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The novel she’d just read was A Poisoner’s Tale by Cathryn Kemp, which is biographical fiction about Giulia Tofana, an herbalist and professional poisoner in 17th-century Rome billed as (per the novel) perhaps “the first female serial killer in history.”
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| Pub. by Union Square (Feb. 2025). The UK publisher is Penguin. |
“This novel is an example of what I call to myself a prologue giveaway,” she told me, explaining how she isn't keen on prologues in general, especially when they reveal the ending, but enjoyed the novel as a whole very much. “In the case of A Poisoner’s Tale," she wondered, "why do you think Kemp used a prologue telling the ending of the story?”
In the very first sentence of the book, which opens in Rome in 1659, it’s clear that our heroine’s story won’t end happily.
At first, I thought this would annoy me, knowing in advance how Giulia’s story would conclude; I had heard of her before, but hadn't read much about her life. Then I got to thinking about it more.
After the prologue, we jump back to the year 1632 in Palermo, as Giulia, just thirteen, is introduced to her lethal trade by her mother, who dispenses poisons to women of the city desperate to free themselves from horrible physical abuse and potential death at the hands of men in their lives.
This discussion also called to mind an older novel I’d come across while putting together my first Historical Fiction: A Guide to the Genre twenty years ago. I’d skimmed the book for the purpose of summarizing it and remember glancing through the final pages and author’s note. At the time I was aghast to learn that the heroine died at the end. What a disappointment to spend 300 pages invested in her life only to see her killed off. There was no hint about this beforehand. The novel was loosely based in history/legend, and the main character was fictional. And I never did go back and read it in full, even though the setting had intrigued me.
I won’t mention the title or author so as not to spoil the experience for anyone who picks up the book!
But if I had known in advance that that heroine’s tale would end tragically? I may not have minded the finale so much, since it wouldn’t have come as a shock. Hmmm.
Which brings us back to A Poisoner’s Tale. The author’s decision to add a spoilery prologue, which addresses Giulia’s final fate, provokes a shift in the reader’s focus. Knowing how it ends, the overall story then becomes a deep dive into character development, motive, and unthinkable choices. What spurred Giulia to take the risks she did? What obstacles did she encounter and overcome, and what circumstances led her to that ultimate point?
Even more, the novel serves to grant a much-maligned character (a historical figure) a voice, exploring the complex moral questions she must have faced. I’m partway through reading it, and don’t think the prologue hindered the reading experience in any way.
Giulia Tofana's story is a mix of history and legend. Other novelists have interpreted it differently, so if you'd prefer an alternate version, there are other choices out there (see this article from Deborah Swift at Aspects of History about the background to her own novels about her).
In addition, look at all the historical fiction about Anne Boleyn, whose fate is hardly a secret.
While I was conceptualizing this post in recent weeks, a post from Martha Jean Johnson’s Substack dropped into my inbox, and it covered similar ground. I recommend checking it out! Her protagonist is Tudor musician Mark Smeaton, and if you know Anne Boleyn’s history, you’ll recognize his name. One good point Johnson makes among many is that “the outline isn’t the story.”
Having pondered these authorial decisions, would I go back now and read that older novel, now that I know how it ends? Maybe I would.
Chris Cevasco and I just presented a session at the HNSNA Conference on prologues, and we talked about ones that give away the ending. Maggie O'Farrell's The Marriage Portrait is an example on one done well--with an interesting twist. We agreed that authors need to be judicious about using such prologues.
ReplyDeleteHow interesting! Thanks for sharing the info on the session. Prologues are a great topic to discuss since they seem to be used so frequently. You're right about The Marriage Portrait, which I'd forgotten about (and I agree, interesting twist).
DeleteCoincidence with Prologue and Palermo and the 17th Century, poison and women as witches! I just read these.
ReplyDeleteNatoli, Luigi, trans. Riggio, Stephen (2024; originally serially published in 1909, in Sicily) Sicilian Avengers - Book One. There is a second volume, continuing to follow the protagonist, the mysterious orphan, Blasco de Castiglione, the orphaned hero is, of course, the scion of a vastly wealthy duke, and his adventures with the mysterious, historical secret society, supposedly the forerunner of the Mafia, the Beati Paoli.
The novels are said to be in the mode of, say Robin Hood, i.e. punishing the greedy, powerful, rich who oppress and extort the poor. So we can also think Zorro, who is first to come to mind when I began this fiction, though otherwise Siciliain Avengers isn't that much parallel with canon-era Robin Hood or Zorro. However, Robin Hood and Zorro, unlike the Beati Paoli society, were not portrayed as deliberately violent in their class avenging retribution upon those who greedily and violently oppress, and cruelly rob and kill, the poor and the weak as their rightful prey.
Prolific author of historical fiction, in the mode of Dumas, Umberto Ecco writes in the Afterword, that later critics and he himself claim him as "literature" due to the quality of his prose,. If it is the case that these novels are 'literature' rather than 'merely' historical fiction, the serviceable translation prose does not tell us. The style is early to mid-19th Century novels of Romance, familiar since at least Walter Scott. Most of all, it is in the style of The Three Musketeers, even taking place in the same decades of the 17th century. This is specifically invoked in the Prologue, in which a female character of Palermo concocts spells, amulets, potions, and particularly, poisons. Nicolia describes as being among those notorious witch-women responsible for the epidemic of poisonings that infamously plagued the 17th century. However, when it comes to a 'literary' take on Sicilian Avengers, the reader will find Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard (1958) reminiscent of Natoli's books.
How interesting about the prologue, relative to the spate of recent poisoner novels. I have heard of the Sicilian Avengers books (and assigned them for review). Interesting also that the translation doesn't make them seem particularly literary, despite the author's claims.
DeleteWhat is really odd, is that the claim for "literature" is based on the author's deep knowledge of the time -- and the descriptions of the place. "He makes the place in its time almost the protagonist." But for surely many of us, that is the great draw of many works of historical fiction? And yes, indeed, I enjoy attentively the author's descriptions of detail of place and time, including the clothes all the genders wear!
ReplyDeleteYes - if that's what it takes to be "literature," so much would fit. Historical fiction especially!
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