There are many passions someone could have. A passion for writing. A passion for gambling. A passion for God. Sometimes, even, a passion for a person.
This is what The Passion by Jeanette Winterson is about. Well, that and stories, but we'll get to that later. Like her last novel, The Passion is told like a fairy tale. Fantasy floats around the characters without forcing its way to the spotlight. Still, I wouldn't recommend this book as any sort of fantasy. Even if there is a priest with an eagle eye or boatmen who never take off their shoes. And really why would I call it one? The world is a big place. Surely there are stranger things out there, no?
Between the more fantastical elements of the story is passion. The Venetian loves playing games. Not to win something or risk losing something else. Just playing,. Everything becomes a gamble. She plays, she wins, she plays, she loses, she plays. Over and over. The Frenchman loves Napoleon. He follows him endlessly. He writes his stories down. Writes what he's feeling. Tells us stories.
Winterson latched onto a phrase and makes great use of it through the book. Even used as often as it is, it's never forced. You can feel when it will come up again. It's natural. It also serves to remind you that you're reading someone else's story. No matter what happens in it, we have to trust the narrator. We nod along when the icicle won't melt and the people have no heart. And even if the narrator is embellishing their story, well, they told it that way for a reason, right? They're telling us a story. Trust them.
Unlike Oranges are not the only fruit, The Passion tells the story all the way through, with no interruption. There are no breakaway tales about sorcerers or demons or talking birds. Instead, it's just more stories. Stories about friends, or people you know, or the narrators themselves. Even within the book these stories stick with the narrators. The French soldier visits a church during his first new year on campaign. He remembers it for years. The Venetian gambler remembers losing a game of cards.
We've all got stories. They don't even need to be interesting. Last night I realised I lost a bracelet. I searched my house, intermittently carrying a rice cake and a mug of tea. I couldn't find it, so I just went upstairs. I figured it would show up or it wouldn't. Besides, the tea would be cold soon.
I found the bracelet in my room. It was on a dresser next to some broken pottery.
We are very lucky to live in a world with so many stories. I'm lucky to be writing in a building full of them. The best part about them is that there's always another and another. And, if you're willing, I think I'd like to hear one of yours.
Jeanette Winterson, The Passion. New York: Grove Press, 1997. Koller-Collins Collection PR6073 .I558 P37 1997
