There is was. The painting I'd been waiting to see, propped against a windowsill, framed in the afternoon light. The sunflowers.
Blazing sunflowers that should have looked forlorn and sad, plucked from the earth where they'd grown, trapped inside an earthenware jug. But they didn't. They writhed with life, the yellow so passionate, so untamed - oh, I wanted to touch that painting. I wanted to run my fingers over the canvas and savor its texture, every peak and valley of paint, every swirl and dash. Caress every line, every curve where his hand had been, trace the blue letters of his name.
I thought I knew this man who talked with me and made love with me, but I didn't. I knew his body and something of his mind, nothing of his soul. Here was his soul, here, and here; in every painting in this room he'd left pieces of his spirit. Soun bèu esperit, his beautiful spirit, as we say in Provençal. This was no ordinary vase of flowers. The sunflowers were his voice, and for the first time since the day we met, I started to truly listen.

I had chosen this book for one of my Valentine's week reads, I'm sure you can see why, but I decided to save it for March in honor of Vincent's birthday instead. I'm a few days early but I just devoured this book and I couldn't slow down. I enjoyed the story that Bundrick spun. That said, I realize that I'm a pushover, I've only found one van Gogh book to be unreadable (that was Lust for Life). I think I let myself be swept up in the romance because I wanted Vincent to have had such a deep relationship, a kinship, a love, in his life. He struggled so hard with his mental health.

Vincent had a few long-term relationships with prostitutes. He could pay for their time and whether there was "business", or not, he could use them for models. Looking at his body of work we see many portraits but it seems, in reality, not many wanted to sit for the mad red-headed foreigner. He did several of his doctor, his landlord, etc. This story is all fictional, save for verifiable locales, known doctors, etc and our protagonist's name. Vincent really did present his severed ear to a prostitute named Rachel but the police report that was taken doesn't record her full name. In 2042, when the police roster that has all the prostitutes registered to Madam Virginie's house is unsealed, we might learn more.

Anyway, if you like literary fiction or just like van Gogh, I do recommend it. ( )

Art historian Bundrick offers a hauntingly beautiful debut novel about Vincent van Gogh's relationship with a mysterious young woman named Rachel, and the passion they share. soft

Told from the view of Van Gogh's prostitute lover Rachel Courtrea. A very readable and intriguing historical novel. I can't wait for another release from Sheramy Bundrick. ( )

Told from the view of Van Gogh's prostitute lover Rachel Courtrea. A very readable and intriguing historical novel. I can't wait for another release from Sheramy Bundrick. ( )

Told from the view of Van Gogh's prostitute lover Rachel Courtrea. A very readable and intriguing historical novel. I can't wait for another release from Sheramy Bundrick. ( )