THE MARRIAGE PORTRAIT by Maggie O’Farrell is a richly drawn novel that reimagines the short, tragic life of Lucrezia di Cosimo de’Medici. By bringing Lucrezia’s fictionalized story to life in the pages of a book, O’Farrell not only tells a captivating tale, but she gives voice to one young woman who would otherwise be erased by history.

At fifteen, when her sister dies unexpectedly right before her wedding, Lucrezia is chosen to take her place, and is married to Alfonso II d’Este, Duke of Ferrara. We know her fate from the very first paragraph, which happens less than a year into her marriage:

“Lucrezia is taking her seat at the long dining table…Her husband is sitting down next to her, close enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder should she wish…it comes to her with a peculiar clarity…he intends to kill her.”

After this provocative opening, the story shifts back to the beginning, to Lucrezia’s childhood and troublesome, untamed nature, an incident with a tiger, the moment she sees her future husband. Lucrezia is standing on the battlements of a tower, holding her pet mouse. Alfonso passes by and makes a funny, perceptive face.

“Lucrezia laughed, up there on the tower, at the accuracy of this impression, at the unexpectedness of a revered man making such a face…just for her, Lucrezia.”

There’s a tenderness to these early scenes, and it’s not clear what series of circumstances or events could cause Lucrezia’s husband to later plot her murder. He loves her. Or does he? He isn’t evil, at least in the beginning, or is he? There is nothing more chilling than the duplicity of a sociopath.

“His face of fury disappears, to be replaced by one of indulgence.”

The novel is written in first person and keeps a tight focus. We’re never able to see more than Lucrezia, whose circumstances are painfully constrained. Some reviewers have described the novel as claustrophobic, but this is part of what creates the tension, as Lucrezia navigates an increasingly perilous situation with limited information. She understands that it is her job, her fate, to be married. It would have been, in some ways, an easier choice to write a character more relatable to a modern audience, one who rebelled (Lucrezia does rebel, but to a point), who became Queen Elizabeth, who triumphed over the suffocating roles allowed her.

But Lucrezia’s is a more intimate story. Her life is obscure, her triumphs private and personal, but no less heroic. Isolated from her family and her beloved nurse, Sofia, Lucrezia tries to make sense of this new life that’s been thrust upon her, finding freedom in exploring the grounds and gardens of the castle.

“She hesitates on the threshold, casting her eyes over the thick wall of trees. Then she steps out…[the wind] rustles the lower branches of bushes, it toys with the hem of her wrap, with the tassels of her hair. She steps away from the villa, her slipper soles scuffing along the path.”

The descriptions of nature are sharply seen and vivid, as are the scenes where Lucrezia, a gifted artist, finds an urgently needed outlet through her painting.

“She will need to grind saffron, cochineal, the heart of an iris flower, and—what else? Lucrezia steps back to the easel, where she has set up her usual planed square of tavolo, her brushes, a mortar with its pestle resting on the lip, oyster shells filled with linseed oils, ready to absorb the powdered pigment.”

O’Farrell uses her research to excellent effect, creating living scenes where we’re immersed in this historically-based, fictional world.

Although Lucrezia’s life is hemmed in and perilous, she’s courageous and someone I wanted to root for. She’s a doer. She makes art, takes long walks beneath the sky. She studies, imagines, she schemes and finds ways to resist. And even as her situation becomes increasingly desperate, she’s never wholly without allies or stripped of agency.

I wasn’t sure the story would appeal to me, but I ended up enjoying the book a great deal, and was later surprised by some of the reviews. One described the story as formulaic, and O’Farrell does check all the boxes. Oppression is relieved by agency. Plot points introduced early on are neatly tied up at the end. Her tight, careful plotting, though, was something I admired. Some also found the prose overwritten, and O’Farrell does have the habit of using two or three gorgeous descriptions where one might suffice, but her imaginative breadth is also a powerful strength.

It was interesting to read these reviews after I’d read the book. What struck me was their snarkiness. It was as if there was a discomfort, a need to create distance from a story about a young girl who lived in a different time and place and found joy and solace in the few ways available to her, who did not change the course of history, who did not do grand, heroic things and was, in her way, privileged. Maybe she did not break with convention fully enough and wasn’t quite what a modern reader might have needed her to be. But I found Lucrezia to be a spunky, smart, resourceful character, her story told in writing that’s alive, generous, and emotionally satisfying. And best of all, with an ending that gave this reader exactly what she hoped for!