By Martin Copenhaver

A story of divorce and self-discovery may be worth telling, but it suffers when it is interwoven with a life narrative that is clearly weighter.

Galileo’s Daughter by Jessica Dickey. Directed by Reena Dutt. A co-production of WAM Theatre and Central Square Theatre. At Central Square Theatre, 450 Massachusetts Avenue, Cambridge, through December 8.

Diego Arciniegas and Sandra Seoane-Serí in the WAM Theatre, Central Square Theatre co-production of Galileo’s Daughter. Photo: Maggie Hall

It is not difficult to see why the story of Galileo Galilei and his eldest daughter inspired both the 1999 bestseller by Dava Sobel and now a play by Jessica Dickey, each with the title Galileo’s Daughter. It is a compelling story.  The great Renaissance polymath continues to explore the heavens even while being dragged down to earth by a religious establishment that is not ready for his conclusion that the earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around. He continues his work undaunted, not made skeptical, but rather inspired, by what he discovers. He does not see science and religion in conflict. Instead, he embraces the affirmation of the psalmist: “The heavens are telling the glory of God.”

Galileo knows, however, that his ideas are setting him on a collision course with the Church authorities. They condemned Copernicus a century before, and now they will be coming after him. So, he sends his two daughters to the Convent of San Matteo in Florence so they might not be adversely affected by the conflict. Besides, both daughters are illegitimate, so the prospects of them ever marrying are dim, at best. The eldest daughter was 13 years old when she entered the convent and made her religious vows three years later, taking on the name of Maria Celeste, to honor both the Virgin Mary and the celestial realm that has so fascinated her father. At first, she resists the idea of going into the convent, saying that she wants to stay with her father and help him in his work. Eventually, she relents and fulfills her father’s wishes by submitting to the rigors of a religious life. Then, over time, she embraces the life of the convent, at one point referring to herself as a “super nun.”

While in the convent Maria Celeste does not lose contact with her beloved father. She writes to him frequently (124 of her letters still exist), copies his work, engages his theories, campaigns on his behalf to the church, even finds him some real estate.

The play (as well as the book upon which it draws) depicts a strong and tender bond between father and daughter. It is also a tale of a preternaturally brilliant and resilient woman. The wider culture, and the convent where she lives and works, are ruled by a smothering masculinity. Nevertheless, this nun — with both religious devotion and the far reaches of the universe reflected in her name — finds a way to live a rich and fruitful life, both within the convent and beyond.

Diego Arciniegas and Caroline Kinsolving in the WAM Theatre, Central Square Theatre co-production of Galileo’s Daughter. Photo: Maggie Hall

In this production, Diego Archiniegas as Galileo and Sandra Seoane-Serί as Maria Celeste do an excellent job of evincing the warm relationship between father and daughter. I don’t think Tolstoy’s famous observation that “Happy families are all alike” would apply here. The circumstances in which this father and daughter find themselves are not conducive to happiness, and yet their mutual affection and appreciation make something like happiness possible even there. Their interactions are a highlight of the play and the production.

Sobel’s dual biography of Galileo and his daughter demonstrates that these two figures, and their relationship, warrant our attention (after all, the book weighs in at over 350 pages and is engaging throughout). Playwright Jessica Dickey is not content simply to tell their story, however. Instead, she interweaves her own story with that of the two protagonists. A character named, “The Writer” has come from New York to Florence to research a book on Galileo’s daughter; she wants to read the extant letters from Maria Celeste to her father.

It is clear from the beginning that The Writer is wrestling with her own restless demons. She is anxious and her attempts to write are not gaining traction. Over time, we learn that this is not mere writer’s block. She has just divorced her husband and the pain of that reality has refused to stay in New York. It has followed her to Florence. Eventually, she finds solace and renewed inspiration for her work, particularly through the person of Maria Celeste.

From the beginning, the two narratives seem ill-matched. We are immersed in the story of a father and daughter engaged in titanic struggles at a singular time in history. Then, we are asked to focus on a contemporary playwright who is struggling with a painful divorce and yearning for a new life. The latter is not an original plotline. The film Under the Tuscan Sun also centers on an American woman seeking to escape the pain of a recent divorce and looking for recovery in Tuscany. It may be a story worth telling. In this play, however, it is as if Under the Tuscan Sun has elbowed its way into weightier proceedings — and in a most awkward manner. A story of divorce and self-discovery may be worth telling, but it suffers when it is interwoven with a life narrative that is clearly more challenging. Let’s see: On the one hand, Maria Celeste had to grapple with crushing poverty, plague, inquisition, persecution, confinement, and early death.  On the other hand, “The Writer” is consumed with self-doubt and grief at the loss of a marriage. As much as we might want to extend sympathy in both instances, they are hardly equivalent. Again, that is not to dismiss the seriousness of such a personal loss. But if you want that experience to be taken seriously, don’t put that story alongside another that is set in a much larger, more elemental, context.

Diego Arciniegas and Sandra Seoane-Serí in the WAM Theatre, Central Square Theatre co-production of Galileo’s Daughter. Photo: Maggie Hall

Dickey seems intent on drawing bold lines of comparison between The Writer and Maria Celeste. At one point, the two face each other as if looking into a mirror, the writer and her subject/muse stretching their hands high until they touch. It is a gesture of complete identification, which dispenses with the centuries that separate them. At the end of the play, the two women run together through the streets of Florence and then float above the city, peering in the windows, basking in the sun, making hushed declarations about discovering the center of the universe. The bright light reminds us that, for Galileo, it is the sun. For The Writer, the center is her renewed self.

Caroline Kinsolving, who plays The Writer, is given the unenviable task of playing a role that seems to intrude on the rest of the play. Nevertheless, it is clear even here that she is a compelling actress.  She moves about the stage with the gracious fluidity of a dancer. She deftly navigates the range of emotions, from anxiety and grief, to awe. Her performance makes me eager to see her in another role. If only she had been given less to work with here.

Martin B. Copenhaver, the author of nine books, lives in Cambridge and Woodstock, VT.