‘I really loved The Violet Hour . . . On one level it functions as a highbrow whodunnit, and grippingly so, but it’s much more than that, building into a meditation on mortality and the unreliable consolations of art, love and materialism’
PATRICK GALE, author of Mother’s Boy
‘Artists are slaves to their vanity. But in the end, in time, they see things as they really are.’
Thomas Haller has achieved the kind of fame that most artists only dream of: shows in London and New York, paintings sold for a fortune. The vision he presents to the world is one of an untouchable genius at the top of his game. It is also a lie.
Who is the real Thomas Haller? His oldest friend and former dealer, Lorna, might once have known – before Thomas traded their early intimacy for international fame. Between his ruthless new dealer and a property mogul obsessed with his work, the appetite for Thomas and his art is all-consuming.
On the eve of his latest show, the luminaries of the art world gather. But the sudden death of a young man has put everyone on edge, and a chain of events begins that will lead the friends back into the past, to confront who they have become.
A story of deception, power play and longing, The Violet Hour exposes the unsettling underbelly of the art world, asking: who is granted admission to a world that only seems to glitter, what is sacrificed, and who is left outside, their faces pressed to the glass?
PATRICK GALE, author of Mother’s Boy
‘Artists are slaves to their vanity. But in the end, in time, they see things as they really are.’
Thomas Haller has achieved the kind of fame that most artists only dream of: shows in London and New York, paintings sold for a fortune. The vision he presents to the world is one of an untouchable genius at the top of his game. It is also a lie.
Who is the real Thomas Haller? His oldest friend and former dealer, Lorna, might once have known – before Thomas traded their early intimacy for international fame. Between his ruthless new dealer and a property mogul obsessed with his work, the appetite for Thomas and his art is all-consuming.
On the eve of his latest show, the luminaries of the art world gather. But the sudden death of a young man has put everyone on edge, and a chain of events begins that will lead the friends back into the past, to confront who they have become.
A story of deception, power play and longing, The Violet Hour exposes the unsettling underbelly of the art world, asking: who is granted admission to a world that only seems to glitter, what is sacrificed, and who is left outside, their faces pressed to the glass?
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Reviews
James Cahill gets better and better. I really loved The Violet Hour, trying, and failing, to ration myself rather than reading in a greedy rush. Its evocation of the wonders of art and the dehumanising horrors of the art industry are spot on, of course, but as a novelist what I really admired was his narrative structure and sly choreography of his principle characters. On one level it functions as a highbrow whodunnit, and grippingly so, but it's much more than that, building into a meditation on mortality and the unreliable consolations of art, love and materialism. I can't wait to see what he does next