links provided for convenience, not as part of any affiliate programme

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Extract: The Italian Couple by J. R. Rogers

(Gyles Aiscroft arrives in Asmara – first impressions)

“Now, tell me,” he said waving at the window. “We’re almost there. What do you think? Is it to your liking? Have a look. Go on. Tell me.”

They had arrived in town and the driver of the Fiat bus – its engine wheezing and the gears crashing – was beginning a wide slow turn onto the Viale Roma. The name of the street was on a metal nameplate affixed to the wall of a building on the corner. Viale Roma was an important street with dusty palms spaced at even intervals aligned on either side. They drove up one short block after another, the bus plodding through the congestion of anxious automobiles, the shouting drivers honking their horns. Facing either side of the street was a run of low, whitewashed ochre-colored buildings with common walls and walking past was a mélange of unhurried Italians wearing Western clothes and sunglasses crowding the sidewalks. The native people, who looked out of place, wore long, drab-looking ankle length attires while the women wrapped their heads and shoulders in shawls. Aiscroft noticed at one point how, as they drove past a prominent three-story building, the sidewalk was cast in shadows and how the pedestrians passing into the gloom reappeared shortly blinking into the bright African sun.

Many of the establishments – their Italian names painted in bright contrasting colors over the entrances – fronted outdoor cafes where patrons sat contentedly beneath tan umbrellas at little round tables sipping coffee from small white cups. Aiscroft decided it looked as if it all had been transplanted from somewhere in southern Italy. It seemed to him, in the orderly way in which it was all laid out, that it was some planner’s vision of how a small and proper Italian town should look. And the reminiscent architecture and mixture of European and indigenous peoples mingling in the street brought to mind Benghazi and Tripoli where a similar Italian presence had transformed those places as well.

A moment later the driver pulled to the curb. They had arrived at the airline’s ticket office. He looked over his shoulder. “Biglietteria,” – ticket office, he called out turning off the noisy engine and as the bus shuddered to a silence everyone got to their feet, and formed a single impatient line between the rows of narrow bench seats.

Paola, Chef Modici’s short, attractive, and much younger wife, was animated at his return, and rushed to her husband as he stepped down from the bus. With a wide brim white hat, long thick dark hair splayed across her shoulders, and her face carefully made up, she wore a fetching black and white sleeveless dress and held her sunglasses down at her side. The chef kissed her hurriedly and unemotionally on the cheek, and gave her a quick embrace before pulling away.

In a throaty sensual voice that surprised Aiscroft, she asked. “How was your trip, darling? Were you unhappy without me?” Uncertain, she smiled. “I missed you.”

He laughed at her. “Of course I was unhappy,” he chortled – “miserable, in fact.”

“And Emilio? How’s he? You two got along? No arguments this time?”

“No but Emilio never changes. Still it’s good to see him, if only twice a year.”

“He’s your brother, you should.”

“Sometimes I wonder. I was thinking on the plane coming home. He can’t be bothered to visit us in Asmara,” he said in a huff. “So it’s me that has to take the time and spend the money and go up there and stay at that damn hotel if I want to see him. I can’t even stay with him because his wife’s always sick.”

“It was your decision, Gino. Don’t go again, if you don’t want to. Maybe he’ll come here next time.”

“I’ll wait forever,” he grumbled.

“He’ll always be your brother, darling,” she said reaching to stroke his arm. “No matter where he lives. Maybe next time call him instead of flying all that way.” She dropped her arm and turned to look unabashedly at Aiscroft. “Gino?” she asked. “Who is this gentleman with you?” She smiled at Aiscroft and gave him a look that was equal parts sympathy and interest. “He’s been standing there so patiently waiting for…”

“Ah, yes,” he said jerking around to Aiscroft. “My apologies.”

“Quite all right.”

“Paola,” he said to her, as if about to read a proclamation, “this is Mister Aiscroft, a reporter from Rome. He’s an Englishman. This is my wife, Paola,” he told Aiscroft nodding at her.

Paola slid her sunglasses on, bathed him in a wider smile, and limply extended her hand. “Welcome, Mister Aiscroft, so nice to meet you. I was wondering when Gino might tell me who you were.”

The sidewalk was becoming congested with luggage and passengers ready to board the bus to the airport, so they crossed the street. The avenue was clouded with exhaust, as they dodged the two lines of traffic and steered clear of the ever-present boys leading strings of indifferent camels and donkeys. Modici headed unerringly toward his gleaming maroon Lancia Augusta Berlina parked at the curb while mentioning to Paola they would be giving their guest a ride to his hotel.

“Where are you staying, Mister Aiscroft?” she asked looking at him closely as they stood alongside the car while Modici scrutinized the sheet metal for any signs of damage his wife might have caused in his absence.

“The Colonia,” called out Modici overhearing her question. Satisfied with his inspection he pulled open the passenger door for Paola. “Get in,” he said impatiently. “I have to go to the restaurant.”

“Lovely hotel,” Paola told Aiscroft before ducking into the car. “The best in Asmara. Did Gino tell you about it? You should be comfortable there,” she said.

“Yes, Paola, I told him. He’s already booked there,” said Modici slamming her door shut. “Now, my friend,” he said frowning at Aiscroft behind his sunglasses. “We should go. I have a busy day ahead of me.”

J R RogersAbout the Author

J.R.ROGERS writes historical thrillers. He is the author of seven books and also a collection of short stories. His stories have appeared in Steam Ticket, TrainWrite, The Legendary, TRC, The Copperfield Review, Outside In Literary and Travel Magazine, River & South Review and Driftwood Press.  His latest novel is The Italian Couple.

Besides writing his interests include art, culture, indie film, LGBTQIA, photography and world travel. He lives in southern California.

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Guest Post: ‘The Artist in Fiction’ by Arthur D. Hittner, author of Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse

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It’s so frustrating when authors contact you about fascinating sounding books and you know because of your already huge review pile it’s going to be quite a while until you can get to read them.  A case in point is Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse by Arthur D. Hittner set in pre-war New York City.

However, I’m making amends by bringing you a fantastic guest post from Arthur about the challenge of capturing in words the inspiration that drives the creative process of an artist.  In his article, Arthur illustrates the approach he chose with two excerpts from the book and a wonderful painting by an artist definitely unknown to me.

If this has piqued your interest in Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse, you can find purchase links below.

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Artist Soldier Lover MuseAbout the Book

Freshly graduated from Yale in 1935, Henry J. Kapler parlays his talent, determination, and creative energy into a burgeoning art career in New York under the wing of artists such as Edward Hopper and Reginald Marsh.  The young artist first gains notoriety when his depiction of a symbolic, interracial handshake between ballplayers is attacked by a knife-wielding assailant at the Corcoran Gallery in Washington.

Yet even as his art star rises, his personal life turns precarious—and perilous—when his love for Fiona, a young WPA muralist, collides with his growing attraction to the exquisitely beautiful Alice, an ex-chorus girl who becomes his model and muse.  Alice is the girlfriend of Fiona’s cousin, Jake Powell, the hot-headed, hard-drinking outfielder for the New York Yankees whose jealousy explodes into abuse and rage, endangering the lives of all three.

While Henry wrestles with his complicated love life, he also struggles mightily to reconcile his pacifism with the rabid patriotism of his Jewish-Russian émigré father.  As war draws near, Henry faces two difficult choices, one of which could cost him his life.

Format: Paperback, ebook (301 pp.)    Publisher: Apple Ridge Fine Arts
Published: 5th December 2017              Genre: Historical Fiction, Art

Purchase Links*
Amazon.co.uk ǀ  Amazon.com
*links provided for convenience, not as part of any affiliate programme

Find Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse on Goodreads

Guest Post: ‘The Artist in Fiction’ by Arthur D. Hittner, author of Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse

I love art.  I’ve a particular affinity for the art of the Depression era, much of which is imbued with an emotional edge that reflects the perils of everyday existence during those difficult times.  In my debut novel Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse I explore the creative mind of a struggling young painter in the New York City art world of the late 1930s.

How does a writer of historical fiction tap into the mind of an artist from another era?  I began by devouring the colorful accounts of the resourceful artists who practiced their craft in New York during the turbulent decade of the Thirties.  There can be no better source for the ambience of a time and place than the reminiscences of those who experienced it.  To further gauge the tenor of the times, I perused the Times—the historical database of The New York Times—whose articles offered a window into the events and controversies that shaped the lives of New Yorkers.  Armed with this knowledge, I could place my protagonist, the young artist Henry J. Kapler, in the midst of these events, as a participant, observer or commentator, as the story dictated.

But what of the creative act itself?  How do you capture on the written page the inspiration that drives the creative process?  In Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse I utilized two distinct approaches to tap into the creative impulses of Henry Kapler.  One was to ponder an actual work of art and intuit the circumstances that may have brought it into being.  I’ll call this the Chevalier Method.  Tracy Chevalier created an entire novel from a single work of art in Girl With a Pearl Earring.  Consider, for example, the painting reproduced below.  It is the work of Harold J. Rabinovitz (1915-1944), a now obscure American artist whose life and work provided valuable inspiration for the fictional Henry Kapler.

Arthur Hittner Guest Post Image

The following excerpt reflects how I imagined Henry might have approached the subject of this poignant work of art:

‘The Seventh Avenue Express was the subway Henry knew best.  It stopped at Fourteenth Street, running north to Harlem and southeast to Brooklyn.  With his sketchbook and a pocket full of tokens, Henry descended into the bowels of the city.  He remained submerged for the better part of two weeks, riding from one end of the line to the other, observing and sketching.  Surfacing only to eat, sleep, and attend his morning classes at the League, Henry became as much a part of the screeching, grimy, often creepy world of the underground as the foot-long rats that scampered through the stations like frantic commuters.

The stark interior of a subway car was the setting for Henry’s opus.  Marsh had tackled a similar subject earlier in Why Not Use the “L”, portraying the indifference of passengers in documentary fashion.  Henry would go further, injecting social commentary by staging a morality play within the confines of his canvas.

Henry sifted through scores of sketches for the characters to inhabit his composition.  He roughed out a scene depicting two seated men on the near side of the car to the left, one with his head buried in a newspaper and the other looking blankly ahead; a third man barely awake across the aisle, his elbow resting against the seat back, his right hand propping up his weary head; and a young mother sitting beside him, straining to rein in her fidgety son.  One last figure would complete the composition and supply the narrative: a sightless young man in shirtsleeves and dark glasses proceeding down the aisle toward the viewer, his left hand limply grasping a walking cane, his right palm turned upward in supplication.  It was an all-too-familiar scene, variations of which he’d witnessed repeatedly during his self-banishment underground: a group of passengers, distracted by their own burdens, studiously ignoring the entreaties of a man less fortunate as he passes by seeking charity.’

The second (and diametrically opposite) entrée into the creative mind of my protagonist was through the developing plotline, trusting that the story would inform Henry who would, in turn, create an artwork derived purely from my own imagination.  In Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse  Henry’s muse, Alice Woodley, is a beautiful ex-chorus girl involved in an abusive relationship with a professional athlete named Jake Powell.

Consider this excerpt from Chapter Twenty-Two:

‘For much of the next forty-eight hours, the portrait of Alice consumed him.  He realized that what he’d started to paint from life, he was now painting from deep within himself.  What she’d told him, and how she’d spoken and acted, were as much a part of what he was now creating as the actuality of her physical being.  He remembered the fist Kuniyoshi had placed on the table in the classroom, and the shadow it cast.  He’d captured the actuality of his model in their session two days earlier, but it took the succeeding couple days of laborious effort for the truth to emerge.  He studied the painting closely.  What had begun as a likeness of an extraordinarily beautiful young woman had evolved into a portrait of both beauty and vulnerability.  This was not the hardened, streetwise woman that had surprised and disappointed him at the automat, although that was certainly a part of what she’d become.  There was much more—and it thrilled him to discover it peering out from the canvas.

Waiting was the title he chose for the painting.  It made sense to him.  He perceived a young woman waiting to make sense of her life, to comprehend and reconcile the choices she’d made, to find a path forward.’

In the end, the writer’s means for divining the artistic vision of his protagonist shouldn’t matter.  What matters is that his character’s creative impulses feel genuine to the reader.  The paintings portrayed in the novelist’s narrative should be equally accessible in the reader’s mind, whether the artwork has an existence in the real world or solely in the writer’s imagination.  Whether I’ve succeeded in transporting you into the creative mind of Henry Kapler is something only you can judge.  I invite you to read Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse to decide for yourself.                                  © Arthur D. Hittner, 2018

Arthur D HittnerAbout the Author

Arthur D. Hittner is the author of the historical novel Artist, Soldier, Lover, Muse and  Honus Wagner: The Life of Baseball’s ‘Flying Dutchman (McFarland, 1996), winner of the Seymour Medal awarded by the Society of American Baseball Research for the best book of baseball history or biography published in 1996.  Other books include At the Threshold of Brilliance:The Brief but Splendid Career of Harold J. Rabinovitz (The Rabinovitz Project, 2014), a biography and catalogue raisonne of a newly rediscovered master of American art of the Depression era and the irreverent travelogue, Cross-Country Chronicles: Road Trips Through the Art and Soul of America.

Mr. Hittner has also written about fine art subjects for Maine Antique Digest, Fine Art Connoisseur and Antiques & Fine Art and has served as a Trustee of the Danforth Museum of Art and the Tucson Museum of Art.

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Website ǀ  Goodreads