I’m not exactly sure what to say about Traci L. Slatton’s IMMORTAL. There are elements of the novel that are dull and maddeningly frustrating, and there are counterbalancing elements that are exciting, enlightening and utterly fascinating. Some of the success stems from the setting of 15th-century Florence, Italy. The exotic locale colors our perceptions and distances us effectively in a way that allows us to appreciate the tale of growth that Slatton wishes to tell us.
Luca Bastardo is a young, abandoned street urchin, cruelly imprisoned in a children’s brothel, forced into sex slavery with little hope for escape. But there is something special about Luca: He does not age as others do. Indeed, when he is 30 calendar years old, he appears as a cherubic youth of only 13.
This curse — or blessing — of an exceptionally lengthy lifespan is what marks him both as a heretic of the time (as only demonic intervention could accomplish this) or as a man of God (as only the love of God could create such a perfect being who ages so slowly). The battle over whether Luca’s existence is overseen by Satan or God rages in both Luca’s thoughts and of the friends and enemies that surround him. His search for love and belonging is a spiritual one — a longing for something beyond one’s self. It is the search that both destroys and fulfills him.
This journey is the exciting and enlightening part of the novel. His longing for love fuels the story and elevates the writing a notch. But the frustrating part is showcased by two very common failings of historical fiction: 1) the desire to mark your fictional protagonist as special — and to provide recognition anchors — by peppering your text with very famous real historical figures, all of whom somehow contrive to be a part of the story (in this instance, we have Leonardo daVinci, Petrarch, the Cathars and the entire de’ Medici clan); and 2) a studied unwillingness to avert one’s doom, even though the outcome is obvious. Luca knows that certain people will eventually kill him, and he avoids any action that will divert the course of this destiny.
But, in one aspect, maybe that is the point. Luca understands what his life has meant, to him and to others, and his acceptance of his destiny, his acceptance of the presence of God, no matter how cruel or capricious, serves as his — and the reader’s — enlightenment.
In the end, it’s an interesting, well-told tale that doesn’t quite transcend some of the well-known limitations. Its setting and sensitive characterizations bode well for the future. A following novel from Slatton may be very worthwhile. —Mark Rose
