Becoming Belle
19.00 JOD
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Description
Based on the true story of a woman destined for stardom, and the boundary-crossing love affair that enthralled Victorian London.In 1887, Isabel Bilton is the eldest daughter of a middle-class military family in a small garrison town. By 1891, she is the Countess of Clancarty, dubbed “the peasant countess” by the press, and a member of the Irish aristocracy. Becoming Belle is the story of the four years in between, of her rapid ascent and the people that tried to tear her down. With only her talent, charm, and determination, Isabel moves to London alone at age nineteen, changes her name to Belle and takes the city by storm. A true bohemian and the star of a double act she performs with her sister, she soon falls passionately in love with William, Viscount Dunlo, a young aristocrat. For Belle, her marriage to William is a dream come true, though his ruthless father makes it clear that he’ll stop at nothing to keep her in her place. As their marriage takes center stage in London’s courtrooms and in the newspapers, Belle finds herself on trial not only for her wedding vows, but for the very life she’s fought so hard to create. An inherently feminist novel about passion and marriage, Becoming Belle is a celebration of an unstoppable woman ahead of her time.
Additional information
Weight | 0.47 kg |
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Dimensions | 2.6 × 15.75 × 23.12 cm |
PubliCanadation City/Country | Canada |
by | |
Format | Paperback |
Language | |
Pages | 384 |
Publisher | |
Year Published | 2018-8-7 |
Imprint | |
ISBN 10 | 0735233500 |
About The Author | Nuala O'Connor is the author of Miss Emily and has also written in her native Ireland under the name Nuala Ní Chonchúir. She has won many fiction awards, was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and was shortlisted for the the European Prize for Literature. O'Connor has been published in Granta, The Stinging Fly, The Best Small Fictions and Guernica, among many others. She lives a stone's throw away from Belle's final residence, Garbally Court in East Galway, with her husband and three children. |
“O’Connor has brought to life the magnificent and headstrong Belle. The remarkable details of nineteenth-century London and Galway, Ireland, make the book a rich piece of historical fiction.” —Suzanne Desrochers, bestselling author of Bride of New France“A stunning historical reimagining.” —Library Journal (starred review)“It’s Belle’s determination to live her life on her own terms and in defiance of her times that makes her such a fascinating subject. . . You’ll cheer for the young heroine in this David versus Goliath tale.” —The Irish Voice"Nuala O'Connor has the thrilling ability to step back nimbly and enter the deep dance of time―this is a hidden history laid luminously before us of an exultant Anglo-Irish woman navigating the dark shoals and the bright fields of a life." ―Sebastian Barry, award-winning author of The Secret Scripture and Days Without End“The period setting comes alive thanks to O’Connor’s lively prose and dialogue.” —Kirkus Reviews “Becoming Belle is a glorious novel in which Belle Bilton and 19th century London are brought roaring to life with exquisite period detail. In her portrayal of Belle, Nuala O'Connor delivers a seductive study of a complex and fascinating woman, who deserves the stage provided for her in this wonderful book.” —Hazel Gaynor, New York Times bestselling author of A Memory of Violets“Masterful storytelling! I was putty in Nuala O’Connor’s hands. She made the unsinkable Belle Bilton and her down-to-earth sister Flo real to me, and brought 1880's London to my living room. Encore! Encore!” —Lynn Cullen, bestselling author of Mrs. Poe“O’Connor has a genius for finding the universal and unifying life essence of seemingly diverse women as they nurture their deepest sensibilities and draw upon their enduring strength. … O’Connor’s rendering of a now little-known nineteenth-century music hall dancer in Becoming Belle is thrillingly dramatic and achingly moving and profoundly resonant into this present era.” —Robert Olen Butler, author of A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain“Becoming Belle is luscious, addictive and as satisfyingly wise as it is huge of heart. Nuala O'Connor has gone in deep to imagine the life of a fascinating woman, and from the dance floor to the townhouse to the bedroom, she renders Belle Bilton's passion, determination and vulnerability bracingly real. A treat as well as a tribute; utterly absorbing.” —Belinda McKeon, author of Tender“Nuala O’Connor is a gifted writer who, with incandescent characters and mellifluous prose, captivates the reader with the same command as magnificent theatre. Becoming Belle is so mesmerizing you will be distraught when it ends and you remember that she lives no more. O’Connor has resurrected a fiery, inexorable woman who rewrites the script on a stage supposedly ruled by men. Sensual, witty, daring, and unapologetically forward, Belle Bilton and her cohorts will dance on in your mind long after the curtains fall.” —Lisa Carey, author of The Stolen Child“A thoroughly engrossing and entertaining read. O’Connor’s meticulous attention to period detail and scrutiny of the upper classes and their shallow lives [is] reminiscent of Edith Wharton at her very best. It also makes us question whether women have ever really escaped from the censorious judgement of Victorian times.” —Liz Nugent, author of Unraveling Oliver"[The] depiction of La Belle Epoque London is richly imagined, lusciously described and strikingly brought to life." —The Sunday Independent"Her novels, short stories and poetry explore the emotional life of contemporary Irish women, navigating the terrain between adolescence, emergent sexuality and motherhood. Her style is sensuous, lyrical and uncompromising in its attention to the hidden details of women's inner lives…Becoming Belle is a remarkable story, beautifully told — and another compelling addition to O'Connor's body of work." —The Sunday Business Post |
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Excerpt From Book | The June air in London always hummed with heat and promise. Summer was already under way but, Belle thought, June was the month of highest possibility—anything might happen during the endless days when the song sparrow chimed his alleluia from every eave. The window-box roses of Oxford Street were shedding their puce gowns and they lay like a carpet under Belle’s feet as she walked toward Piccadilly. She wanted to stoop, grab the petals and throw them like confetti to celebrate their triumph over smuts and everyday pestilence. But there were too many passersby and what would they make of her petal tossing? Instead, she toed the fallen flowers with light kicks and watched them flutter before her. People all around were in a tearing rush: the scavengers and mud larks, dodging gulley holes on their way to the Thames; the cress and winkle sellers eager to lift their baskets to every nose. Today she felt large-hearted toward the city and everyone in it. Life was turning and she was sure to see William later, which ignited a glow of goodwill both inside and out. Belle entered the Pantheon, her most beloved bazaar—it still held on to the flavor of the theater it once was. She liked to walk in the upper gallery and gaze down on the stage of the main hall where every kind of gimcrack and knickknack was on display and the hordes throbbed. She ran up the stairs, then paused at the railing to take in the bustle of the jewelers and toy sellers below; she watched hawkers and strollers and luxuriated in the muddled din that rose to her ears. The brassy sound of a trumpet blasted up from one of the music stalls and, as the tune settled into itself, Belle’s feet itched to step in time. She turned instead to the row of stalls behind her and headed straight for Madame Gilbert’s. “I want a Gainsborough, Madame,” Belle said. “Enormous and with a blue ostrich feather. What do you say?” Madame smiled. “As you wish, Miss Bilton.” She waved her hand at a slipper chair and Belle sat. “Is this Gainsborough for the stage, ma chérie?” “Lord, no. I mean to wear it for all of London to see. Not just the guffs who come to the Empire.” Madame lifted a straw hat, leaving the wooden head it had sat on bald as a newborn. “Let me try this for size.” Belle tilted her head and Madame nested the hat on her hair and speared it with pins. “Très jolie,” she said. “Now, I shall visit the plume hunters this week to find the perfect feather for you, Miss Bilton. And I have a new cake of indigo with which to attain the right shade.” “Smashing,” Belle said. “I knew you would understand exactly what I wanted. You always do.” Belle liked Madame Gilbert; she was not the kind of milliner who peached on her customers, though she knew everything there was to know about them. Madame had a generous ear and a snug, discreet mouth. She had listened to Belle throughout the whole crisis with Weston and had encouraged her to take Wertheimer’s help when offered. Madame unpinned and shifted the hat, seeking the ideal jaunt for it. When she was satisfied, Belle paid a deposit on the Gainsborough and left. It felt good to be able to dress herself properly again. She thought again of Viscount Dunlo, of his lovely face, and her stomach frisked; even imagined from air he disarrayed her. William. Weston. Wertheimer. Each one of them a W. Is there some sign in that, some graspable meaning? Belle wondered. |
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