Luncheon of the Boating Party by Susan Vreeland

By Susan Vreeland

A vibrant exploration of 1 of the main liked Renoir work on the earth, ?done with a flourish beneficial of Renoir himself? (USA Today)

together with her richly textured novels, Susan Vreeland has provided pioneering pics of artists? lives. Now, as she did in Girl in Hyacinth Blue, Vreeland once more specializes in a unmarried painting?Auguste Renoir?s immediately recognizable masterpiece, which depicts a meeting of Renoir?s actual buddies having fun with a summer season Sunday on a café terrace alongside the Seine. Narrated by means of Renoir and 7 of the versions, the unconventional illuminates the gusto, hedonism, and artwork of the period. With a stunning palette of bright, fascinating characters, Vreeland paints their lives, loves, losses, and triumphs so vividly that ?the portray actually comes alive? (The Boston Globe).

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He trudged without a halt until daybreak. Even then he did not stop until some hours later when his legs gave out. He had made up his mind not to think of Mickle, the count, Musket, or anything connected with them. In consequence, he thought of nothing else. Mickle's absence crept over him like a toothache: at first ignored, then denied, then taking command altogether. He kept on a straight path for the next few days. He slept in barns or hayricks, if one happened to be in his way. Otherwise, he crawled under bushes or flung himself down in open fields.

The room was too dim for him to be certain of the number, but most of the chairs were filled. Mickle, robed in black, sat in the light of a single candle, as Theo had suggested. At her signal, he and Musket tugged away at the cords. The ghost obediently rose into the air. The audience gasped; there were a few screams of delicious terror. Someone in the back of the salon paid Theo's handiwork the compliment of fainting dead away. Las Bombas urged the company to consult the spirit on any matter of concern.

He let his hand fall to his side. He stood, uncertain, at the door. Finally he turned away. The portrait, unfinished, lay on a table. He was about to pick it up. He shook his head. It would pain him less if he had no reminder of her. He carried nothing with him as he went quietly down the stairs. He could not trust himself to say farewell. He strode across the market square. The town slept. Though nearly summer, the night was cool. There was no question in Theo's mind. He had done the right and honorable thing.

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