Sebastian Barry - On Canaan's Side

I recently cited Sebastian Barry as one of the greatest living writers of the English language today. I then realized that I had not posted on his books, my error. He's been long-listed and short-listed for the Man Booker Prize, but in my mind he's been short-changed. He deserved to win. This year's On Canaan's Side is vintage Barry: wonderful writing, great characters and a visceral story. It reminded me of his novel, The Secret Scripture, 2008, one of my faves of all time. Canaan is the reflections of an 89 year old woman, who fled Ireland in 1915 as a teenager with her boyfriend, on the run from the IRA. Much of the novel is the story of her hard scrabble life-in-hiding in Chicago. The most powerful passages are Barry's evocative telling of her terrors of assassins. One scene, in the Chicago Art Institute, is indelibly etched in my memory. Barry vividly evokes the heartbreaks of the Irish War of Independence, without blame or finger pointing. 

The Secret Scripture is also based on the memories of an elderly woman, entwined with the inquiries and observations of her doctor, who is trying to discover her story from long ago. This novel begins in the early 20th century, when the young woman, through no real fault of her own, runs afoul of the tough emotions and the black-and-white stances during The Troubles. It's easy to think of The Troubles in terms of Bobby Sands and the 1970-80's, but both of these stories were set 100 years ago! What a long, hard road.

Barry's writing is extraordinary. His prose is more spare than John Banville, another Irish author who I recently praised, and just as artful. I often paused and sighed at how perfectly a sentence or paragraph was turned. Like Banville, Barry never over writes. I recommend both of these novels.

John Banville - Ancient Light

Two of the best living writers of the English language today happen to be Irish: John Banville and Sebastian Barry. Banville's latest novel, Ancient Light, is the third in a loose trilogy which includes Eclipse, 2000, and Shroud, 2002. The novels share some characters, but each book easily stands on its own. The  triple-helix story and the characters in Ancient Light are compelling, but the delight to me is Banville's writing. This is not merely great word-smithing, this is high art. His prose is a gourmet meal, without ever being over written. If you love to read the written word, then you will enjoy Banville's works. Some books I read as fast as I can, but, Banville I read slowly, often re-reading paragraphs several times to savor them.

Much of the first half of the book is a retired actor's reflections on his teenage affair with the mother of a friend. I'm not that crazy about this setting, but it served as the basis for observations on a key part of all of our lives...His memories stand on very shaky footings, and it is wonderful to read his uncertainties about the scene and the events themselves. The season, time of day, the weather, people's emotions, all are often unclear or remembered in multiple ways. It's a delightful exploration of memory, especially for those of us having a similar experience with their own! The second strand of the helix is his pondering on the suicide ten years ago of his long troubled daughter. In the third, he is tapped to star in a film about a fraudulent academic, who was a key character in Shroud. Each strand is inter-woven with ease through the book. But, the real joy of this novel is Banville's art of writing. 

You might also try his Shroud and The Infinities.

SFCMF Commision - Aaron Jay Kernis

The third SFCMF commission I heard this season was written by Aaron Jay Kernis. In the Save-the-Best-For-Last tradition, this piece was extraordinary. At the pre-concert lecture, Kernis was very earnest and serious in his answers to questions from Marc Neikrug and the audience. He was always very modest. He talked about the process of composing, and the changes that have occurred in his approach over the course of his musical journey. Kernis started his answer with the words "As a young composer", stopped himself, and interjected, "I hate that phrase!" He continued by saying "As a composer in my 20's". This modesty told us so much about what a truly accomplished artist he is. In his 20s, he composed by planning the entire piece out, both mentally and in notes, including musical notation and words. Later in life he began to allow a composition to evolve and find it's own way. One approach is not better than the other, but it is an interesting topic for all of the arts. I have heard novelists speak of the same two techniques. From Kernis' examples, comments by Edward P. Jones and Michael Ondaatje come to mind. He made insightful observations about this piece, Perpetual Chaconne. First, he noted that when Marc approached him about the commission, Kernis asked that the commission be for clarinetist David Shifrin and the Orion String Quartet. The title refers to the structure of the piece which includes many repeats and internal references. He talked about how this structure has been frowned upon by academics, go Aaron! Speaking of which, he told us that the piece is largely tonal with some dissonance, which arises and recedes. I love this format in contemporary music and it works beautifully in Perpetual Chaconne. He was quite disarming as he spoke at length about the changes in his thinking on the tempi in the piece. He questioned the tempi used by both the OSQ and the Calder Quartet in La Jolla. He made minor changes and sounded pleased with both approaches.

This is a great piece of chamber music. It is complex, beautifully structured,  and has some gorgeous string passages that use the tonal/dissonance motif. This beauty comes without sentimentality, which of course gives it all the more impact. The wonderful tone of the Orion String Quartet and the superb playing of renowned clarinetist, David Shifrin, were perfect for it. The  piece was co-commissioned by La Jolla Music Society. I was able to chat with Kernis at intermission and encouraged him to seek a recording of this piece. He was accompanied by his wife and three young children, which I found delightful. I asked his son, a cellist perhaps 10 years old, how he liked his father's piece. "It's the best thing ever." I agree.

And, my thanks again to the SFCMF and their donors for all of these commissions!

SFCMF Commission - David Del Tredici

The next SFCMF commission I was able to hear this season was by David Del Tredici. First, he won everyone's hearts in the pre-concert lecture: charming, self-effacing, very articulate, modest, and funny. He was delightful. He was looking totally-NYC-high-fashion, dressed in an over-sized red jacket with sleeves rolled up, and desert boots! Steven Ovitsky introduced him as the Father of Neo-Romanticism, but what we are really talking about is, OMG, tonal music. He discussed his musical journey and how he started with the required dissonant phase, along with the 1970s academics who painfully ruled music for decades. At some point in his work, he said "I can't do this any more" and started writing...tonal music. This, of course, was scoffed at by many, since music that one would actually want to listen to was verboten.  He almost apologized for this indiscretion...but not quite. He remarked that it's harder to write tonal music, than atonal [no kidding, my comment]. He continued that tonal music will always be will be compared to other tonal composers, and put under a microscope, while atonal music won't be compared to anything. He added, "AND, in tonal music it's obvious when a note is missed or wrong." Steven Ovitsky, who is a musician, joked that missing a note wouldn't be noticed in dissonant music, and got a chuckle. Del Tredici's piece, String Quartet #2 is straight forward tonal music.  It is not remotely sentimental, nor did I find it particularly romantic, so his other music must have earned him the "neo" moniker he's received. More importantly, the piece is unabashedly tonal. It was beautifully played by the Orion String Quartet. Del Tredici can write for strings, that was clear. The piece was co-commissioned by South Mountain Concerts and dedicated to the OSQ.

SFCMF Commissions - Helen Grime

Hats off to the Santa Fe Chamber Music Festival for commissioning so much chamber music each year! Many thanks to artistic director Marc Neikrug, executive director Steven Ovitsky and the Festival's donors that make it possible. I was privileged to hear three of this summer's commisions.

Helen Grime is a 31 year old British composer who was commissioned by the SFCMF at age 29. In the pre-concert lecture Marc commented at length about her being a young composer. And, she is....young....likely with a bright future. Her piece, premiered opening night, was immature and not of the stature of most of the festival's commissions. In the pre-concert lecture she discussed the somewhat programmatic nature of Snow and Snow for Clarinet, Viola and Piano, but I did not hear it in the piece. What I did hear was a throw-back to the academic compositions we all suffered through in the 1970s, which is often the case with the SFCMF commissions. This is not "new music", it is 40 years old, and has been done over and over. Stick a fork in it, it's done! No, I am not a new-music-phobe, in fact, I have commissioned new music. Rather, I prefer not to hear a rehash of the 70s academics: cellos and woodwinds doing triplet plunks and burps, broken up by violins sliding on the finger board, veeeeeerrrrrhhhhhttt. How many times can one listen to that? It has no content, no meaning, and deconstructionism just doesn't make good music. Within that genre, Snow and Snow did not have the maturity, development and structure of many of the Festival's commissions. Headliner clarinetist, Todd Levy, did a fine performance.

Cameron and Canty

I read two novels that are not my usual cup of java: one is a period piece and one is a "place piece", for lack of a better word. But, they are worth commenting on. Both books deal with inappropriate relationships, in the sense that they are unlikely to work out. Peter Cameron's Carol Glynn is a period piece set in Britain of the 1950's. Most period pieces are set in much more distant times, which, of course, is what makes them period pieces. But, Cameron so evocatively creates the mores and language of this time, that many readers and reviewers consider it this way. The story is about three relationships that are on weak footings, and are part of a wobbly love triangle. The complexities of these relationships and the individuals slowly emerge in the story, which is vintage Cameron. There are a lot of character developments and cross currents simmering beneath a placid surface. In the end, the musical chairs exchange, although not in an arrangement that seems any more stable, which provides a satisfying close to the book. The book is written with Cameron's usual clear prose. I have read two of his other five novels, Andorra and  The City of Your Final Destination, and they are both worth considering.

Everything, by Kevin Canty, is set in contemporary Montana. The dialogue has a slight Western tone to it, not quite a dialect but pronounced, and there are loving descriptions of the landscape, and fishing. Hence, I called it a "place piece". This story is also about relationships that most likely will not thrive, this time among very independent people living in remote mountain areas.  By the close of the novel, there are no white picket fence resolutions, which feels appropriate for the story. Canty develops the characters and several relationships with empathy and without sentimentality.

Peter Carey's The Chemistry of Tears

Peter Carey's new novel, The Chemistry of Tears, is a delight. The story is filled with wonderful characters, as always. He has structured the book in a double helix twisting around a 19th century automaton. The first strand is the story of a grieving horologist, Catherine, who is a conservator at a London museum. She is given the task of restoring this extraordinary machine by her boss, who is ostensibly looking out for her well being after the death of her lover. As the story unfolds she learns how much he is directing the players, like the levers in an automaton. The second strand is the story of a 19th century father of a very ill child, who travels afar to commission the construction of this device, in hopes it will cheer his son to health. In both strands, the two protagonists encounter wildly eccentric characters who they must deal with to achieve their goals. Catherine is assigned a crazed, umm, enthusiastic, young assistant, who has ties to her boss & her former lover. Henry commissions a seemingly hallucinogenic clock maker, who launches them on a wild journey. First person chapters alternate between Catherine and the father, Henry. Catherine, while grieving, keeps us smiling with her irreverence. Henry, speaks to Catherine through a set of notebooks that he wrote on his journey, which she finds packed among the pieces of the automaton. In some chapters, the two voices are mixed together. Their goals and trials are linked over the distance of 150 years. Carey fills both stories with detail about complex automata, their construction and conservation, of course, all tied to the human beings involved. It's a lark of a fast read.