Damn. Harriet Burden is angry. She's angry at her father who never showed any affection, her unfaithful art-dealer husband who refused to promote her work because he didn't want to be accused of nepotism. Since both of them are dead, she turns her anger on the art world as a whole for having undervalued her for being female, for being large and unfeminine, and now for being old. She hatches an elaborate plan to prove that she is a good artist and that she has been discriminated against for these reasons. She will exhibit her work under three young, male identities (using actual people) and then reveal the hoax, humiliating the art critics, agents, buyers, gallery owners, etc.

This novel is written under the premise that Harriet had died, having been unsuccessful in proving that the hoax really was a hoax in all but one of the cases. An editor has assembled excerpts of Harriet's prolific writing, as well as writing and interviews from her adult children, friends, critics, and various other players in the story. Of the three men who she says exhibited her work as their own, one has disappeared, one freely admits that it was Harriet's work, and the last has possibly commited suicide after publicly denying that his work was Harriet's. It's left to the reader to piece together who is telling the truth.

I don't usually read a lot of "angry woman lit," (Is that a genre? If so, does [b:Where'd You Go, Bernadette|13526165|Where'd You Go, Bernadette|Maria Semple|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1338822317s/13526165.jpg|17626728] also qualify?) but I also recently read [b:The Woman Upstairs|15701217|The Woman Upstairs|Claire Messud|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1345666863s/15701217.jpg|18450578]. There are certain parallels between the two novels, and while Harriet and Nora Eldridge are very different on the outside, I think these two work as interesting companion pieces. Both women have been unsuccessful in the art world and feel betrayed by people they've trusted. Both books deal with installation art with a lot of quirky little details.

The Blazing World has a much wider scope, with the many perspectives and a dazzling array of sources Harriet quotes from her extensive reading. Harriet is publicly angry, considered by more than a few to be mentally unstable. The Woman Upstairs is a quieter, more intimate novel, just as as Nora lives a life of quiet desperation.

This was undoubtedly a very clever book with an interesting premise but it was not an easy book to get into, Harriet/Harry Burden is an artist who feels that her gender has been a barrier (or burden) to her, so she choses three young male artists to act as her masks. The book is told using interview transcriptions, written accounts, magazine articles, and Harry's own accounts, in her numerous notebooks.
The heavy use of footnotes in some of the sections and the fragmented nature of the book meant slow reading until you got really used to who all the characters were and how much you could trust there accounts.
Ultimately, it was worth it, but it was hard work.

Tavallaan hurjan kiehtova taiteilijaromaani New Yorkin rikkaista piireistä, sellainen kuin muistan Hustvedtin Kaikki mitä rakastin -romaaninkin olleen. Mutta tämä on laveampi, poukkoilevampi, vähän kuin tutkielma taiteilijuusta, identiteeteistä, itsensä tarinallistamisesta, sukupuolentutkimuksesta, glooriasta ja kunniasta, joka ei taiteelle muodostu ilman oikeanlaista taiteilijaa. Kokonaisuus on kuitenkin monella tapaa vähän hallitsematon, karkaileva, jaaritteleva, vähän kuin luonnos hyvästä ideasta, joka ei kuitenkaan tällaisenaan aivan toimi. Voi olla, että myöskään Hustvedt ei vain ole minun kirjailijani, sillä emme näemmä tämänkään kirjan kanssa vain löytäneet yhteistä säveltä.

2,5 tähteä.

I think the Goodreaders on here criticizing this intentionally alienating and eccentric book for being alienating and eccentric are the most boring people in the world. “I’m so sorry if I’m alienating some of you. Your whole fucking culture alienates me,” as Kathleen Hanna sang. This story made me think and laugh and rage and weep. Harriet Burden is real to me, one of my most favorite feminists in literature. She’s tragic and strong, playful and serious, a mess of contradictions and masks. I think the Goodreaders on here criticizing her for not ringing true to life are the second most boring people in the world, because she is me if I were taller and smarter and interested in fine art rather than movies. I love you, Harry!!! ❤️‍

This book fell so flat for me. Lots of interesting discussion about how we interpret art as an extension of the artist, how men view strong women, and how your appearance can color someone's perspective of you. Yet so much of this felt so pretentious and over the top. I couldn't connect with Harry or feel like I should even want to care about her. That said, the last 10% or so of this book, where the topic is no longer art, was some really phenomenal writing, and easily my favorite part of the book.

Why did I wait so long to read another one of Siri Hustvedt? Its crammed with information, deep with thought and inspiration about gender and visibility issues and - it has a good story. Its just marvellous and I should never have waited 10 (!) years (!!!!) to give this author another go.

Unashamedly intellectual to the point that it's probably not for everyone, but I found in it a grossly compelling examination of a life, eventually, lived fully in the service of one's art, and the associated difficulties inherent in this as well as those imposed by society and culture when the artist is a woman.

More like 3.5 but still enjoyed it