Jessie Burton’s accomplished first novel is many things — a deftly plotted mystery, a feminist coming-of-age drama and a probing investigation of marriage. Burton evokes the sights, sounds and smells of 17th-century Amsterdam as she brings to life a cast of sensitively rendered characters, each longing to be free … The novel’s central journey is Nella’s maturation, and it goes grimly hand in hand with the suffering of people she has come to love. Burton gives her narrative the propulsive drive of a thriller, but her distinctive prose conveys deeper, harder answers than a whodunit. This fine historical novel mirrors the fullness of life, in which growth and sorrow inevitably are mingled.
while serving up a dramatic centerpiece full of secrets and power struggles. Its scope is vast, even though its most remarkable creations can be held in the palm of a woman’s hand … One of the greatest achievements of this ambitious novel has to do with its simultaneous focus on intimate detail and universal observation. The characters wrestle with inner demons at the same time that they are engaged in a battle for physical and cultural survival; personal betrayals and redemptions reflect large-scale conquests in commerce and ideology. We even get a glimpse of the Dutch East India Company as the first-ever multinational corporation, financed by shares that established the first modern stock exchange.
There is much to enjoy in the successive revelations of the plot, as well as a good sense of a city so familiar now as a friendly, laid-back European destination but then at the heart of a vast trading empire. The richly drawn interiors are nicely claustrophobic, while the flavours and smells of the food are both seductive and sickening. Burton is good at atmospheres, too, and much of the book is imbued with a sense of indefinable threat … The Miniaturist is not perfect, however. Key scenes waver out of Burton’s control, leaving the reader unclear about what has happened and why; the flow of time is uneven, and some characters’ motivations (including that of the miniaturist) are unclear. A general sense of imprecision runs through the book, from plot right down to the level of metaphor and language.
With nothing else to do with her time, Nella sends a letter to a local miniaturist requesting a handful of custom-made artifacts for the diminutive house. Soon, she's as obsessed with the reclusive miniaturist as she is with his or her exquisite creations … It's an intriguing idea, but one that suffers from a lack of follow-through. Does the miniaturist have supernatural powers? Is Nella the target of a Gaslight-like conspiracy?...That Burton never gives us the answer, and the miniaturist remains in the shadows, is the novel's major shortcoming … As a commentary on the predicament of women in 17th century Holland, The Miniaturist is painfully poignant. Marriage was their only option.
The story Nella begins to decipher from them and from other mysterious objects, such as a passionate love note hidden in Marin's room, grows more ominous by the day. She comes to realize that she has married into a family with immense power and wealth...yet even they can find themselves in peril when privilege collides with puritanism … The Miniaturist is an impressive debut, though not a perfect historical novel. In particular, Nella, although an engaging character, seems perhaps too sophisticated, too modern for her era and background. But Burton has created a world that, like the cabinet house, draws us in until we feel the dread and mystery and wonder that surround Nella.
The opulent house, like much of the city, seethes with secrets and covert dealings. In Amsterdam, ‘the pendulum swings from God to a guilder,’ and desire is a very complicated thing. Young Nella grows up fast – almost too fast to be credible. She furnishes her toy house with the help of the book's most shadowy character, the miniaturist. Defying guild rules, this superb craftsperson is a woman. Nella at first marvels at her skill, but the tiny replicas begin to mirror and predict catastrophes … Burton's 21st-century agenda peeks through a bit too often. Nella's relationship with the complex Johannes is well done, but her easy acceptance of his ‘transgressions’ feels ahead of its time.
The central premise of Burton's novel, inspired by Oortman's real?life miniature house within a house, even smaller and more claustrophobic than the original, is therefore an intriguing one and rich with possibility … Such ingredients promise much but, though there is plenty to enjoy in The Miniaturist, the novel falls frustratingly short of its own potential. Part of this comes from a shift in pace about halfway through the book when Burton, seeking to ratchet up tension, allows the mystery of the miniaturist to drift from the narrative. Instead she pursues a soap opera of a plot that plunders the stock tropes of domestic historical drama, leaving the deeper questions she has raised largely unexplored.
Jessie Burton’s debut novel, The Miniaturist, begins like many a Gothic mystery before it: An 18-year-old virgin arrives in a strange place, on the doorstep of a great house where she has been invited but does not feel welcomed. However, the time is not the 19th century, and the place is not a British lord’s brooding manor on the moor. Instead, it’s the autumn of 1686 in Amsterdam … In The Miniaturist, Burton uses a historical object — the real Petronella Oortman’s cabinet house in Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum — as the springboard for a fantastically spun tale of love and mystery. It’s a story that astutely reflects our own age’s obsessions and prejudices.
Unfortunately, The Miniaturist fails to live up to its enticing architecture … the author never fully fleshes out the wonderful cast she has conjured. She gives them plenty to do: sex, violence, prison and a public trial become vital pieces of the plot. But there’s a lifelessness to the characters, as if they were puppets or dolls positioned to serve Burton’s impassioned commentary on race, family, sexual orientation and women’s rights … The clashes between staunch Calvinists and progressive-minded merchants, between the letter of the law and the truths of humanity, are finely drawn. But without living, breathing characters, The Miniaturist is most memorable for its consciousness-raising. Was that the author’s intent?
Late 17th-century Amsterdam is the sumptuous backdrop for this debut novel about a young Dutch girl from the village of Assendelft … As in all good historical novels, the setting is a major character; in this case the city of Amsterdam, with its waterways and warehouses, confectioners’ shops, and kitchens, teems with period detail. Myriad plot twists involve Brandt’s commercial activities, especially the stores of precious sugar cones from Surinam, and the tragic, fatal consequences of illicit love affairs. Strangely enough, however, the central mystery, the miniaturist’s uncanny knowledge of the future, is never solved, and the reader is left unsatisfied.
In a debut that evokes Old Master interiors and landscapes, British actress Burton depicts a flourishing society built on water and trade, where women struggle to be part of the world. Her empathetic heroine, Nella, endures loneliness and confusion until a sequence of domestic shocks forces her to grow up very quickly. Finally obliged to become that architect of her own fortune, Nella acts to break the miniaturist’s spell and save everything she holds dear. With its oblique storytelling, crescendo of female empowerment and wrenching ending, this novel establishes Burton as a fresh and impressive voice.
