JT:When I was growing up and people asked me what I wanted to do, I would always oblige by telling them what they wanted to hear - a lawyer, or an accountant. The truth was, though, that from an early age I had harboured a secret ambition to become one of the world's greatest art thieves - dancing around infra-red trip wires, abseiling down the sides of buildings, cracking open safes. So in a way Tom Kirk has been living in my thoughts and fantasies ever since I was a child. But although I have to confess that although he shares my love of watches and backgammon, he’s very much a fantasy figure.
MD: The Geneva Deception’s “Prologue” begins with an excerpt from a letter written by Lord Elgin to Giovanni Lusieri, 1801. Accordingly, what is your stance on the Parthenon Marbles?
I notice you don’t say the Elgin Marbles, which may betray your own stance on the matter! As you probably observed, two of the characters in the novel - Verity Bruce (Bruce was the family name of the Earls of Elgin) and Earl Faulks – deliberately make reference to Lord Elgin, as I wanted to hint at the parallels between modern day antiquities theft and the events of 200 years ago. Although this is a delicate matter, it seems to me fairly clear that the Elgin / Parthenon Marbles, and hundreds of thousands of other items that now adorn museums around the world, should never have been removed in the way that they were from their countries of origin. But having been removed, I’m a little less convinced that they should all now be returned. It’s easy to get blinded by the cause célèbre that the Elgin / Parthenon Marbles have become, and I have some sympathy with those who are concerned that returning them would open up the British Museum and other institutions around the world to similar claims, leaving their collections denuded and us all the poorer. Personally, I would argue that people’s efforts would be better spent focusing on retrieving items acquired since the UNESCO convention on the illicit trade in cultural heritage came into force, rather than pursue artifacts acquired when the rules / ethics of acquisition were less clear and the rights and wrongs of each case have become clouded by time.
MD: Liberally, your novel blends an intriguing historical narrative with riveting fiction. Given that little scholarly work on art crime exists, how do you go about researching the context around which you form your narratives?
Little scholarly work exists, but it is widely reported on and in many cases has been the subject of journalistic / non fiction investigation. I think this reflects people’s fascination with art crime. Perhaps we are instinctively attracted to people who use guile and ingenuity, rather than force, to ply their trade. Perhaps the fact that they steal beautiful objects, appeals to our aesthetic sensibilities and somehow suggests that an art thief is cultured and erudite as compared to the thuggish types who steal more mundane objects, such as cars and wallets. Perhaps there is a vicarious thrill in rooting for a criminal to beat the forces of law and order. The truth is obviously very different and far less glamorous, but the perception remains and as a result there’s no shortage of places for me to look, although more work on the topic would always be welcome..
MD: On page 42, you allude to the theft of four paintings from the Emile Buhrle Foundation in February 2008. Are you aware that two of the paintings stolen had already been recovered by the time period in which “Chapter Three” is set?
Of course. I think the theft happened as I was writing the chapter and I just dropped the reference in for fun. The book doesn’t take place in any specific year, so the fact that the paintings were recovered while I was still writing it wasn’t really that important to me – after all in my books reality is a jumping off point, not an end in itself!
MD: Where do you believe Caravaggio’s Nativity with San Lorenzo and San Francesco is now?
Still in Italy, in the possession of someone in the criminal underworld, and by now in a pretty desperate condition, I would guess, given the strong rumors that it was folded rather than rolled when it was first taken. But I remain hopeful that it will re-surface one day.
MD: Are you convinced that the Getty kouros purchased in 1983 for a reported $7-9 million is real or fake?
Tough call. The academic community seems pretty convinced it isn’t authentic, and the unresolved questions and forged documentation that cloud its provenance certainly don’t help its case. On the other hand, the scientific community maintains that the de-dolomitization observed on the stone can only be achieved over many centuries and through natural processes. And yet recent research has shown that de-dolomitization can be induced under laboratory conditions, although the practicality of a forger using such experimental and advanced techniques seems questionable. Under the circumstances, the Kouros’ existing label seems the most appropriate: “Greek, about 530 B.C., or modern forgery”
MD: What do you think is the best method to reduce the illicit antiquities trade and the smuggling of cultural treasures across international borders?
Given the size and scale of the problem, it is highly unlikely that any one method will work. Rather like the fight against drugs, a series of approaches will be required, targeting both the supply and demand ends of the market, and the dealers who operate between them. Personally I don’t think it will ever be possible to stop the supply, given the number of unprotected sites – how do you practically prevent people heading out into the countryside at night armed with a shovel and a thermos flask to earn a bit of extra cash? But it should be possible to target the demand side of the equation, by placing ever greater pressure on museums, collectors and dealers to demand and disclose far higher burdens of proof on provenance when they are making new acquisitions. This is already happening to a certain extent today, following the collapse of the Medici smuggling network and the government pressure from Italy, Greece and Turkey that has led to the return of hundreds of stolen items by Western museums. As a result market prices for “legitimate” antiquities (where supply is by definition limited) have increased, while the level of tombaroli activity has fallen off, according to the latest Carabinieri estimates, as buyers stay away.
MD: Certainly, readers of The Geneva Deception are led on a “Grand Tour” of the classical world’s major sites. Have you a favorite site among the ones they visit?
It’s pretty hard to beat Rome. The Forum, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Area Sacra … and that’s without even mentioning the churches, art and buildings left by the Renaissance.
MD: If you could steal any single work of art which would it be, and why?
The Rokeby Venus (also known as The Toilet of Venus) by Diego Velázquez. I saw this painting on my first ever trip to the National Gallery in London and fell in love with it. On one level, there was (and is) something almost incredibly sensual, almost decadent, about the way that she lies with her back to the viewer, her face reflected in the mirror, her pale skin luminescent against the black silk bedding and rich red velvet drapes. And yet on another level, the painting can be viewed as a subtle criticism of a selfish, self-obsessed and vain beauty. The painting has an interesting genesis too, having been painted for a private collection to escape the censure of the Spanish Inquisition and then attacked by militant suffragette Mary Richardson with a meat cleaver in 1914. I have a poster of it above my desk, but I’d much rather have the real thing…
MD's NB: While reading The Geneva Deception, I used a postcard of "The Rokeby Venus" purchased from the National Gallery as a bookmark...
