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“A portrait of radiance…Chevalier brings the real artist Vermeer and a fictional muse to life in a jewel of a novel.” - Time magazine

“A vibrant, sumptuous novel…triumphant…a beautifully written tale that mirrors the elegance of the painting that inspired it.” - The Wall Street Journal

“The richest, most rewarding novel I have read this year.” - The Cleveland Plain Dealer

“Outstanding.” - USA Today

“Marvelously evocative.” - The New York Times

“Superb…vividly captures the world of 17th century Delft.” - The San Francisco Chronicle

“Tracy Chevalier has so vividly imagined the life of the painter and his subject that you say to yourself: This is the way it must have been.” - The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

“A jewel of a novel.” - The Miami Herald

My mother did not tell me they were coming. Afterwards she said she did not want me to appear nervous. I was surprised, for I thought she knew me well. Strangers would think I was calm. I did not cry as a baby. Only my mother would note the tightness along my jaw, the widening of my already wide eyes.


I was chopping vegetables in the kitchen when I heard voices outside our front door-a woman's, bright as polished brass, and a man's, low and dark like the wood of the table I was working on. They were the kind of voices we heard rarely in our house. I could hear rich carpets in their voices, books and pearls and fur.


I was glad that earlier I had scrubbed the front steps so hard.


My mother's voice-a cooking pot, a flagon-approached from the front room. They were coming to the kitchen. I pushed the leeks I had been chopping into place, then set the knife on the table, wiped my hands on my apron and pressed my lips together to smooth them.


My mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes two warnings. Behind her the woman had to duck her head because she was so tall, taller than the man following her.

All of our family, even my father and brother, were small.


The woman looked as if she had been blown about by the wind, although it was a calm day. Her cap was askew so that tiny blond curls escaped and hung about her forehead like bees which she swatted at impatiently several times. Her collar needed straightening and was not as crisp as it could be. She pushed her gray mantle back from her shoulders, and I saw then that under her dark blue dress a baby was growing. It would arrive by the year's end, or before.


The woman's face was like an oval serving plate, flashing at times, dull at others. Her eyes were two light brown buttons, a color I had rarely seen coupled with blond hair. She made a show of watching me hard, but could not fix her attention on me, her eyes darting about the room.


"This is the girl, then," she said abruptly.


"This is my daughter, Griet," my mother replied. I nodded respectfully to the man and woman.


"Well. She's not very big. Is she strong enough?" As the woman turned to look at the man, a fold of her mantle caught the handle of the knife I had been using, knocking it off the table so that it spun across the floor.


The woman cried out.


"Catharina," the man said calmly. He spoke her name as if he held cinnamon in his mouth. The woman stopped, making an effort to quiet herself.


I stepped over and picked up the knife, polishing the blade on my apron before placing it back on the table. The knife had brushed against the vegetables. I set a piece of carrot back in its place.


The man was watching me, his eyes grey like the sea. He had a long, angular face, and his expression was steady, in contrast to his wife's, which flickered like a candle. He had no beard or moustache, and I was glad, for it gave him a clean appearance. He wore a black cloak over his shoulders, a white shirt, and a fine lace collar. His hat pressed into hair the red of brick washed by rain.


"What have you been doing here, Griet?" he asked.


I was surprised by the question but knew enough to hide it. "Chopping vegetables, sir. For the soup."


I always laid vegetables out in a circle, each with its own section like a slice of pie. There were five slices: red cabbage, onions, leeks, carrots, and turnips. I had used a knife edge to shape each slice, and placed a carrot disc in the center.


The man tapped his finger on the table. "Are they laid out in the order in which they will go into the soup?" he suggested, studying the circle.


"No, sir." I hesitated. I could not say why I had laid out the vegetables as I did. I simply set them as I felt they should be, but I was too frightened to say so to a gentleman.

17세기, 네덜란드는 말 그래도 '황금시대'를 구가하고 있었다. 세계 해상권의 제패와 식민지 개척으로 막대한 부가 네덜란드로 밀려들었다. 이러한 물질적 풍요를 바탕으로 예술 또한 화려하게 꽃을 피웠는데 요하네스 베르메르는 오랫동안 후세 사람들에게 베일에 싸인 화가로 남아 있었다. 그는 200여 년 간 거의 잊혀졌고, 재발견된 후에도 그의 작품의 진위를 둘러싸고 수많은 논쟁이 벌어져 지금까지도 이어지고 있다.

이 신비의 화가 베르메르의 몇 안되는 작품들 가운데서 가장 신비롭고 매력적인 작품으로 꼽히는 것이 바로 '북구의 모나리자'라는 별칭을 가진 <진주 귀고리 소녀>다. 살짝 입을 벌리고 반 넘어 고개를 돌린 채 우리를 응시하는 소녀의 초상은 다양한 해석을 가능케 하는 미적 모호성의 한 극치를 보여준다.

작가 트레이시 슈발리에는 소설 <진주 귀고리 소녀>에서 이 신비로운 그림 속의 소녀에게 생명의 숨결을 불어넣어 세상의 햇살 아래로 불러내는 소설적 상상력을 선보인다. 작가는 17세기 네덜란드 델프트의 일상 세계에 대한 치밀한 복원과 정확한 미술사적 지식, 그리고 화가 베르메르의 삶과 예술에 대한 깊은 이해를 바탕으로, 한 폭의 그림을 정점으로 한 촘촘하고도 다층적인 드라마를 빚어나간다. 이는 마치 밑바탕이 칠해지고 그 위에 여러 색이 거듭 덧칠된 뒤 마침내 점과 선과 면, 그리고 색과 빛이 하나로 어우러져 한 점의 그림으로 완성되는 과정을 보는 듯한 생동감과 경이감을 불러 일으킨다.

The New York Times bestselling novel by the author of Remarkable Creatures and The Last Runaway

Translated into thirty-nine languages and made into an Oscar-nominated film, starring Scarlett Johanson and Colin Firth

Tracy Chevalier transports readers to a bygone time and place in this richly-imagined portrait of the young woman who inspired one of Vermeer's most celebrated paintings.

History and fiction merge seamlessly in this luminous novel about artistic vision and sensual awakening. Girl with a Pearl Earring tells the story of sixteen-year-old Griet, whose life is transformed by her brief encounter with genius... even as she herself is immortalized in canvas and oil.