Books I like

Since I dislike so many books, people want to know what books I like.  I must like some of them since I waste so much time reading. 

  First I want to mention why I hate writing review of books I like.  I am not sure why I like them, or what about them I like.  When I re-read a book, I find so much in it that I didn't appreciate more.  There are depths in a good book, layers of meaning.  Every time I re-read anna Karenina, I find something new--re-reading  opens up unending new insights and I appreciate it not better, but differently.

My favorite classic fiction: Anna Karenina, Pride and Prejudice, Middlemarch, Great Expectations, anything by Dickens, practically anything by Trollope.  I have no objections to long books, if they are good.


Books I hate is a much longer list: Anything with a political message, particularly progreesive.  Anything "transgressive," anything by "women" writers, published because the author is a woman.  Anything where the characters have winsome names, like Turtle or Tempest.

I like American history, because I am an American and learned something about American history, albeit reluctantly, because I had to,  in school.  Other countries, not so much, because I know so little about them that I can't fathom the background. I would need to know much more, to know where I am. English hisotry, about the Tudors, particularly Elizabeth I.   British and Irish modern history, because I typed so many papers about them when my husband was getting his PhD in British history, and because the Irish are such greeat writers.  I particularly like Conor Cruise O'Brian. 

  I also like reading about musicians, and musical instruments.  I recently read a biography of Maria Callas,  and an auto-biography of Placido Domingo, and one by Julie Andrews.  I recommend them unreservedly. These people knew who they were at an early age and believed in themselves, a revelation to me, who still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, even in the face of mortalitty.

  Music reveals new depths every time. That's why you can listen to the same pieces over and over and find new things to love and admire.

The Kreutzer Sonata

This afternoon I heard the "Kreutzer Sonata," by Janacek, based on the "Kreutzer Sonata" by Tolstoy, which in turn was based on"the Kreutzer Sonata" by Beethoven.  According to Wikipedia,

The sonata was originally dedicated to the violinist George Bridgetower (1778–1860), who performed it with Beethoven at the premiere on 24 May 1803 at the Augarten Theatre at a concert that started at the unusually early hour of 8:00 am. Bridgetower sight-read the sonata; he had never seen the work before, and there had been no time for any rehearsal. However, research indicates that after the performance, while the two were drinking, Bridgetower insulted the morals of a woman whom Beethoven cherished. Enraged, Beethoven removed the dedication of the piece, dedicating it instead to Rodolphe Kreutzer, who was considered the finest violinist of the day.^[1] However, Kreutzer never performed it, considering it "outrageously unintelligible". He did not particularly care for any of Beethoven's music, and they only ever met once, briefly.^[2]

Could this be true?  Anyway, the story is too good to check, and I'm only a humble blogger so no-one cares much what I say.

To get back to Tolstoy, his story is the account of a man finding his wife, a pianist, conversing intimately with her accompanist and friend, a violinist. The two have been practicing the Kreutzer Sonata.  It requires a lot of practice because it is a quite difficult piece of music.   He then kills his wife out of jealousy, but the violinist gets away.   I have not read the story, because I no longer am attempting to improve my mind through literature and would rather curl up with Daniel Silva's latest.  If my mind accidentally gets improved, okay, but I'm no longer working on it.

I was interested enough in the story  to go to YouTube and play a couple of versions of the Beethoven original.  It is quite beautiful but appears to be very demanding technically; however, to me all violin music seems demanding because I could no more play the violin than I could invent electricity. 

This Tolstoy story has apparently been made into a play, then adapted into a play for the Yiddish theater, then made into a movie of the Yiddish theater version, and for all I know is being made into a Pixar or Claymation version as we speak. 

The moral of the story might be, "Don't try to play music which is too technically difficult or emotionally arousing,"  Or maybe not.

What I did on my Summer vacation

The highlight of my visit to Lenox is always Tanglewood. Sometimes it's freezing, sometimes rainy, sometimes so sweaty you can see the perspiration on the performers. But when everything is right, Tanglewood is magic.

The soloist was Paul Lewis. To my eternal shame, I can't remember what he played--it was by Mozart, and Mozart numbered his compositions. I tried to look it up on the BSO website, but they are mute about past performances.

This was one of the most beautiful performances I have ever heard. I was transported. At Tanglewood, the performers are invisible except as tiny figures seen through glimpses through the audience. But for the last few years, they have very artfully videotaped the performances and display them on enormous screens to the seated audience. I don't know how those seated on the grass see anything--but who cares?

The weather was perfect, music rang out in the evening darkness, there was perhaps a little breeze. Magic!

Something nice

One of my chief regrets in the last few years has been that I have no-one to attend concerts with. This happened to me gradually, starting in New Jersey. First Mr Charm decided that he didn't want to go to concerts any more--for undisclosed reasons, since he loves music. My friend Betty doesn't mind an occasional concert, but her main interest is the theater. She also said she had heard enough Mahler for a lifetime.

So I started to go to concerts with Elaine, who was up for anything. We had a great time. Sadly, Elaine died, tragically and before her time. I miss her for lots of reasons.

Anyway, when I moved to Delaware I still had no-one to attend concerts with. My daughter goes with me sometimes, and I enjoy her company more than anyone on earth, but I still longed for a friend to go to concerts with from time to time. I seriously considered putting an ad in the local paper.

Instead, I volunteered for the Delaware Symphony, hoping some music would rub off on me.

Imagine my surprise when one of the women on the committee, who I had spoken to for a grand total of five minutes, called me tonight, to ask if I would attend a performance of Mahler's Eighth with her. She said the first person who popped into her head was me! Now it happens Mahler is my favorite composer, but his work is not performed very often.

Needless to say, I was thrilled to be asked. It made my day.