I don’t like Jay Mackintosh. This small fact affects what could be described as a densely colored tale set in a quiet imaginary village in France. Despite the wonderful supporting characters, the beautiful descriptions of French countrysides and wine, I never warmed up to the main character of Blackberry Wine. That indifference to Jay’s journey made the story that unfolded around him feel lukewarm.
Do I take responsibility for my dislike, chalk it up to a personality clash and enjoy the story for its wonderful ribbon of magic that held the multiple flashbacks together like yellowed-paper love notes tucked in a forgotten drawer? Do I ignore my utter dislike of the hero of our story and focus on the clever narrator, a dusty bottle of wine whose selective omniscience gave a unique perspective to the story?
Or do I blame the author, Joanne Harris, who, in the novel Blackberry Wine, returns to the character rich village of Lansquenet first introduced in her 1999 novel Chocolat? Unlike Vianne, the heroine of Chocolat, I did not care if Jay was accepted by the village or ultimately found what he was looking for.
Jay Mackintosh, a passionless author, purchases a French estate that he would tell you was on whim, but the narrator bottle knows it is to chase ghosts of his past, people he cares for that abandoned him in his youth. He's driven by his need to write a successful novel and not another profitable but literary vacant science fiction work. He's trying to reclaim memories he left back in France. Jay’s first and only acclaimed novel chronicled his time with Jackapple Joe Cox, a gardener, Yorkshireman, ex-miner and amateur magician, who Jay followed around like a puppy in his childhood. His only tokens of Joe are mysterious bottles of grape-free wine, made from blackberry and rosehips, which seem to manipulate the characters of the novel through whispers of scents and overpowering flavors on the palate.
Jay’s interaction with his mysterious and recluse neighbor, Marise, seems hollow; his emotions deliberately injected rather than evolving organically. His personality, unlike the full-bodied wine he drinks, seems to lack depth. It is only in his interaction with Marise’s daughter and her pet goat that a hint of warmth and spice emerge from Jay. I did enjoy the interjection throughout the story of that pet goat, who seemed to enter the scenes of the story and just sit there observing the human drama with a slight boredom. The author even has the goat present for the passionate love scene where Jay and Marise, overcome with having confessed her skeletons, fall into each other arms with the goat passively watching, indifferent. I felt like the goat.
Recipes for chicken de provence, potatoes au gratin and blackberry galette may be found on the following pages.
