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What Would the Founding Fathers Think: A Young American's guide to understanding the mess our country is in and how we get out
Isabelle Webb: Legend of the Jewel
Captive Heart
Cobble Cavern
Caller ID
Promises
Protected,
Summer of Secrets
On Little Wings
We Lived in Heaven: Spiritual Accounts of Souls Coming to Earth
Christ's gifts to women
A Woman's power: threads that bind us to god
Scary School
Hope's journey
Blue
Targets in Ties
Crater Lake: Battle for Wizard Island
Venom
With a Name like Love
Sean Griswold's head


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Saturday, September 25, 2010

My Review of "The Musician's Daughter" by Susanne Dunlop




Murder and love—from the halls of Vienna’s imperial family to a perilous gypsy camp

Amid the glamor of Prince Nicholas Esterhazy’s court in 18th-century Vienna, murder is afoot. Or so fifteen-year-old Theresa Maria is convinced when her musician father turns up dead on Christmas Eve, his valuable violin missing, and the only clue to his death a strange gold pendant around his neck. Then her father’s mentor, the acclaimed composer Franz Joseph Haydn, helps her through a difficult time by making her his copyist and giving her insight in to her father’s secret life. It’s there that Theresa begins to uncover a trail of blackmail and extortion, even as she discovers honor—and the possibility of a first, tentative love. Thrumming with the weeping strains of violins, as well as danger and deception, this is an engrossing tale of murder, romance, and music that readers will find hard to forget.

This book is promoted as a young adult/ historical fiction. It was a wonderful read for any adult who loves historical fiction, a budding romance and a lot of mystery. I was surprised to read on goodreads.com, that many people did not like this book as much as I did. I have found this to be happening with many books I have read lately. I will either like a book more than others or will not like a book as much as other readers do. I really am not trying to be contrary, it just seems to be happening.

The beginning of this book hooked me from the moment I started reading it. Here is an excerpt from the beginning of the book which I found on the author's website.

The night it all began, I dreamt that Papa returned from the concert with a new violin for me. I lifted it out of its wooden case, so excited to play it, but it slipped from my hands to the floor and smashed into splinters. I still remember how desperately sad I was, holding the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world—my own violin—and before I knew it I’d broken it beyond repair. My father’s dream face looked more sad than angry. I reached out to cling to him and ask his forgiveness, but he, too, slipped through my grasp, becoming a column of mist drawn out through my open window by the wind that banged the shutters against the house.

I woke up suddenly with my mouth open wide, the word “Papa!” in my throat. It took a moment before I realized that the knocking I heard was not the shutter from my dream, but someone at the door. A voice yelled “Machen-Sie auf! Open up!”


At first I was relieved. No treasured violin had been broken. Then I wondered who would make such a noise in the middle of the night. I pulled back the curtains around my bed, threw off the comforter, leapt up and ran in my bare feet to the door, dashing past my mother who had also been awakened but could only hobble slowly because she was very pregnant. “Theresa Maria! Get away from there. You’ll be seen by God knows who in your night shift!” I didn’t pause, not caring how I was dressed.

When I reached the door I drew the bolt and yanked it open. I hoped it was Papa, knocking because he had forgotten his key. We had all stayed up late waiting for him to return from playing the violin at a concert in Prince Esterhazy’s winter palace, on the other side of Vienna. But he didn’t come, which wasn’t so very unusual on a Christmas eve when there would be much merrymaking after his work was done, so at last we went to bed. Mama had looked a bit worried, but I was certain Papa had simply gone drinking with his friends. The musicians would have received their annual bonuses from my godfather, Kapellmeister Haydn.


The next few moments were very confusing. Three men wearing cloaks with hoods drawn over their faces pushed into our apartment, struggling with a large, black sack between them. They laid the sack gently on the floor, and then one of them—I still can’t remember which—took a small dagger and split it open down its middle.

“Maybe you shouldn’t look,” said a voice I recognized as Heinrich’s. He spoke with a rich baritone that reminded me of the horn he played.


“No, they will have to see him,” said another of them, who I later realized was Jakob, the timpanist.

My mother stood next to me holding the lamp up high with one hand and clutching her shawl closed at her throat with the other. My little brother Tobias was still asleep, Greta, the cook, hadn’t stirred—nothing woke them. Mama and I were frozen to our spots like the icicles hanging from the eaves of St. Stephen’s Cathedral. Just thinking about them made me shiver.


Or maybe I was shivering because of what the sack contained.
Even though I was several paces away and the light flickered in the wind that whooshed through the still open door, I could see that it was my father. I recognized his slender face with its high forehead, pronounced cheekbones and the tiny dent in his chin. But why wasn’t he moving? And why was his mouth so dark?

I crept closer, fascinated and repelled at the same time, until I could see that the strange color was from the dried blood that had caked on his lips and frozen in a trail out of one corner of his mouth and down his cheek.
My mother had inched forward with me, her hand on my shoulder. I felt her grip loosening and I turned, catching hold of the oil lamp just as she crumbled into a heap on the floor.

The men, who had stood around breathing heavily after their exertion sprang into action, two of them rushing over to help Mama. I don’t know what made me do it exactly then, but I threw up all over the boots of one of them, realizing as I did so that it was poor Heinrich, and noticing that his boots were covered with sandy mud.


The 15 year old girl, Theresa is brave, courageous and very vulnerable at times. I liked her because of how she took charge of the family after her father died. Her very pregnant Mother shuts down and is no help to the family. It is up to Theresa to look for her father's murderers and get a job to earn money for her family to live on. This story is told so well, first person, from Theresa.

I related so well to her because of her great love of music, which she and her father had shared. The glamorous city of Vienna came to life, and the hardships of the 18th century became more realistic. I loved the excitement and intrigue that came as Theresa visited the Gypsy (Romanian) camps for clues. There she learns of their plight during this time period and how they were ill-treated by the higher gentry and politicians. We also get to go into the very glittering palace of Prince Nicholas Esterhazy's and experience the life of nobility. I particularly loved when Theresa, for the first time in her life, was fitted for a gown for a ball. As a "girl" I loved the idea of dressing up in finery. A warning, there is also a creepy Uncle in the background tormenting Theresa.

I do know that a sequel to this book is being written. It truly was left open for a sequel. I think that more romance will be found in the next book. I enjoyed Susanne's fast paced writing style and the wonderful details that she included that swept me away to 18th Century Vienna.

If you would like to learn more about Susanne Dunlap, her other historical fiction novels and the history behind this book, go to her website
here.



This book receives 4 stars from me. I will probably end up purchasing this book. I want to read it again.


Just for fun, I found the book trailer for this book.







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3 comments:

  1. I like historical fiction. I'll be sure to check it out! =]

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  2. This one sounds good. And, the same thing happens to me: when other people rave and rave about books, I tend to not like them as much.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Looks interesting. I find that happening with a lot of books, too. Although, generally I like the book more than others, because I just love a wide range of books, styles, and authors. I have to force myself to rate books down, or else I would give 80% of all the books I read 5 stars, and then there's nowhere to go for the really exceptional ones.

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