The Miniaturist
Autumn, 1686. Petronella Oortman arrives at the home of her new husband, Johannes Brandt, the wealthiest merchant in Amsterdam. But he is absent, her enigmatic sister-in-law is all prickles and stings, and the servants, an orphan and a “blackamoor,” are unknown entities. When Johannes gifts Nella an expensive cabinet, a perfect replica of the house in miniature, she seeks an artisan to furnish it. Delight turns to surprise and then unease as beautiful, miniscule objects of incomparable workmanship arrive – some commissioned, most not, but all with hidden meaning. Somehow, the mysterious Miniaturist knows the house’s occupants, its secrets and their consequences… before they unfold.
Burton has crafted an exceptional domestic thriller. Elements will be familiar, but it is the entire presentation, this novel taken as a whole, which impresses. As illustrated by other works with similar settings (e.g., Girl with a Pearl Earring), the closed, claustrophobic atmosphere of a Dutch home of this period can heat up the suspense to a delicious slow boil. The miniature cabinet serves as both portent and puzzle, and the duality of a Puritanical world enshrouded in the rampant materialism of the guilds is adroitly illustrated. Nella is engaging and drawn with depth, as are all the characters in this story. The prose is evocative, and the pacing sure. But it is this novel’s atmosphere that is perhaps its strongest point: it’s Escher-esque, with the elusive Miniaturist creating Nella’s world in the rooms of the cabinet, Nella looking into that cabinet, the replica of her world, and the reader looking in at Nella. A picture of the real 17th-century cabinet that inspired Burton’s story as well as a glossary of Dutch words and money equivalents are added bonuses. I’ve not been this engrossed by a novel in quite some time. Pick it up and savor it.
