(++++) NIGHTY-NIGHT

While the World Is Sleeping. By Pamela Duncan Edwards. Illustrated by Daniel Kirk. Orchard Books/Scholastic. $16.99.

Sweet Dreams Lullaby. By Betsy Snyder. Random House. $15.99.

     There is something about nighttime books for young children that inspires authors to write poetry – and not just any poetry, but poems in exactly the same meter. Here is a sample from When the World Is Sleeping: “In the meadow far below,/ See father stag and mother doe./ Tiny fawns spring to and fro,/ While the world is sleeping.” And here is one from Sweet Dreams Lullaby: “The day is done. It’s time for bed./ Let peaceful moments fill your head./ So cuddle up and snuggle in,/ and let your happy dreams begin.” To be sure, the singsong rhythms and gentle cadences of both these rhyming tales are immediately appealing, and the regularity of the verse helps create a restful state both in a tired child and in the parent who is reading to him or her. And both these books make lovely nighttime tales – Betsy Snyder’s for even younger kids than Pamela Duncan’s, which has a slightly more sophisticated story line and more “fantasy realism” in Daniel Kirk’s drawings.

     While the World Is Sleeping is a child’s make-believe journey atop an owl’s back, high above rooftops and fields, meadow and river and forest. The child is drawn highly realistically – and androgynously, even to his or her yellow pajamas, so kids of either gander can relate to the adventure. The animals portrayed in the pictures are drawn with loving care and mostly with huge, expressive eyes, and they are not anthropomorphized: they do what real animals do, from beavers building a dam to a mother mouse protecting her babies from a nearby snake. The sleeping child – for the whole tale must be a dream, or one of those near-dreams experienced just as sleep comes – is small enough to ride atop the owl and therefore small enough to see every detail of what the various animals are doing at night. But there is no danger here – only a sense of wonder and discovery that ends with sunrise and the crowing of a rooster when “the world has finished sleeping.”

     Sweet Dreams Lullaby is a more straightforward bedtime book, featuring a mother rabbit (not drawn realistically) putting her baby bunny to bed and inviting him or her (again, a child of either gender can enjoy this story) to imagine “the dandelion breeze” and “blossoms, soft as snow” and “a canopy of weeping willows” and “gentle raindrop showers” and other sweet, soft and relaxing things – shown in nicely colored pastel pictures that take baby bunny through an entire day of happy adventures and into a night of “tiptoes through the grass/ and fireflies that blink and flash,” of “purple twilight skies” and “a bedtime kiss from butterflies.” If it is the pictures that are outstanding in While the World Is Sleeping, it is the text that lulls and enchants in Sweet Dreams Lullaby. So parents who want to buy only one of these two charming books can choose based on whether a child will sleep more easily after a wonderful visual adventure or after listening to words telling of the pleasures of everyday things.

(++++) INSIDE AN UNSTABLE MIND

Georg Letham: Physician and Murderer. By Ernst Weiss. Translated from the German by Joel Rotenberg. Archipelago Books. $17.

     This is a strange, compelling novel about a strangely compelling – if scarcely admirable – protagonist. A novel that is at once of its time (1931) and beyond time, Georg Letham: Physician and Murderer, never before available in English, is the first-person narrative of an unstable doctor who does not blanch at vivisection (although he much later says it gave him a “vague guilty feeling”); who marries for no good reason and murders his wife, also for no good reason; who has a prototypically Oedipal relationship with his father, who in turn goes so far as to try to change his own name to distance himself from this son; and who is not to be trusted – not even when writing his own story.

     Ernst Weiss (1882-1940) – physician, ship’s doctor and author – keeps the reader thoroughly off balance in this peculiar, mildly surrealistic novel that on the one hand reeks of between-the-wars sensibility and on the other delves deeply into timeless motivations and personality flaws – in some ways along the lines of Dostoevsky. Recurrent themes march through the book’s pages like Wagnerian leitmotifs. Two of the most important are rats – dealt with in grotesquely loving detail and with elements of horror reminiscent of H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Rats in the Walls” (1923) – and the phrase “loving hearts” (almost always given with quotation marks). Themes frequently interrelate, spilling over each other, as when Letham relates the failure of his father’s Arctic expedition, which was overrun by shipboard rats. An elaborate attempt to poison the rodents has this effect, described with medico-scientific care, on the crew: “Then someone begins to breathe with difficulty, to groan, he vomits, someone else croaks, racked with terrible throat irritation, tears gush from his eyes, his nose, his oral mucosa begin to be awash, twenty men complain of headaches, burning in their throats, choking, nausea, anxiety, fear of death, fear of darkness, fear of the northern lights, all throng to the gangplank, but this is no orderly retreat like that of the children of nature, the Eskimos and their animals; instead the civilized men stumble in the darkness, the steel hawsers slice the palms of their hands, they bump into each other, two of the scholars slip on the icy gangplank, slide sideways under one of the slippery steel hawsers and lie whimpering on the ice at the foot of the ship, all are as though gripped by madness.” After this torrent of words comes the brief analytical comment: “So this was the result: only thirty-two animals had met their maker.”

     This sort of boldly striking stylistic contrast pervades Weiss’ book. Letham is a most peculiar but highly engaging narrator – in the sense that he engages the reader, not in the sense of being a pleasant person. He writes of relatives of convicted criminals, “Possibly the ‘loving hearts’ had forgiven and forgotten all our misdeeds. They thanked thanklessness with thanks and presented their cheeks to be struck as my poor wife had once done. But had the crimes been undone on that account? You who are entirely free of conscience, step forward! I am not among you.” These rhetorical flourishes – one must assume they have been well rendered, since Joel Rotenberg’s translation reads so smoothly throughout – occur at irregular intervals, as Letham’s recounting of his story wanders hither and thither, wherever he chooses to take it. “I am the son of well-to-do, unpunished parents (or is it a punishment for the old man to have a son like me?), I was educated in good schools – but life was my best teacher, as my father was the first to prove to me. Once he made me spend the night with rats in a locked, pitch-dark room, to teach me not to be afraid of animals.”

     Mixed in with Letham’s memories and very imperfect introspection are a series of proclamations about grand human endeavors, often mingling elements of religion and science: “I have never believed very deeply in prayer or making the sign of the cross. Where ultramicroscopy, where microbial culture, where pathologic physiology rule, traditional religion usually has no crucial role to play. Sad, but true. Tragic, but that is the fact.” Yet Letham retains some sense of what is right and proper in medicine, as shown in the revulsion he feels for the prison doctor who examines him: “I am like a head of livestock to this wrinkly old fellow pawing me with his greasy hands… – this gray-haired, gold-braided oaf is prodding at my face, my ocular conjunctivae, with his dirty, sticky, rubber-gloved paws as though I were a low-grade steer. And if the old scoundrel touched a trachomatous conjunctiva a moment before, which is only too likely, or if Professor Hansen’s leprosy bacterium is still clinging to his rubber gloves, endangering not his but my epidermis, there’s not a thing I can do about it.”

     And where does all this remarkable – if overwrought and remorselessly self-centered – thinking take Letham? Spared from death because of his wartime service, instead sentenced to exile on a tropical island, he does good work as an epidemiologist in an area ravaged by yellow fever. And he engages in fairly complex human relationships as well as trenchant scientific observations: “Anything that can be found without difficulty today, now that science has already discovered the easy things, is usually wrong.” Yet it would be overstating and simplifying this lengthy novel to say that Letham somehow seeks redemption in his work, much less finds it, for he is neither sure that he needs redemption nor that there is any to be had. As it turns out, the book itself is Letham’s attempt to make his mark in the world (and in his own mind) by providing an analytical case study of…himself. Thus, Georg Letham: Physician and Murderer becomes self-referential to the point of navel gazing; but there is no peace to be found in it, and what insights it provides are strictly at the “meta” level – available, that is, to readers of Letham’s book, which is Weiss’ book, which becomes, finally, a reader’s journey to harrowing places, both within and without, to which, thankfully, few people will ever have to go in their mundane lives.

(+++) HISTORIES

Woods Runner. By Gary Paulsen. Wendy Lamb Books. $15.99.

Flightsend. By Linda Newbery. David Fickling Books. $15.99.

     One war that rarely gets historical-fiction treatment in books for teenagers is the American Revolution. Gary Paulsen sets out to correct that situation in Woods Runner, a gritty and reasonably believable story of a 13-year-old boy who goes on a long journey to try to rescue his family, taken prisoner by the British. The book is a quest-and-self-discovery story overlaid on a tale of the horrific realities of life in wartime. The novel’s protagonist, Samuel, believes the war – initially largely in the form of rumors – is far away from the Pennsylvania town where he, his parents and his baby sister live. But the conflict’s reality and brutality are brought home to him soon enough, as British soldiers and Indians attack for no apparent reason, killing the neighbors and taking Samuel’s family away as prisoners. Trying to understand what happened, Samuel asks why, and is told, “Redcoats doing it because they’s redcoats and ain’t worth a tinker’s damn. Follerin’ orders. Indians doing it because they was hired to do it. They’s Iroquois, most of ‘em work for the English, always have, always will.” And that is about all the explanation Samuel gets – but one thing he knows is that he must set out toward British headquarters, in New York City, to find and free his kin. Samuel gets help from fellow colonists throughout his journey, and sees again and again the brutality of the British and those who fight with them – Hessian mercenaries worst of all. Paulsen structures the book partly as an adventure story and partly as a history lesson, introducing chapters with short factual accounts of such elements of the war as the alliances in the world at the time; what happened to the wounded; why American morale was usually higher than British, even though the colonists were far more poorly equipped; what happened to war orphans; forms of covert communication; and much more. A great deal of the information in these introductory pages is at least as interesting as the story itself: more American soldiers died in prison than in actual combat; invisible ink was commonly used to protect information; prisoners of war got half the rations of British soldiers; and so on. But the presentation – separating the factual elements from Samuel’s story – makes the book somewhat choppy; and Samuel’s eventual success seems rather farfetched, although readers will certainly root for him all the way. In the end, Paulsen does a good job of providing little-known background on the American Revolution, although in his storytelling role, he really makes only Samuel come alive – using other characters to flesh out the story and make specific points about the war.

     Flightsend is a tale of modern Britain and of a battle within a family, not a fight to preserve or rescue one. Gritty and forthright in its own way, it is the story of 14-year-old Charlie and her attempt to adjust to her mother’s decision to remake their lives after the birth of a stillborn daughter. Charlie’s father had left her and her mother, Kathy, when Charlie was an infant, and Kathy has been living with a man named Sean, whom Charlie likes a lot – and whom she would be happy to see her mother marry. But after Rose, the baby that would have been Sean’s and Kathy’s, dies – no specific cause is given – Kathy becomes distant toward Sean and virtually throws him out, citing their age difference (Sean is eight years younger) as the main reason. Charlie does not understand any of this and cannot accept it. “The abrupt snuffing out of Rose, and of all the possibilities of her future, was bad enough. Even worse was watching her mother punish herself and Sean, dismantling their life together with what seemed to Charlie a deliberate, callous obstinacy.” But her mother pays no attention to Charlie’s feelings and simply arranges a move to a property called Flightsend, which Kathy hopes will represent the end of running from her past and a chance to settle down. There is much of soap opera in Linda Newbery’s plot and in the multiple confrontations and tearful arguments among the characters. Sean continues trying – ultimately unsuccessfully – to repair things with Kathy; Charlie eventually discovers, not at all surprisingly, that she can move beyond heartache and find new friends and a new life for herself at Flightsend; the property’s name, of course, turns out to be entirely appropriate (although calling the book’s final chapter “Flight’s End” is really overdoing things); and Kathy does remake her life and find happiness, despite running roughshod over both her daughter and Sean – perhaps getting off rather too easily from the consequences of some of her decisions, although of course an author can take these plots where she wishes. Teens in broken homes or unconventional living arrangements may find much that is resonant in Flightsend, despite the obviousness of a great deal of the plotting and dialogue. Others may enjoy it simply as a good, solid tearjerker of a novel. But despite its veneer of realism, it comes across as a very manipulative book – both in Newbery’s treatment of her characters and in the way she lays things out for readers.

(++++) STYLISH SYMPHONIES

Mendelssohn: String Symphonies (complete). Festival Strings Lucerne conducted by Achim Fiedler. Oehms. $44.99 (3 CDs).

Widor: Symphony for Organ and Orchestra, op. 42 (bis); Sinfonia Sacra for Organ and Orchestra, op. 81. Christian Schmitt, organ; Bamberger Symphoniker/Bayerische Staatsphilharmonie conducted by Stefan Solyom. CPO. $16.99.

Stravinsky: Pulcinella (complete); Symphony in Three Movements; Four Études. Roxana Constantinescu, mezzo-soprano; Nicholas Phan, tenor; Kyle Ketelsen, bass-baritone; Chicago Symphony Orchestra conducted by Pierre Boulez. CSO Resound. $19.99 (SACD); $18.99 (CD).

     Only three of Mendelssohn’s 18 or so symphonies are played with any regularity – and many music lovers are still surprised to find out just how many symphonic works Mendelssohn produced. Mendelssohn himself thought of the symphony we know as No. 1 as his 13^th such work. In fact, it could be his 14^th. His second numbered symphony, Lobgesang, is really a cantata. And it is only the symphonies known as Nos. 3 (“Scottish”), 4 (“Italian”) and 5 (“Reformation”) with which most people are familiar. The first dozen of Mendelssohn’s symphonies – plus a single movement that may be seen either as the start of No. 13 or as a complete one-movement work – were written almost solely for strings, and these are the pieces performed brightly and enthusiastically by the Festival Strings Lucerne under Achim Fiedler. There are all sorts of wonders and all sorts of oddities associated with these string symphonies, which Mendelssohn wrote between 1821 and 1823 (that is, when he was between 12 and 14 years old). One of them (No. 8) also exists in a full-orchestra arrangement by the composer himself; two (Nos. 9 and 11) contain themes based on Swiss songs in their scherzos, each of which is labeled Schweizerlied. One of those two scherzos (in No. 11) surprisingly adds military instruments to the strings, along the lines of Haydn’s Symphony No. 100. The string symphonies exist in various forms – Mendelssohn rearranged some, dropped or added movements, and generally made things complicated for performers. There are also numerous repeats in the scores, which – when taken as the composer indicated, as is the case in this recording – make some of the works very substantial indeed: No. 11 runs more than 40 minutes, making it longer than the “Italian” and “Reformation.” But the most remarkable thing of all about these symphonies is how fresh and wonderful they sound. Their provenance matters less to a modern listener than their ebullience and infectious style. Young Mendelssohn, although clearly still striving to find his own individual symphonic voice, had clearly absorbed lessons aplenty from Bach, Haydn, Mozart and beyond: Mannheim-style flourishes coexist easily with French overture rhythms from the Baroque, and Romantic emotion peeks out again and again, especially in the later symphonies and those in minor keys. Fiedler’s fleet tempos are sometimes a touch rushed in the first movements, but the transparency of the Festival Strings Lucerne keeps all harmonies and melodic lines very clear, and there is plenty of expansiveness when that is needed (as in Nos. 8, 9 and 11). This is an excellent recording both for those unfamiliar with Mendelssohn’s early symphonic work and for those who know it – or at least parts of it – already.

     The best-known symphonic works of Charles-Marie Widor are his 10 symphonies for organ solo – and they are works that do deserve to be called symphonies, even though written for only a single instrument (the organ, after all, contains a full orchestra of sounds). But Widor also wrote three numbered symphonies, a Symphonie antique, and the two symphonic works for organ and orchestra just released in a recording featuring Christian Schmitt and Stefan Solyom. These symphonies are tremendously different in sound and effect. Symphony for Organ and Orchestra, arranged by Widor from elements of the solo-organ symphonies in his opp. 13 and 42, is a grand and deeply impressive work, striding forth from start to finish with magisterial sound and the sort of grandeur that is unique to the organ. Schmitt plays his instrument boldly and brightly here, and Solyom conducts the Bamberger Symphoniker/Bayerische Staatsphilharmonie with strength and rhythmic clarity. The result is a genuinely exciting performance and a high level of sheer sonic splendor. In contrast, the Sinfonia Sacra explores the organ’s (and orchestra’s) quieter side, emphasizing inner voices and mostly slow tempos (the first two of the five movements are Adagios). Written in 1906 – 24 years after the Symphony for Organ and Orchestra – and first played in 1909, the Sinfonia Sacra resulted from Widor’s relationship with Albert Schweitzer, through whom Widor immersed himself thoroughly in Bach. Schweitzer wrote the program notes for the symphony’s first performance, discussing Widor’s musical interpretation of the sighs of humanity being eventually transformed into jubilant sounds through heavenly intercession. Even without a program, the musical development is clear and impressive, as themes introduced early in the symphony are altered during the work’s progress until, in the final and longest movement, they are all – notably including the opening sighs – transformed into splendor. Schmitt and Solyom do a fine job of building this work carefully from start to finish, in a performance that is more thoughtful than that of the Symphony for Organ and Orchestra, although not as viscerally exciting.

     Listeners looking for musical excitement will find plenty of it in the new Chicago Symphony Orchestra recording of Stravinsky – conducted by Pierre Boulez, who as he nears 85 puts across more brightness and intensity than many conductors half his age. Boulez has strong feelings about Stravinsky that he never hesitates to express – he is not sure whether the fourth of the Four Études even belongs in the set, for example, and does not think much of the second movement of the Symphony in Three Movements. But his conducting on this CD – of the works he likes less as well as those he prefers – is so finely honed, so convincing, that he gives all the pieces their best possible chance of capturing listeners. The Symphony in Three Movements seems more modern and forward-looking here than it often does, with considerable angularity in the themes and constant forward propulsion. The Four Études manage to be humorous, witty, rhythmically striking and genuinely odd – although, yes, the fourth comes across as the lightest of them and somehow the least satisfying. As for Pulcinella, here performed complete with vocal sections, it is an absolute gem, sparkling with wit and filled with vivid orchestral touches that Boulez brings out with tremendous attentiveness – and, often, the help of the Chicago Symphony’s very fine brass. This live recording (available in either SACD or standard CD format) can certainly be looked at as a tribute to Boulez’ 85^th birthday (he was born on March 26, 1925). But what makes it special is not the timing of its release or the age of its conductor, but the splendid understanding evinced by its music-making.

(++++) STILL NOTHING QUITE LIKE IT

The Slightly Odd United States of America. By the editors of Klutz. Klutz. $12.95.

Good Growing: A Kid’s Guide to Green Gardening. By the editors of Klutz. Klutz. $16.95.

     “Reliably offbeat.” That’s a two-word review of the entire line of Klutz books – and, as it happens, of each book individually. The Klutz line has never been much like anything else in book publishing, even though other firms produce occasional products that are somewhat in the same vein. Klutz does everything in its own vein, though: the “books-plus” field, in which something that looks like a book and is bound like a book is inevitably more than “just” a book.

     Klutz adheres to its own special weirdness even when producing a book such as The Slightly Odd United States of America. This sort of thing has been done often before: take young readers (the target age range is eight and up) on a tour of the 50 states and give them snippets of unusual information all along the way. But Klutz, being Klutz, does not stop there. Start with the foldout map at the beginning of the book – which includes such geographical designations as “the middle middle” and “the middle (sort of).” Continue with state-focused questions, such as: “Georgia is the nation’s leading producer of ‘the three P’s.’ Can you name them?” (Answer: peanuts, peaches and pecans.) Go on to a page of real state nicknames mixed with fake ones, and try to figure out which are which and which real ones go where. Stop at “Interstate Scramble” to find out a unique feature of various states by unmixing the mixed-up letters: New Mexico, for example, has “oelitt cork,” which unscrambles to “toilet rock.” And by all means stop on the page devoted to each state, so you can learn that the Ah-Choo Sneezing Powder Company was founded in New Jersey, a nuclear bomb was accidentally dropped on South Carolina in 1958, and the first ice cream sundae was made in Wisconsin. Throw in abundant illustrations – from lots of amusing cartoons to a variety of photographs of people, places and things, past and present – and you have a book that is not only informative but also looks good. It is also spiral-bound, so it opens flat – a convenience for readers doing the “star search” puzzles in which, for example, you need to find the capital of each state named at the bottom of the page within the large square of apparently random letters higher up. An offbeat look at offbeat facts, The Slightly Odd United States of America is at least slightly odder than similar “factoid” books from other publishers – and that’s the Klutz way.

     There is a more serious, overtly instructional side to Klutz, too – one in which the “books-plus” format really excels. Many Klutz books teach crafts or hobbies, and they always include what kids need to get started. Good Growing, for example, isn’t just an instruction book about gardening – not even just about green (ecologically aware) gardening. It is a how-to kit, including two small hydroponic growing systems (Klutz calls them “Super Sprouters”) bound to a cardboard panel attached to the spiral binding behind the book’s back cover, plus packets of seeds for green beans and radishes. The idea here is to show kids ages six and up what gardening is all about, and then let them try it themselves. The book starts with a particularly neat definition: “Gardening is the art and science of turning water, soil, sunshine, and seeds into something tasty to eat or lovely to look at.” That’s a clear encapsulation that gardening books for adults could well emulate. Good Growing then explains what plants need to grow, how the “Super Sprouters” work, and how to get things growing – not only with the items included with the book, but also on your own. Simple instructions show how to grow herbs, avocado plants, even “grassheads” (silly decorative things made from old stockings, grass seed, googly eyes and decorations). “Know-It-All” boxes provide supplemental information – explaining, for example, why it is better to cut off flower buds that bloom when growing herbs. Chapters on outdoor gardening take young readers beyond the simple windowsill growth of “Super Sprouters” and potted plants. By the end of the book, kids will even know how to grow giant sunflowers – and how to get edible sunflower seeds from them. There’s knowledge as well as enjoyment in Good Growing, as in so many Klutz books. And that’s why a three-word review of many Klutz offerings could well be: “making learning fun.”

(++++) FRIENDSHIPS

Dear Dumb Diary #9: That’s What Friends Aren’t For. By Jim Benton. Scholastic. $5.99.

Hamstermagic. By Holly Webb. Scholastic. $5.99.

     Jim Benton’s continuing diary entries of Jamie Kelly, erstwhile Mackerel Middle School student and self-appointed chronicler of her life and the lives of those around her, are reliably funny and filled with often-hilarious illustrations. With the ninth entry in the Dear Dumb Diary series, the books are something more: a little bit thoughtful. That’s nothing for fans to be afraid of – That’s What Friends Aren’t For has plenty of the trademark Benton/Kelly silliness, miscommunication and bright writing. But as the title indicates, it also has an underlying serious (all right, semi-serious) theme, as Jamie tries to figure out who her friends really are and what it means to be a friend in the first place. Jamie is pretty slow on the uptake about this whole friendship thing. Before she can get to it, she has to think through other parts of life, in her usual way: “Tuesdays are how I imagine being an adult will feel every day. Except when I get to be as old as my parents. Then I think it will always feel like Monday morning. In February. And it’s raining polar bears. And they have rabies.” The friendship thing comes up because Jamie’s Aunt Carol has married the uncle of Angeline, Jamie’s WEF (that would be “worst enemy forever,” the opposite of BFF). This makes Angeline an “automatic friend” to Jamie, and Jamie doesn’t like that a bit. What she does like is her friendship with Isabella, her BFF; but Isabella seems way too accepting of the idea that Angeline is now part of the whole friendship thing as well. And in fact, Isabella and Angeline are getting a little too close for (Jamie’s) comfort. The whole thing makes no sense to Jamie, who is the only one who really understands Isabella: “A rattlesnake won’t sit on you and let just a little drool dribble out of its mouth and then suck it back up at the last moment. It’s weird to think that my BFF has done things to me that are beneath a rattlesnake.” It’s also weird to think about “T.U.K.W.N.I.F. (That Ugly Kid Whose Name I Forget),” a boy who ends up in an art assignment with Jamie – each has to draw the other’s face – but whose work leaves something to be desired, even when revised: “Don’t get me wrong, he still can’t draw, but at least the [somewhat improved] portrait looked a lot less like a chimpanzee and a clown had a baby and then tied a mop to its head and used it to clean out a stable.” The art matters because there’s supposed to be an art contest at school – and there is also a talent show – and Jamie has plans for both of them – and the whole friendship thing gets tangled in both – and besides, Jamie continues to have to deal with her own inner oddities: “Dreaming is just like watching TV, but you can’t change the channel, and the shows often feature an insane clown that’s trying to kill you. Or maybe that’s just me.” Everything does work out just fine in the end, and Angeline has a lot to do with it, and that drives Jamie a little bit crazy (or crazier) as she tries to figure out what friendship really is, and the result is one of Benton’s best Dear Dumb Diary books to date.

     Holly Webb is developing a series of sorts, too, although it doesn’t come with numbers. Webb writes stories about Grace’s Pet Shop – first Catmagic, then Dogmagic and now Hamstermagic. This pet shop is, of course, not an ordinary place: it’s magic, as the books’ titles make clear. The animals in the shop, owned by narrator Lottie’s uncle, have special abilities. For instance, there is “Henrietta the homing mouse,” who “was a lone operator. Uncle Jack sold her to people he thought didn’t deserve pets, and then a few days later she would come back, having thoroughly turned her new owners off pet ownership.” The hamster in the title of Webb’s new book, whose name is Giles, gets to the pet shop by mistake, but turns out to fit right in, complete with his upper-crust way of speaking (oh yes, the animals speak) and his concern for Lottie, who has managed to offend an enchantress through no fault of her own (“It all happened before you were born, or even thought of,” says Uncle Jack reassuringly, which of course does not reassure Lottie at all – and shouldn’t). This is part of the plot, which also includes Lottie’s friend, Ruby, who is acting odd for reasons that Lottie is determined to find out. And there is a matter of a unicorn, and dragons – or would-be dragons, such as the lizards Sam and Joe, whose “one aim was to breathe fire, and they were convinced they would do it someday.” For his part, Giles is a hoot, as when he peremptorily tells the mice who are helping him help Lottie, “This is a covert mission that must be undertaken with the most extreme discretion!” Giles proves invaluable in this adventure, which climaxes with Lottie confronting Pandora, the enchantress whose evil doings lie behind Lottie’s problems and Uncle Jack’s – and explain Ruby’s mysterious behavior, too – and do indeed predate Lottie’s birth. Webb constructs the finale cleverly enough so that it makes a satisfying ending while also opening the way to the next book in the series, which will be called Rabbitmagic.

(+++) TWISTS IN REALITY

Lunch Lady No. 3: Lunch Lady and the Author Visit Vendetta. By Jarrett J. Krosoczka. Knopf. $5.99.

Your Life, but Better! By Crystal Velasquez. Delacorte Press. $7.99.

     “Serving justice! And serving lunch!” Has there ever been a better motto for a super-heroic character? But then there’s never been one quite like Jarrett J. Krosoczka’s Lunch Lady, whose graphic-novel exploits center on nefarious doings in and around the school attended by Dee, Terrence and Hector – who inevitably get to do their own heroics . The third book in this twisty and twisted series isn’t quite as wild as the first two (Cyborg Substitute and League of Librarians), but it certainly has its moments. They revolve around an author named Lewis Scribson, who is the creator of Flippy Bunny and who turns out to be something of a pill when he shows up at school. He is nasty and off-putting and won’t even sign Hector’s book, because it has a ripped cover. Then, in a separate plot that of course turns out to be connected to the authorial one, the school’s gym teacher disappears. And, also of course, Scribson is behind it all. The recurrent elements of the series are all here, such as Lunch Lady’s food-related equipment, designed by her friend and cohort, Betty: hamburger headphones for eavesdropping, a “fancy ketchup packet laser,” and so on. The eventual Attack of the Flippy Bunnies is hilarious, as is their defeat through dodgeball. And the idea of bringing gym teachers out of hypnosis with smelly socks has just the right “ick” factor. Scribson isn’t really much of a menace, though; but then, kids in the target age range of 7-10 will probably be too busy enjoying Krosoczka’s adept drawings and in-character exclamations (“Great Brussels sprouts!”) to pay super-close attention to such plot points.

     The plot is even more fragmented in Your Life, but Better! – which is the first book of a series with the odd overall title of Your Life, but… This is one of those choose-your-own-adventure books, but Crystal Velasquez tries to raise it a notch above others by including a series of quizzes for the target audience of girls ages 8-12 to take. The questions involve real-world (if usually superficial) issues. One asks which reality show a reader would most like to be on: The Bachelor, Beauty and the Geek, So You Think You Can Dance or Amazing Race. Each choice comes with a few lines indicating what the person picking it is probably thinking by making that selection – and the cumulative points from making multiple selections are then used to tell readers what page they should turn to next. Some questions do actually require thought: “You hear your younger sister telling your parents that she got an A on her last biology test, but you know for a fact that she got a big fat F.” The choices here are threatening to tell on her; making sure she knows you could tell on her, but aren’t for now; telling her you know she failed and will tell your parents if she doesn’t; or telling her you know she failed – but you won’t tell, and will tutor her for the next test. Even in questions like this, it is usually pretty clear what a nice girl (or good sister) ought to do, but of course readers can decide whether they want to come across in their answers as nice or not – or whether they really want to look into themselves and be honest. That’s a lot to expect of preteens, and the story Velasquez tells is not really strong enough to invite substantial introspection – it is filled with the usual school dilemmas, cute boys, malls, parties, and so forth. And some of the writing just tries too hard to be with-it and/or cute: “You are a hopeless romantic. You’re always first in line to help decorate for the Valentine’s Day dance, and you’re still heartbroken that Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt broke up.” Your Life, but Better! never quite answers the question that its title begs readers to ask: better than what? The book is best if not taken as seriously as Velasquez seems to hope her readers will take it.

(++++) ARC SPARK

Microsoft Arc Keyboard. Windows 7, Vista or XP; Mac OS X v. 10.4-10.6. Microsoft. $59.95.

Microsoft Arc Mouse. Windows 7, Vista or XP; Mac OS X v. 10.2-10.5. Microsoft. $49.95.

     Everyone knows that Microsoft is a software company. Not everyone knows that it has a really excellent hardware division that consistently turns out top-quality products with innovative designs and unusual features. The trademarked Arc line is a perfect example of this under-the-radar part of Microsoft, and the new Arc Keyboard shows clearly just how innovative the hardware division can be.

     This is a wireless keyboard specifically designed for casual use – a clever idea that immediately sets it apart from traditional business-oriented keyboards. It weighs less than a pound and measures only about 12 by six inches – roughly two-thirds the size of most full-featured wireless keyboards. And it is full-featured, although some of its design elements take a little getting used to. Things that do not require accommodation are the keyboard layout (traditional QWERTY), key size (keys are full size) and key action (positive, easy to depress, forthright in operation). The space bar is full size; the Tab, Caps Lock, Shift, Ctrl, Alt, Enter and Backspace keys are in expected positions and are of expected sizes; and for ordinary typing, the keyboard is a pleasure to use. It is also – by design – a personal statement, thereby becoming part of the current trend toward individualizing computers. Flat along the sides and front, but rising along the top center, the keyboard sits comfortably on a user’s lap while he or she types in a non-business position – sitting on the sofa or in an armchair, for example. Being very lightweight (less than a pound), the keyboard is easy to move around and never feels like an encumbrance; but it does feel solid, not cheap, and its reflective black plastic casing is shiny and surprisingly fingerprint-resistant. It simply looks good – and it feels good, too.

     Compromises? Well, yes. The top row of keys – above the numbers and Backspace key – is small and arranged nontraditionally. At the far left is the Esc key – a good position. The next six keys – only six – are F keys. Each does double duty: to use F7 through F12, you must depress the Fn key as well as the F key. The Fn key is second from the right in the bottom row – not a particularly intuitive location. Nor is the key very large. It sits just to the right of an Alt key, and since there are two of those, Microsoft could have eliminated one and doubled the size of the Fn key. On the other hand, if you rarely use F7 through F12, the keyboard layout will not be an issue. On the third hand, the Fn key is used to turn the keyboard on and off (Fn + Esc), so having it more prominent would certainly not have been a bad idea.

     Back to that top row. To the right of F6 (which doubles as F12) is the Home key (PrtScn when used with Fn), followed by End, PgUp and PgDn. These take a little getting used to, since they are all the same size and it is easy to press the wrong one. But it is not hard to adapt. Then, continuing left to right, there are three volume keys – mute, down and up – and finally, at the far right, the Del key. This small key sits directly above the much larger Backspace key, and although that might seem like good placement because each of the keys is used for deletion, in practice it is very easy to hit the wrong key (usually Backspace when you want Del). Nevertheless, regular users of the Arc Keyboard will surely adjust quickly to its atypical elements.

     Mac users need to do a little extra adjusting, since the bottom row has a Windows key second from the left. Going to System Preferences will allow Mac users to remap Ctrl/Windows/Alt to the Mac’s traditional Ctrl/Option/Command – but they will probably want to paste something over that Windows logo.

     The Arc Keyboard’s wireless connection, by the way, is 2.4 GHz RF, not Bluetooth. All it needs is the included USB transceiver, which plugs directly into any USB port and stores neatly on the bottom of the keyboard when not in use. The Arc Keyboard is a specialty item, designed for people who regularly use their computers in casual settings – and its layout and functionality are just different enough from those of other keyboards so it may be irritating to switch back and forth between the Arc and a standard keyboard. But the Arc Keyboard is so well made, light, portable and comfortable in your lap that many who try it may find they prefer it to bulkier traditional keyboards and have little desire to go back.

     Nor is this keyboard Microsoft’s first Arc product. Although the keyboard is sold by itself, many users of it will also be interested in the Arc Mouse, which goes well with the keyboard and shares many of the same “elegant but casual” design elements. The Arc Mouse also uses 2.4 GHz RF for its wireless connection. It has four customizable buttons, a snap-in transceiver that fits in the bottom, and a feature that starts Windows Aero on computers equipped with it and Exposé for Mac on computers that have it. The Arc Mouse works well with either hand – its design is genuinely ambidextrous. But, interestingly enough, one of its primary design features is not all that big a deal. This is the fact that it is foldable: the front part tucks down and under on a sturdy metal hinge, making the Arc Mouse 60% of its fully expanded size so it can be carried more easily (folding it automatically turns it off). But if it is portability you are after, there are other ways to get it that are at least as elegant and functional, such as Microsoft’s own Wireless Notebook Presenter Mouse 8000, which is both feature-packed (including presentation-related buttons on the bottom) and about the size of the folded Arc Mouse. It costs more ($79.95), but other Microsoft notebook mouse products are less expensive and retain the small footprint. Strictly from a size perspective, the Arc Mouse is for users who really want a full-size mouse – perhaps because of the size of their hands, or just because it is what they are used to – and also want easy portability. For that group, it is a highly attractive product. The fact that it is available in multiple colors (white, purple, green, blue and of course black) makes it a “dress-up accessory” for computer personalization – tying into the same approach that the Arc Keyboard uses. Neither the keyboard nor the Arc Mouse will be ideal for all users; but then, neither is intended to be. Both work very well while looking good and feeling like off-the-beaten-path equipment. Their first-rate functionality and unusual design show just how cleverly the Microsoft hardware division continues to set itself apart from other hardware manufacturers – and from the company’s own, much larger software side.

(++++) VOCAL RARITIES

Suppé: Pique Dame. Anjara Ingrid Bartz, mezzo-soprano; Mojca Erdman and Anneli Pfeffer, sopranos; Thomas Dewald, tenor; Tom Erik Lie, baritone; WDR Rundfunkchor and WDR Rundfunkorchester conducted by Michail Jurowski. CPO. $16.99.

Nielsen: Cantatas. Jens Albinus, reciter; Ditte Højgaard Andersen, soprano; Mathias Hedegaard, tenor; Palle Knudsen, baritone; Aarhus Cathedral Choir, Danish National Opera Chorus, Vox Aros and Aarhus Symphony Orchestra conducted by Bo Holten. Dacapo. $16.99.

     It is always a pleasure to discover that Franz von Suppé did not just write operetta overtures – he wrote the works themselves. The overtures are such light-classical staples that it is easy to forget that they were meant to introduce full-length stage performances (Rossini’s overtures are in a similar situation). In the case of Pique Dame, though, listeners will likely approach the full operetta – actually a one-act work – with some trepidation. Could Suppé really be making light of the same Pushkin story that inspired Tchaikovsky’s dark and doom-laden Pique Dame? The answer is yes – and no. The genesis of Suppé’s work is complex and ties to Pushkin only in part; it also ties to the composer’s earlier Die Kartenschlägerin, Suppé’s unsuccessful second operetta, which in turn did tie to Pushkin but which the composer subsequently reworked. Little of this matters to the music, although CPO’s booklet notes do help sort out the background. What Michail Jurowski leads is a rousing performance of all nine numbers of the score, plus the justly familiar overture – whose tunes, it turns out, are all taken from the vocal pieces, which they fit beautifully. CPO provides neither a libretto nor a link to one online, which is deeply unfortunate but has become the standard of a label that once cared about such things. Listeners familiar with German will not have a problem – the singers’ voices are particularly clear, and they enunciate unusually well. But English speakers will have to be content with a rather confused and too-brief summary of the action. Much of the plot unfolds in dialogue, which is not included on the CD; in fact, the second portion of this one-act work contains only three vocal numbers. But, again, the music itself is quite wonderful, and the singers bring considerable expressiveness to it, effectively changing intonation to indicate their emotions. This is especially well done in the attempted-seduction scene – boldly labeled “Orgy” in the score – in which the sort-of-bad guy is shown to be an unprincipled rake (although he becomes a better person at the operetta’s very end). Jurowski does a fine job throughout, except for overdoing some of the tempo changes in the overture. Suppé is underrated as an operetta composer – it would be good to have more of his works available. But they really, really need libretti – and preferably dialogue – to have their full effect.

     Unlike CPO, Dacapo is meticulous in providing texts and multilingual translations for its CDs of vocal works, such as the first-ever recording of three occasional cantatas by Carl Nielsen. The difficulty here is not with the elegant presentation but with the music itself, which is why this release gets a (+++) rating. Nielsen was as capable as any artist of rising to a well-paid occasion and producing a work to order. But being inspired on command is quite another thing. Not even Mozart could manage it, as his many Mass settings show. In Nielsen’s case, the longest work here is the blandest: Cantata for the Opening Ceremony of the National Exhibition in Aarhus 1909 is all major-key triumphalism, supporting words of stunning mediocrity: “God-given beauty of form is ever-present, like a grub unfolding its color in the sun as a poem does in words.” Nielsen actually wrote only half of this cantata, sharing the chore with his pupil Emilius Bangert, who did a fine job of imitating Nielsen’s style here – although it is more a case of Nielsen removing most of his own unique stylistic elements and Bangert then producing similarly uninspired music. There is a certain rousing enthusiasm to this cantata, and the performers give it their all, but it has little pure musical value. The other works here are at least marginally more interesting. Music for Hans Hartvig Seedorff Pedersen’s Homage to Holberg (1923) has a bit of the flavor of Maskarade, which Nielsen based on a Holberg comedy. Nielsen was no longer writing in Maskarade style by the time he composed this work, but he returned to his earlier approach with some success, although the piece remains slight. Cantata for the Annual University Commemoration (1908) is broader and more effective than the National Exhibition cantata, with some darker tone painting and a marginally (if only marginally) better text. Again, the performers bring enthusiasm to the music, and a sense of importance that is somewhat beyond what it deserves. Also on this CD is a very short piece – the only work here that has been recorded before: “Ariel’s Song” for tenor and orchestra from Music for Helge Rode’s Prologue “Shakespeare” (1916). It is moody and flowing and over quickly. It cannot be denied that this disc is a valuable addition to the Nielsen discography, but it mostly shows that even a first-rate composer will willingly step down from the musical heights when he has a chance to fulfill paying commissions.

(+++) WELL PLAYED, ODDLY PRESENTED

Mozart: Piano Concertos Nos. 22 and 24. David Greilsammer, piano and conducting the Suedama Ensemble. Naïve. $16.99.

Mozart: Concerto for Flute and Harp; Andante for Flute and Orchestra, K315; Concerto for Harp and Orchestra, K107/1. Pirmin Grehl, flute; Maria Graf, harp; Bayerisches Kammerorchester Bad Brückenau conducted by Gernot Schulz. Profil. $16.99.

     Mozart’s music has so many meanings and so many levels of appeal that it can survive interpretative extravagances that would sink the works of lesser composers. Unfortunately, this fact sometimes invites performers to try a little too hard to make their Mozart stand out. That seems to be the case with David Greilsammer, whose first CD of Mozart piano concertos focused on early works and presented them with a light and pleasant touch – but whose second, which includes two great works of the composer’s maturity, never quite gets off the ground. It may be that Greilsammer tries to do too much here. He plays piano; leads the Suedama (“Amadeus” spelled backward) Ensemble, which he founded; writes booklet notes; and takes part in an interview included with those notes. But it is the musical interpretation that matters most, and it does not quite work. The chamber group plays beautifully, and the musicians – including Greilsammer himself – even allow themselves a bit of extemporaneous decoration during the performance, which is not canonic but is refreshingly effective. However, Greilsammer could have used a conductor to rein in his enthusiasm a bit. The outer movements of both concertos are so fast-paced that it seems he is in a hurry to get them over with. The notes are right, but the feeling is often wrong. In the deeply felt C minor concerto (No. 24), Greilsammer creates such an anti-Romantic interpretation that he strips away the emotional depth, especially in the finale. In the E-flat concerto (No. 22), when the headlong finale pauses so Mozart can indulge in a slow section that is one of his most gorgeous inspirations, Greilsammer seems to want to get the slow stuff over with so he can plunge back into speed. It is not that Greilsammer cannot play slowly – the Larghetto of No. 24 is quite lovely – but his overall approach here is one of brightness and gaiety that simply does not sit well in these particular works (although it would in other Mozart concertos – No. 15, for example). Greilsammer has some interesting ideas about Mozart, but on this CD he seems somewhat too self-indulgent to present them effectively.

     The presentation of Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp by Pirmin Grehl and Maria Graf, on the other hand, is effective. The soloists are well balanced and their tones well matched, and they have considerable sensitivity to each other’s phrasing and pacing – although Graf tends to dominate Grehl through her sheer sense of style. Gernot Schulz leads the Bayerisches Kammerorchester Bad Brückenau in a subdued, supportive manner that does not intrude on the delicacy of the soloists’ roles, and the result is a lovely rendition of this very unusual double concerto. The oddity here is in the rest of the CD. The entire disc runs less than 47 minutes – less than the length of many LP records in the pre-CD days. And the filler material is peculiar. Instead of one of Mozart’s flute concertos – there is plenty of room for one – the CD includes the Andante that Mozart wrote as an alternative movement for his flute concerto in G, K313. This gives Grehl a brief chance to shine as a soloist on his own, but musically, this is a strange little encore. Graf’s solo work is more extensive and more impressive, but also a real oddity: it is her own transcription for harp of the first of Mozart’s early K107 harpsichord concertos, which are actually his arrangements of sonatas by Johann Christian Bach. So this is an arrangement of an arrangement – and it happens to sound quite lovely as a work for harp and orchestra, although it would be hard to argue that the arrangement will have mass appeal to listeners and Mozart lovers. The oddities of this CD actually extend beyond the music and the disc’s length into the accompanying booklet, whose notes (in their English version) devote three pages to Mozart but three-and-a-half to the orchestra, including a mysterious and never-explained reference to the ensemble’s “involuntary move to Bad Brückenau in 2003 and the associated change of name.” There are a number of fine performances of the Concerto for Flute and Harp, which is the work for which listeners are most likely to want this CD. The disc will bring the most pleasure to fans of Graf, who is a top-notch player; more casual or less focused listeners may feel a bit cheated by the short length of the disc and its other peculiarities.

(++++) LITTLE THINGS THAT MEAN A LOT

Lawn to Lawn. By Dan Yaccarino. Knopf. $17.99.

Kiss Kiss. By Selma Mandine. Golden Books. $12.99.

You’re Lovable to Me. By Kat Yeh. Illustrated by Sue Anderson. Random House. $15.99.

     Non-lovers of tacky little lawn ornaments can turn their backs on Lawn to Lawn, but everyone else will be charmed by it – starting with the cover, which features Dan Yaccarino’s portrayal of the four heroes of the book: a pink flamingo, garden gnome, lamp-bearing jockey and decorative fawn. In fact, it is the pictures that make this book so delightful: the story serves them rather than being served by them. The plot is simply that a family moves from one home to another, leaving its lawn ornaments behind, and the ornaments decide to find the new house because the family’s little girl, Pearl, is so fond of them. That’s it. The book unfolds as an adventure in travel – during which each “starring” lawn ornament is tempted to abandon the quest, but perseveres. The fawn, for example, is enchanted by a “brave moose statue” that chases away some gargoyles, while the jockey is tempted to stay at a racetrack. But the four ornaments keep going, encountering fountains and restaurant mascots and even a couple of “snooty lion” guards – and always watching for trash trucks, which they know will sometimes pick up lawn ornaments and take them away forever. In a neat twist, a trash truck turns out to help the seekers, whose eventual reuniting with Pearl is no less heartfelt for being inevitable. “The journey had been worth it,” the lawn ornaments conclude – and young readers (ages 5-9) will surely agree.

     Kiss Kiss is for even younger children – ages 3-7 – and is equally sweet. Again, the plot is simple and the illustrations wonderful. The story, such as it is, has a teddy bear asking his owner what an apparently little thing – a kiss – is like. The answer, it turns out, takes many forms. When “a kiss is supersoft, like cuddly wool,” Selma Mandine’s illustration is all pink and cloudlike. For a prickly kiss from scratchy-faced Daddy, the color palette is green, with cacti. For grandpa’s kiss, which is “just like cotton candy,” two pages are covered with pink candy swirls from which hearts peek out. And so the story goes, even including wet kisses (with water drops shaped like hearts) from the dog, Rex. But the teddy bear never quite understands what a kiss is, so a demonstration is called for, proving that a kiss is “soft and warm and fresh – It’s delicious!” And so is Kiss Kiss.

     The six little bunnies featured in You’re Lovable to Me have been getting into some not-so-little mischief, throwing food and pulling toilet paper everywhere in the bathroom and squeezing out all the toothpaste and generally creating chaos, in scenes that will be quite familiar to kids ages 2-6 – the book’s target audience. By bedtime, the bunnies are concerned, as young children would be, too, about causing their mother so much trouble. Worried about mama’s reaction, they apologize – but instead of getting scolded, they get a lesson in love. Mama tells them that whether they are sad, frightened, lonely, worried, mad or even “plain exhausted,” she loves them – simply because “I’m your mama. You’re my bunnies. And you’re lovable to me.” Kat Yeh’s story could end there – but what makes this book so special is that it doesn’t. For all her words of appreciation, the bunnies’ mother is exhausted, and still has so much cleaning up and rearranging to do that she eventually falls asleep sitting on the sofa. And then her father – the little bunnies’ grandpa – stops by “for evening tea” and finds his little girl, now all grown up, all worn out. And that sets him to thinking about what love means: “When a papa loves a bunny, he still lives her when she’s grown.” And he remembers his little bunny’s growing-up years, and all that was special about them, and he covers tired mama with a blanket and holds her gently as her little bunnies, who apparently have not fallen asleep just yet, peek down on mama and grandpa from the staircase. This is a wonderful message about the cross-generational power and importance of love, and Sue Anderson’s beautifully sentimental illustrations bring it home as clearly as do Yeh’s words. Love itself is, after all, a little word – but as this book shows, it is scarcely a little thing.

(++++) OH, YUCK!

100 Most Disgusting Things on the Planet. By Anna Claybourne. Scholastic. $7.99.

Fly Guy #8: Fly Guy Meets Fly Girl! By Tedd Arnold. Cartwheel Books/Scholastic. $5.99.

     Admit it – there’s something inherently fascinating about really gross stuff. Maybe not to adults (although that’s arguable), but certainly to a lot of kids. And it’s that fascination with the weird and truly unpleasant things in life to which Anna Claybourne plays in 100 Most Disgusting Things on the Planet. Now, it’s important to realize that the “disgusting” stuff here seems that way from a perceptual standpoint, not an analytical one. That is, there is nothing here about heart disease, advanced cancer, mistreatment of children or animals, or anything along those lines. These “disgusting” things (rated from one to five “yuck faces,” which are green emoticons with tongues sticking out) come in two sections: “Disgusting Nature” and “Disgusting Humans.” The first includes, for example, the tarantula – which gets a yuck factor of only two, because “they look hairy and scary, but only some people find them revolting – others keep them as pets!” Want something with a yuck factor of five? That would be the snakelike hagfish, scavengers whose bodies are completely covered with large quantities of extremely slippery slime. The vampire bat gets a yuck factor of four, which seems a trifle unfair – but the botfly, which lives inside living animals and feeds on them, rates a five, which seems about right. Each page of 100 Most Disgusting Things on the Planet shows a photo of whatever is described, gives information about it, and provides an occasional warning or “top tip.” Some of these are pretty obvious: “If you see one of these giant [tarantula hawk] wasps, keep away.” Others are useful: “If your dog or cat bites a cane toad [a poison-skinned amphibian that gets a yuck factor of two], rinse the pet’s mouth out with water and take it to a vet as soon as you can.” So where do “Disgusting Humans” fit into all this? There are the predictable pages about pee, poo, sneezing, spit and vomit, but there are also some genuinely interesting items in this section: ants that are used to stitch up wounds (yuck factor of three, which seems high); tripe as food (yuck factor of two); chocolate-covered ants (three); household dust (three); black mold (four); and germs in cheese (three, with a note that the holes in Swiss cheese “are made by gas bubbles that are released by bacteria”). Not everything here is truly disgusting – many things are a matter of taste or culture – but the chances are that kids fascinated by gross stuff will find a lot of items to like (if that’s the right word) in 100 Most Disgusting Things on the Planet.

     Take houseflies, for example (yuck factor: four). In Tedd Arnold’s Fly Guy series, they are endearing rather than filthy; or maybe that’s endearing and filthy. The latest book in the series doubles the fun – or disgusting-ness, if you prefer – by having Buzz and his pet fly (that would be Fly Guy) meet a girl named Liz and her pet fly, Fly Girl. Each fly can say its owner’s name (“buzz” and “lizzz,” that is), and both flies have delightfully similar habits: “‘Fly Guy eats gross stuff,’ said Buzz. ‘Fly Girl eats grosser stuff,’ said the girl.” Arnold gets away with all the grossness not only because fans of this series expect it, but also because his drawings are silly/funny as well as…well…gross. So what happens here? Disaster, almost, because while Buzz and Liz play together, Fly Guy and Fly Girl discover that they really, really like each other, and they start imagining a future together – which Arnold shows in terms of the two of them living in a thrown-away food can with lots of little flies flitting about (no maggots here!). But then what would happen to Buzz and Liz? (And what would happen to the Fly Guy series, for that matter?) Anyway, everything turns out just fine, because the two flies decide to be “just friends,” since they can’t bear the thought of leaving their humans. Whew! Close call! So don’t worry – there are sure to be more Fly Guy books to come, because Arnold may not himself be a fly guy, but he’s certainly a sly guy.

(+++) THE PROBLEM WITH BEING SUPERNATURAL

Beyond the Night. By Joss Ware. Avon. $7.99.

Green. By Laura Peyton Roberts. Delacorte Press. $16.99.

     The thing about zombies is that there is just no way to make them romantic. All that shambling, brain-sucking, mentally vacant, limbs-falling-off lurching about just isn’t attractive in any way, shape, or form. Not that vampires – which zombies are in the process of supplanting in popular literature – were always particularly erotic. John Polidori’s The Vampyre has a much more brutal and less attractive title character than does Bram Stoker’s later Dracula. But ever since Stoker – who brought a frisson of suppressed eroticism to vampire lore – there has been something steamy, implied or overt, about bloodsuckers. Now, though, they seem to be fading from overexposure – not to sunlight but to the popular imagination. And zombies are in the ascendant. But they are just so unpleasant. So writers such as Joss Ware have to figure out how to create zombie-populated paranormal tales – in Ware’s case, a paranormal romance – without grossing out all would-be readers. Ware’s solution is simple enough: include zombies in her book, but not as its central focus, and let the romance flower between zombie killers rather than among the undead themselves. Good plan. But in implementing it in Beyond the Night, Ware goes a bit overboard. This is one of those books in which the author throws out all the plot elements she can think up in the hope that some of them will stick. So we have immortality; a mysterious 50-year sleep; the end of the world as we know it; evildoers keeping women as slaves; unexplained development of supernatural powers; Nevada ending up on the Pacific coast after California’s disappearance beneath the waves; a fight with a huge snake; a “with great power comes great responsibility” theme; and of course – this being a romance – a couple of damaged-goods people who are nevertheless extraordinarily attractive and destined eventually to confront their pasts, to couple and to become a couple. A lot of Ware’s writing is straight out of romance-genre cliché: “She sounded like sex and promises.” A lot of her plot points are, too: somehow, even after utter worldwide disaster and the near-destruction of the human race, the one-man-one-woman model has remained a glorious ideal. Nevertheless, if you do not take Beyond the Night too seriously – and it sometimes seems not to take itself too seriously – it is fun to read, not so much to find out why the world was destroyed, who the immortal Strangers are or just when Elliott and Jade will give in to their desires (“raging hormones under control,” Ware writes at one point), but to figure out what’s going on with the ganga (this book’s zombies) and how Ware is going to pull all her themes together. Readers won’t actually find everything out in Beyond the Night – two follow-ups are in the works – but this book is still a heady thrill ride if you can ignore its frequently earnest silliness.

     On the whole, leprechauns are easier to enjoy than zombies, which may be why Green – which is intended for girls ages 10 and up rather than for adults – makes the little people its supernatural focus. Laura Peyton Roberts’ heroine, Lily, has just turned 13 when she meets the leprechauns rather explosively (a birthday gift actually blows up shortly before three leprechauns appear in her bedroom). These wee folk are certainly not as scary as, say, zombies, but they are not entirely benign, either: “You guys are mean, and you made me miss my party.” That’s not the worst of things, though, after Lily is taken to the leprechauns’ world – where she, following in the footsteps of her grandmother, is due to be put in charge of all the gold of the Clan of Green. For Lily must pass three tests to prove herself worthy to be the clan’s “keeper” – and if she fails, she may never see her home again. Lily herself has leprechaun blood – the result of some leprechauns’ wish that went awry “hundreds o’ years ago…during a Rendezvous” – and that explains why both Lily and her grandmother before her are connected to the Clan of Green. Indeed, early in her adventures, Lily finds a note from her grandmother, filled with the sort of typically unhelpful advice that protagonists of tales like this always seem to get: “The only way back is forward. Be what you’d become.” And so forth. Of course, also as usual in stories like this, the advice turns out to be just what Lily needs – including the apparently irrelevant comment that leprechauns don’t swim. Indeed, Lily learns several surprising things about leprechauns, including that “scarce one or two of us in a generation is born with the [magic] touch,” but that the wee folk are mighty good cobblers. She also learns about creatures called piskies and their “wild magic,” and about the dangers of a “clover swear,” and (of course) about her own inner strength – and she gets to take luck with her when she eventually comes through all her trials. Furthermore, she finds out that “the desire to possess [gold] wasn’t about need,” and that knowledge gives her a most satisfying final act before she returns to the world of humans. Green is never too serious, never too threatening, but is not quite a romp, either – it is often so frothy that it is barely there, but it ends up as a nice bit of light entertainment for preteens wanting a temporary escape from humdrum daily life.

(++++) UNHEARD BEETHOVEN

Beethoven: Egmont—Incidental Music; Marches Nos. 1 and 2; Ah! Perfido. Madeleine Pierard, soprano; Claus Obalski, narrator; New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by James Judd. Naxos. $8.99.

Beethoven and Mendelssohn: Organ Works. Wolfgang Kleber, organ. Genuin. $18.99.

     The music of Beethoven is so often played – indeed, so often over-played – that it is natural to assume that most listeners have heard just about everything he wrote. But this is far from the case: among the composer’s 100-plus opus numbers and many additional unnumbered works (WoO), there are quite a few that are performed very rarely indeed. This is a real shame, because the less-known works often show sides of Beethoven that the better-known ones do not. There is, for example, more to Beethoven the vocal composer than the ninth symphony, Fidelio, the Missa Solemnis and the Fantasia for Piano, Chorus and Orchestra – the last of these itself being a rarity until a couple of decades ago, when its forward-looking structure and musical interest finally became more widely apparent. Take Beethoven’s music for Goethe’s tragedy, Egmont, for example. The Egmont Overture is a marvelously evocative piece that shows up frequently in the concert hall and in recorded form. But Beethoven also wrote a series of entr’actes and vocal works for Egmont, and if none of them is at the level of the overture (which encapsulates the entire drama in less than 10 minutes), the same may be said of Fidelio and the Leonore Overture No. 3 – a fact that does not render the opera any less interesting. James Judd offers a nuanced, balanced and finely proportioned reading of the Egmont incidental music, with Madeleine Pierard highly affecting in the role of the doomed Clärchen (whose death music, which is wholly instrumental, is especially effective) and Claus Obalski presenting strong narration in an extended Melodrama that occurs in the play’s final act. True, the music is less effective in the form given here than in the context of Goethe’s entire play; but the same can be said, for instance, of Grieg’s music for Ibsen’s Peer Gynt, and that has not prevented Grieg’s miniatures from achieving a concert-hall life of their own. Similarly, Beethoven’s Egmont is worth knowing for more than its overture, even if that opening piece remains the best music associated with the play. Judd complements the Egmont music of 1810 with two marches in F major, from 1809 and 1810, which are slight but pleasant enough, and with the extended concert aria Ah! Perfido – which dates to 1795-6 and fits rather uneasily with the rest of this CD from a thematic standpoint, although it certainly gives Pierard an excellent additional opportunity to display her fine soprano.

     Even less known than Egmont are Beethoven’s Three Pieces for Mechanical Organ, which Wolfgang Kleber includes on a new Beethoven/Mendelssohn CD. These works, like the better-known (but also infrequently played) Wellington’s Victory, are evidence of Beethoven’s fascination with new ways of making music. The first of them, an Adagio, shows that Beethoven expected expressiveness even from mechanical instruments. Also heard on this CD is another Beethoven rarity: Two Preludes through All the Major Keys, op. 39. Playable on either organ or piano, these works start in C and pass throughout the major keys to return to C at the end – evidence of the strong formal underpinnings of Beethoven’s music, which was later to move so far in new directions.

     Mendelssohn moved in new directions, too, and the balance of Kleber’s excellently played CD focuses on some of his less-known works: Three Preludes and Fugues, op. 37, and two of the six sonatas from op. 65 – No. 1 in F minor and No. 5 in D major. Op. 37 finds Mendelssohn in tribute-to-Bach mode – it dates to the same period in the 1830s as op. 35, the Six Preludes and Fugues for piano, written in homage to The Well-Tempered Clavier. The rather strict fugues in op. 37 stand in contrast to the freer preludes, which are more expressive. As for the op. 65 sonatas, they are late Mendelssohn works, dating to 1844-5, and explore a variety of movement sequences as well as various emotions. Indeed, it would be good to hear all six of these sonatas performed by Kleber, who handles the two here with great sensitivity and fine balance between formal structure and emotive communication. These works do not sound much like the light and spirited Mendelssohn with whom most listeners are familiar – and, as a result, they broaden the understanding of their composer’s abilities, concerns and very wide-ranging musical interests.

(++++) BEYOND THE BAROQUE

Michael Haydn: Symphonies Nos. 14, 17, 19, 24, 29, 33, 40 and 41; Symphony in F; Three Marches. Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss conducted by Frank Beermann and Johannes Goritzki. CPO. $33.99 (2 CDs).

Avner Dorman: Mandolin Concerto (2006); Piccolo Concerto (2001); Concerto Grosso (2003); Piano Concerto (1995). Avi Avital, mandolin; Mindy Kaufman, piccolo; Eliran Avni, piano; Metropolis Ensemble conducted by Andrew Cyr. Naxos. $8.99.

     It is Michael Haydn’s posthumous misfortune to be perpetually overshadowed, both by his older brother, Joseph, and by his younger contemporary, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. In his own era, Michael Haydn (1737-1806) was considerably better thought of than in subsequent times. A number of his 40-plus symphonies were for many years attributed to Joseph, and one symphony was long thought to be by Mozart – which explains the mysterious absence of a “No. 37” from Mozart’s symphonic catalogue. Mozart actually wrote the introduction to that symphony’s first movement, thus confusing matters further; and indeed, in his earlier musical life, Mozart took Michael Haydn as a model and copied a number of his works – thus leading to considerable confusion about original authorship. All of this would be no more than a set of curiosities of musical history if it were not for the fact that Michael Haydn composed a great deal of music, much of it of very considerable interest, that is indisputably his own – not only symphonies but also string quartets and quintets, dances, marches, ballets, serenades, concertos, and lots of vocal music, both sacred and secular (but only one opera, Andromeda e Perseo – although he did write a number of Singspiels). Frank Beermann and the Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss do a great deal to show just how effective Michael Haydn’s orchestral music can be in their new two-CD set of some of his symphonies. Many of these works tie more closely to Baroque models than did those of Joseph Haydn and Mozart; indeed, the appellation Sinfonia tends to fit them better than does that of Symphony. The works certainly sound more like throwbacks than do better-known ones of the same time. For example, No. 41 in A, the composer’s last numbered symphony, dates to 1789 – but is worlds distant from Mozart’s No. 41 in C, written a year earlier. Michael Haydn’s work includes a fugato and sixteenth-note runs that are effective but scarcely forward-looking, although it does have some interesting sonorities, notably the use of bassoon with violins in the first movement. The other works here all have elements of considerable interest without ever becoming compelling as full-scale pieces. No. 33 in B-flat, for example, is attention-getting, with trumpets and drums, but harks back to Italian opera overtures (this work’s minuet was added later to its original three-movement structure). No. 17 in E, assembled by the composer from earlier stage music, has effective folklike elements and a rather eerie Trio to its minuet. No. 40 in F balances strings and winds with considerable skill. The Andante of No. 24 in A features attractive variations in which the winds play against muted strings. No 29 in D minor, the sole minor-key symphony that Michael Haydn wrote, offers an odd combination of minor-key tonality with festive scoring and bright themes. No single symphony here stands out as being completely effective from start to finish, but all contain commendable elements that show Michael Haydn’s skill at musical construction and instrumentation. And the three short marches that fill out the recording – from 1786, 1787 and 1790 – are full of verve and spirit, with one of them, surprisingly, scored for strings alone.

     The Baroque flavor that remained in Michael Haydn’s works never completely disappeared from music in the centuries that followed, although it was much transformed (in Brahms’ Symphony No. 4, to cite just one example). Even in the 20^th and 21^st centuries, Baroque music and Baroque forms have retained their power to inspire composers – such as Avner Dorman (born 1975), who has written concertos that draw on Baroque models for formal structure and even sometimes for harmony, but use the rhythms of jazz, ethnic music and rock ‘n roll for their communicative effects. This can be an uneasy combination, and Dorman’s music will not strike all listeners as having managed it effectively – this CD gets a (+++) rating. But in Dorman as in Michael Haydn, there is a great deal worth hearing even if the totality of the works seems less effective than some of their individual parts. The Mandolin Concerto – performed by Avi Avital, who commissioned it – is a particularly interesting throwback, although Dorman never quite lets this old instrument be itself: he gives it Middle Eastern sounds that do not quite fit its timbre, includes pizzicato harmonics, and has the mandolin detuned at the work’s end. The concerto is a curiosity rather than a compelling piece, but it certainly has interesting sonic moments. The Piccolo Concerto is in traditional fast-slow-fast form and shows closer ties to Baroque and Classical times, although it also features prominent polytonality. Dorman’s Concerto Grosso – a Baroque form if there ever was one – actually includes a harpsichord and a little of Handel’s Concerto Grosso, op. 6, no. 4, but it is more driven rhythmically than a work of the Baroque era. The Piano Concerto, written when Dorman was 19, is inspired by Bach and dedicated to Vivaldi, and it is something of a mashup, including bits of jazz, pop, rock and other 20^th-century forms while maintaining some elements of Baroque style. All these pieces – all of which are very well played by soloists and ensemble alike – come across more as experiments than as works of heartfelt expressiveness; all have effective moments that give way, all too soon, to less-effective ones. Dorman has some interesting compositional ideas; but on the basis of these works he has yet to find a voice that is uniquely his rather than one that structures music by juxtaposing modern styles with much older ones.