Villa-Lobos: Bachianas Brasileiras (complete). Nashville Symphony Orchestra conducted by Kenneth Schermerhorn (Nos. 2-9) and Andrew Mogrelia (No. 1); with Anthony LaMarchina, principal cellist; José Feghali, piano (No. 3); Rosana Lamosa, soprano (No. 5); Erik Gratton, flute, and Cynthia Estill, bassoon (No. 6). Naxos. $23.99 (3 CDs).
This set is a considerable achievement and a worthy tribute to Kenneth Schermerhorn, who died April 18 after more than 20 years at the helm of the Nashville Symphony. The Bachianas Brasileiras are a considerable achievement themselves, created by Heitor Villa-Lobos over a 15-year period (1930-1945) as a tribute to Bach and an attempt to meld Bach’s forms and musical purity to the folk tunes and popular culture of 20th-century Brazil.
It is tempting to see in these works a reflection of the huge, multifaceted country where Villa-Lobos wrote most of them (No. 9 was written in New York). But they are more a reflection of the composer’s own varied interests in musical development and orchestration than a direct reflection of Brazil as a nation. Villa-Lobos’ favorite instrument was the cello, and cello parts are prominent in most of these pieces, with No. 1 specifically written for “an orchestra of cellos” and No. 5 – perhaps the composer’s best-known work – for soprano and eight cellos. Yet Villa-Lobos sought other colorations as well. No. 6, a fascinating modern version of Bach’s two-part inventions, explores the upper and lower woodwind registers, being written for flute and bassoon. No. 4 was written for piano, though Villa-Lobos subsequently orchestrated it. And No. 9 was originally written for unaccompanied chorus.
The use of movement titles from Bach’s era – along with, in most cases, Brazilian subtitles – is one of the few things uniting these disparate works. It is possible to analyze the way Villa-Lobos adapted baroque forms to his purposes, but that is a matter for musicologists and adds little to the enjoyment of the pieces. It is interesting, for example, to know that the first movement of No. 4 alludes to the so-called “Royal Theme” from Bach’s Musical Offering, but one can appreciate and enjoy the music without being aware of this.
And enjoyment is what this set provides in abundance. No. 5 and the finale of No. 2 (a toccata known as “Little Train of the Caipira”) are the best-known works here, but there are so many other highlights that a listener is left amazed at how varied the delights of Villa-Lobos are. No. 1, for example, combines rich unison cello passages with ones exploring the upper reaches of the instrument’s range. No. 3 is a piano concerto – or perhaps an orchestral sinfonia with piano obbligato – filled with emotion and bird sounds. No. 4 is remarkably lush and vibrant as an orchestral piece. The warmth-suffused No. 1, intense and broad-scaled No. 7, virtuosic No. 8 and two-movement No. 9 all end with fugues, each of them quite different in sound and treatment from the others. There is no particular reason to listen to the Bachianas Brasileiras in numerical order, but there are many reasons to listen to each one of them. The blending of Bach and Brazil is always fascinating, the music is unusual and effective, and these performances are excellent in every respect.
December 08, 2005
December 04, 2005
(++++) ORDINARY OPERA MADE EXTRAORDINARY
Gounod: Roméo et Juliette. Virginia Opera production conducted by Peter Mark. Presented at Center for the Arts, George Mason University, Fairfax, Virginia, December 2 and 4, 2005.
Virginia Opera’s productions have gotten so good that they can make mediocre operas seem exceptional. The company’s latest offering, of Charles Gounod’s 1867 Roméo et Juliette, is superb in every way.
Gounod’s work – the libretto is by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré – contains a fair number of scenes from the Shakespeare play on which it is based. But its sensibility is entirely different. Shakespeare’s work is about reconciliation through tragedy: the deaths of the young lovers end a multi-generational feud that has torn two families and a city apart. Gounod tells the story as a flashback, opening with a chorus of citizens from some time after that of Romeo and Juliet – a time of dullness, when people look back longingly to days of passion and intensity, as exemplified by the story of the young lovers. This undercuts Shakespeare’s purpose literally from the beginning of the opera.
Here is how Virginia Opera pulls in the audience so it doesn’t notice: the initial scene uses dark lighting, a stark setting and dull costumes, establishing a tone of tragedy to which the opera itself never quite rises. Before anyone can wonder about what that first chorus implies, we are swept into a brilliantly lit, bustling first scene of a party at the Capulets’ home – the start of the action proper. Stage director David Lefkowich, lighting designer Donald Thomas, scenery designer Peter Dean Beck, and artistic director and conductor Peter Mark grab the audience viscerally and never let go.
This is a marvelous experience, and one this opera sorely needs. It is the only one of Gounod’s 12 other than Faust that still gets occasional international performances, though Mireille remains popular in France. Gounod’s relentlessly bourgeois morality, exactly the sort of rigidity parodied so effectively by Offenbach, has the lovers not even singing together until after they are married (in their previous duets, they alternate lines). And the opera ends with them begging God to forgive them – “Lord, forgive us” is actually the work’s last line – presumably for their sin of suicide.
None of the opera’s flaws seems to matter here. The casting is excellent: Wei Huang as Juliet is a superstar in the making, with strength throughout her range, emotional connection to spare, top-notch acting ability, and a conviction that helps her make even the silliest elements of her role believable. Chi Liming makes a top-notch Romeo: intense and passionate, rough around the edges (and slightly so in his voice, which here works to his advantage), and thoroughly believable. Indeed, one aspect of the casting comes across as brilliant: having two Asian leads in a cast otherwise made up of Occidentals visually sets the lovers apart from their families and supporters instantaneously. There is nowhere they can possibly belong in this opera’s world except together.
Every supporting role is well cast. Jason Kaminski as Mercutio projects just the right mixture of impetuosity and flippancy, and his Queen Mab aria in Act I is a delight. Raymond Diaz keeps Frère Laurent right in the middle of Gounod’s conventional morality (one of the many plot holes: he marries the lovers to end the feud of their families, but then why does he forbid Juliet to acknowledge the marriage?). Michael Shell is all bluster and hot temper as Tybalt. Laurel Cameron in the trouser role of Stéphano does a wonderful job with her Act II taunting song that precipitates tragedy. Adriane Shelton as Gertrude, Juliet’s nurse, makes the most of a small role. The authority figures, Todd Robinson as Capulet and Scott Root as the Duke of Verona, are appropriately stately and oblivious.
But it is the overall presentation that ties everything together – as it should, but as opera productions often fail to do. In Act I, the silly waltz ditty that Juliet sings before meeting Romeo – a sort of G-rated Sempre libera – has Huang dancing energetically all over the stage. In contrast, as she and Romeo declare their love in the balcony scene, they move their hands slowly and very tentatively toward each other, with palpable yearning – and stop short of touching. The action helps distract the audience from the affecting but very conventional harmonies and from the fact that Gounod, as usual when he comes up with something effective, proceeds to milk the scene almost to death.
Elegant touches abound. Curtains are an important motif. In the introductory chorus, we see the lovers atop a stairway, and after the chorus, curtains close them off. Curtains reappear several times, being used both to conceal and reveal – again adding subtlety to an opera that otherwise lacks it. There are well-modulated lighting changes throughout, too – for instance, as Frère Laurent discusses the potion he will give to Juliet.
Gounod’s typical underpinnings are still there, for better and worse. The opera is tuneful and occasionally impassioned, though it rises only to the level of pathos, not tragedy. When Romeo says he will give up his name for Juliet, the orchestra launches into a trivial passage that goes nowhere. When the lovers discuss whether they are hearing the lark of day or nightingale of night as their wedding night ends, Gounod essentially goes through the whole scene twice – milking a nice effect again – and then brings the lark/nightingale image back in the final scene in the tomb.
The point is that this is by no means a great opera, but Virginia Opera makes it seem almost like one. Peter Mark’s company has gotten so good that it can afford to take chances outside the conventional operatic canon. To his credit, Mark clearly knows that: two of the four operas in the company’s next season will be works that are seldom performed. Bravo!
Virginia Opera’s productions have gotten so good that they can make mediocre operas seem exceptional. The company’s latest offering, of Charles Gounod’s 1867 Roméo et Juliette, is superb in every way.
Gounod’s work – the libretto is by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré – contains a fair number of scenes from the Shakespeare play on which it is based. But its sensibility is entirely different. Shakespeare’s work is about reconciliation through tragedy: the deaths of the young lovers end a multi-generational feud that has torn two families and a city apart. Gounod tells the story as a flashback, opening with a chorus of citizens from some time after that of Romeo and Juliet – a time of dullness, when people look back longingly to days of passion and intensity, as exemplified by the story of the young lovers. This undercuts Shakespeare’s purpose literally from the beginning of the opera.
Here is how Virginia Opera pulls in the audience so it doesn’t notice: the initial scene uses dark lighting, a stark setting and dull costumes, establishing a tone of tragedy to which the opera itself never quite rises. Before anyone can wonder about what that first chorus implies, we are swept into a brilliantly lit, bustling first scene of a party at the Capulets’ home – the start of the action proper. Stage director David Lefkowich, lighting designer Donald Thomas, scenery designer Peter Dean Beck, and artistic director and conductor Peter Mark grab the audience viscerally and never let go.
This is a marvelous experience, and one this opera sorely needs. It is the only one of Gounod’s 12 other than Faust that still gets occasional international performances, though Mireille remains popular in France. Gounod’s relentlessly bourgeois morality, exactly the sort of rigidity parodied so effectively by Offenbach, has the lovers not even singing together until after they are married (in their previous duets, they alternate lines). And the opera ends with them begging God to forgive them – “Lord, forgive us” is actually the work’s last line – presumably for their sin of suicide.
None of the opera’s flaws seems to matter here. The casting is excellent: Wei Huang as Juliet is a superstar in the making, with strength throughout her range, emotional connection to spare, top-notch acting ability, and a conviction that helps her make even the silliest elements of her role believable. Chi Liming makes a top-notch Romeo: intense and passionate, rough around the edges (and slightly so in his voice, which here works to his advantage), and thoroughly believable. Indeed, one aspect of the casting comes across as brilliant: having two Asian leads in a cast otherwise made up of Occidentals visually sets the lovers apart from their families and supporters instantaneously. There is nowhere they can possibly belong in this opera’s world except together.
Every supporting role is well cast. Jason Kaminski as Mercutio projects just the right mixture of impetuosity and flippancy, and his Queen Mab aria in Act I is a delight. Raymond Diaz keeps Frère Laurent right in the middle of Gounod’s conventional morality (one of the many plot holes: he marries the lovers to end the feud of their families, but then why does he forbid Juliet to acknowledge the marriage?). Michael Shell is all bluster and hot temper as Tybalt. Laurel Cameron in the trouser role of Stéphano does a wonderful job with her Act II taunting song that precipitates tragedy. Adriane Shelton as Gertrude, Juliet’s nurse, makes the most of a small role. The authority figures, Todd Robinson as Capulet and Scott Root as the Duke of Verona, are appropriately stately and oblivious.
But it is the overall presentation that ties everything together – as it should, but as opera productions often fail to do. In Act I, the silly waltz ditty that Juliet sings before meeting Romeo – a sort of G-rated Sempre libera – has Huang dancing energetically all over the stage. In contrast, as she and Romeo declare their love in the balcony scene, they move their hands slowly and very tentatively toward each other, with palpable yearning – and stop short of touching. The action helps distract the audience from the affecting but very conventional harmonies and from the fact that Gounod, as usual when he comes up with something effective, proceeds to milk the scene almost to death.
Elegant touches abound. Curtains are an important motif. In the introductory chorus, we see the lovers atop a stairway, and after the chorus, curtains close them off. Curtains reappear several times, being used both to conceal and reveal – again adding subtlety to an opera that otherwise lacks it. There are well-modulated lighting changes throughout, too – for instance, as Frère Laurent discusses the potion he will give to Juliet.
Gounod’s typical underpinnings are still there, for better and worse. The opera is tuneful and occasionally impassioned, though it rises only to the level of pathos, not tragedy. When Romeo says he will give up his name for Juliet, the orchestra launches into a trivial passage that goes nowhere. When the lovers discuss whether they are hearing the lark of day or nightingale of night as their wedding night ends, Gounod essentially goes through the whole scene twice – milking a nice effect again – and then brings the lark/nightingale image back in the final scene in the tomb.
The point is that this is by no means a great opera, but Virginia Opera makes it seem almost like one. Peter Mark’s company has gotten so good that it can afford to take chances outside the conventional operatic canon. To his credit, Mark clearly knows that: two of the four operas in the company’s next season will be works that are seldom performed. Bravo!
December 01, 2005
(++++) THE POLITICIZATION OF COMIC STRIPS
Candorville: Thank God for Culture Clash. By Darrin Bell. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
Prickly City. By Scott Stantis. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
Now Who Do We Blame? By Tom Toles. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
The greatest political comic strip of modern times was Walt Kelly’s Pogo. Reliably but gently liberal, it unceasingly mocked, among others, the red-baiting Senator Joseph McCarthy, after whose downfall an editor said he had seen enough of the character Simple J. Malarkey (representing McCarthy) and would cancel the strip if Kelly ever drew him again. Here is the sort of class Kelly had: he drew a final strip filled with the bombastic speech of McCarthy/Malarkey, using the speech balloons to cover the character’s face. It was obvious from the words alone who the character was, yet Kelly never drew him, adhering to the letter of the editor’s demand.
There is none of that classiness about the best-known political strip running today, G.B. Trudeau’s Doonesbury. It too is reliably liberal, but there is a stridency and self-righteousness to it that can make it faintly unpleasant to read – despite the superb art, highly complex story lines and well-defined characters.
It is time for new political voices in comic strips, such as Darrin Bell’s in Candorville and Scott Stantis’ in Prickly City. Bell is the artist for the Rudy Park strip, written by Theron Heir and also somewhat political in orientation. Candorville is all Bell’s and almost all politics. It is a multicultural strip that rises above (or simply ignores) political correctness. The three main characters have been friends since childhood: writer Lemont Brown, the closest to a voice of the cartoonist; Clyde or “C-Dog,” determined to be thuggish and ignore his inner emotionalism; and Susan Garcia, an up-and-coming corporate type who stays closely in touch with her roots. There are some easy targets here, as in a strip about “Democrublican” and “Republicrats” and their willingness to compromise principles to gain power. But most of the strips are more subtle. In one, various people look at each other: Muslim, Latino, black (Clyde), white, and finally Sioux, and all of them share the same thought balloon: “Worthless immigrant. I wish he’d go back where he came from.” In another, two people argue with interchangeable rhetoric, then start saying identical things, such as, “I’m not attacking you, you’re attacking me.” In a sequence, Susan’s company does multicultural training, bungling it badly; afterwards, Susan asks Lemont, “What could possibly be worse than their trying to understand my culture and humiliating me in the process?” And Lemont replies, “Not trying at all.” This is a genuinely thoughtful strip, with well-designed characters – and it is wonderfully funny, to boot.
Prickly City is something of a rarity: a strip with a conservative viewpoint. There have been others, such as Bruce Tinsley’s Mallard Fillmore, but Scott Stantis’ strip has heart as well as attitude. Prickly City is about the relationship between a politically conservative young girl named Carmen (who happens to be black) and a liberal named Winslow (who happens to be a coyote). The two live in a desert landscape vaguely reminiscent of George Herriman’s in the classic Krazy Kat. Some of the political points, such as ones about feeding tubes related to the Terry Schiavo case, are so dogmatic that they interfere with the character development (Stantis is, after all, editorial cartoonist for the Birmingham News in Alabama). But most of the dialogue is genuinely amusing. Winslow identifies himself as a “carbo-American” to explain why he stole Carmen’s Ho-Hos. Winslow parodies attack ads by taping Carmen speaking and twisting everything she says. After Carmen beats Winslow at chess, he demands his pieces be allowed a place at the table because half the pieces in the game don’t like the outcome. There are also pointed attacks on the absurdities of film propagandist Michael Moore, recently retired CBS anchorman Dan Rather, and others. And some strips make important points, as when Carmen refuses to choose a woman from her school’s “required list” for a report, picks Ann Coulter instead, and is sent to the principal, where she says, “I was just hoping for a little balance.” His reply: “How can you get a balanced education if we give you opposing views?” Think about it – this strip does.
Somewhat less successful than the other books – call it (+++) – is Now Who Do We Blame? This is not a strip but a collection of Tom Toles’ editorial cartoons from The Washington Post. Toles is successor to but no replacement for the irreplaceable Herblock, whose art and tastefulness readers could always admire even if they did not share his politics. Toles is more stridently liberal than The Post’s own editorial page, where his cartoons appear; and as in any collection of timely cartoons, this one does not wear particularly well. Many of the cartoons parody President Bush, shown as a moronic-looking elflike character with ears nearly on top of his head. Bush plants an environmentalist for Earth Day, supervises flying monkeys while wearing a Wicked Witch of the West costume, sinks into the quicksand of Iraq while insisting he will not make any decisions, and so on. Even when funny, these cartoons quickly become tiresome. The best cartoons here are more social than political, such as a Rubik’s Food Pyramid to show how confusing government nutrition recommendations are. The worst are tasteless misuses of the murderous 9/11 attacks, such as one showing the Capitol blown up, with smoke labeled “the deficit” drifting out, and the caption, “The 20th Hijacker Arrives.” Toles could use some maturity if he wants his messages to come across more effectively. Better grammar wouldn’t hurt, either: the correct title for this book would be Now Whom Do We Blame?
Prickly City. By Scott Stantis. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
Now Who Do We Blame? By Tom Toles. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
The greatest political comic strip of modern times was Walt Kelly’s Pogo. Reliably but gently liberal, it unceasingly mocked, among others, the red-baiting Senator Joseph McCarthy, after whose downfall an editor said he had seen enough of the character Simple J. Malarkey (representing McCarthy) and would cancel the strip if Kelly ever drew him again. Here is the sort of class Kelly had: he drew a final strip filled with the bombastic speech of McCarthy/Malarkey, using the speech balloons to cover the character’s face. It was obvious from the words alone who the character was, yet Kelly never drew him, adhering to the letter of the editor’s demand.
There is none of that classiness about the best-known political strip running today, G.B. Trudeau’s Doonesbury. It too is reliably liberal, but there is a stridency and self-righteousness to it that can make it faintly unpleasant to read – despite the superb art, highly complex story lines and well-defined characters.
It is time for new political voices in comic strips, such as Darrin Bell’s in Candorville and Scott Stantis’ in Prickly City. Bell is the artist for the Rudy Park strip, written by Theron Heir and also somewhat political in orientation. Candorville is all Bell’s and almost all politics. It is a multicultural strip that rises above (or simply ignores) political correctness. The three main characters have been friends since childhood: writer Lemont Brown, the closest to a voice of the cartoonist; Clyde or “C-Dog,” determined to be thuggish and ignore his inner emotionalism; and Susan Garcia, an up-and-coming corporate type who stays closely in touch with her roots. There are some easy targets here, as in a strip about “Democrublican” and “Republicrats” and their willingness to compromise principles to gain power. But most of the strips are more subtle. In one, various people look at each other: Muslim, Latino, black (Clyde), white, and finally Sioux, and all of them share the same thought balloon: “Worthless immigrant. I wish he’d go back where he came from.” In another, two people argue with interchangeable rhetoric, then start saying identical things, such as, “I’m not attacking you, you’re attacking me.” In a sequence, Susan’s company does multicultural training, bungling it badly; afterwards, Susan asks Lemont, “What could possibly be worse than their trying to understand my culture and humiliating me in the process?” And Lemont replies, “Not trying at all.” This is a genuinely thoughtful strip, with well-designed characters – and it is wonderfully funny, to boot.
Prickly City is something of a rarity: a strip with a conservative viewpoint. There have been others, such as Bruce Tinsley’s Mallard Fillmore, but Scott Stantis’ strip has heart as well as attitude. Prickly City is about the relationship between a politically conservative young girl named Carmen (who happens to be black) and a liberal named Winslow (who happens to be a coyote). The two live in a desert landscape vaguely reminiscent of George Herriman’s in the classic Krazy Kat. Some of the political points, such as ones about feeding tubes related to the Terry Schiavo case, are so dogmatic that they interfere with the character development (Stantis is, after all, editorial cartoonist for the Birmingham News in Alabama). But most of the dialogue is genuinely amusing. Winslow identifies himself as a “carbo-American” to explain why he stole Carmen’s Ho-Hos. Winslow parodies attack ads by taping Carmen speaking and twisting everything she says. After Carmen beats Winslow at chess, he demands his pieces be allowed a place at the table because half the pieces in the game don’t like the outcome. There are also pointed attacks on the absurdities of film propagandist Michael Moore, recently retired CBS anchorman Dan Rather, and others. And some strips make important points, as when Carmen refuses to choose a woman from her school’s “required list” for a report, picks Ann Coulter instead, and is sent to the principal, where she says, “I was just hoping for a little balance.” His reply: “How can you get a balanced education if we give you opposing views?” Think about it – this strip does.
Somewhat less successful than the other books – call it (+++) – is Now Who Do We Blame? This is not a strip but a collection of Tom Toles’ editorial cartoons from The Washington Post. Toles is successor to but no replacement for the irreplaceable Herblock, whose art and tastefulness readers could always admire even if they did not share his politics. Toles is more stridently liberal than The Post’s own editorial page, where his cartoons appear; and as in any collection of timely cartoons, this one does not wear particularly well. Many of the cartoons parody President Bush, shown as a moronic-looking elflike character with ears nearly on top of his head. Bush plants an environmentalist for Earth Day, supervises flying monkeys while wearing a Wicked Witch of the West costume, sinks into the quicksand of Iraq while insisting he will not make any decisions, and so on. Even when funny, these cartoons quickly become tiresome. The best cartoons here are more social than political, such as a Rubik’s Food Pyramid to show how confusing government nutrition recommendations are. The worst are tasteless misuses of the murderous 9/11 attacks, such as one showing the Capitol blown up, with smoke labeled “the deficit” drifting out, and the caption, “The 20th Hijacker Arrives.” Toles could use some maturity if he wants his messages to come across more effectively. Better grammar wouldn’t hurt, either: the correct title for this book would be Now Whom Do We Blame?
(++++) STOCKING STUFFERS THE KLUTZ WAY
How to Make Pompom Animals. By the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $9.95.
Hand Art. By the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $9.95.
How to Tell Time. By the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $12.95.
Rescue Trucks. By Julie Collings and the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $12.95.
The Chicken Socks line of Klutz books – smaller, squarer and less expensive than other Klutz offerings – is still a bit too big to fit into most kids’ Christmas stockings. But some of the books can be used to make things that would be ideal stocking stuffers. So maybe these are gifts to give just a little bit early….
How to Make Pompom Animals makes little things that are just too cute for words. So the book is filled with pictures instead (okay, there are some words, too). There are plenty of pompoms included in a plastic pouch attached to the book – which, like all Chicken Socks books, is spiral-bound to stay flat when opened. All kids need to do is pick specific pompoms – there is a “what you need” note with each project to show which ones to use – and glue the pieces together (yes, the glue is included, too). Make a turtle from one super-large dark green pompom, one medium green, four small green, and two googly eyes; or a butterfly from three medium orange, two medium red, one mini-red, two googly eyes, and punch-out paper wings (the punch-out section at the back of the book is a particularly nice touch for more complicated projects). Frog, dog, cat, raccoon and others – you’ll find them all here. When finished, they fit into stockings very neatly indeed.
So does the hand-based art made with Hand Art. The plastic pouch with this book includes crayons, pompoms, googly eyes and glue, and the instructions are the essence of simplicity: place hand on paper in a particular shape (every page shows which shape to use), trace hand, color with crayons, and decorate with the other included stuff. Kids can make the traditional turkey or peacock by using their hands with all fingers splayed, or get even more creative to make a snail, cat, horse or bat (the last of which requires two hands and someone to help trace them). There are plenty of other ideas here, too: octopus, alien, dragon, giraffe, elephant and more – all suitable for decorating a room or refrigerator, or even stuffing in a stocking.
How to Tell Time is a more overtly instructional book than Klutz usually offers, but it is every bit as clearly written. You could put the included watch in a stocking with a tag color-keyed to the wrapped book under the tree. The book explains clearly and simply how to use the watch to tell time – and then offers some delightfully Klutzy illustrations of how long things take. “Stuff that takes about 1 hour” includes “eating 12 ice cream cones,” while “stuff that takes about 1 minute” includes “two TV commercials” – featuring a picture of a girl walking away from a TV set. The watch itself, with multicolored band and easy-to-read face, has clever elements of its own, including large numbers and red dots to be used when counting minutes by fives.
Rescue Trucks is clever in a different way. A plastic blister pack at the front contains four “rolling rescue rigs” that you could take out for stocking stuffing – again, color-coding a tag as a reference to the book under the tree. The book contains fold-out road pages along which kids push the trucks to rescue cartoon characters. One road runs through a city that is being attacked by silly-looking aliens. Another runs through a swamp; another, through a jungle. There are suggestions on decorating the roads to make them three-dimensional (“tape a square of paper to a flat toothpick to make a flagpole,” “cotton balls make great pretend snow”) and on using toy animals as part of the play. There are even pages to color – all adding up to great fun for Christmas or any holiday…and even for non-holiday days.
Hand Art. By the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $9.95.
How to Tell Time. By the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $12.95.
Rescue Trucks. By Julie Collings and the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $12.95.
The Chicken Socks line of Klutz books – smaller, squarer and less expensive than other Klutz offerings – is still a bit too big to fit into most kids’ Christmas stockings. But some of the books can be used to make things that would be ideal stocking stuffers. So maybe these are gifts to give just a little bit early….
How to Make Pompom Animals makes little things that are just too cute for words. So the book is filled with pictures instead (okay, there are some words, too). There are plenty of pompoms included in a plastic pouch attached to the book – which, like all Chicken Socks books, is spiral-bound to stay flat when opened. All kids need to do is pick specific pompoms – there is a “what you need” note with each project to show which ones to use – and glue the pieces together (yes, the glue is included, too). Make a turtle from one super-large dark green pompom, one medium green, four small green, and two googly eyes; or a butterfly from three medium orange, two medium red, one mini-red, two googly eyes, and punch-out paper wings (the punch-out section at the back of the book is a particularly nice touch for more complicated projects). Frog, dog, cat, raccoon and others – you’ll find them all here. When finished, they fit into stockings very neatly indeed.
So does the hand-based art made with Hand Art. The plastic pouch with this book includes crayons, pompoms, googly eyes and glue, and the instructions are the essence of simplicity: place hand on paper in a particular shape (every page shows which shape to use), trace hand, color with crayons, and decorate with the other included stuff. Kids can make the traditional turkey or peacock by using their hands with all fingers splayed, or get even more creative to make a snail, cat, horse or bat (the last of which requires two hands and someone to help trace them). There are plenty of other ideas here, too: octopus, alien, dragon, giraffe, elephant and more – all suitable for decorating a room or refrigerator, or even stuffing in a stocking.
How to Tell Time is a more overtly instructional book than Klutz usually offers, but it is every bit as clearly written. You could put the included watch in a stocking with a tag color-keyed to the wrapped book under the tree. The book explains clearly and simply how to use the watch to tell time – and then offers some delightfully Klutzy illustrations of how long things take. “Stuff that takes about 1 hour” includes “eating 12 ice cream cones,” while “stuff that takes about 1 minute” includes “two TV commercials” – featuring a picture of a girl walking away from a TV set. The watch itself, with multicolored band and easy-to-read face, has clever elements of its own, including large numbers and red dots to be used when counting minutes by fives.
Rescue Trucks is clever in a different way. A plastic blister pack at the front contains four “rolling rescue rigs” that you could take out for stocking stuffing – again, color-coding a tag as a reference to the book under the tree. The book contains fold-out road pages along which kids push the trucks to rescue cartoon characters. One road runs through a city that is being attacked by silly-looking aliens. Another runs through a swamp; another, through a jungle. There are suggestions on decorating the roads to make them three-dimensional (“tape a square of paper to a flat toothpick to make a flagpole,” “cotton balls make great pretend snow”) and on using toy animals as part of the play. There are even pages to color – all adding up to great fun for Christmas or any holiday…and even for non-holiday days.
(++++) WORLD VIEWS
A Left-Hand Turn Around the World: Chasing the Mystery and Meaning of All Things Southpaw. By David Wolman. Da Capo. $23.95.
Scholastic Book of World Records 2006. By Jenifer Corr Morse. Scholastic. $9.99.
Much of society has a longstanding, deeply ingrained preference for the right-handed and bias against the left-handed. Consider the Latin words: dexter means “right,” and gives us the positive connotations of the word “dexterous”; “sinister” means “left,” and there is nothing positive about the meaning of the modern word “sinister.” Yet there are also persistent rumors that the left-handed are more creative than righties; and certainly their minority status tends to produce an instant bond. The left-handed David Wolman spent a year touring the world of left-handedness, which meant literally touring the world, and then produced a delightfully quirky work of popular science that also possesses serious elements. Wolman visited neuroscientists, psychologists, left-handed golf enthusiasts, palm readers, and Left Hand, West Virginia. One of his most fascinating chapters is about the Yerkes Primate Research Center in Atlanta, where psychobiologist Bill Hopkins believes he has discovered handedness in chimpanzees – a matter of considerable controversy. Wolman’s overview of Hopkins’ exploratory method gives a good sample of this book’s style: “Chimpanzees will throw sticks, bits of food, and dirt, but most often shit, usually at their friendly neighborhood primatologists. …’If they’re going to throw at me, I figure I’m going to get some data out of it,’ says Hopkins, as only a true scientists could.” Wolman’s book is part travelogue, part explanation of scientific research, part humor – and all fascinating, not just for lefties but for the 90% of people who aren’t.
There is no world record for writing about left-handedness in Scholastic Book of World Records 2006 – if there were, Wolman would probably win it – but there are plenty of other fascinating records here. The book is arranged by broad categories (popular culture, science and technology, sports, etc.) and by specific categories within the broad ones: “Nature Records” includes animals, disasters, food, natural formations, plants and weather. The book does not pretend to be comprehensive, but it does provide an interesting, sometimes fascinating look at various sorts of record-breaking achievements. The world’s best-selling recording group, for instance, is the Beatles, but the world’s top-earning band is the Rolling Stones (who, in fairness, have had many more years of performing during which to earn). Some of the records here remain the same every year: the deadliest snake is the black mamba, the deadliest amphibian the poison dart frog. Others – in sports, for instance – may change year after year. The unexpected records are the most fascinating part of the book: the country that drinks the most tea per capita every year is not China – it’s Iraq; but the country that produces the most fruit per year is China (the U.S. is fourth). This is a book through which to meander on a stay-at-home day, idly flipping pages to learn about the largest asteroid (2001 KX76), the world’s most destructive tornado since 1900 (Oklahoma City, 1999), and the state with the world’s largest motorcycle museum (Alabama).
Scholastic Book of World Records 2006. By Jenifer Corr Morse. Scholastic. $9.99.
Much of society has a longstanding, deeply ingrained preference for the right-handed and bias against the left-handed. Consider the Latin words: dexter means “right,” and gives us the positive connotations of the word “dexterous”; “sinister” means “left,” and there is nothing positive about the meaning of the modern word “sinister.” Yet there are also persistent rumors that the left-handed are more creative than righties; and certainly their minority status tends to produce an instant bond. The left-handed David Wolman spent a year touring the world of left-handedness, which meant literally touring the world, and then produced a delightfully quirky work of popular science that also possesses serious elements. Wolman visited neuroscientists, psychologists, left-handed golf enthusiasts, palm readers, and Left Hand, West Virginia. One of his most fascinating chapters is about the Yerkes Primate Research Center in Atlanta, where psychobiologist Bill Hopkins believes he has discovered handedness in chimpanzees – a matter of considerable controversy. Wolman’s overview of Hopkins’ exploratory method gives a good sample of this book’s style: “Chimpanzees will throw sticks, bits of food, and dirt, but most often shit, usually at their friendly neighborhood primatologists. …’If they’re going to throw at me, I figure I’m going to get some data out of it,’ says Hopkins, as only a true scientists could.” Wolman’s book is part travelogue, part explanation of scientific research, part humor – and all fascinating, not just for lefties but for the 90% of people who aren’t.
There is no world record for writing about left-handedness in Scholastic Book of World Records 2006 – if there were, Wolman would probably win it – but there are plenty of other fascinating records here. The book is arranged by broad categories (popular culture, science and technology, sports, etc.) and by specific categories within the broad ones: “Nature Records” includes animals, disasters, food, natural formations, plants and weather. The book does not pretend to be comprehensive, but it does provide an interesting, sometimes fascinating look at various sorts of record-breaking achievements. The world’s best-selling recording group, for instance, is the Beatles, but the world’s top-earning band is the Rolling Stones (who, in fairness, have had many more years of performing during which to earn). Some of the records here remain the same every year: the deadliest snake is the black mamba, the deadliest amphibian the poison dart frog. Others – in sports, for instance – may change year after year. The unexpected records are the most fascinating part of the book: the country that drinks the most tea per capita every year is not China – it’s Iraq; but the country that produces the most fruit per year is China (the U.S. is fourth). This is a book through which to meander on a stay-at-home day, idly flipping pages to learn about the largest asteroid (2001 KX76), the world’s most destructive tornado since 1900 (Oklahoma City, 1999), and the state with the world’s largest motorcycle museum (Alabama).
(+++) TALL TALES OF THE PAST AND PRESENT
American Tall Tales. By Mary Pope Osborne. Wood engravings by Michael McCurdy. Knopf. $22.
Kung Fu High School. By Ryan Gattis. Harcourt. $13.
Political correctness isn’t really a good fit with American tall tales. The stories of the conquering of the frontier are replete with denigrations of Indians, blacks, women and animals. Mary Pope Osborne tries to do something about that fact in American Tall Tales, but unfortunately she sucks some of the life out of the stories in the process. Osborne admits to being “less than enthusiastic about the goal of conquering the wilderness at all costs” and wanting to “attempt to bring out the more vulnerable and compassionate side of the tall-tale characters.” No, this does not mean that Paul Bunyan takes up knitting or Davy Crockett tries to broker a peace agreement with Mexico, but it does mean some of the flavor that makes these stories funny (and gives them their longevity) is lost. The nine tales are about Crockett, Sally Ann Thunder Ann Whirlwind (a composite of several women), Johnny Appleseed, Stormalong, Mose, Febold Feboldson, Pecos Bill, John Henry and Paul Bunyan. Not all these tales remain well known today – Stormalong, Mose and Febold are regional stories – but all retain a flavor of a time when the United States was a much younger land, its people needing heroes to help them overcome the hardships of daily life. Even in Osborne’s somewhat Bowdlerized form, there is much to like in these stories, from the coyotes raising Pecos Bill to Paul Bunyan’s conquering of the “bee-squitoes,” bee-mosquito hybrids with stingers at both ends. Still, it’s a shame that Osborne was unwilling to keep these rough-hewn stories in something closer to their original form.
Kung Fu High School is a tall tale of today, the story of a modern school – officially called MLK High School – where order has broken down, gangs rule the hallways, and the principal is the puppet of a local drug kingpin. Intended as serious, Ryan Gattis’ book is often so overdone that it flunks the believability test: “’Where’d you get hit?’ he asked. I pointed to my leg and also to my lower back, right on my hip. Dad looked back to the television. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before. There’d been much worse. Some bloodstains we couldn’t ever get out of the carpet.” This is intended as gritty realism, but it comes perilously close to self-parody. The plot, which sounds like something out of a standardized action movie, doesn’t help matters: Jen and her brother, Cue, are with a few other students who try to stand up to the corrupt principal. Cousin Jimmy, a world-renowned martial-arts expert, comes to town after vowing never to fight again. This sets the stage for Cue to intervene on Jimmy’s behalf when Jimmy won’t defend himself – leading to a climactic battle of sort-of-good against evil. The ending is not a happy one, but in seeking profundity and deep meaning, it comes across as simply trying too hard. There is genuineness of feeling here, and an unnerving sense that the events are just a little too close to reality for comfort. But the book’s contrived plot and profusion of violence make it seem, in the end, no more than a fairy tale that’s grimmer than the Grimms’.
Kung Fu High School. By Ryan Gattis. Harcourt. $13.
Political correctness isn’t really a good fit with American tall tales. The stories of the conquering of the frontier are replete with denigrations of Indians, blacks, women and animals. Mary Pope Osborne tries to do something about that fact in American Tall Tales, but unfortunately she sucks some of the life out of the stories in the process. Osborne admits to being “less than enthusiastic about the goal of conquering the wilderness at all costs” and wanting to “attempt to bring out the more vulnerable and compassionate side of the tall-tale characters.” No, this does not mean that Paul Bunyan takes up knitting or Davy Crockett tries to broker a peace agreement with Mexico, but it does mean some of the flavor that makes these stories funny (and gives them their longevity) is lost. The nine tales are about Crockett, Sally Ann Thunder Ann Whirlwind (a composite of several women), Johnny Appleseed, Stormalong, Mose, Febold Feboldson, Pecos Bill, John Henry and Paul Bunyan. Not all these tales remain well known today – Stormalong, Mose and Febold are regional stories – but all retain a flavor of a time when the United States was a much younger land, its people needing heroes to help them overcome the hardships of daily life. Even in Osborne’s somewhat Bowdlerized form, there is much to like in these stories, from the coyotes raising Pecos Bill to Paul Bunyan’s conquering of the “bee-squitoes,” bee-mosquito hybrids with stingers at both ends. Still, it’s a shame that Osborne was unwilling to keep these rough-hewn stories in something closer to their original form.
Kung Fu High School is a tall tale of today, the story of a modern school – officially called MLK High School – where order has broken down, gangs rule the hallways, and the principal is the puppet of a local drug kingpin. Intended as serious, Ryan Gattis’ book is often so overdone that it flunks the believability test: “’Where’d you get hit?’ he asked. I pointed to my leg and also to my lower back, right on my hip. Dad looked back to the television. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before. There’d been much worse. Some bloodstains we couldn’t ever get out of the carpet.” This is intended as gritty realism, but it comes perilously close to self-parody. The plot, which sounds like something out of a standardized action movie, doesn’t help matters: Jen and her brother, Cue, are with a few other students who try to stand up to the corrupt principal. Cousin Jimmy, a world-renowned martial-arts expert, comes to town after vowing never to fight again. This sets the stage for Cue to intervene on Jimmy’s behalf when Jimmy won’t defend himself – leading to a climactic battle of sort-of-good against evil. The ending is not a happy one, but in seeking profundity and deep meaning, it comes across as simply trying too hard. There is genuineness of feeling here, and an unnerving sense that the events are just a little too close to reality for comfort. But the book’s contrived plot and profusion of violence make it seem, in the end, no more than a fairy tale that’s grimmer than the Grimms’.
(++++) CONVERGENCE OF COMPUTER AND MAP
Microsoft Streets & Trips 2006 with GPS Locator. Windows 98 or later; Windows XP required for full functionality. Microsoft. $129.
The biggest problem with Global Positioning Satellite (GPS) systems for trip planning and driving is that you have to have one of the darned things installed to use the technology. You can have a system retrofitted to your car, but that is expensive and the system may not work properly (or look good). Or you can buy a car with a system already installed, but then you are at the mercy of the car manufacturer, which may or may not provide a system that is intuitively designed, easy to operate and not overly distracting when in use. And what if you have more than one car – not all of them equipped with GPS, or equipped with different systems that work differently? Wouldn’t it be nice if you could simply create your own GPS navigation system and use it anytime you like, in any vehicle you choose?
With Microsoft Streets & Trips with GPS Locator, you can do just that. The product has software and hardware components. The hardware, provided by Pharos Science & Applications, plugs into a laptop’s USB port and picks up the satellite signals that make GPS navigation possible. The software interprets the signals, shows your route on your laptop’s screen, responds to voice prompts for driving information, and modifies your route if you run into traffic, construction or other unanticipated problems.
Not all of this is new, but the 2006 version of this software improves significantly on earlier ones. Maps show buildings as grey outlines, not tiny icons – a big help in metropolitan areas. Major highways are easier to see then before. Directions are given by computer-generated voice on a turn-by-turn basis (this requires Windows XP). And there is a highly useful new feature called “Night Map Style” that relights the laptop screen so you can see your route easily at night (or on dark roads) without having to turn on interior lights. You see the roads in bright green against a black background – an excellent choice of color scheme.
This is the best Streets & Trips ever, but if you are going to buy it, pay for the version with the plug-and-play GPS receiver. You can buy the software without the receiver for only $29.95 ($39.95 minus a $10 rebate), but it is not all that much better than using a free online service such as Google Maps to plot your route in advance. What really makes Streets & Trips 2006 outstanding is the hardware-plus-software package.
Do not expect absolute perfection from this program (or any program!). You cannot type your exact driving speed into the route planner (Microsoft actually had this feature in Streets & Trips 2003, but dropped it) – you can only set your speed as average, slower or faster. And some information is out of date, notably when there have been changes in the exit numbers of interstate highways, or the names of streets. These are minor quibbles, though. Microsoft Streets & Trips 2006 with GPS Locator is a nearly unalloyed success – and is a program with which it is fun to play when you are not actively using it. For example, try “Dynamic Turn View,” which zooms in to your current position to let you see where you are and what directional changes you will need to make soon. That is as much fun to use in your own neighborhood as on a family vacation. The program’s main purpose, though, is not to be fun in itself, but to make traveling more enjoyable and less stressful – even if you don’t have the latest factory-installed GPS system in your car. For that purpose, this newest Streets & Trips is a big success. Even if you do have factory-installed GPS, you may find this Microsoft product easier and more pleasant to use.
The biggest problem with Global Positioning Satellite (GPS) systems for trip planning and driving is that you have to have one of the darned things installed to use the technology. You can have a system retrofitted to your car, but that is expensive and the system may not work properly (or look good). Or you can buy a car with a system already installed, but then you are at the mercy of the car manufacturer, which may or may not provide a system that is intuitively designed, easy to operate and not overly distracting when in use. And what if you have more than one car – not all of them equipped with GPS, or equipped with different systems that work differently? Wouldn’t it be nice if you could simply create your own GPS navigation system and use it anytime you like, in any vehicle you choose?
With Microsoft Streets & Trips with GPS Locator, you can do just that. The product has software and hardware components. The hardware, provided by Pharos Science & Applications, plugs into a laptop’s USB port and picks up the satellite signals that make GPS navigation possible. The software interprets the signals, shows your route on your laptop’s screen, responds to voice prompts for driving information, and modifies your route if you run into traffic, construction or other unanticipated problems.
Not all of this is new, but the 2006 version of this software improves significantly on earlier ones. Maps show buildings as grey outlines, not tiny icons – a big help in metropolitan areas. Major highways are easier to see then before. Directions are given by computer-generated voice on a turn-by-turn basis (this requires Windows XP). And there is a highly useful new feature called “Night Map Style” that relights the laptop screen so you can see your route easily at night (or on dark roads) without having to turn on interior lights. You see the roads in bright green against a black background – an excellent choice of color scheme.
This is the best Streets & Trips ever, but if you are going to buy it, pay for the version with the plug-and-play GPS receiver. You can buy the software without the receiver for only $29.95 ($39.95 minus a $10 rebate), but it is not all that much better than using a free online service such as Google Maps to plot your route in advance. What really makes Streets & Trips 2006 outstanding is the hardware-plus-software package.
Do not expect absolute perfection from this program (or any program!). You cannot type your exact driving speed into the route planner (Microsoft actually had this feature in Streets & Trips 2003, but dropped it) – you can only set your speed as average, slower or faster. And some information is out of date, notably when there have been changes in the exit numbers of interstate highways, or the names of streets. These are minor quibbles, though. Microsoft Streets & Trips 2006 with GPS Locator is a nearly unalloyed success – and is a program with which it is fun to play when you are not actively using it. For example, try “Dynamic Turn View,” which zooms in to your current position to let you see where you are and what directional changes you will need to make soon. That is as much fun to use in your own neighborhood as on a family vacation. The program’s main purpose, though, is not to be fun in itself, but to make traveling more enjoyable and less stressful – even if you don’t have the latest factory-installed GPS system in your car. For that purpose, this newest Streets & Trips is a big success. Even if you do have factory-installed GPS, you may find this Microsoft product easier and more pleasant to use.
(++++) COMPOSERS CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE
Ries: Piano Concertos opp. 123 (1806) and 151 (1826). Christopher Hinterhuber, piano; Uwe Grodd conducting the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra. Naxos. $7.99.
Hummel: Cello Sonata, op. 104; Piano Trios, opp. 22 and 35; Piano Quartet in G Major. Susan Alexander-Max, fortepiano; Micaela Comberti, violin; Simon Standage, violin; Jane Rogers, viola; Pal Banda, cello. Naxos. $7.99.
Ferdinand Ries and Johann Nepomuk Hummel were superstars in their own day: renowned pianists and noted composers. Today they are footnotes in musical history, and Ries is barely even that: he is best known as a writer (horrors!) because of his memoir of three years of study with Beethoven.
The problem for Ries and Hummel – not one of their own making – was the time in which they lived: after Beethoven’s transformative works but before the full flowering of Romanticism. The result is that much of their music, no matter how well-crafted, sounds as if it is neither here nor there.
Yet there are charms aplenty in the two Ries piano concertos played with great style by Christopher Hinterhuber on a new Naxos CD. Remarkably, both of these recordings are world premieres – that is how far Ries’ reputation has fallen. Ries deserves better. Both these works are filled with charm and drama, with well-wrought tunes and some unexpected rhythmic and harmonic twists and turns. There is plenty of sheer virtuosity, abetted by Hinterhuber’s very nice touch, and there is also a very strong command of orchestration. The New Zealand Symphony has never sounded better than it does here under Uwe Grodd: lines are clear, all instrumental sections are adept, and the ensemble work is excellent. Although separated by 20 years, these concertos both have an early-Beethoven sound about them, but they are far from being strictly imitative. Both finales, for instance, begin with cadenzas – one interesting touch among many. The very relaxed opening of op. 151 is another. Of course, these are not works at Beethoven’s level – but they are at Hummel’s, which is a very high one.
Actually, Hummel’s piano concertos do get some attention nowadays – certainly more than Ries’ do. But Hummel’s chamber music remains unfairly neglected. It shouldn’t be. There is elegance and gentility in all the works on a new Naxos CD. There are well-constructed surprises, too, such as the quiet ending of the posthumous two-movement Quartet in G and the silences in the finale of the Trio, op. 35. The earlier Trio, op. 22, has a finale marked “Alla Turca” that is positively Haydnesque, while this work’s first movement has unusually lovely ebb and flow. The most “advanced” music here – the longest and most serious work – is the Cello Sonata (which Hummel called “Grande Sonate”). It has great beauty, though considering the year of its composition (1826, a year before Beethoven’s death), it seems lacking in depth.
That was the problem for Ries and Hummel: they never adjusted, as composers or performers, to the grand sweeps of Romanticism increasingly expected during and after Beethoven’s life. Yet there remains a place for poise and beauty in music – not every composer needs to storm Olympus – and these two composers’ works, when as well played as they are on these CDs, are well worth hearing and rehearing on their own terms.
Hummel: Cello Sonata, op. 104; Piano Trios, opp. 22 and 35; Piano Quartet in G Major. Susan Alexander-Max, fortepiano; Micaela Comberti, violin; Simon Standage, violin; Jane Rogers, viola; Pal Banda, cello. Naxos. $7.99.
Ferdinand Ries and Johann Nepomuk Hummel were superstars in their own day: renowned pianists and noted composers. Today they are footnotes in musical history, and Ries is barely even that: he is best known as a writer (horrors!) because of his memoir of three years of study with Beethoven.
The problem for Ries and Hummel – not one of their own making – was the time in which they lived: after Beethoven’s transformative works but before the full flowering of Romanticism. The result is that much of their music, no matter how well-crafted, sounds as if it is neither here nor there.
Yet there are charms aplenty in the two Ries piano concertos played with great style by Christopher Hinterhuber on a new Naxos CD. Remarkably, both of these recordings are world premieres – that is how far Ries’ reputation has fallen. Ries deserves better. Both these works are filled with charm and drama, with well-wrought tunes and some unexpected rhythmic and harmonic twists and turns. There is plenty of sheer virtuosity, abetted by Hinterhuber’s very nice touch, and there is also a very strong command of orchestration. The New Zealand Symphony has never sounded better than it does here under Uwe Grodd: lines are clear, all instrumental sections are adept, and the ensemble work is excellent. Although separated by 20 years, these concertos both have an early-Beethoven sound about them, but they are far from being strictly imitative. Both finales, for instance, begin with cadenzas – one interesting touch among many. The very relaxed opening of op. 151 is another. Of course, these are not works at Beethoven’s level – but they are at Hummel’s, which is a very high one.
Actually, Hummel’s piano concertos do get some attention nowadays – certainly more than Ries’ do. But Hummel’s chamber music remains unfairly neglected. It shouldn’t be. There is elegance and gentility in all the works on a new Naxos CD. There are well-constructed surprises, too, such as the quiet ending of the posthumous two-movement Quartet in G and the silences in the finale of the Trio, op. 35. The earlier Trio, op. 22, has a finale marked “Alla Turca” that is positively Haydnesque, while this work’s first movement has unusually lovely ebb and flow. The most “advanced” music here – the longest and most serious work – is the Cello Sonata (which Hummel called “Grande Sonate”). It has great beauty, though considering the year of its composition (1826, a year before Beethoven’s death), it seems lacking in depth.
That was the problem for Ries and Hummel: they never adjusted, as composers or performers, to the grand sweeps of Romanticism increasingly expected during and after Beethoven’s life. Yet there remains a place for poise and beauty in music – not every composer needs to storm Olympus – and these two composers’ works, when as well played as they are on these CDs, are well worth hearing and rehearing on their own terms.
November 26, 2005
(++++) A BALTIMORE SYMPHONY THANKSGIVING
Stephen Albert: Tapioca. Lalo: Symphonie Espagnole. Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 1. Baibe Skride, violin; Baltimore Symphony Orchestra conducted by Hans Graf. Performance at Strathmore Music Center, North Bethesda, Maryland, November 25, 2005.
Starting with a paean to pudding and ending in a winter wonderland, the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra under guest conductor Hans Graf gave the audience for its latest Classical Thursdays performance plenty to be thankful for – including the fact that the concert was held on Friday so it would not interfere with the holiday.
Graf set a tone for the evening – serious music that isn’t too serious – with Tapioca by Stephen Albert (1941-1992). Created for the BSO’s 75th anniversary in 1991, this two-minute work is based on a tune once used for the orchestra’s public-radio broadcasts. It is all fluff and nonsense, sounding a bit like the opening to a Broadway show – a trifle with less substance than its namesake.
Édouard Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole is more familiar territory, but not in the way played here: by a 24-year-old, Stradivarius-wielding violinist in a bright red, spaghetti-strap evening gown. Baibe Skride is someone to watch as well as hear: she moves with the music, exchanges wry glances with conductor and concertmaster, and all the while fingers her 1725 violin (on loan from the Nippon Music Foundation) with consummate skill. The combination of instrument and performer is well-nigh irresistible.
Skride has a very even tone with substantial carrying power. Graf held the orchestra back (sometimes a bit too deferentially) to let her stay in the forefront. The first movement highlighted sweetness in the violin and the always impressive brass of the orchestra. The second was also sweet, but without being cloying, and Skride’s articulation was excellent. The third highlighted the violin’s very rich lower register and made it clear that this is music more flashy than profound. The fourth had a strong opening in brass and low strings, but then went a bit out of control and was emotionally unconvincing. Things were back on track in the finale, which had rhythmic vitality to spare and a wonderful sense of playfulness. Skride is an artist who relates as well to the audience as to the other musicians on stage: she has star power as well as musical power.
The evening concluded with Tchaikovsky’s rarely heard Symphony No. 1. This composer’s first three symphonies were so neglected for so long that it seemed as if he had written only three such works, which he had capriciously labeled No. 4, No. 5 and No. 6. The neglect is doubly surprising because the first three symphonies all have nicknames – usually a ticket to concert success. These days, No. 2 (“Little Russian”) gets occasional performances, but No. 3 (“Polish”) and No. 1 (“Winter Dreams”) rarely do.
This is a real shame, because so much of the music in these works is marvelous. Symphony No. 1 was written in 1866, when Tchaikovsky was 26, but not worked into the form in which we now hear it until 1874. It has elements of stylistic maturity and immaturity in nearly equal measure – but the measure is irrelevant except to scholars. This is a work that simply sounds splendid, and Graf and the BSO handled it very well indeed. The opening of the first movement was positively magical, and the movement itself propulsive (though a bit brass-heavy). The slow second movement – taken very slowly indeed – started as a showcase for the BSO strings, then became one for oboe and flute, intertwining to produce some of the work’s loveliest moments. This movement contains a horn entrance that can easily sound crude, but Graf and the BSO made it work.
The third movement featured a strongly rhythmic scherzo and a particularly lovely waltz-form trio – another of this symphony’s highlights. The finale began in appropriately lugubrious mode, after which Graf made the Allegro moderato more of an Allegro vivace and turned most of the movement into an out-and-out celebration. The BSO’s violas played especially well here. This G Minor symphony ends with one of the strongest affirmations of G Major to be found anywhere – a kind of tub-thumping insistence on the key that is right on the line of bombast, and sometimes over it. Graf and the orchestra went all-out for this coda, bringing the audience an altogether bracing experience – definitely a performance for which to be thankful.
Starting with a paean to pudding and ending in a winter wonderland, the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra under guest conductor Hans Graf gave the audience for its latest Classical Thursdays performance plenty to be thankful for – including the fact that the concert was held on Friday so it would not interfere with the holiday.
Graf set a tone for the evening – serious music that isn’t too serious – with Tapioca by Stephen Albert (1941-1992). Created for the BSO’s 75th anniversary in 1991, this two-minute work is based on a tune once used for the orchestra’s public-radio broadcasts. It is all fluff and nonsense, sounding a bit like the opening to a Broadway show – a trifle with less substance than its namesake.
Édouard Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole is more familiar territory, but not in the way played here: by a 24-year-old, Stradivarius-wielding violinist in a bright red, spaghetti-strap evening gown. Baibe Skride is someone to watch as well as hear: she moves with the music, exchanges wry glances with conductor and concertmaster, and all the while fingers her 1725 violin (on loan from the Nippon Music Foundation) with consummate skill. The combination of instrument and performer is well-nigh irresistible.
Skride has a very even tone with substantial carrying power. Graf held the orchestra back (sometimes a bit too deferentially) to let her stay in the forefront. The first movement highlighted sweetness in the violin and the always impressive brass of the orchestra. The second was also sweet, but without being cloying, and Skride’s articulation was excellent. The third highlighted the violin’s very rich lower register and made it clear that this is music more flashy than profound. The fourth had a strong opening in brass and low strings, but then went a bit out of control and was emotionally unconvincing. Things were back on track in the finale, which had rhythmic vitality to spare and a wonderful sense of playfulness. Skride is an artist who relates as well to the audience as to the other musicians on stage: she has star power as well as musical power.
The evening concluded with Tchaikovsky’s rarely heard Symphony No. 1. This composer’s first three symphonies were so neglected for so long that it seemed as if he had written only three such works, which he had capriciously labeled No. 4, No. 5 and No. 6. The neglect is doubly surprising because the first three symphonies all have nicknames – usually a ticket to concert success. These days, No. 2 (“Little Russian”) gets occasional performances, but No. 3 (“Polish”) and No. 1 (“Winter Dreams”) rarely do.
This is a real shame, because so much of the music in these works is marvelous. Symphony No. 1 was written in 1866, when Tchaikovsky was 26, but not worked into the form in which we now hear it until 1874. It has elements of stylistic maturity and immaturity in nearly equal measure – but the measure is irrelevant except to scholars. This is a work that simply sounds splendid, and Graf and the BSO handled it very well indeed. The opening of the first movement was positively magical, and the movement itself propulsive (though a bit brass-heavy). The slow second movement – taken very slowly indeed – started as a showcase for the BSO strings, then became one for oboe and flute, intertwining to produce some of the work’s loveliest moments. This movement contains a horn entrance that can easily sound crude, but Graf and the BSO made it work.
The third movement featured a strongly rhythmic scherzo and a particularly lovely waltz-form trio – another of this symphony’s highlights. The finale began in appropriately lugubrious mode, after which Graf made the Allegro moderato more of an Allegro vivace and turned most of the movement into an out-and-out celebration. The BSO’s violas played especially well here. This G Minor symphony ends with one of the strongest affirmations of G Major to be found anywhere – a kind of tub-thumping insistence on the key that is right on the line of bombast, and sometimes over it. Graf and the orchestra went all-out for this coda, bringing the audience an altogether bracing experience – definitely a performance for which to be thankful.
November 24, 2005
(++++) LOTS OF CALENDAR PICKS...FOR 2006
Wall and pocket calendars: Dilbert—Now If You’ll Excuse Me, I Feel a Nap Coming On; Anne Geddes Collectors Edition Mini; “Purse”onalized. Andrews McMeel. $13.99 (Dilbert); $7.99 each (Geddes; “Purse”onalized).
Desk/engagement calendar: Mary Engelbreit’s The Art of Friendship. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.
Day-to-day calendars: Family First; Chocolate Mini. Andrews McMeel. $11.99 (Family); $7.99 (Chocolate).
If you haven’t gotten calendars for 2006 yet, it’s high time to do so – not only for yourself but also as gifts (a calendar is one thing you know the recipient will be able to use!). Because people have so many different tastes and interests, Andrews McMeel has taken to making its pop-culture calendars in a wide variety of shapes and sizes – so you really can find something for just about anyone.
Take wall calendars as an example. The days when they were dull and similar are long gone. What cubicle dweller would not appreciate the latest 12-month full-color rendition of the antics of Dilbert, Dogbert, Catbert, Wally, Alice, the Pointy-Haired Boss and other denizens of Dilworld (resemblance to Earth not coincidental)? Each month features six panels of corporate misadventures, a large blowup of one particular panel, and a full-color character at the bottom – plus date boxes with plenty of writing room. If your cubicle isn’t big enough for this calendar, you could get the smaller Dilbert version – or try something entirely different, such as the latest Anne Geddes mini wall calendar. This one is totally non-corporate, featuring Geddes’ trademark photos of perfect tiny babies curled up in flowers, sleeping atop mushrooms or looking like little angels (as all babies do when they sleep). For a still smaller size, plus portability, try a pocket-or-purse calendar, such as the clever one called “Purse”onalized: it has a slot on the front into which you can place your own photo or one of the included personalizations – 26 letters and the 12 symbols of the zodiac. The calendar’s purple color is a real standout, too.
If you prefer a book-style calendar that stays on your desk – a non-electronic way to keep track of daily appointments and phone calls – you have plenty of choices here as well. The Mary Engelbreit calendars are favorites year after year, and this year’s “The Art of Friendship” should continue the trend. Here, Engelbreit’s usual sentimental drawings of girl and boy pals are combined on prettily colored pages with quotations about friendship (“A friend can tell you things you don’t want to tell yourself”); a space to write a “to do” list; and a week’s worth of dates on each right-hand page – with enough room to jot down a few appointments, phone calls and the like. Engelbreit fans will enjoy it all year.
If you are looking for a calendar gift and unsure what format a recipient wants, day-to-day calendars are a good choice – especially if you know the person’s special interests. Family First, for example, showcases daily recommendations by Dr. Phil McGraw and is named for his most recent book. “Reinforce your family’s values,” Dr. Phil says; and “Positive experiences lift children up to help them see all kinds of possibilities for themselves.” If your family, or a friend’s, is strengthened through thoughts like these, you’ll find a year of them here. But if you’re really not sure what to get, there’s always chocolate. It’s hard to go wrong with a miniature, chocolate-colored daily calendar packed with facts and quotations about almost everyone’s favorite indulgence: “There’s nothing better than a good friend, except a good friend with chocolate.” Warning: don’t eat the calendar pages…however tempting they look. Here’s to a sweet 2006!
Desk/engagement calendar: Mary Engelbreit’s The Art of Friendship. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.
Day-to-day calendars: Family First; Chocolate Mini. Andrews McMeel. $11.99 (Family); $7.99 (Chocolate).
If you haven’t gotten calendars for 2006 yet, it’s high time to do so – not only for yourself but also as gifts (a calendar is one thing you know the recipient will be able to use!). Because people have so many different tastes and interests, Andrews McMeel has taken to making its pop-culture calendars in a wide variety of shapes and sizes – so you really can find something for just about anyone.
Take wall calendars as an example. The days when they were dull and similar are long gone. What cubicle dweller would not appreciate the latest 12-month full-color rendition of the antics of Dilbert, Dogbert, Catbert, Wally, Alice, the Pointy-Haired Boss and other denizens of Dilworld (resemblance to Earth not coincidental)? Each month features six panels of corporate misadventures, a large blowup of one particular panel, and a full-color character at the bottom – plus date boxes with plenty of writing room. If your cubicle isn’t big enough for this calendar, you could get the smaller Dilbert version – or try something entirely different, such as the latest Anne Geddes mini wall calendar. This one is totally non-corporate, featuring Geddes’ trademark photos of perfect tiny babies curled up in flowers, sleeping atop mushrooms or looking like little angels (as all babies do when they sleep). For a still smaller size, plus portability, try a pocket-or-purse calendar, such as the clever one called “Purse”onalized: it has a slot on the front into which you can place your own photo or one of the included personalizations – 26 letters and the 12 symbols of the zodiac. The calendar’s purple color is a real standout, too.
If you prefer a book-style calendar that stays on your desk – a non-electronic way to keep track of daily appointments and phone calls – you have plenty of choices here as well. The Mary Engelbreit calendars are favorites year after year, and this year’s “The Art of Friendship” should continue the trend. Here, Engelbreit’s usual sentimental drawings of girl and boy pals are combined on prettily colored pages with quotations about friendship (“A friend can tell you things you don’t want to tell yourself”); a space to write a “to do” list; and a week’s worth of dates on each right-hand page – with enough room to jot down a few appointments, phone calls and the like. Engelbreit fans will enjoy it all year.
If you are looking for a calendar gift and unsure what format a recipient wants, day-to-day calendars are a good choice – especially if you know the person’s special interests. Family First, for example, showcases daily recommendations by Dr. Phil McGraw and is named for his most recent book. “Reinforce your family’s values,” Dr. Phil says; and “Positive experiences lift children up to help them see all kinds of possibilities for themselves.” If your family, or a friend’s, is strengthened through thoughts like these, you’ll find a year of them here. But if you’re really not sure what to get, there’s always chocolate. It’s hard to go wrong with a miniature, chocolate-colored daily calendar packed with facts and quotations about almost everyone’s favorite indulgence: “There’s nothing better than a good friend, except a good friend with chocolate.” Warning: don’t eat the calendar pages…however tempting they look. Here’s to a sweet 2006!
(++++) ANIMAL EDIBLES
Thelonius Turkey Lives! (on Felicia Ferguson’s Farm). By Lynn Rowe Reed. Knopf. $15.95.
Three Hungry Pigs and the Wolf Who Came to Dinner. By Charles Santore. Random House. $16.95.
It’s prime turkey time from now to the end of the year, which is good news for people and not such good news for turkeys – unless you are a highly inventive turkey named Thelonius. Lynn Rowe Reed’s hilarious turkey tale is about Thelonius’ determination not to become dinner, and the increasingly bizarre pranks he plays on farmer Felicia in an attempt to keep away from the chopping block. He paints a “pinch me” sign and hangs it on Felicia’s back, and since all the geese on this farm know how to read, they make the farmer’s life miserable. Thelonius puts the pigs in Felicia’s bed and gets the chickens to lay hard-boiled eggs. All his running around has him dropping feathers all over the place – and it is those feathers that turn out to help Thelonius become a “fashion phenom” and get to live happily ever after. Reed’s illustrations are unusual and quite wonderful, being a mixture of drawings, collages and photos. And she thoughtfully provides two very nice recipes at the end of the book, neither of them calling for turkey: one is for “feather cookies” and the other for a sweet-potato casserole with marshmallows. The result is a sweet ending for a sweetly silly book.
The pigs at Felicia’s farm are bit players in Reed’s story, but pigs are the stars of Charles Santore’s Three Hungry Pigs and the Wolf Who Came to Dinner. A truffle-finding pig named Bianca and her two piglets help a farmer find the rare, expensive fungi – until Bianca decides it is more fun to eat truffles than to hunt for them. The farmer throws them out when he discovers that they are eating his livelihood, and the pigs find themselves deep in the forest, amid scary sounds and the even scarier sight of a huge wolf. Bianca has never met a wolf before, but realizes he is unlikely to want to be friendly – so she picks up a truffle and pops it into his mouth. The wolf likes it so much that he and Bianca become partners in truffle hunting – until a pack of wolves smells the three pigs and closes in for a meal. What happens then is a study in unlikely friendship and an equally unlikely happy ending – but this is, after all, a fairy tale, invented by Santore and illustrated by him with gorgeously realistic precision that makes all the animal characters come alive. It’s a feast for the eye – though truffles are not included.
Three Hungry Pigs and the Wolf Who Came to Dinner. By Charles Santore. Random House. $16.95.
It’s prime turkey time from now to the end of the year, which is good news for people and not such good news for turkeys – unless you are a highly inventive turkey named Thelonius. Lynn Rowe Reed’s hilarious turkey tale is about Thelonius’ determination not to become dinner, and the increasingly bizarre pranks he plays on farmer Felicia in an attempt to keep away from the chopping block. He paints a “pinch me” sign and hangs it on Felicia’s back, and since all the geese on this farm know how to read, they make the farmer’s life miserable. Thelonius puts the pigs in Felicia’s bed and gets the chickens to lay hard-boiled eggs. All his running around has him dropping feathers all over the place – and it is those feathers that turn out to help Thelonius become a “fashion phenom” and get to live happily ever after. Reed’s illustrations are unusual and quite wonderful, being a mixture of drawings, collages and photos. And she thoughtfully provides two very nice recipes at the end of the book, neither of them calling for turkey: one is for “feather cookies” and the other for a sweet-potato casserole with marshmallows. The result is a sweet ending for a sweetly silly book.
The pigs at Felicia’s farm are bit players in Reed’s story, but pigs are the stars of Charles Santore’s Three Hungry Pigs and the Wolf Who Came to Dinner. A truffle-finding pig named Bianca and her two piglets help a farmer find the rare, expensive fungi – until Bianca decides it is more fun to eat truffles than to hunt for them. The farmer throws them out when he discovers that they are eating his livelihood, and the pigs find themselves deep in the forest, amid scary sounds and the even scarier sight of a huge wolf. Bianca has never met a wolf before, but realizes he is unlikely to want to be friendly – so she picks up a truffle and pops it into his mouth. The wolf likes it so much that he and Bianca become partners in truffle hunting – until a pack of wolves smells the three pigs and closes in for a meal. What happens then is a study in unlikely friendship and an equally unlikely happy ending – but this is, after all, a fairy tale, invented by Santore and illustrated by him with gorgeously realistic precision that makes all the animal characters come alive. It’s a feast for the eye – though truffles are not included.
(++++) WONDER-FILLED WORLDS
In My World. By Lois Ehlert. Voyager Books/Harcourt. $7.
King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub. By Audrey Wood. Illustrated by Don Wood. Harcourt. $17.95.
All Lois Ehlert’s worlds are wonderful and filled with wonder. In My World starts with a remarkable cutout cover that seems to put the whole world in the reader’s hand, then continues with page after page of cutout shapes accompanied by no more than a word or two. Ehlert introduces the shapes by saying, “My world is made of things I like.” A cutout of an insect says “creeping” on one side of the page and “bugs” when you turn to the other side. Other cutouts are described as “wiggling…worms,” “singing…birds,” and so on. It is the layering of these designs and their colors that produces the appearance of a whole world when you close the book and look again at the cover. The effect is splendid. Some individual cutouts are exceptionally clever, such as one that says “splashing rain” on one side of the page and “glittering stars” when you turn to the other side, and one of the “glowing moon” that also shows stars. Ehlert is an expert at producing complexity through the layering on of simplicity. By the end of this book, when she returns to narrative form to urge readers to touch, hear, taste, look at and pick up the real-world versions of her cutouts and to love them all, there is nothing a sensitive reader would rather do.
Ehlert’s world is the real world seen differently. Audrey and Don Wood’s world of King Bidgood is a different world seen exceptionally realistically, thanks to Don Wood’s meticulously detailed drawings. Audrey Wood’s story is a delightful bit of absurdity. The Page who attends King Bidgood in his bath announces that the king refuses to come out of the water. A succession of nobles tries to persuade him to leave, but each of them merely ends up in the tub with the king. The Knight tells the king it is time to battle, but the king insists on a battle in the tub, complete with beautifully rendered toy ships and medieval fighters. The Queen says it is time for lunch, but the king insists on having an exceptionally sumptuous meal in the water. The Duke says it is time to go fishing, but the king insists on fishing in the tub, and the Page ends up burdened under a huge mound of flopping fish. In the end, it is left to the Page himself to figure out what to do – and he comes up with a very neat solution indeed. This edition of King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub comes with a wonderful bonus: a CD of six original songs that tell parts of the story to music. Now the tale is great fun to read, to look at, and to hear – a veritable multimedia extravaganza.
King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub. By Audrey Wood. Illustrated by Don Wood. Harcourt. $17.95.
All Lois Ehlert’s worlds are wonderful and filled with wonder. In My World starts with a remarkable cutout cover that seems to put the whole world in the reader’s hand, then continues with page after page of cutout shapes accompanied by no more than a word or two. Ehlert introduces the shapes by saying, “My world is made of things I like.” A cutout of an insect says “creeping” on one side of the page and “bugs” when you turn to the other side. Other cutouts are described as “wiggling…worms,” “singing…birds,” and so on. It is the layering of these designs and their colors that produces the appearance of a whole world when you close the book and look again at the cover. The effect is splendid. Some individual cutouts are exceptionally clever, such as one that says “splashing rain” on one side of the page and “glittering stars” when you turn to the other side, and one of the “glowing moon” that also shows stars. Ehlert is an expert at producing complexity through the layering on of simplicity. By the end of this book, when she returns to narrative form to urge readers to touch, hear, taste, look at and pick up the real-world versions of her cutouts and to love them all, there is nothing a sensitive reader would rather do.
Ehlert’s world is the real world seen differently. Audrey and Don Wood’s world of King Bidgood is a different world seen exceptionally realistically, thanks to Don Wood’s meticulously detailed drawings. Audrey Wood’s story is a delightful bit of absurdity. The Page who attends King Bidgood in his bath announces that the king refuses to come out of the water. A succession of nobles tries to persuade him to leave, but each of them merely ends up in the tub with the king. The Knight tells the king it is time to battle, but the king insists on a battle in the tub, complete with beautifully rendered toy ships and medieval fighters. The Queen says it is time for lunch, but the king insists on having an exceptionally sumptuous meal in the water. The Duke says it is time to go fishing, but the king insists on fishing in the tub, and the Page ends up burdened under a huge mound of flopping fish. In the end, it is left to the Page himself to figure out what to do – and he comes up with a very neat solution indeed. This edition of King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub comes with a wonderful bonus: a CD of six original songs that tell parts of the story to music. Now the tale is great fun to read, to look at, and to hear – a veritable multimedia extravaganza.
(+++) ANGELIC ANGLES
The Girl with the Broken Wing. By Heather Dyer. Illustrated by Peter Bailey. Chicken House/Scholastic. $15.99
Rebel Angels. By Libba Bray. Delacorte Press. $16.95.
Angels have come a long way since the days when they were God’s helpers – and the brightest of them all, Lucifer, whose very name means “bringer of light,” rebelled against God and was thrown from Heaven and renamed Satan. Today’s angels – the literary ones, anyway – are more likely to be earthbound and less likely to be either wholly pure or in total rebellion. They are, in fact, filled with human traits – though their frequent association with Christmas, which emerges in both these books, shows them retaining a hint of their medieval origin.
The Girl with the Broken Wing is a short and gentle book about a winged girl named Hilary who crash-lands one night at the home of twins Amanda and James, with whom she then has a series of adventures. Hilary can only read pictures, not writing, and her feet are dirty (a charming detail), and she tends to snore, and one of her wings is broken because of her crash-landing. But she is thoroughly charming, and she enjoys being with the twins in school, and after her wing heals she can take them on rides through the air, and she eventually participates in a rescue or two. The latter part of the book changes tone with the arrival of “icky Vicky,” the twins’ troublemaking cousin, but even the problems Vicky causes are eventually solved pleasantly enough – just in time for Christmas, which turns out to have a super-special meaning for Hilary, who finally departs with a promise to return in the future. Peter Bailey’s illustrations are lovely in an old-fashioned way, especially the one of Hilary standing at the Christmas tree. The story has old-fashioned charm, too, but is likely to be a touch too sweet-natured and a little too pat for many young readers’ tastes.
Rebel Angels is a much longer book and a much less gentle one. It is a 500-plus-page sequel to Libba Bray’s first novel, A Great and Terrible Beauty, which was a bestseller in 2003. Rebel Angels will likely satisfy fans of the earlier book, but does not make much of a story on its own. Gemma Doyle and her friends, Felicity and Anna, are still at Spence Academy in the new book; Christmas is approaching – that angelic connection again! – and the girls’ thoughts are of fancy balls and future husbands. But that is in London. Gemma is even more focused on the magical Realms, where the girls’ friend Pippa lives, and where Gemma senses trouble and danger. There is danger in London, too, and it appears to have magical origin; and Gemma comes to realize that she will eventually have to find and confront Circe, once Gemma’s mother’s greatest friend but later responsible for her death. The plot is complex and multifaceted, its 19th-century realistic-world and magical elements expertly interwoven. The story is not, however, highly original, combining the usual “go on a quest” and “avenge a parent” themes so common in magical fantasy. The ending portends further adventures to come, which will likely solidify Bray’s fan base if not necessarily add to it.
Rebel Angels. By Libba Bray. Delacorte Press. $16.95.
Angels have come a long way since the days when they were God’s helpers – and the brightest of them all, Lucifer, whose very name means “bringer of light,” rebelled against God and was thrown from Heaven and renamed Satan. Today’s angels – the literary ones, anyway – are more likely to be earthbound and less likely to be either wholly pure or in total rebellion. They are, in fact, filled with human traits – though their frequent association with Christmas, which emerges in both these books, shows them retaining a hint of their medieval origin.
The Girl with the Broken Wing is a short and gentle book about a winged girl named Hilary who crash-lands one night at the home of twins Amanda and James, with whom she then has a series of adventures. Hilary can only read pictures, not writing, and her feet are dirty (a charming detail), and she tends to snore, and one of her wings is broken because of her crash-landing. But she is thoroughly charming, and she enjoys being with the twins in school, and after her wing heals she can take them on rides through the air, and she eventually participates in a rescue or two. The latter part of the book changes tone with the arrival of “icky Vicky,” the twins’ troublemaking cousin, but even the problems Vicky causes are eventually solved pleasantly enough – just in time for Christmas, which turns out to have a super-special meaning for Hilary, who finally departs with a promise to return in the future. Peter Bailey’s illustrations are lovely in an old-fashioned way, especially the one of Hilary standing at the Christmas tree. The story has old-fashioned charm, too, but is likely to be a touch too sweet-natured and a little too pat for many young readers’ tastes.
Rebel Angels is a much longer book and a much less gentle one. It is a 500-plus-page sequel to Libba Bray’s first novel, A Great and Terrible Beauty, which was a bestseller in 2003. Rebel Angels will likely satisfy fans of the earlier book, but does not make much of a story on its own. Gemma Doyle and her friends, Felicity and Anna, are still at Spence Academy in the new book; Christmas is approaching – that angelic connection again! – and the girls’ thoughts are of fancy balls and future husbands. But that is in London. Gemma is even more focused on the magical Realms, where the girls’ friend Pippa lives, and where Gemma senses trouble and danger. There is danger in London, too, and it appears to have magical origin; and Gemma comes to realize that she will eventually have to find and confront Circe, once Gemma’s mother’s greatest friend but later responsible for her death. The plot is complex and multifaceted, its 19th-century realistic-world and magical elements expertly interwoven. The story is not, however, highly original, combining the usual “go on a quest” and “avenge a parent” themes so common in magical fantasy. The ending portends further adventures to come, which will likely solidify Bray’s fan base if not necessarily add to it.
(+++) BIG BAND. BIG MAN
Tommy Dorsey: Livin’ in a Great Big Way—A Biography. By Peter Levinson. Da Capo. $27.50.
This is a thorough, carefully researched biography of a man virtually unknown to many people today, though he was a musical giant in his time and something of an icon to people of a certain age – including those, such as Peter Levinson, who chronicle Dorsey’s time. This is Levinson’s third book about important figures in the Big Band era, after Trumpet Blues: The Life of Harry James and September in the Rain: The Life of Nelson Riddle. The names of James, Riddle and Dorsey will be instantly familiar to those who, like Levinson, attended college in the early 1950s (Levinson started at the University of Virginia in 1952). Those who are not in or close to their 60s and 70s will probably have little interest in this book, but those who remember Dorsey’s music with fondness will likely cherish it.
Dorsey himself was far harder to cherish. The jazz-trombone style of Dorsey (1905-1956) sustained many soldiers through World War II after they had danced to his music in the years leading up to war. Dorsey was a famous perfectionist, a highly demanding band leader, an alcoholic – or at least a heavy drinker – and an inveterate pursuer of women. Levinson traces Dorsey’s self-destructive lifestyle, which helped bring on his early death by suffocation, back to his childhood in the coal-mining towns of eastern Pennsylvania. If “life on the Dorsey band bus was always freewheeling and full of humorous moments,” as Levinson says, Dorsey’s own emotional life was more seriously troubled. A man with a volcanic temper, he split up with his one-year-older brother Jimmy despite the fact that the brothers’ band was one of the most popular of their era. After starting his own band, Tommy Dorsey launched the career of a young singer named Frank Sinatra – a bit of history for which he is remembered even by people who may not recall Dorsey’s own music. The complex Dorsey-Sinatra relationship – Sinatra idolized Dorsey but hated him at the same time – is well explored here.
Levinson’s thorough biography is stronger in its exploration of Dorsey the man than of Dorsey the musician. This is the first Dorsey biography in three decades, and Levinson clearly wants it to be exhaustive as well as revelatory. It is more the former than the latter, perhaps because tales of self-destructive celebrities with troubled upbringings are now so common as to seem ordinary. Tommy Dorsey was not ordinary: whatever his failings as a man, he had a highly personal and highly effective musical style that, Levinson argues with feeling, was not only unmatched in his own time but also remains so in the present. Fans of Dorsey and the era he represents will find the ins and outs of the man, his career and his music fascinating. But Levinson’s book will be of little or no interest to people who are not already fans of Dorsey’s music and the times in which he made it. This biography is, in the final analysis, a period piece.
This is a thorough, carefully researched biography of a man virtually unknown to many people today, though he was a musical giant in his time and something of an icon to people of a certain age – including those, such as Peter Levinson, who chronicle Dorsey’s time. This is Levinson’s third book about important figures in the Big Band era, after Trumpet Blues: The Life of Harry James and September in the Rain: The Life of Nelson Riddle. The names of James, Riddle and Dorsey will be instantly familiar to those who, like Levinson, attended college in the early 1950s (Levinson started at the University of Virginia in 1952). Those who are not in or close to their 60s and 70s will probably have little interest in this book, but those who remember Dorsey’s music with fondness will likely cherish it.
Dorsey himself was far harder to cherish. The jazz-trombone style of Dorsey (1905-1956) sustained many soldiers through World War II after they had danced to his music in the years leading up to war. Dorsey was a famous perfectionist, a highly demanding band leader, an alcoholic – or at least a heavy drinker – and an inveterate pursuer of women. Levinson traces Dorsey’s self-destructive lifestyle, which helped bring on his early death by suffocation, back to his childhood in the coal-mining towns of eastern Pennsylvania. If “life on the Dorsey band bus was always freewheeling and full of humorous moments,” as Levinson says, Dorsey’s own emotional life was more seriously troubled. A man with a volcanic temper, he split up with his one-year-older brother Jimmy despite the fact that the brothers’ band was one of the most popular of their era. After starting his own band, Tommy Dorsey launched the career of a young singer named Frank Sinatra – a bit of history for which he is remembered even by people who may not recall Dorsey’s own music. The complex Dorsey-Sinatra relationship – Sinatra idolized Dorsey but hated him at the same time – is well explored here.
Levinson’s thorough biography is stronger in its exploration of Dorsey the man than of Dorsey the musician. This is the first Dorsey biography in three decades, and Levinson clearly wants it to be exhaustive as well as revelatory. It is more the former than the latter, perhaps because tales of self-destructive celebrities with troubled upbringings are now so common as to seem ordinary. Tommy Dorsey was not ordinary: whatever his failings as a man, he had a highly personal and highly effective musical style that, Levinson argues with feeling, was not only unmatched in his own time but also remains so in the present. Fans of Dorsey and the era he represents will find the ins and outs of the man, his career and his music fascinating. But Levinson’s book will be of little or no interest to people who are not already fans of Dorsey’s music and the times in which he made it. This biography is, in the final analysis, a period piece.
(+++) EGO-DRIVEN BEETHOVEN
Beethoven: Piano Sonatas Nos. 17 (“Tempest”), 21 (“Waldstein”) and 23 (“Appassionata”). Fazil Say, piano. Naïve. $16.99.
Turkish pianist/composer Fazil Say has superb technique when his ego doesn’t get in the way. He gives these Beethoven sonatas capital-R Romantic performances, with big sound and frequent rubato. These are not readings necessarily appropriate to the period in which the sonatas were written, but they are almost always emotionally convincing.
The C Minor “Tempest,” op. 31, no. 2, gets an emotional opening movement in which the slow sections are almost Chopinesque. The second movement is pleasant enough, but curiously uninvolving. The third is bright, with all lines in both hands clear: Say here combines a delicate touch with plenty of power when needed.
Say gives the C Major “Waldstein,” op. 53, a fast, dramatic, well-articulated opening movement with extreme delicacy of touch. Abetted by Naïve’s excellent sound, Say does a superb job here and in all these sonatas of making every note audible, even in the fastest runs. This sonata’s brief second movement comes across as a gentle, quiet interlude. The finale is a trifle brusque at first, then becomes steadily more involving despite a little too much rubato. The coda is speedy, delicate, and quite impressively played.
Sonata No. 23 in F Minor got the name “Appassionata” not from Beethoven but from a publisher who issued an edition 11 years after the composer’s death. Nevertheless, the name fits this work exceptionally well, and Say’s style does, too: this is the best performance on the CD. Say presents a highly dramatic opening to the first movement, then plays as if every note in every run is crucial to the emotional impact of the work. The coda is exceptional, subsiding into quiet, then exploding with great bursts of sound before dying away. The second movement then begins very softly, its gentle rhythms building inexorably to the start of the finale, which is taken at a very fast pace and played as high drama. Say balances the notes in the left and right hands as if he were playing Liszt – a most effective approach, if not one entirely faithful to Beethoven’s style. The slowdown near the end of the movement comes across as a sigh, as if there is nowhere else to go – but then comes the wonderful concluding burst of forward motion. This could have been a great coda had Say not overdone the rubato in the two repeated chords that are designed to emphasize the drama of the ending, not interfere with it.
These readings will not be to everyone’s taste, but they are fresh and memorable, representing an unusual and mostly successful approach to the music. Naïve’s packaging is, as usual, some of the most attractive in the industry – a nice bonus. But Richard Millet’s booklet essay, “A Music Beyond All Sentimentality,” is one of the silliest pieces of artsy, self-important, pseudo-academic excess attached to a classical recording in years – a sure turnoff for people not already in love with these marvelous sonatas.
Turkish pianist/composer Fazil Say has superb technique when his ego doesn’t get in the way. He gives these Beethoven sonatas capital-R Romantic performances, with big sound and frequent rubato. These are not readings necessarily appropriate to the period in which the sonatas were written, but they are almost always emotionally convincing.
The C Minor “Tempest,” op. 31, no. 2, gets an emotional opening movement in which the slow sections are almost Chopinesque. The second movement is pleasant enough, but curiously uninvolving. The third is bright, with all lines in both hands clear: Say here combines a delicate touch with plenty of power when needed.
Say gives the C Major “Waldstein,” op. 53, a fast, dramatic, well-articulated opening movement with extreme delicacy of touch. Abetted by Naïve’s excellent sound, Say does a superb job here and in all these sonatas of making every note audible, even in the fastest runs. This sonata’s brief second movement comes across as a gentle, quiet interlude. The finale is a trifle brusque at first, then becomes steadily more involving despite a little too much rubato. The coda is speedy, delicate, and quite impressively played.
Sonata No. 23 in F Minor got the name “Appassionata” not from Beethoven but from a publisher who issued an edition 11 years after the composer’s death. Nevertheless, the name fits this work exceptionally well, and Say’s style does, too: this is the best performance on the CD. Say presents a highly dramatic opening to the first movement, then plays as if every note in every run is crucial to the emotional impact of the work. The coda is exceptional, subsiding into quiet, then exploding with great bursts of sound before dying away. The second movement then begins very softly, its gentle rhythms building inexorably to the start of the finale, which is taken at a very fast pace and played as high drama. Say balances the notes in the left and right hands as if he were playing Liszt – a most effective approach, if not one entirely faithful to Beethoven’s style. The slowdown near the end of the movement comes across as a sigh, as if there is nowhere else to go – but then comes the wonderful concluding burst of forward motion. This could have been a great coda had Say not overdone the rubato in the two repeated chords that are designed to emphasize the drama of the ending, not interfere with it.
These readings will not be to everyone’s taste, but they are fresh and memorable, representing an unusual and mostly successful approach to the music. Naïve’s packaging is, as usual, some of the most attractive in the industry – a nice bonus. But Richard Millet’s booklet essay, “A Music Beyond All Sentimentality,” is one of the silliest pieces of artsy, self-important, pseudo-academic excess attached to a classical recording in years – a sure turnoff for people not already in love with these marvelous sonatas.
November 17, 2005
(++++) 'TIS THE SEASON TO BE ARTISTIC
Boxed Panoramic Notecards: M.C. Escher—Metamorphosis; Frank Lloyd Wright—Avery Coonley Playhouse Windows. Pomegranate. $15.95 each.
Boxed Holiday Cards: Frank Lloyd Wright—Avery Coonley Playhouse Windows. Pomegranate. $15.
Classical Music: An Illustrated Journal. Pomegranate. $16.95.
The winter holidays are fast approaching, and with them comes the annual epidemic of gift-itis: What to give to whom? Where to get it? How to find something reasonably priced but not tacky? Is there anything reasonably priced but not tacky? And so on.
If you tend to catch gift-itis, you should know that there is a one-word cure for its symptoms: Pomegranate. This is a company dedicated to producing art for mass consumption – and if that sounds like an inevitable contradiction in terms, you haven’t seen Pomegranate’s product line. The company licenses images from some of the great artists, museums and other art spots of the world, then puts them together in consistently high-quality packaging, in forms that are perfect for gift-giving or for you to use yourself. Pomegranate’s offerings cover a wide variety of items, some of them quite unusual. Boxed notecards, for example, are scarcely a new gift idea – though it must be said that Pomegranate’s many ones are unusually well made. But what about panoramic boxed notecards? These are cards measuring just under four inches by just over nine inches, packed 16 to a box (four each of four designs), and featuring art that fits the long-and-thin format exceptionally well. Two especially attractive card sets are based on works by M.C. Escher and Frank Lloyd Wright. The Escher set contains four details from his Metamorphosis II (1940), each a fascinating study in transformation. In one, a city’s buildings and streets become steadily more stylized until they turn into chess pieces on a chessboard. In another, geometric shapes increasingly approximate perfect hexagons; then the hexagons start to look like chambers of a beehive, and dots in them start to look like bee larvae; finally, adults insects emerge from the hive. Descriptions never do Escher justice, though: his works, which combine surrealism with science, have to be seen to be believed (and even when seen will trick your eyes). The panoramic format fits these examples extremely well.
It fits Frank Lloyd Wright’s window designs for the Avery Coonley Playhouse very well, too. Wright’s highly recognizable works use geometric shapes quite differently from the way Escher’s works do. For the Coonley playhouse in Riverside, Illinois, Wright worked from 1911 to 1912 creating both vertical and horizontal patterns with a subtle-yet-clear patriotic theme. The dominant color of the gorgeous Wright panoramic cards is white, but there is plenty of red and blue as well – plus green and orange and black. There are two vertical designs and two horizontals in Pomegranate’s gift box, making it easy for a recipient to express himself or herself either up and down or side to side.
The colorful Wright designs also work exceptionally well as holiday cards. Pomegranate offers boxes of individual Coonley window details or – an especially nice touch – an assortment of 20 cards, five each of four designs (two vertical and two horizontal). Thanks to the stylized American flag in three of the designs, these well-made cards can be an excellent way to communicate a sense of patriotism in the midst of holiday happiness and traditions. This makes the holiday box either a wonderful gift or a great item to buy and use yourself.
This is not to say that all special Pomegranate gift items are cards – or even that most of them are. The company’s product variety is very wide. For example, if you need a gift for someone who simply doesn’t write many notes by hand, you might consider a journal. Pomegranate’s journals do not have cute licensed characters or trendy covers – they use the company’s typical high production quality and artistically interesting designs. There are many choices here, including some for people for whom it can be very hard to buy gifts. What does one get for a classical musician, for instance? Pomegranate’s answer is a journal sprinkled with fascinating illustrations from the Library of Congress, with a handsome violin and bow on the cover, and containing brief quotations by musicians or about music on a number of its pages. One example, from Hungarian composer Zoltán Kodály: “The laws of morals and the laws of art are the same.” Think about it – and think about how rare it is to find holiday gifts that make you think, as these and other Pomegranate products consistently do.
Boxed Holiday Cards: Frank Lloyd Wright—Avery Coonley Playhouse Windows. Pomegranate. $15.
Classical Music: An Illustrated Journal. Pomegranate. $16.95.
The winter holidays are fast approaching, and with them comes the annual epidemic of gift-itis: What to give to whom? Where to get it? How to find something reasonably priced but not tacky? Is there anything reasonably priced but not tacky? And so on.
If you tend to catch gift-itis, you should know that there is a one-word cure for its symptoms: Pomegranate. This is a company dedicated to producing art for mass consumption – and if that sounds like an inevitable contradiction in terms, you haven’t seen Pomegranate’s product line. The company licenses images from some of the great artists, museums and other art spots of the world, then puts them together in consistently high-quality packaging, in forms that are perfect for gift-giving or for you to use yourself. Pomegranate’s offerings cover a wide variety of items, some of them quite unusual. Boxed notecards, for example, are scarcely a new gift idea – though it must be said that Pomegranate’s many ones are unusually well made. But what about panoramic boxed notecards? These are cards measuring just under four inches by just over nine inches, packed 16 to a box (four each of four designs), and featuring art that fits the long-and-thin format exceptionally well. Two especially attractive card sets are based on works by M.C. Escher and Frank Lloyd Wright. The Escher set contains four details from his Metamorphosis II (1940), each a fascinating study in transformation. In one, a city’s buildings and streets become steadily more stylized until they turn into chess pieces on a chessboard. In another, geometric shapes increasingly approximate perfect hexagons; then the hexagons start to look like chambers of a beehive, and dots in them start to look like bee larvae; finally, adults insects emerge from the hive. Descriptions never do Escher justice, though: his works, which combine surrealism with science, have to be seen to be believed (and even when seen will trick your eyes). The panoramic format fits these examples extremely well.
It fits Frank Lloyd Wright’s window designs for the Avery Coonley Playhouse very well, too. Wright’s highly recognizable works use geometric shapes quite differently from the way Escher’s works do. For the Coonley playhouse in Riverside, Illinois, Wright worked from 1911 to 1912 creating both vertical and horizontal patterns with a subtle-yet-clear patriotic theme. The dominant color of the gorgeous Wright panoramic cards is white, but there is plenty of red and blue as well – plus green and orange and black. There are two vertical designs and two horizontals in Pomegranate’s gift box, making it easy for a recipient to express himself or herself either up and down or side to side.
The colorful Wright designs also work exceptionally well as holiday cards. Pomegranate offers boxes of individual Coonley window details or – an especially nice touch – an assortment of 20 cards, five each of four designs (two vertical and two horizontal). Thanks to the stylized American flag in three of the designs, these well-made cards can be an excellent way to communicate a sense of patriotism in the midst of holiday happiness and traditions. This makes the holiday box either a wonderful gift or a great item to buy and use yourself.
This is not to say that all special Pomegranate gift items are cards – or even that most of them are. The company’s product variety is very wide. For example, if you need a gift for someone who simply doesn’t write many notes by hand, you might consider a journal. Pomegranate’s journals do not have cute licensed characters or trendy covers – they use the company’s typical high production quality and artistically interesting designs. There are many choices here, including some for people for whom it can be very hard to buy gifts. What does one get for a classical musician, for instance? Pomegranate’s answer is a journal sprinkled with fascinating illustrations from the Library of Congress, with a handsome violin and bow on the cover, and containing brief quotations by musicians or about music on a number of its pages. One example, from Hungarian composer Zoltán Kodály: “The laws of morals and the laws of art are the same.” Think about it – and think about how rare it is to find holiday gifts that make you think, as these and other Pomegranate products consistently do.
(++++) KLUTZSTUFF FOR YOUNG(ER) AND OLD(ER)
Shadow Games. By the editors of Klutz. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $9.95.
Room Lanterns. By Anne Akers Johnson and Kate Paddock. Klutz. $19.95.
Utterly Elegant Tea Parties. By Julie Collings. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $12.95.
Quilting: Design and Make Your Own Patchwork Quilts. By Barbara Kane. Klutz. $21.95.
Intentionally or not, those strange-but-wonderful creative types at Klutz have recently developed some products that seem to come in little-kid and big-kid versions – perfect for a younger and older sibling (or maybe parents will buy one when a child is young and remember to pick up the other a few years later).
In-room play for younger children, for example, is what Shadow Games is all about. Klutz gets extra credit for including a flashlight with batteries. The Chicken Socks line offers smaller, less expensive, spiral-bound Klutz books that are just as well and cleverly made as the company’s traditional line. Shadow Games does two basic things: it shows kids how to use their hands to make shapes on the wall, and it provides clever cutout pages that kids hold at the wall and onto which they shine their flashlight. Shine the light at the special cutout of a city skyline, for instance, and you’ll see shapes of (not-very-scary) space monsters among the buildings. The book also explains how to put on a shadow-puppet play – and offers a two-page stage on which to do so, plus cutouts from which to make the puppets.
More elaborate room play – for older kids – is in Room Lanterns, which comes with a string of lights and many pages of punch-out patterns for shades. Carefully punch out the paper patterns, use snaps and rings (included, of course) to put them together, and you can make seven different lanterns, from a pinwheel to a water lily to a kukui – the Hawaiian candlenut tree. The project requires some time and attention, making it perfect for older children kept indoors by bad weather or even a not-too-serious cold.
Back in the land of Chicken Socks books is one to help little girls put together the perfect tea party. Utterly Elegant Tea Parties comes with a complete tiny tea service for two, menus and place cards for guests, suggestions for tea-party themes (such as doll, princess or fairy), and – this is a very nice touch – recipes for “Real Food (real small)” that requires no cooking and is both cute and tasty. Girls who would stage tea parties anyway will enjoy them even more with this book.
Similarly, older girls who would be interested in quilting anyway will find it easier to do and even more fun with the Klutz take on the subject. Quilting has a very clever design element: the included fabric lets kids design with triangles but sew with squares – a much easier shape to handle. The book contains a “design deck” of cards that have an instant quilt pattern on one side and can be flipped over and used to make a design of your own – another clever idea. The basics of quilting are well covered in the instruction book; and with batting, thread, pins, needles, thimble and pressing tool included, Quilting provides older girls with everything they need for a hobby they can take up when they’re a bit too old for tea parties – one can stay with, if they wish, all the way into adulthood.
Room Lanterns. By Anne Akers Johnson and Kate Paddock. Klutz. $19.95.
Utterly Elegant Tea Parties. By Julie Collings. Chicken Socks/Klutz. $12.95.
Quilting: Design and Make Your Own Patchwork Quilts. By Barbara Kane. Klutz. $21.95.
Intentionally or not, those strange-but-wonderful creative types at Klutz have recently developed some products that seem to come in little-kid and big-kid versions – perfect for a younger and older sibling (or maybe parents will buy one when a child is young and remember to pick up the other a few years later).
In-room play for younger children, for example, is what Shadow Games is all about. Klutz gets extra credit for including a flashlight with batteries. The Chicken Socks line offers smaller, less expensive, spiral-bound Klutz books that are just as well and cleverly made as the company’s traditional line. Shadow Games does two basic things: it shows kids how to use their hands to make shapes on the wall, and it provides clever cutout pages that kids hold at the wall and onto which they shine their flashlight. Shine the light at the special cutout of a city skyline, for instance, and you’ll see shapes of (not-very-scary) space monsters among the buildings. The book also explains how to put on a shadow-puppet play – and offers a two-page stage on which to do so, plus cutouts from which to make the puppets.
More elaborate room play – for older kids – is in Room Lanterns, which comes with a string of lights and many pages of punch-out patterns for shades. Carefully punch out the paper patterns, use snaps and rings (included, of course) to put them together, and you can make seven different lanterns, from a pinwheel to a water lily to a kukui – the Hawaiian candlenut tree. The project requires some time and attention, making it perfect for older children kept indoors by bad weather or even a not-too-serious cold.
Back in the land of Chicken Socks books is one to help little girls put together the perfect tea party. Utterly Elegant Tea Parties comes with a complete tiny tea service for two, menus and place cards for guests, suggestions for tea-party themes (such as doll, princess or fairy), and – this is a very nice touch – recipes for “Real Food (real small)” that requires no cooking and is both cute and tasty. Girls who would stage tea parties anyway will enjoy them even more with this book.
Similarly, older girls who would be interested in quilting anyway will find it easier to do and even more fun with the Klutz take on the subject. Quilting has a very clever design element: the included fabric lets kids design with triangles but sew with squares – a much easier shape to handle. The book contains a “design deck” of cards that have an instant quilt pattern on one side and can be flipped over and used to make a design of your own – another clever idea. The basics of quilting are well covered in the instruction book; and with batting, thread, pins, needles, thimble and pressing tool included, Quilting provides older girls with everything they need for a hobby they can take up when they’re a bit too old for tea parties – one can stay with, if they wish, all the way into adulthood.
(++++) ANIMAL ANTICS, SURREALISM DIVISION
I Love You Dude. By V. Radunsky. Gulliver Books/Harcourt. $16.
How Do Dinosaurs Eat Their Food? By Jane Yolen & Mark Teague. Blue Sky Press/Scholastic. $15.99.
Vladimir Radunsky’s books are, in a word, weird. And we mean that in the nicest possible way. His last one, The Mighty Asparagus, told the tale of the titular vegetable with art taken from Old Masters paintings. Now he has turned to art of a different sort: doodling. I Love You Dude is about a strange-looking skinny blue shoe-wearing elephant doodled on a wall with the book’s title above him (that’s “him,” not “it”). Dude runs away from the wall before he can be cleaned off or painted over, attaches himself to a little girl’s drinking mug, flees again when the girl’s aunt pours hot coffee into the mug, has an adventure at the seashore involving a huge wave and a man with a tremendous belly, tries unsuccessfully to join a circus whose feature attraction is seven elephants in pink underwear, and eventually ends up framed and hanging in an art museum, where perfectly parodied self-defined connoisseurs compare him with Picasso and Matisse and call him “subtle, yet provocative!” This breathless summary pales before Radunksy’s tale itself, which he calls “a long short story.” The book will delight even very young kids, who will feel sad for the blue elephant that wants a home and will enjoy the silly art work, which includes two-page spreads of the seven elephants and of a billboard for an elephant-hunting movie designated “a V. Radunsky production.” Older kids and adults will get even more from this book, whose subtle satire, clever use of perspective in the drawings, and frequently changing typefaces make it as much fun to look at as it is to read.
The “How Do Dinosaurs” series by Jane Yolen and Mark Teague has a fine surrealistic look to it as well. It is used to create perhaps the most unusual “mind your manners” books around. Teague draws anatomically accurate dinosaurs – their real scientific names are given inside the front and back covers – in completely absurd poses in modern urban and suburban settings. Of course, the dinosaurs represent kids, making huge roaring fusses about everything: “How does a dinosaur eat all his food? Does he burp, does he belch, or make noises quite rude?” Human parents stare disapprovingly at the misbehaving dinosaurs – but in the latter part of the book, the dinos stop sticking beans up their noses and squeezing orange juice with their toes and start eating properly. When they do, they look every bit as silly as they did when misbehaving – a fact that should make the etiquette instructions go down more easily. A particularly nice touch here is a mini-book attached to the inside back cover. It’s just the right size to slip into a pocket or purse when taking your little dinosaur to a restaurant, where a refresher course in etiquette is always in good taste. Especially when it keeps his or her hands busy.
How Do Dinosaurs Eat Their Food? By Jane Yolen & Mark Teague. Blue Sky Press/Scholastic. $15.99.
Vladimir Radunsky’s books are, in a word, weird. And we mean that in the nicest possible way. His last one, The Mighty Asparagus, told the tale of the titular vegetable with art taken from Old Masters paintings. Now he has turned to art of a different sort: doodling. I Love You Dude is about a strange-looking skinny blue shoe-wearing elephant doodled on a wall with the book’s title above him (that’s “him,” not “it”). Dude runs away from the wall before he can be cleaned off or painted over, attaches himself to a little girl’s drinking mug, flees again when the girl’s aunt pours hot coffee into the mug, has an adventure at the seashore involving a huge wave and a man with a tremendous belly, tries unsuccessfully to join a circus whose feature attraction is seven elephants in pink underwear, and eventually ends up framed and hanging in an art museum, where perfectly parodied self-defined connoisseurs compare him with Picasso and Matisse and call him “subtle, yet provocative!” This breathless summary pales before Radunksy’s tale itself, which he calls “a long short story.” The book will delight even very young kids, who will feel sad for the blue elephant that wants a home and will enjoy the silly art work, which includes two-page spreads of the seven elephants and of a billboard for an elephant-hunting movie designated “a V. Radunsky production.” Older kids and adults will get even more from this book, whose subtle satire, clever use of perspective in the drawings, and frequently changing typefaces make it as much fun to look at as it is to read.
The “How Do Dinosaurs” series by Jane Yolen and Mark Teague has a fine surrealistic look to it as well. It is used to create perhaps the most unusual “mind your manners” books around. Teague draws anatomically accurate dinosaurs – their real scientific names are given inside the front and back covers – in completely absurd poses in modern urban and suburban settings. Of course, the dinosaurs represent kids, making huge roaring fusses about everything: “How does a dinosaur eat all his food? Does he burp, does he belch, or make noises quite rude?” Human parents stare disapprovingly at the misbehaving dinosaurs – but in the latter part of the book, the dinos stop sticking beans up their noses and squeezing orange juice with their toes and start eating properly. When they do, they look every bit as silly as they did when misbehaving – a fact that should make the etiquette instructions go down more easily. A particularly nice touch here is a mini-book attached to the inside back cover. It’s just the right size to slip into a pocket or purse when taking your little dinosaur to a restaurant, where a refresher course in etiquette is always in good taste. Especially when it keeps his or her hands busy.
(+++) GAL DETECTIVES
Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway. By Wendelin Van Draanen. Knopf. $15.95.
Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew and the Women Who Created Her. By Melanie Rehak. Harcourt. $25.
Smart, sassy, with-it and anathema to stereotypes, female detectives – especially young female detectives – have all the elements needed for long-term series success. That is, they do as long as they have as much personality and as many minor personal foibles as seventh-grader Sammy Keyes, Wendelin Van Draanen’s redoubtable mystery-solver. Sammy’s latest adventure is not quite at the top of Van Draanen’s form – this time, the author makes things not just complicated but over-complicated – but it has some typically wonderful moments: “Then I started seeing birds. They were everywhere. …I’m not talking big ugly ones like in that Alfred Hitchcock movie. These were scarier than that. These were pretty little tweety birds. …And I know this is going to sound crazy, but I swear on my high-tops – these birds were tweeting at me.” Why this none-too-tweet scene? It’s part of that somewhat confusing plot, which involves a teacher’s pair of lovebirds, a series of rocks thrown through windows, and a city council trying to evict elderly people from their houses. It also involves Sammy doing something wrong for which her archenemy, Heather, is taking the blame, leaving Sammy with a moral conundrum made more complex because Heather is acting guilty, which means she must have done something else. There’s some pirate stuff, too, and a golf course, and a cemetery, and of course eventually everything makes “horrible, bone-chilling sense” and Sammy solves another mystery. Although a tad overdone, the book is fun and a fast read.
“Fun and a fast read” is a perfect description of the 56 books of the Nancy Drew Mystery Series – and at least some of the 124 books in the Nancy Drew Files created much later. Nancy, in fact, is the model on whom Sammy Keyes and many other girl sleuths are at least loosely based. Girl Sleuth is filled with information and trivia on Nancy and the women who wrote the books about her. It’s strictly for fans and for students of popular culture, but it’s delightful if you fit either of those categories. Here Nancy’s adventures are traced back to their start, when she dressed properly in gloves and cloche hats while out doing detective work. You will find out differences between Nancy as seen by Mildred Wirt Benson and as envisioned by Harriet Stratemeyer Adams – the two women who together were author “Carolyn Keene”: Benson’s Nancy was brash, skeptical of authority and unapologetic; Adams’ was well-bred and had perfect manners. The tidbits are great for Nancy fans: Nancy carried a gun until the late 1950s; she and boyfriend Ned Nickerson never kissed; Nancy was originally 16, but her age was changed in the 1960s to 18, after the driving age was raised, so she could keep using her famous blue roadster – which was maroon for a time; and much more. Readers who have the publication date of the first Nancy Drew book mentally tattooed on their brains will have an absolutely great time with Melanie Rehak’s well-researched, well-written book. Those for whom April 28, 1930 is just another day will probably prefer to read something else.
Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew and the Women Who Created Her. By Melanie Rehak. Harcourt. $25.
Smart, sassy, with-it and anathema to stereotypes, female detectives – especially young female detectives – have all the elements needed for long-term series success. That is, they do as long as they have as much personality and as many minor personal foibles as seventh-grader Sammy Keyes, Wendelin Van Draanen’s redoubtable mystery-solver. Sammy’s latest adventure is not quite at the top of Van Draanen’s form – this time, the author makes things not just complicated but over-complicated – but it has some typically wonderful moments: “Then I started seeing birds. They were everywhere. …I’m not talking big ugly ones like in that Alfred Hitchcock movie. These were scarier than that. These were pretty little tweety birds. …And I know this is going to sound crazy, but I swear on my high-tops – these birds were tweeting at me.” Why this none-too-tweet scene? It’s part of that somewhat confusing plot, which involves a teacher’s pair of lovebirds, a series of rocks thrown through windows, and a city council trying to evict elderly people from their houses. It also involves Sammy doing something wrong for which her archenemy, Heather, is taking the blame, leaving Sammy with a moral conundrum made more complex because Heather is acting guilty, which means she must have done something else. There’s some pirate stuff, too, and a golf course, and a cemetery, and of course eventually everything makes “horrible, bone-chilling sense” and Sammy solves another mystery. Although a tad overdone, the book is fun and a fast read.
“Fun and a fast read” is a perfect description of the 56 books of the Nancy Drew Mystery Series – and at least some of the 124 books in the Nancy Drew Files created much later. Nancy, in fact, is the model on whom Sammy Keyes and many other girl sleuths are at least loosely based. Girl Sleuth is filled with information and trivia on Nancy and the women who wrote the books about her. It’s strictly for fans and for students of popular culture, but it’s delightful if you fit either of those categories. Here Nancy’s adventures are traced back to their start, when she dressed properly in gloves and cloche hats while out doing detective work. You will find out differences between Nancy as seen by Mildred Wirt Benson and as envisioned by Harriet Stratemeyer Adams – the two women who together were author “Carolyn Keene”: Benson’s Nancy was brash, skeptical of authority and unapologetic; Adams’ was well-bred and had perfect manners. The tidbits are great for Nancy fans: Nancy carried a gun until the late 1950s; she and boyfriend Ned Nickerson never kissed; Nancy was originally 16, but her age was changed in the 1960s to 18, after the driving age was raised, so she could keep using her famous blue roadster – which was maroon for a time; and much more. Readers who have the publication date of the first Nancy Drew book mentally tattooed on their brains will have an absolutely great time with Melanie Rehak’s well-researched, well-written book. Those for whom April 28, 1930 is just another day will probably prefer to read something else.
(+++) FOR WHOSE GOD AND WHOSE COUNTRY?
A Land as God Made It: Jamestown and the Birth of America. By James Horn. Basic Books. $26.
Jamestown, Virginia, gets surprisingly short shrift in most American history books, considering the fact that it was the first permanent English settlement in North America – 13 years before Plymouth, Massachusetts. The story of Pilgrims seeking religious freedom – never mind that what the Pilgrims really wanted was the freedom to be more dogmatic and less tolerant than the mainstream Protestants they left behind – has more resonance with modern American ideals than the story of settlers looking for gold, land and improved geopolitics. But it was Jamestown, not Plymouth, that paved the way for the ascendancy of the British Empire over such major 17th-century rivals as France, Holland and Spain (whose famed armada had been defeated only 19 years before Jamestown was settled).
The story of Jamestown is one of great bravery in the face of the unknown and presumably deadly: the previous English colony, at Roanoke, had simply vanished. Historian James Horn, O’Neill Director of the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Library at The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation and a lecturer at the College of William & Mary, tells in A Land as God Made It of Jamestown’s first 18 years – in considerable detail. Horn has a deep understanding of geopolitics at the time of Jamestown’s founding, and his basic approach is international: he shows how the settlement decision was driven as much by the desire to counterbalance England’s colonial competitors as by hopes for finding gold or a passage to China (though those were present as well). Much of the book, especially its first half, is the story of John Smith, one of the few well-known names associated with Jamestown – thanks largely to Smith’s story of how he was captured by Indians and saved by Pocahontas. That account, Horn argues forcibly, is implausible – an exaggeration if not an out-and-out untruth. But other writings by Smith give a clear picture of what everyday life was like in Jamestown’s early years.
Smith himself provoked such antagonism among other town leaders that they eventually tried to kill him by dropping a lit match into his lap as he slept in his boat, igniting his powder bag. Horribly burned and in great pain, he survived – but was summarily shipped off to England by his political enemies, who “spent the next few weeks drawing up a comprehensive list of his abuses in office” to make sure he would be discredited and never return. Thus did 17th-century politics set the stage for much that would come later.
Jamestown set the stage in other ways, too. It was the first of England’s colonies to adopt representative government on the British model, and the first to bring together people of many different backgrounds. It was also the place where slavery was introduced into English-speaking North America – a development to which Horn pays surprisingly little attention. And it was a colony that first tried to form an alliance with Indians against Spain, then began a series of deadly clashes over territory when the hoped-for agreement did not materialize. The level of detail in Horn’s book will be daunting for non-specialists. But the writing is mostly clear, the excerpts from period documents are well chosen, and the book as a whole sheds valuable light on a too-little-studied subject.
Jamestown, Virginia, gets surprisingly short shrift in most American history books, considering the fact that it was the first permanent English settlement in North America – 13 years before Plymouth, Massachusetts. The story of Pilgrims seeking religious freedom – never mind that what the Pilgrims really wanted was the freedom to be more dogmatic and less tolerant than the mainstream Protestants they left behind – has more resonance with modern American ideals than the story of settlers looking for gold, land and improved geopolitics. But it was Jamestown, not Plymouth, that paved the way for the ascendancy of the British Empire over such major 17th-century rivals as France, Holland and Spain (whose famed armada had been defeated only 19 years before Jamestown was settled).
The story of Jamestown is one of great bravery in the face of the unknown and presumably deadly: the previous English colony, at Roanoke, had simply vanished. Historian James Horn, O’Neill Director of the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Library at The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation and a lecturer at the College of William & Mary, tells in A Land as God Made It of Jamestown’s first 18 years – in considerable detail. Horn has a deep understanding of geopolitics at the time of Jamestown’s founding, and his basic approach is international: he shows how the settlement decision was driven as much by the desire to counterbalance England’s colonial competitors as by hopes for finding gold or a passage to China (though those were present as well). Much of the book, especially its first half, is the story of John Smith, one of the few well-known names associated with Jamestown – thanks largely to Smith’s story of how he was captured by Indians and saved by Pocahontas. That account, Horn argues forcibly, is implausible – an exaggeration if not an out-and-out untruth. But other writings by Smith give a clear picture of what everyday life was like in Jamestown’s early years.
Smith himself provoked such antagonism among other town leaders that they eventually tried to kill him by dropping a lit match into his lap as he slept in his boat, igniting his powder bag. Horribly burned and in great pain, he survived – but was summarily shipped off to England by his political enemies, who “spent the next few weeks drawing up a comprehensive list of his abuses in office” to make sure he would be discredited and never return. Thus did 17th-century politics set the stage for much that would come later.
Jamestown set the stage in other ways, too. It was the first of England’s colonies to adopt representative government on the British model, and the first to bring together people of many different backgrounds. It was also the place where slavery was introduced into English-speaking North America – a development to which Horn pays surprisingly little attention. And it was a colony that first tried to form an alliance with Indians against Spain, then began a series of deadly clashes over territory when the hoped-for agreement did not materialize. The level of detail in Horn’s book will be daunting for non-specialists. But the writing is mostly clear, the excerpts from period documents are well chosen, and the book as a whole sheds valuable light on a too-little-studied subject.
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