Inamorata

Months ago, I'd downloaded Inamorata by Megan Chance--a free book that I'd completely forgotten about. As I looked through my Kindle for a book to read on the plane, I had no recollection of the book summary--or even what had compelled me to download the book in the first place.

I haven't gone back to read the Amazon summary that must have initially hooked my interest, but Inamorata possesses certain qualities that I can easily see would have drawn my attention. For starters, it has a darker paranormal element--not the sort that triggered the Twilight paranormal romance craze years ago, but more menacing and nightmarish. Moreover, the story takes place in late 1800s Venice and centers around the artist/writer/musician culture in Europe at that time--including allusions to famous artists and writers of the past.

I don't want to get too specific about what this book is about, but as I tend to write these book report posts to digest what I've read, there are certain elements I want to stew over.

The aspect of this book that really struck me (and may not impact others the same way) was its premise that many of the "greats"--Schumann, Byron, Canaletto--traded their souls to a succubus for fame. The succubus would become a powerful muse, and these men would produce their greatest masterpiece--the magnum opus that would immortalize their legacy, that people would remember them for in years to come--and then succumb to madness in turn.

Anyone who creates probably shares the same desire to some extent--to be immortalized in their work. The question that the book raises is, how far would you go to achieve that end? Would you make that pact with the succubus, knowing that you will produce your greatest work and then waste away in madness after?

By the time I finished the book, the sky had already begun to darken outside. The clouds over the Las Vegas desert were streaked a brilliant, bloody red as the last vestiges of daylight slinked away for cover behind the mountains. For a long time, I gazed out the airplane window and absently admired the colors. I don't know what I would do if faced with the temptation of immortalized fame, but I do know one thing. I know the madness that only a muse can induce. I still remember what happens when your creativity proliferates uncontrollably under the fever of inspiration, infected by the singular source of all your greatest highs and lows.

The year is coming to an end, and my bones can already feel the changes looming in the horizon. December has always been a time of retrospection. I've lost track of how many years have passed since the genesis of Heart & Crossbones, and I couldn't be bothered to calculate them now. But the sun is setting now. I haven't felt the same cancerous madness in years, and a part of me believes that I will never experience it again. But there are others in my life now--perhaps ones who will eventually inspire my words. As I stand on the precipice, I wonder if it is time to fall. I wonder if the sun has finally set on You.