As an update to my earlier post about Russian Nesting Dolls (aka Matrioshka Dolls), I wanted to show readers Channel’s new Matrioshka Russian Doll handbag, as reported by StyleByMe.net. Take a look at the photo bellow:
Again, I think this really just shows how uncommonly identified with Russia and how iconic an item these dolls remain
But as the StyleByMe blog post says, as a purse, the Russian Doll is kind of a hard look to pull off…
While there are many conflicting stories on the origin of Russian nesting dolls, many agree that the nesting dolls were first created in the late 1800’s by a Russian man named Murmantov. And if you’ve never seen these nesting, or Matryoshka, dolls, here are a few pictures of these dolls:
Some say the inspiration was a Japanese statue, others say it’s based on a Russian fairy tale, but regardless of the inspiration, the dolls became a hugely popular folk craft and are perhaps the single souvenir or item most closely associated with Russia, not to mention a common child’s toy and gift.
In other words, nesting dolls would be just the sort of thing a young Russian girl might take with her if she were leaving home to go live in another land. And in my novel, The Last Train from Paris, that’s exactly what Natasha does, and the dolls are one of her few, cherished possessions.
There are greater levels of meaning and symbolism within the dolls that apply to the novel, but I can’t really go into that without spoiling some plot twists and surprises, but let me just say that the dolls have captured the imagination of far more than just Russian children and a few novelists here and there. In fact, David Ogilvy, advertising legend and founder and head of Ogilvy & Mather, used to send a set of these nesting dolls to all of his new managers with the following note placed into the smallest doll:
“If each of us hires people who are smaller than us, we shall become a company of dwarfs, but if each of us hires people who are bigger than we are, Ogilvy & Mather will become a company of giants.”
And isn’t that a wonderful thought for anyone who leads, hires, or manages people?
As I’ve blogged about previously, The Last Train from Paris, eventually sees the novel’s hero, Jean-Luc, using his painting talent to protect The Louvre’s masterpieces by swapping the originals with his own forgeries. And the first painting to receive this protection was The Barque of Dante.
Yet while The Barque of Dante may have been the first painting that Jean-Luc was able to provide to The Resistance, that was almost an accident – Jean-Luc initially set out to paint something entirely different and he only painted a replica of that masterpiece by accident, with no intent of using it as a forgery to protect the original. In fact, he had no idea doing so was even possible, or that anyone was attempting to thwart the Nazi theft of the Louvre’s most important treasures. It was only because Miró saw the painting and recognized the opportunity such a replica afforded the Resistance, that the forgery was eventually used to protect the original.
So what famous painting was the first that Jean-Luc knowingly forged in order to save it?
Endymion Asleep by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson. 
And for those with some knowledge of mythology (or art history), this is an ironic – and telling — piece for Jean-Luc to forge.
Here’s the mythic backstory:
Endymion was an indescribably handsome shepherd – so handsome as to rival his son, Narcissus – and he was also the mortal lover of the moon goddess Selene. Each night he was kissed to sleep by her, and Selene begged Zeus to grant him eternal youth (and life) so she might be able to embrace him forever. Zeus complied, putting Endymion into eternal sleep. In some variations of the myth, it was Endymion that requested eternal youth through sleep.
Now, here’s the thing, Endymion remained young – and beautiful – through sleep. Sleep allowed him to throw-off the cares of the world and to remain in his lover’s arms. But for Jean-Luc it was the opposite: only by awakening from his pretty-boy womanizing, and by “losing” his first real love, did he come to see the evil (and not merely the inconvenience) of the Nazi occupation. Before then he slept-walked through the occupation, blind to the troubles and hardships of those around him.
Once he wakes up and begins actively fighting the Nazi occupation, Jean-Luc is asked to help prevent the theft of some of the Louvre’s most prized pieces of art. And the first such piece is nothing less than a symbol of his previous existence.
Some people feel that it’s only in novels that these kinds of things happen – that this kind of symbolism and synchronicity is nothing more than a “trick” planned out by authors to punch-up the emotion within their stories.
But I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that this kind of symbolic coincidence only exists in literature or that real-life examples are nothing more than stray connections made up by over-active imaginations.
Life IS meaningful. And the connections that we make, cause, and find in life carry a great deal of that meaning. Seeing the symbolic significance of events, items, etc. is an important part of authentic living. One great example of this from my own life is when I met my husband.
Although I didn’t learn about his feelings until later, I had the strongest feeling that I had met him before or had somehow known him previously, even though we had only met that evening. The strength of it was well beyond normal déjà vu – so much so that I had none of the kinds of questions one has when she meets a potential romantic interest: it simply felt like all my questions were already answered, like I already knew the answers.
And as it turns out, our birthdays are only one day apart. And my husband felt the same way about me on our first meeting, exactly as if he had known me before. Some might say our birthdays are just coincidence and that our feelings are normal for a “love at first sight” meeting, but I see the thumbprints of fate. And I think everyone has had those moments and experiences in their lives.
So what symbolic moments or little signs or significant coincidences can you remember from your life? As always, I’d love to hear from you.
“I try to apply colors like words that shape poems, like notes that shape music”
- Joan Miró
“The only thing that’s clear to me is that I intend to destroy, destroy everything that exists in painting. I have an utter contempt for painting. The only thing that interests me is the spirit itself, and I only use the customary artist’s tools–brushes, canvas, paints–in order to get the best results.”
- Joan Miró
“Mr. Previte’s pieces are thoroughly, stubbornly, and distinctly his own…the music copies nothing.”
- THE NEW YORK TIMES, review of Jazz artist Bobby Previte
“In the bigger picture, it (The 23 Constellations of Joan Miró) updates the very spirit of Western Composition.”
- GRAMOPHONE
So what is it about Joan Miró’s art that seems to so inspire Jazz musicians?
In the most widely known case of this, one of Miró’s Constellation Paintings appeared on the cover art of The Dave Brubeck Quartet’s album, Time Further Out, which is actually subtitled “Reflections on Miró.” Here’s what the album liner notes say:
“Dave and the boys take on the challenge of interpreting the visual work of Miró through a jazz visitation upon the structure of 12 bar blues.”
And then you have Bobby Previte’s 2008 album, The 23 Constellations of Joan Miró. And yes, Previte really did conceive the music after seeing the constellation series at the Museum of Modern Art. Not only did the art inspire the music, but the music is a deliberate attempt to capture the mood and emotions of the paintings – to the point that the paintings served as a backdrop for the US Premiere of the album.
If you’re interested in hearing some of this album, you can preview and buy it on iTunes as well as download some of the full songs for free from Previte’s website. If you like Jazz, you’ll probably be intrigued to say the least.
I think in both instances, Jazz artists looking to push the experimental boundaries of their art have found inspiration in the modern painter whose very long career consisted in continuously pushing the boundaries of painting – of never stopping his experimentation. And also in taking inspiration from realms far outside painting, specifically from music.
I can definitely see the appeal from both sides of that equation. In my own life, many of my best breakthroughs have come from doing the same thing – taking inspiration from a more or less unrelated field and translating it into new forms. I actually see my creation of gourmet-healthful-kosher cooking as something close to that. Another example would be my willingness to let Miró’s painting, Woman with Blond Armpit Combing Her Hair by the Light of the Stars, inspire me to write my historical novel, The Last Train from Paris, wherein a fictionalized Miró plays a central role.
And it was a special thrill for me to have the Miró foundation allow me to use the painting that inspired my book for it’s cover:
So what areas of “cross-pollination” have worked out in your life? Where have you found inspiration far-afield? I’d love to hear.
“Write what you know” is probably the most common piece of writing advice ever.
For me, I bent that advice to, “write what you’re passionate about and fascinated by.” In following that advice, I ended up writing a historical romance. And while there are many great pieces of literature that could be classified as such, great literature isn’t what typically comes to mind when you mention the words “historical romance” to someone.
No. The words that usually come to mind are, “bodice ripper,” or “Harlequin” – not the kind of things usually associated with “Literature.”
So I couldn’t help but ask myself: “Is The Last Train from Paris really a ‘bodice ripper’? And if not, what’s different about it. What makes it a more substantive read than other historical romances?”
The short answer to that question is “Character Arc.” That and my choice of a Miró painting instead of a shirtless Fabio on the cover.*
Seriously, though…my novel is fast-paced like a popular read or adventure romance. It starts off in the middle of things and every chapter advances the plot and keeps things interesting. My novel also has enough love and action scenes to be a popular romance. And The Last Train from Paris is certainly set in a romantic, dramatic, and adventure-filled setting (were talking Casablanca-like Paris in WW II, after all), like many popular romance novels.
But the big difference is the degree to which the changes and inner growth of my hero, Jean-Luc, are intertwined with the novel’s fast-moving plot, as well as its many main themes. Most “beach reads” and guilty pleasure novels just don’t have that. For those novels, it’s all about the narrative arc – moving the story along at breakneck speeds and revealing the gasp-worthy twists. Oftentimes the protagonists change very little, if at all, in these novels.
So I like to think that The Last Train from Paris kind of offers the best of both worlds. Page-turning action and plotting with character-developing depth. And the payoff for that character arc really comes at the end. An ending that I’ll bet most readers find far more resonant and meaningful than what’s offered up by most historical romances.
All in all, The Last Train from Paris strikes me far more as a classic (and character-driven) hero’s journey than anything else. If you’re currently reading, or have already read, my book, let me know what you think?
How would you categorize my book?
* P.S – Just as a funny side note, I actually got directions from Fabio once when I spotted him on a street near my friend’s house that I was going to see for the first time. He knew exactly where the street/area was that I was looking for. And, yes, he does actually wear shirts when he’s not posing for the covers of romance novels.
I’ve previously blogged about the social importance of cafes to the artistic life in the fashionable Montparnasse district of Paris – they served as meeting places and second homes for the modern artistic vanguard of that era, from literature’s Lost Generation to modern art’s Surrealists. And in fact, café’s are a fairly frequent setting in my WWII-set novel, The Last Train from Paris.
In addition to helping to birth modern artistic movements, Parisian cafés also helped produce the beloved Croque-monsieur in 1910. Basically a hot ham and cheese grilled sandwich (usually with lovely emmental or gruyere cheese), the “croque” became a staple of café menus and a favorite breakfast item. Adding an egg to this classic sandwich turns it into a croque-madam, which is exactly what my protagonist, Jean-Luc, orders for breakfast at his favorite café.
Just as an interesting aside, the croque-monsieur remains as popular as ever in France, to the point where French (and Belgium) McDonald’s offer a version of it called the McDo. You can see a picture of both the traditional sandwich and the McDonalds version of it below:
Now, since I’m deeply committed to – and famous for keeping – a kosher diet (check out Kosher Billionaire’s Secret Recipe), and since the traditional croque is absolutely NOT kosher, I thought it only fair that I offer fans of my first book an alternative (and Kosher) croque recipe. As it turns out, there’s already a pretty good one available! Check it out over at Take Back Your Kitchen
