Interwar Berlin: the economy is in ruins, businesses are collapsing, and fortunes are being made and lost. People fear for their livelihood, and for Jews and homosexuals the stakes are even higher. At the same time Berlin is a place of unrivalled hedonism and fevered passions, a place to live in the moment, without regard to the future. It is inevitable that an atmosphere of suspicion should prevail: who is telling the truth, who might betray you, who can you trust?

It is against this background that Clare Clark has set her novel In the Full Light of the Sun. Told from the point of view of Julius, a middle-aged art critic; Emmeline, a young bisexual artist; and Frank, a Jewish lawyer, the story is connected by the mysterious art dealer, Matthias. At times the presence of Matthias seems benign, at others sinister and Svengali-like. And there is always the shadow of his brother Gregor…

Although the work is fiction, it draws upon a real-life scandal that shocked the Berlin art world. The action centres around the discovery of a number of previously unknown works by Van Gogh. At first they are authenticated, but later they are declared to be forgeries. Questions abound. Are they genuine or not? Was Matthias, the dealer, aware of the uncertainty? If they are fakes, who is the artist?

Of course the big question is: who knows where the truth lies, and how can we ever be certain? It is this question that is at the centre of the novel. The story begins with the collapse of Julius’ marriage, and moves through scenes of lies, betrayal and the abuse of trust. But love, friendship and family ties continue to flourish, sometimes in surprising ways.

Art is a central motif. The language of art permeates the description of places – “in the chiaroscuro candlelight” – and of people – “sleepy Modigliani eyes”. The unbridled passion of Van Gogh contrasts with the emotional repression of Julius, his biographer. We are left wondering which is the more alive – the people or the art.

Ultimately, as Julius says, “art is a lie that helps us see the truth”. But unless, in the words of Van Gogh, we stand “in the full light of the sun”, part of that truth will remain hidden from us. An excellent and thought-provoking novel.

In the Full Light of the Sun, by Clare Clark. Virago, 2019, £16.99, hb, 424 pp, 9780349010823 (Also avoilable on Kindle)

The Magick of Master Lilly tells the story of the English Civil War from the perspective of William Lilly, an influential astrologer in an age when magic and witchcraft were increasingly held in mistrust. Beginning with a summons to read the King’s star chart, the book takes in a secret cabal of astrologers, a forbidden love affair, and the bloody conclusion of the War.

Sandwiched between the colourful Tudor and Restoration periods, the first half of the 17^th century and the Civil War are comparatively neglected by historical novelists. Yet the era is of pivotal importance in English history and in Tobsha Lerner’s hands it becomes a fascinating period in its own right. What I liked best about this book was the picture it built up of mid-17^th century England. London in particular is shown as a place of fear and confusion and rumour, where death roams the streets and food is often in short supply. Elsewhere suspicion rules the cities and the countryside is lawless. The witchfinder is hard at work, and Oliver Cromwell’s Puritans are intent on stamping out Catholicism, idolatry and magical practices. Pleasures of every kind seem to be threatened.

Central to the story is William Lilly and his craft. The book is a fascinating exploration of magic and astrology, although Lilly seems to succeed as much through politics and guile as by magic, and he is not above trickery on occasion. He is at pains to point out that the stars are just a guide – “it is important that the Philomath must perform his art with morality and discretion” – and that there are limitations to magic.

The politics of the time are interesting. The members of Lilly’s secret society of astrologers have different allegiances but are united in their desire for peace and in their need to protect their profession from persecution. Lilly himself is inwardly Puritan but outwardly bipartisan, whereas his lover Magdalene – also a member of the society – is a Catholic. The author makes frequent use of masks, both in the society and at masked balls, to illustrate the need to hide both inner thoughts and public identity.

I would occasionally have liked a bit of explanation, for instance of the witchfinder’s bodkin. And I found the slightly archaic language a bit irksome. But these are minor quibbles: The Magick of Master Lilly is recommended reading for anyone who wants to know more about life during the Civil War, or about 17^th century magic.

The Magick of Master Lilly is published by Sphere, 2018. ISBN 9780751562132

Painter to the King is the story of the artist Diego Velázquez and his life at the 17^th century court of King Philip IV of Spain. It tells of a bored and incompetent king and his struggle to produce a living heir. And of a court which grows more splendid as the King becomes more languid, more of a puppet for his greedy and ambitious advisors.

Yet is it not a story in the conventional sense. The narrator takes the action, such as it is, from the paintings of Velázquez, studying the canvases for clues. She observes the court through the painter’s eyes, trying to imagine how it might have been. Everything is inferred, rather than stated.

It takes a while to get used to the style, but once you do, this is an evocative and mesmerising read. Like a painting, it is full of minute and intimate detail, all of which adds up to the big picture. We, the readers, are drawn into the canvas, invited to enter the artist’s world. It is as if the figures are moving, a dog opens its mouth as if to bark…

This is a multi-layered book, covering a particular period of history, the King and his court, and the life of Velázquez himself. But it is also about the process of painting, and of observing. The artist is criticised by his contemporaries for being a mere observer, who records what he sees, but never creates anything new. We start to realise that, whatever the skill of the painter, a picture is just a moment frozen in time. All senses but sight are absent: the past is ghostly, leaving only shadows behind. So much of what we know about history is speculation and guesswork. Much of it is lost, or can only be glimpsed obliquely.

As a reader, you can scan the meaning, or observe the detail. Or, as with a painting, you can zoom in and out. Painter to the King is a novel to challenge you, but also one to savour, to take pleasure in every image, detail and idea.

Painter to the King is published by Granta, 2018. ISBN 9781783783908

In December 1936 Martha Gellhorn, an American journalist, walks into a bar in Key West and meets Ernest Hemingway. Love and Ruin is the story of what happens next. It is an evocative, beautifully told tale of two people caught up in extraordinary circumstances and a passion that threatens to destroy them both.

After that first meeting Hemingway travels to Spain to report on the Spanish Civil War. He persuades Gellhorn to follow him, thus launching her career as a war correspondent, a path she will pursue for most of the rest of her life. Perhaps inevitably, they become lovers, and later continue their relationship by living in clandestine seclusion in Cuba.

Gellhorn struggles with her attraction to Hemingway, but finds herself powerless to resist. He has a magnetic personality, drawing everyone he meets into his circle. He is shown as a difficult, and troubled, man who needs the limelight, to be at the centre of everything that is going on. He is “too driven, too dazzling. Too Hemingway”.

Although this is the story of an intimate relationship, it has a backdrop of calamitous world events. We move from the Spanish Civil War to the American Depression, and back to Europe in World War II. The author brings out the paradox that entering a war zone makes you more fully alive. When you are surrounded by death and danger the senses are heightened and you are forced to live for the moment. It is a time of camaraderie, heavy drinking and illicit passion.

Love and Ruin is told in the first person, from Gellhorn’s point of view. This gives it the quality of a memoir and at times I almost forgot it wasn’t Gellhorn herself speaking. I found the occasional shift to Hemingway’s viewpoint less convincing, an interruption to the narrative, but that is a minor quibble. Because the book is written in Gellhorn’s voice, it is generally sympathetic towards her. We see her struggling with Hemingway’s demons, and share her frustration as she finds herself living in his shadow. However, I was left wondering whether a relationship between two such driven and powerful personalities could ever have survived.

An enjoyable and thought-provoking read.

This review is part of a blog book tour. Follow the tour using hashtag #LoveAndRuin.