Chopin

Last week, when I wrote about my love for Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto, Family Man, in the comments, asked for some Chopin. It's hard to know where to begin with Chopin, I love so much of his work. Since I couldn't identify the piece that Family Man was thinking of, I thought I'd simply choose one of my favorite bits of Chopin - the second movement from his Piano Concerto #2 in F-sharp minor.

Although the entire concerto is dedicated to a woman, she was not the inspiration for the music. The second movement was inspired by the youthful Chopin’s love for a young opera singer named Konstancja Gładkowska. Later, of course, Chopin entered into a famous long term relationship with Aurore Dudevant (who is better known by her pen name, George Sand).

Unlike my experience of Rachmaninoff, I never have any narrative in mind when I hear this. I just listen and enjoy. I think of it as more than contemplative and less than fantasy. Dreamy, perhaps.

Chopin himself wrote about this movement in an 1830 letter:

It is not meant to be powerful, but rather romantic, quiet, melancholic, should give the impression of a look back at a thousand loveable memories. It is like meditating in beautiful springtime, at moonlight.

Chopin, himself a great pianist, mostly composed for solo piano and not for orchestra. And even in the piano concertos, it seems to me that the orchestra is there less as a partner than as a background to showcase the virtuosity of the pianist. Chopin himself was known for using rubato - a technique where the pianist doesn’t play the notes on the page with their exact tempo, but slows down or speeds up as emotion demands. In the hands of a virtuoso, this gives Chopin’s work an appealing combination of fragility and solidity. (In the wrong hands it just sounds as if the pianist can’t remember what notes come next.)

Sometimes a work that is beloved today was not appreciated during it’s own time. But this piano concerto was praised by Chopin’s contemporaries, including Robert Schumann who commented that it was "...[a concerto] which all of us put together would not be able to reach, and whose hem we can merely kiss". The second movement was especially praised as original and Chopin was called an “exceptional musical genius.” Not bad for a composer fresh out of school.

A Chopin piece will not have the intensity of a work by Rachmaninoff, although they are both considered Romantics. Chopin was among the earliest to compose in the Romantic style (contrast the expression in Chopin's music with the careful formulas of the earlier Mozart or even Beethoven). Chopin was breaking new ground. Rachmaninoff, among the last of the Romantic composers, was taking the genre to it's fullest expression.

This is not a piece that I like to watch played. I just like to listen. So click play and then walk away from your computer and just sit and listen. And think about ... whatever it brings to mind.

Enjoy.

Mr. Arnolfini

This painting by Jan van Eyck hangs in the National Gallery of London and is one of my favorites. It is famous, partly because it is one of the first wood panel paintings on which the artist used oil based paint rather than tempera (where the color is suspended in egg). Van Eyck layered on the colors so that it just shines. And, although it is an interior scene, the light from the window is pure.

It also is famous for the symbols in it.

The bride to be has placed her right hand into the left hand of her fiancé to symbolize their intention to wed. Some of the other symbols: a dog symbolizes love and fidelity, a pair of white slippers in the lower left symbolize the sanctity of marriage, fruits on the windowsill symbolize fertility and original sin, a candle burning in daylight acknowledges faith in God as well as his all-seeing eye.

And if you look closely in the convex mirror on the back wall you will see there is a third person in the room. Here's a link to a bigger version. Some say that the third person is van Eyck, the artist himself. In any event, on the wall above the mirror is an inscription in Dutch that says "Jan van Eyck was here. 1434." Although the woman appears to be pregnant, art historians say that this was simply the style of dress at the time.

The National Gallery acquired the painting in 1842. It now hangs in a place of honor in the new Sainsbury Wing. But before the new wing was built it hung in a small room in the original building. In 1991, during my first trip ever to London, I was wandering by myself through the National Gallery when I came upon that small room. I looked to my right and stopped in my tracks. "oh. my. god. I didn't know that was here!" I don't think I said it aloud, but I might have. I stood looking at it for a very long time hoping that the guard wouldn't think I was planning to steal it or harm it. It isn't very big (32 1/4 x 23 1/2 in) and you have to get very close to see the detail.

"Hello, Mr. Arnolfini," I said. "It's nice to see you." I feel as if I know Mr. Arnolfini, not like an old friend but as you know someone who is an important personage in your town. Certainly not someone that I would be on a first name basis with. This feeling comes from reading Dorothy Dunnett, a historical novelist who can make me feel like I am there (wherever there is) like no other historical novelist.

Her novel Niccolo Rising is set in 15th century Bruges, one of the principal trading cities of Renaissance Europe. The background for her tale of Claes, the dyeyard apprentice, is peopled with real life Renaissance merchants who were stationed in Bruges at the time. Merchants from all over Europe: Genoa, Portugal, the German Hanse, Florence ...

”And the Lucchese, with Giovanni Arnolfini and his long pallid face, who knew the Duke’s taste in silks and had a few private commissions worth a groat or two.”

It is just a mention. But enough to make an art lover pause. It isn't until 100 pages later that she confirms your suspicion. The apprentice Claes arrives at the house of the Lucchese merchant on an errand, with a bruised face.

Messer Arnolfini said, “My dear Claes! What have you done to your face?”

It was becoming, no doubt, a tiresome question. One might ask the same, if one were unkind, of Messer Arnolfini. It was twenty-five years since Jan van Eyck had painted that pale, cleft-chinned face with its hairless lids and drainpipe nose ribbed at the tip like a gooseberry. Giovanni Arnolfini, hand-in-hand with his future bride.

Well, Monna Giovanna , to be sure, still sported horns of red hair of a sort, but Meester van Eyck was dead, and Messer Arnolfini half-dead by the look of him. All that was the same was the convex mirror, though one of the enamels was recent, and the silver guilt chandelier overhead with its six candles burning politely.

Well, what do you know? That was van Eyck's Arnolfini.

That's why I love Dunnett. She introduces you to characters (major and minor) the way you meet people in real life. You may see them in a crowd, but you don't start to know the details about them until they really enter your life. Then, once you meet them, you feel that you know them well enough to say hello when you run into them in the National Gallery in London.

Lou Teicher (1924-2008)

Somehow I missed this. Lou Teicher, one half of the famous piano duo Ferrante & Teischer, died in August at the age of 83.

In a musical collaboration that spanned five decades and ended when the duo retired from the concert stage in 1989, Ferrante & Teicher recorded 150 original albums that, along with dozens of singles, sold 88 million records worldwide. In the process, they earned 22 gold and platinum records.

They seem dated and a little (ok, a lot) hokey in 2008 but they were big back in the day. Their easy listening version of Exodus went to #2 on the pop charts and Tonight went to #8. They were a part of my childhood and I always liked them. (I also always suspected that when my mother sent my sister and I for piano lessons she secretly wanted us to be able to play together like this.)

Q & A

Over at Novel Readings is a Q&A about books that I thought I'd try.

What was the last book you bought?

Well, that's easy. Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, which kinda sorta started this whole blog thing. Before that I bought Anna Karenina, which I'm still slowly reading. Both in paperback.

Hardback? hmmm.

I think it was The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell.

Name a book you have read MORE than once.

Just one? To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Possession by A.S. Byatt. Every Dorothy Dunnett novel. Dream of Scipio by Iain Pears.

Has a book ever fundamentally changed the way you see life? If yes, what was it?

I'm not sure any book has changed me fundamentally. Books have made me think long and hard about things. For instance, Dream of Scipio made me think long and hard about the meaning of 'civilization'.

How do you choose a book? e.g. by cover design and summary, recommendations or reviews?

Recommendations are important. But I admit that cover design will make me pick up a book I've never hear of to read the first paragraph. The best cover design won't make me read the book if the first paragraph doesn't grab me - not from a plot point-of-view but from an author's style point-of-view.

Do you prefer fiction or non-fiction?

Fiction. But I still read a lot of non-fiction.

What's more important in a novel - beautiful writing or a gripping plot?

Writing. Plot without beautiful writing bores me. But a combination of beautiful writing and gripping plot - heaven.

Most loved/memorable character?

Dorothy Dunnett's Francis Crawford.

Which book or books can be found on your nightstand at the moment?


The Fountainhead by Any Rand
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

but then there's the "pile" on top of the bookcase:

Inez of my Soul by Isabel Allende
The Titan's Curse by Rick Riordan (yes it's a kid's book ... so?)
The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
Martin Dressler by Steven Millhauser
The Story of Forgetting by Stefan Merrill Block
The Red Scarf by Kate Furnivall
Mudbound by Hillary Jordan
A Thread of Grace by Mary Doria Russell

What was the last book you read?

The Amber Room by Steve Berry. I blogged about it here.

Have you ever given up on a book halfway in?

More and more as I get older. But I don't remember most of them. The most 'famous' book I've given up on (twice) is DH Lawrence's Women in Love. I think I've read everything else by Lawrence except that and for the life of me I can't get past page 100.

Worth Talking About?

I'm always looking for new books to read so I was interested to see that an organization that is sponsoring World Book Day, March 5, 2009, has published a list of the fifty books most worth talking about. The purpose is to get people to talk about books.

According to the website, they "asked publishers large and small to submit books they thought deserved to reach a wider readership – most specifically those that would make good subjects for discussion, those that don’t merely entertain, but give greater food for thought."

Talking about books is good. And I figured that if there were fifty books I would have read at least a few of them already. But I don't recognize any of them. Here's the list (courtesy of the Telegraph). Has anyone read any of these books?

Imagine This, by Sade Adenirai, (SW Books)
Catch a Fish from the Sea (Using the Internet), by Nasreen Akhtar, (Greenbirds Publishing)
The Blood of Flowers, by Anita Amirrezvani, (Headline Review)
A Golden Age, by Tahmima Anam, (John Murray)
Joe The Only Boy in the World, by Michael Blastland, (Profile)
Away, by Amy Bloom, (Granta)
The Opposite of Love, by Julie Bluxbaum, (Bantam)
The Song Before It Is Sung, by Justin Cartwright, (Bloomsbury)
Broken, by Daniel Clay, (Harper Perennial)
Random Deaths and Custard, by Catrin Dafydd, (Gomer)
The Solitude of Emperors, by David Davidar, (Orion)
Maynard and Jennica, by Rudolph Denson, (Harper Perennial)
Fup, by Jim Dodge, (Canongate)
Zoology, by Ben Dolnick, (Harper Perennial)
The Vitamin Murders, by James Fergusson, (Portobello)
The Glassblower of Murano, by Marina Fiorato, (Burning House)
Ancestor House, by Aminatta Forna, (Bloomsbury)
Love Falls, by Esther Freud, (Bloomsbury)
Atmospheric Disturbances, by Rivka Galchen, (Harper Perennial)
Tao: On the Road and On the Run in Outlaw China, by Aya Goda, (Portobello)
Now You See Him, by Eli Gottlieb, (Serpent's Tail)
Wild, by Jay Griffiths, (Hamish Hamilton)
The Condition, by Jennifer Haigh, (Harper)
The Fantastic Book of Everyone's Secrets, by Sophie Hannah, (Sort of Books)
The Archivist's Story, by Travis Holland, (Bloomsbury)
The Mistress's Daughter, by A.M. Homes, (Granta)
Blood Tender, by Rachel Ingrams, (Tindal Street)
When We Were Romans, by Mathew Kneale, (Picador)
The Children of Freedom, by Marc Levy, (Harper)
Bad Traffic, by Simon Lewis, (Sort of Books)
Fifteen Modern Tales of Attraction, by Alison MacLeod, (Hamish Hamilton)
Remedy, by Anne Marsella, (Portobello)
The Family That Couldn't Sleep, by D.T. Max, (Portobello)
The Bloomsday Dead, by Adrian McKinty, (Serpent's Tail)
Feather Man, by Rhyll McMaster, (Marion Boyars)
Queuing for Beginners, by Joe Moran, (Profile)
Season of the Witch, by Natasha Mostert, (Bantam)
Twenty Eight: Stories of AIDS in Africa, by Stephanie Nolen, (Portobello)
Serious Things, by Gregory Norminton, (Sceptre)
Chinese Whispers, by Hsiao-Hung Pai, (Figtree)
Train to Trieste, by Domnica Radulescu, (Doubleday)
Gold, by Dan Rhodes, (Canongate)
The Good Plain Cook, by Bethan Roberts, (Serpent's Tail)
Vicky Had One Eye Open, by Darryl Samaraweera, (Burning House)
The Forger, by Cioma Schönhaus, (Granta)
Absurdistan, by Gary Shteyngart, (Granta)
Do Good Lives Have to Cost the Earth?, by Andrew Sims & Joe Smith, (Constable & Robinson)
I Think There's Something Wrong With Me, by Nigel Smith, (Black Swan)
Rainbow's End, by Lauren St.John, (Hamish Hamilton)
The Abyssinian Proof, by Jenny White, (Orion)

You can learn more about them here.

Poet Laureate

Two poems by Kay Ryan, the Poet Laureate of the United States. The first, for you to read.

Repulsive Theory
by Kay Ryan

Little has been made
of the soft, skirting action
of magnets reversed,
while much has been
made of attraction.
But is it not this pillowy
principle of repulsion
that produces the
doily edges of oceans
or the arabesques of thought?
And do these cutout coasts
and incurved rhetorical beaches
not baffle the onslaught
of the sea or objectionable people
and give private life
what small protection it's got?
Praise then the oiled motions
of avoidance, the pearly
convolutions of all that
slides off or takes a
wide berth; praise every
eddying vacancy of Earth,
all the dimpled depths
of pooling space, the whole
swirl set up by fending-off—
extending far beyond the personal,
I'm convinced—
immense and good
in a cosmological sense:
unpressing us against
each other, lending
the necessary never
to never-ending.

The second, read to you by Ms. Ryan.

Field Trips

Yesterday, one of my sisters asked me when I had last visited the Eugene Field House. I admitted that I have never once set foot in the Eugene Field House in all the years I've lived in St. Louis. She was astonished. Apparently most St. Louisans, including her, visited it on school field trips. Well, not me.
For those who don't remember, Eugene Field was "the children's poet". He wrote Little Boy Blue and Wynken, Blynken and Nod. And those are very good poems. But my favorite Eugene Field poem was The Duel.

The duel

The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"
And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I'm only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw -
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(Don't fancy I exaggerate -
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)

Eugene Field