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

The Book of Awesome. By Neal Pasricha. Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam. $22.95.

Change Your Age: Using Your Body and Brain to Feel Younger, Stronger, and More Fit. By Frank Wildman, CFT, Ph.D. Da Capo. $18.95.

     Cynics, begone! The Book of Awesome is easily dismissible as a silly attempt to elevate meaningless elements of everyday life to the level of great importance. And if you read it that way, that’s just what it will be – and you will not enjoy it at all. Non-cynics, be aware: The Book of Awesome really is an elevation of small, apparently meaningless events to a higher level than they would ever normally attain – but that is the whole point. Neal Pasricha’s argument is that, with all the grand and miserable things going on in the world, everyone can take refuge in the small, delightful things that occur all the time but that we rarely pause to acknowledge. Think of it as “stop and smell the roses” expanded to nearly 400 pages. True, a little of this bubbliness goes a long way, which is surely why Pasricha’s blog, www.1000awesomethings.com, gets so many hits and has won so many awards – you can look at it daily for just a second or two and get the point of the whole thing, and maybe find a pick-me-up for yourself and your day (and if not, there’s always tomorrow). Pasricha’s concept is well communicated by the headlines in this book, which pretty well render the explanations that follow unnecessary. For example, “when the thing you were going to buy is already on sale” is certainly an “up” moment. Whether Pasricha’s follow-up personal story of “humming down the aisle and happily accepting little sample cups of drinkable yogurt from sweet old ladies in hairnets” adds anything is a matter of taste (and not just whether you have a taste for drinkable yogurt). Similarly, “discovering those little tabs on the side of the aluminum foil box” really does feel like a small accomplishment, whether or not you add Pasricha’s personal aluminum-unrolling foibles to the initial headline. And “finally clipping your fingernails after you’ve been meaning to do it all week” scarcely needs to be followed by the news that “it’s not a trim, it’s a full-on shear…and you sort of feel a little buzz of pride, relief, and cleanliness.” Still, Pasricha’s unbounded enthusiasm for the little pleasures of life can be infectious if you let it be, and it is truly wonderful to see how many of those little pleasures he comes up with and writes about: bakery air, the cooler “other side of the pillow,” laughing along with someone whom you spot singing in his or her car, getting to use a neighbor’s expensive swimming pool, perfectly popped microwave popcorn – there is nothing earthshaking anywhere in The Book of Awesome, but there are so many little niceties that readers will feel renewed, maybe even uplifted, by the time they finish it. Which they should do slowly, since the items really do cloy if taken in too-large doses at one time.

     Another thing to do slowly – if you want your mobility to belie your calendar years – is to move, stand and lie down. The importance of doing those activities carefully and thoughtfully is one lesson from Change Your Age by Frank Wildman, CFT (which here means Certified Feldenkrais Trainer, not, say, Center for Financial Training or Community Foundation Trust). Wildman, also a Ph.D. and educator, heads the Feldenkrais Movement Institute in Berkeley, California, which aims to improve people’s balance, fitness and daily life through a self-awareness program created by Israeli physicist Moshé Feldenkrais (1904-1984). Guided self-observation, awareness and self-rehabilitation are foundations of the Feldenkrais method, whose teachings pervade Change Your Age but need not be studied or followed dogmatically in order to benefit from Wildman’s book. For the book is really about small things you can do, on an ongoing basis, to improve your overall quality of life, whatever your age. One subheading, “Hidden in Slow, Small Movements – The Potential for Change,” stands for much of what Wildman recommends and is followed by this explanation: “It is by paying attention that you can assess how young or old different parts of your body feel, determine the realistic and reasonable changes needed to make your movements more youthful, and measure your progress toward your goal of a more youthful self.” In the book’s six sections, Wildman focuses on becoming mindful of your body as it is and as you want it to be, then exercising in ways that will help you get from where you are now to where you want to go. “The Change Your Age Program” of 30 exercises is the core of the book and the longest section by far, detailing basic and advanced movement exercises (all derived from Feldenkrais teachings) to be done when lying down, sitting, kneeling, and so on. Like all books recommending exercise – even gentle exercise – this one cannot provide the motivation needed to learn the movements and practice them day in and day out. But Wildman’s recommendations have an advantage over those in the many “sweat it out” exercise books: these are gentle, motion-focused exercises rather than ones designed for strength building or cardiovascular fitness. Some have silly or whimsical names (“baby alligator,” “the sitting and turning dance,” “jump-sitting in a chair”), but all are serious attempts to maintain or improve mobility. The flaw in Wildman’s approach, as in the many well-meaning “exercise for fitness” books written in recent years, is the assumption that people have the time as well as the motivation to become as intensely involved in these exercises as Wildman clearly is himself. In the case of Change Your Age, though, this is not a significant drawback, since the exercises have specific purposes – for example, “coordinating your neck and eyes with your legs and pelvis” – and it is not necessary to do all the activities all the time. Furthermore, the underlying precepts of the exercises are nicely explained here, as in a section called “The Importance of Orientation and Scanning” that explains why certain forms of movement are evolutionarily significant and how improving them can therefore be beneficial in everyday life. Change Your Age will not, of course, alter your chronological standing, but it can help you develop habits that, if they will not make you become younger, can make you feel younger than the calendar says you are – and that, after all, is one thing that people most value as time goes on.

(+++) MAGIC AND MYSTERIES

The Sixty-Eight Rooms. By Marianne Malone. Illustrated by Greg Call. Random House. $16.99.

Calendar Mysteries: #3—March Mischief; #4—April Adventure. By Ron Roy. Random House. $4.99 each.

     Here are some books that are pleasant and interesting rather than dramatic – nice ways to spend some “down time,” if not the sorts of page-turners that you cannot put down once you become engrossed in them. The Sixty-Eight Rooms has an unusual and interesting premise, especially for families living in Chicago or familiar with its museums: the rooms of the title are the Thorne Rooms at the Art Institute of Chicago. They were designed by Mrs. James Ward Thorne and furnished partly with miniatures she bought and partly with furniture created by craftsmen in the 1930s and 1940s. The rooms are a popular exhibit at the museum – but they contain no human figures, since Mrs. Thorne felt that dolls would not look as realistic as the rooms’ miniature furnishings, which reflect a wide variety of styles, tastes and eras. But the fascinating setting is not enough to sustain a book for ages 8-12, so what first-time novelist Marianne Malone does is invent two sixth-graders named Ruthie and Jack who see the rooms on a school field trip – and discover a key that lets Ruthie (and, later, Jack) shrink to hamster size so they can explore the rooms and learn their secrets. And the rooms do have secrets – in the novel, that is – because there has to be some thread of exploration and uncertainty to keep the book moving. So Malone has the protagonists not only visit the rooms but also visit the time periods that the rooms represent; they encounter characters (some real, some imaginary) from different epochs; they are involved in the Salem witch trials and the French Revolution; they find an important journal and learn about an almost-wife of King Henry VIII; and so on. Unfortunately, there is an artificiality to the plotting that fits uneasily with the descriptions of the rooms, which Malone clearly knows and loves – the furnishings are more interesting than the sixth-graders. And the dialogue and narrative style are pedestrian: “‘I’m not going to do that again!’ Ruthie stated when her feet were firmly planted on the ledge. She brushed her hair off her face. ‘But it worked!’ ‘Yeah, but it felt like backward bungee jumping!’ ‘What’s wrong with that?’” The youths’ adventures offer periodic tingles of excitement, and the notion that there can be magic in everyday life if you simply look for it is attractive (although commonplace). But the real attraction here is the exhibit of rooms, not the “official” adventures that Ruthie and Jack have while visiting them.

     March Mischief and April Adventure continue the mystery series that Ron Roy began with January Joker and February Friend, and here as in the earlier books, the stories are pleasant without being gripping. These mysteries for ages 6-9 feature the younger siblings of the kids in the A to Z Mysteries series, with events and writing style suitably simplified. March Mischief focuses on St. Patrick’s Day, April Adventure on Easter (never mind that Easter can also occur in March). The four sleuths here are Bradley, Brian, Nate and Lucy. The March story involves disappearing leprechauns: they are first stolen for a bit of revenge that goes wrong, but then they are stolen from the young thieves, and then the mystery really begins. It turns out to involve a double-cross (or maybe triple-cross) intended to teach a mild lesson, and of course everything turns out just fine. Ditto in April, when instead of leprechauns being stolen, Easter eggs mysteriously disappear. The egg hunt involves finding both plastic eggs (a dozen) and real ones (four), with the real eggs being the ones that have gone missing. There is a nice scene here in which the kids think a snake has eaten the eggs, but the boys are scared to approach it – while Lucy admires its beauty and tells them not to be afraid. That’s a good role reversal. The mystery itself has a bit of a twist, too, and involves the kids getting help from a petting zoo to bring some real eggs to a couple of misguided birds. Again, everything ends happily and there is nothing at all scary or threatening in the story, which is an enjoyable one even though the kids themselves have very little personality.

(++++) BIG FEATURES, TINY PACKAGE

Microsoft LifeCam HD-6000. Windows 7, Vista or XP (excluding XP Pro 64-bit). Microsoft. $59.95.

     Lots and lots of notebook computers come with built-in cameras these days. And lots and lots of those cameras are, to put it politely, not very good. They’re fine for taking still photos to identify yourself in E-mail or at social networking sites; they’re reasonably good for video chat if the lighting is just right and you aim them correctly; and they do have the advantage of being built into the computer’s form factor, so there is nothing else to carry if you are on the go. That last undoubted benefit is somewhat negated, though, when you are sitting somewhere less than ideal – say, in an airport terminal – and trying to find a place comfortable enough to use the computer while also angling it so the built-in camera actually shows what you want it to show.

     So add-on cameras certainly have a place in the market, and when they are good, they can be very worthwhile accessories. For notebook users whose units do not contain built-ins, the add-ons are practically a must-have. And when they are very good, it may be tempting to buy one even if you already have a built-in model.

     The new HD-6000 from Microsoft Hardware is very good. Very, very good. Indeed, it is good enough so people who decide not to spend the $60 to buy it because they already have a built-in notebook camera will make that decision regretfully if they try out the HD-6000 and find out what it can do.

     First of all, this camera is really tiny: a one-inch cube, not counting its mounting adapter. Second of all, it rotates a full 360 degrees (actually, to be precise, 180 degrees in each direction) and tilts smoothly up and down as well – there is simply no position in which it can’t get a good picture. Third of all, the camera’s auto-focus works flawlessly. Fourth of all, the pictures themselves are really high-quality. The HD-6000 is one of a new generation of Microsoft cameras using what the company calls “TrueColor Technology,” which sounds like marketing hype but happens to have a very strong real-world connection: no matter what the angle or (within limits) the dimness of the lighting, the HD-6000 automatically adjusts colors to look quite amazingly natural.

     And then there are the bonus features – ones you may not use constantly but will welcome if you do use them. The HD-6000 captures pictures in 720p HD video at up to 30 frames per second. You won’t want to use this camera to make feature-length films, but for short videos, it maintains as good a quality as it offers for stills. The camera’s USB cord is quite cleverly designed: it is only three feet long, so it does not get tangled, and it threads through an easy-to-use plastic holder that lets you keep it neat when not using the whole thing. The on-screen software display is attractive, looking like a widescreen version of the camera itself (the window is black on black) and making it very simple to capture a still, audio or video – or to get help. An unusually wide and easy-to-see bar along the display window’s bottom lets you scroll left or right from clip to clip. Everything about the design is user-friendly and intuitive.

     If you happen to be a fan of Microsoft’s Web features – Windows Live Photo Gallery and Windows Live Movie Maker – the HD-6000 gives you seamless integration with their features; in fact, the packaging proclaims that it is “Optimized for Windows Live.” That may be a marketing mistake – not everyone is a fan of the company’s Web services, but the package design implies that this camera is really intended for those services’ users. But have no fear: the HD-6000 works exceedingly well with Skype, Yahoo! Messenger and AOL Instant Messenger as well as with Microsoft’s own offerings. The camera even looks cool when operating: a subtle blue light fills the space between the cubic camera body and the clip that attaches to the computer, making it almost look as if the unit is floating.

     The one oddity of the HD-6000 – there had to be one – is not the camera itself but the soft carrying case with which it comes. The case is three-and-a-half inches wide and four inches high: it holds the camera and its USB cable easily but not firmly, and creates a package that is significantly bulkier than the camera itself. It would have been more elegant if Microsoft had created a shaped hard case for the camera, along the lines of the one for its Wireless Notebook Presentation Mouse 8000. That would have provided better protection and a touch of class – maybe at higher cost, though, and Microsoft certainly deserves credit for offering so many features at such a reasonable price. In any case, from a strictly operational viewpoint, the HD-6000 is a small but very feature-rich unit that is significantly better on multiple levels than anything you are likely to find built into a notebook computer. For people who travel often and want to show themselves in the best light (so to speak) in varying lighting conditions, it is an absolutely top-notch notebook accessory.

(++++) THEATRICAL SYMPHONIES

Rachmaninoff: Symphony No. 2; The Rock. BBC Philharmonic conducted by Gianandrea Noseda. Chandos. $18.99.

Johan Halvorsen: Orchestral Works, Volume 1—Symphony No. 1; Suite from “Mascarade”; Entry March of the Boyars; Andante religioso; La Mélancolie. Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Neeme Järvi. Chandos. $18.99.

     Rachmaninoff is not usually thought of as a composer for the stage – he wrote only three operas – but many of his works have a strongly theatrical quality about them. Certainly his symphonies exude an emotionalism and grand sweep, as well as sometimes-cloying lyricism, that are characteristics of the dramatic arts. The most popular of his symphonies, No. 2, gets an exceptionally well-performed reading from Gianandrea Noseda and the BBC Philharmonic that balances its adaptations of classical form with its overt theatricality. This is a very expansive performance that lasts a full hour, as Rachmaninoff intended it to: Noseda observes the repeat of the first movement’s exposition, which there was no reason to include in a work completed in 1907 unless the composer really wanted it there, but which many conductors omit. Yet there is no feeling of bloat in this carefully structured rendition: Noseda builds the first movement (which, with the repeat, is by far the symphony’s longest) effectively through its numerous tempo changes, then chooses a comparatively moderate tempo for the opening of the scherzo rather than a headlong rush, so the movement provides contrast with being jarring. The Adagio, featuring lovely clarinet playing by John Bradbury, is spun out warmly and in leisurely fashion, and the finale moves with ease between intensity and the soaringly Romantic themes for which it is so well known (and, in some quarters, reviled). This is a performance that is carefully thought through but not over-intellectualized, pulling listeners into the music’s grand gestures without overdramatizing what is already dramatic enough. And the symphony is nicely complemented by the very early (1894) tone poem The Rock, which is theatrical in its own way, being Rachmaninoff’s expression of the naïve theme of a poem by Mikhail Lermontov that later became the epigraph of a short story by Anton Chekhov. The poem is about a rock that is visited one night by a little golden cloud and is left lonely when the cloud leaves the next morning – and Rachmaninoff’s music nicely reflects the words. The BBC Philharmonic does quite a fine job in the tone poem, as it does in the symphony: even though this is not an orchestra with the deep, growling bass often associated with Russian music, it is an ensemble that is well balanced and plays the music with considerable understanding.

     An understanding of the music of Johan Halvorsen seems to be bred into the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra: Halvorsen himself led the ensemble when it was known as the Orchestra Harmonien in Bergen. Halvorsen (1864-1935) was a contemporary of Rachmaninoff (1873-1943), but the Norwegian’s handling of stage and symphonic works alike was quite different from the Russian’s. Halvorsen was well known as a conductor and violinist and was a friend of both Edvard Grieg and Johan Svendsen. His theatrical pieces were central to his compositional oeuvre and were often a series of miniatures, in this way resembling much of Grieg’s music. But Halvorsen’s Symphony No. 1 show that he could also work in large-scale forms, incorporating some of the good humor included in many of his theatrical works. This C minor work is scarcely a highly original symphony, since it clearly displays the strong influence of Dvořák, Tchaikovsky and Svendsen. But its scherzo includes some interesting and original harmonies and a trio in the form of the halling folk dance, while its finale’s sense of humor is welcome in a form that often took itself too seriously by the time this work was first performed in 1923. Neeme Järvi leads a very spirited performance of the symphony, and also brings a fine sense of rhythm and balance to the remaining works on this CD – all of which are theatrical in their own ways. The Mascarade suite includes nine numbers written for a stage production of the same Ludvig Holberg comedy that inspired Carl Nielsen’s opera Maskarade. Filled with grace and gaiety, Halvorsen’s short pieces often make effective use of dance forms from Holberg’s time (1684-1754). The three other works on this CD are also short and effective. Entry March of the Boyars, which Halvorsen wrote after becoming interested in the history of Bucharest, is stately and suitably pompous – Grieg quite liked it. Andante religioso is a lovely romance featuring a solo violin (here, Marianne Thorsen). La Mélancolie is an arrangement of a tune by Norwegian violinist Ole Bull; it too features a solo violin (Melina Mandozzi) and is short and highly expressive. Halvorsen’s compositions, which remain relatively unknown today, have much to recommend them, and the Chandos series of his orchestral works – of which this CD is the first volume – is most welcome.

(++++) GUIDED CREATIVITY

Manga for the Beginner: Chibis—Everything You Need to Start Drawing the Super-Cute Characters of Japanese Comics. By Christopher Hart. Watson-Guptill. $21.95.

Fashion Origami. By Eva Steele-Saccio. Klutz. $19.95.

     If you think manga characters, with their huge eyes and exaggerated postures, are extreme, then what will you think of chibis – into which manga characters sometimes turn at times of heightened emotion? Chibis take all the extremes of manga drawing and push them to extremes. Eyes are not big but huge; bodies are not small but tiny; motions are not emphatic but super-exaggerated. Christopher Hart expertly details the differences between manga and chibi, and shows in very considerable (but easy-to-follow) detail how to create chibis of your own, in his latest Manga for the Beginner book. Hart has the chibi drawing approach down pat: manga artists “have their figures follow what’s called a line of action [that] keeps the poses on target. …With chibis, limited action is the key to drawing funny poses. That’s because chibis are short and ultra-compact characters.” How short? That depends on how exaggerated you want them to be. “Chibis typically have giant heads on small, childlike bodies and little round hands and feet,” but the head-to-body proportion can be varied. The average chibi is three heads tall, but a chibi can be two heads tall or can even have a head twice as tall as the body – and Hart’s excellent illustrations show what happens as the proportions change. More than that: he shows that “everyone can be ‘chibified’” in a series of outstanding comparative drawings of normal manga characters with various expressions – and chibis with the same expressions. The differences when the characters are disgusted, exhausted, curious or embarrassed show very clearly where chibis fit into the manga universe. Hart gives excellent, precise guidance for drawing chibis in multiple poses. For example, for a three-quarter view, he shows a simple outline including center lines for head and egg-shaped torso, the comparative size of the two sides of the face, and positioning and appearance of both arms. Three steps later, the line drawing is filled in, filled out and looks exactly right for the medium. Hart discusses the simplicity of chibi hands, the subtle ways to make clothing seem real, how to draw footwear (“the key word here is clunky”), and all sorts of chibi props (electronics, vehicles and more). Then he discusses the differences between shoujo (girls’ comics) and shounen (boy-oriented action comics) and the different ways characters look in the two genres; and he gives lots and lots of examples of specific characters, how to draw and position them, and how to give them individual expressions and action poses. In addition to human-looking chibis, there are anthros (combining human and animal appearance), robots, monsters and even chibified dogs, cats, raccoons, penguins and more. Throw in some special effects for use in fight scenes – and Hart shows just how to create them – and you have everything needed to create a whole series of wonderfully, authentically styled characters that bring a touch of humor to manga’s typical action orientation.

     For girls who like doing crafts rather than drawing, Fashion Origami offers a very enjoyable form of creativity. Like manga, origami is Japanese in origin; and one style shown in Fashion Origami is a specific Japanese approach called harajuku, which includes wild patterns and bright colors thrown together every which way. Eva Steele-Saccio’s spiral-bound, open-flat book, like other Klutz crafts offerings, contains not only instructions but also the materials needed to do the projects – in this case, 80 sheets of custom-designed patterned paper (in two sizes), plus sequins and other decorative items and glue to hold everything together. Steele-Saccio starts with such basics as how to hold the paper, how to fold it (“slowly and carefully”), how to check your work as you go along and how to dress up the patterns you make. This is a book about fashion origami, so the first section shows how to fold paper into clothing and the second focuses on such accessories as purses and shoes. Most of the book consists of step-by-step folding instructions, carefully diagrammed: nine steps to make a jacket, 14 for pajamas, 18 for a skirt, 20 for a party dress, and so on. Shoes are difficult to make but look really neat when done carefully. And the folding itself is only part of the fun here, since decorating the fashion items is really delightful (and can sometimes cover up a less-than-perfect fold here and there). Girls ages eight and up with an interest in what makes fashion – and in doing some of their own designing – will find Fashion Origami fun from start to finish.

(+++) TAKE ME OUT TO (SOME) BALL GAME

High Heat: The Secret History of the Fastball and the Improbable Search for the Fastest Pitcher of All Time. By Tim Wendel. Da Capo. $25.

Roy Morelli Steps Up to the Plate. By Thatcher Heldring. Delacorte Press. $15.99.

The Fast and the Furriest. By Andy Behrens. Knopf. $15.99.

     Whether they are adults or preteens, readers enamored of oddities in baseball and other sports will find something to enjoy in these for-fans-only books. High Heat is nonfiction containing plenty of fiction, as USA Today Baseball Weekly founding editor Tim Wendel marches through baseball myth and legend as well as its verifiable records to track down everything about the fastball from how it developed to how it is even possible. (Think about it: a human being throwing an object at a speed of more than 100 miles per hour seems inherently absurd.) Muscle mass vs. torque, sheer arm strength vs. control – these and other factors that go into fastball pitching are only some of the things that Wendel explores. Certainly his research is extensive, and it is primary research whenever possible: he spends a lot of time talking with scouts as well as with Hall of Fame pitchers and some also-rans and almost-theres. One of the most fascinating people in the book is Steve Dalkowski, who was supposedly able to throw a ball more than 105 miles per hour but who, because of an injury, never played in the major leagues – and who became homeless in California before recovering from alcoholism and becoming the basis of the pitcher in the movie Bull Durham. There are plenty of other highly interesting characters here as well, and the emphasis on the importance of scouts is a welcome change from the celebrity orientation of so many sports books. Still, this is very much a book for fanatical fans only, filled with specifics of long-ago games and with names and dates that only a chronicler could love: “In 1973, his second season with the Angels, [Nolan] Ryan quickly served notice that those sideline sessions would lead to an even bigger payoff. On May 15, against the Royals in Kansas City, he took a no-hitter into the eighth inning. An over-the-shoulder grab by shortstop Rudi Meoli kept the Royals hitless. In the ninth, it came down to Ryan against Kansas City’s centerfielder, Amos Otis.” Lovers of this sort of detail will find the book irresistible, but those looking to find out who was the fastest pitcher of all time will be disappointed, since Wendel concludes that there are too many variables (of time and measurement technique) to know for sure.

     Roy Morelli Steps Up to the Plate is fiction, not fact, and is about baseball at levels far below the major leagues, but it too is aimed strictly at the game’s most devoted fans. This is Thatcher Heldring’s second book, and it is a follow-up to his first, Toby Wheeler: Eighth-Grade Benchwarmer. As such, it covers much of the same emotional territory with a different protagonist. Here the central character is eighth-grader Roy Morelli, who is determined to play shortstop for the local all-stars and then move on to the high-school varsity. But he is failing history in school, and his divorced parents make him quit the team – which means he ends up on a losing team in a very minor minor league, and is stuck spending afternoons with a history tutor (who, to complicate matters further, is his father’s girlfriend). Roy’s attitude deteriorates, his playing does likewise, his teammates turn against him, he can’t get the cute girl who is the only likable thing about history to pay attention to him, and any young reader can probably see where this is going. And that is just where it goes, as Roy learns that causing disturbances in class isn’t cool, and as for his teammates, “I was ready to make peace, but I wasn’t sure how to do it.” Eventually, Roy apologizes to his coach, who in turn tells Roy that the guys on the team “make you look bad because they don’t trust you. Because you don’t trust them.” So Roy learns both history and trust, and his successes set him on the road toward what he has wanted all along, and although there is nothing even slightly surprising about the book’s outcome, baseball-oriented preteen readers will cheer along with it.

     Devotion to sports is not quite as necessary to enjoy The Fast and the Furriest, but a love of football will certainly help. The 12-year-old protagonist here is Kevin Pugh, who is the son of a Chicago Bears player but whose own football skills show up only in video-game form. This is yet another novel of finding oneself and gaining self-esteem, but what sets Andy Behrens’ book apart from most others is that Kevin’s accomplishments come not through what he does for himself but through what he does for – his dog. Yes, the real central character here is a part-beagle named Cromwell, who watches TV with Kevin and has as little interest in physical activity as Kevin does. But then Cromwell, a more perceptive TV observer than most humans (let alone dogs), sees a dog agility show and decides that that is what he wants to do, too. This gets Kevin interested – but unfortunately, he is heading to football camp, since that is where his father wants him. So Kevin has to a) get thrown out of camp; b) find a way to train with Cromwell in secret; c) get into dog-agility competitions; d) win them; and e) have everyone and everydog live happily ever after. That is pretty much the way the novel goes, although things do not progress quite as smoothly as all that. Kevin’s best friend, Zach, proves to be a big help, and so does an oddball agility trainer named Elka Brandt. But Zach proves a liability as well, and Kevin’s reactions to some of Elka’s ideas – about music, for instance – are less than charitable. Some elements of the book are fun, and some are funny, but some are rather unpleasant. For example, Kevin gets thrown out of camp because he is responsible for breaking another boy’s nose and tooth – but his father likes his aggressiveness, so he is not punished beyond being expelled from camp (which is what he wanted). This violence-in-sports-is-a-good-thing attitude is distinctly unappealing, even when played for laughs. On the other hand, Cromwell’s adventures and misadventures are a lot of fun, as when, early in his training, “Cromwell lost to everyone, including a deaf terrier with benign tumors on its rear paws.” Kevin’s eventual success is inevitable, and the family problems he has to negotiate on the way are inevitable, and the complications involving his friends are inevitable. But thanks to the presence of Cromwell – in many ways the book’s most interesting character – The Fast and the Furriest is enjoyable even when it is at its most obvious. Well, much of the time, anyway.

(+++) SOMETIMES THE OLD WAYS ARE BEST

Descent into Dust. By Jacqueline Lepore. Avon. $13.99.

     Here is an easily dismissible book that does not really deserve to be easily dismissed. Yes, it is one of umpteen-and-a-half vampire stories, and yes, the plot is entirely summed up in the cover lines designed to get you to buy it: “A vampire rises to power. A woman finds her destiny.” And while we’re at it, yes, the writing is sometimes clichéd to the point of unintentional humor: “It was night when we set out to kill Mr. Hess again.” And in other instances, first-time author Jacqueline Lepore, seeming to realize how silly it would sound to write, “It felt like destiny,” writes the words anyway but puts a few era-setting ones among them: “It felt, if I might be vaporish enough to say so, like destiny.”

     Yet with all this, Descent into Dust, the first book of a planned series, is better than many of the other fight-the-undead novels of recent vintage, because Lepore does not try to ring many changes on vampire legends. Instead, she returns to their roots – not the roots of many centuries ago but those of Victorian times, of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and John Polidori’s The Vampyre and the numerous Gothic novels to which the vampire books are dark cousins. Descent into Dust is set firmly in Victorian England (although not told in 19^th-century British prose), and the basics of that era’s vampire legends remain the core here: the undead must be invited into a house; are sensitive to garlic, holy water and the Catholic cross; must be staked and beheaded to be laid permanently to rest; and are really nasty creatures even though they do have the ability to conjure up (demurely described) feelings of “excitation” in women. Forget the recasting of vampires as teenage heartthrobs or grand forces of nature – these things are vicious, ravening beasts toward which there is no reason to have an iota of sympathy or attraction.

     The few twists on the old-style tales that Lepore uses are included at the service of a more-than-serviceable plot. The protagonist is Emma Andrews, a 23-year-old widow (wrongly described as 25 on the back of the book) who was married at her dying father’s behest to a much older, wealthy man whom she respected but did not love. He has conveniently died before the book begins, giving Emma the wherewithal and independence she needs within straitlaced Victorian society to undertake – within limits – her vampire-hunting quest. One twist here is that hunters like Emma, who turns out to be a Dhampir, are born, not made, as Emma learns when she finds out the true story behind her mother’s supposed madness and her death in Emma’s early childhood. Another twist is that, under duress, even an untrained Dhampir can exhibit powers that seem a bit like something out of The Matrix, as Emma discovers (to her own surprise) in a chilling scene in a dark barn.

     Vampire hunters can be apparently ordinary humans, though, one such being Valerian Fox, one of those darkly intense, brooding and somewhat ill-mannered gentlemen so common in Gothics, who sets Emma’s heart suitably aflutter while guiding her through some of the fine points of the use of stakes and mallets. In one of several tributes to Stoker’s geography, now firmly ensconced in vampire lore, Emma also has an Uncle Peter who is from Romania and speaks with the usual vaguely Eastern European accent. It is a strength of the book that Lepore seems to know when she is using completely stereotyped characters, although this does not prevent her from making occasional missteps, such as introducing an evilly grinning Gypsy with a huge mustache: his role as vampire-helper-to-be-destroyed-early-on might as well have been lit in neon lights.

     Yet despite its more-than-occasional awkwardness and its not-very-meaningful title, Descent into Dust is a surprisingly successful series opener, because Emma is a genuinely likable character and a reasonably believable one for her time. It is precisely because she is not as demure or self-limited as the other women in the story – notably her sister and cousin – that Emma is able to do what she does and learn so much about herself and her history. Lepore frequently hints at Emma’s not-quite-typical personality by having her say the expected thing in an unexpected way: “‘I find it odd that you are so curious about an outing of a widow and a child,’ I said pertly.” Of course, it is Emma herself who narrates the tale – and we know from the start that it is a flashback to decades before the time she is telling it – so perhaps Lepore is merely having Emma show herself in the retrospective light in which she wants to appear while telling the story of her desperate hunt for the master vampire Marius in an attempt to stop him from destroying a child whom Emma loves deeply. More likely, though, Lepore has simply absorbed Stoker, the Gothics and other haunted books and poems of the Victorian era (Coleridge’s Christabel makes an appearance and proves to be of some importance), and brought their narrative style into the 21^st century. As long as they do not expect Descent into Dust to be more than the page-turner potboiler that it is, readers will find it quite enjoyable. Emma begins her story with a quotation from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, but it is a twist on a line from Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock that aptly fits the book itself: “No, it is not great writing, nor was meant to be.”

(+++) QUESTIONS, ANYONE?

Friend or Flirt? Quick Quizzes about Your Crush. By Lizzie Mack. Scholastic. $5.99.

Sink or Swim? Quick Quizzes about Summer Camp. By Lizzie Mack. Scholastic. $5.99.

Sophie the Awesome. By Lara Bergen. Little Apple/Scholastic. $4.99.

     Lizzie Mack’s “Quick Quizzes” books could probably go on forever, or until she runs out of subjects – whichever comes first. After two books of quizzes designed for BFFs, now we have another relationship-oriented book and one about a typical warm-weather activity. The format is identical in all cases, and the books do not need many pages, because each quiz is printed four times – except the final “more intense” one, which is printed only twice. The books are lighthearted fun throughout, provided that readers keep them lighthearted and do not try to make too much of them. For example, Friend or Flirt? has a “Your Ideal Date” section that includes the chance to check “sit next to him” or “pretend you don’t know each other.” Its “Random Thoughts” quiz asks, “Would you call any of your crushes just to talk? (Never) (Sure!)” And in “What a Boy Likes: What do you think he thinks is attractive?” there are choices between good at sewing and good with cars; cheerful or gloomy; rocker girl or preppy; and pierced ears or painted nails. The cleverest quiz here has “Getting the Boy!” on one side of the page and “Getting Rid of the Boy!” on the other. Some choices in the latter are between “change your cell” and “never call or text him back,” and between “make fun of him” and “get snuggly in front of his friends.” The questions are along similar lines in Sink or Swim? Here, there are choices between activities: scavenger hunt or nature walk; softball or relay races; talent show or color war; beach or pool; and many more. There are also choices of “pet peeves,” such as “no-see-ums biting you or gnats up your nose,” “waking up early [or] lights out early,” and mosquitoes or ants. Despite its title, this book is not entirely camp-focused. One quiz, for example, is called “Time to Travel” and offers choices between Disney World and Six Flags; horseback riding in Wyoming and surfing in California; the coast of Maine or the Canadian Rockies; and the Australian Bush or the Caribbean island of St. John (that last one may be a bit of a stretch). These books are good fun and in good fun, and can be a pleasant way to spend time with friends or pass time during a long trip – as long as no one makes life decisions (or makes or breaks friendships) on the basis of the answers.

     The question Sophie Miller asks herself in the first of Lara Bergen’s planned four-book series – and it is a life decision – is how she is special. Not whether she is special – she knows that she is, even if her family and clothing and everyday activities are all totally average. No, Sophie is something else; she is sure of it. But what else? Maybe she is awesome, as in Sophie the Awesome. Having decided that she is awesome, Sophie sets out to show her awesomeness to everyone, but quickly runs into a little trouble doing so. Her best friend, Kate, says Sophie is an awesome friend, but Kate can’t stand listening to Sophie sing. And the “awesome” horse Sophie draws looks more like a cat. And Sophie’s attempt to show how awesome she is at music by playing a really loud rhythm on cymbals has all her classmates holding their ears. Jumping down six steps doesn’t turn out to be so awesome, either: Sophie ends up needing to go see the school nurse. Furthermore, Sophie – who even has an ordinary name, since she isn’t the only Sophie in her third-grade class – gets paired for an interview assignment with a really annoying boy named Toby Myers (“she just plain hated him…he was a big, giant pain in the neck”). Things don’t go as badly in the assignment as Sophie thinks they will – although they are certainly not awesome – and in fact, eventually Sophie comes to realize that she is not awesome after all. No, she is heroic. In fact, she is Sophie the Hero – which will be the next book in this series (to be followed by “chatterbox” and “zillionaire,” for anyone who is wondering). Sophie’s story is full of fluff and silliness, and will appeal to second- and third-graders looking for a touch of enjoyment, if not awesomeness.

(++++) SERIES FOR FRANCOPHILES

Debussy: Orchestral Works, Volume 3—Images; Pour le piano: Sarabande (orch. Ravel); Danse (orch. Ravel); Marche ecossaise sur un thème populaire; La plus que lente. Orchestre National de Lyon conducted by Jun Märkl. Naxos. $8.99.

Roussel: Symphony No. 4; Rapsodie flamande; Petite suite; Concert pour petit orchestra; Sinfonietta. Royal Scottish National Orchestra conducted by Stéphane Denève. Naxos. $8.99.

D’Indy: Orchestral Works, Volume 3—Symphony No. 3; Istar; Choral varié for Saxophone and Orchestra; Diptyque méditerranéen. Sigurđur Flosason, saxophone; Iceland Symphony Orchestra conducted by Rumon Gamba. Chandos. $18.99.

     Anyone doubting the increasing internationalization of orchestral playing should listen to all three these recordings of important French music – one by a French orchestra with a German-born conductor, one with a French conductor leading a Scottish orchestra, and one featuring Icelandic musicians led by an Englishman. That all the works sound very fine indeed – albeit in different ways – shows how well orchestras worldwide can now handle music of all types, even while retaining areas to which they seem especially well adapted.

     The third of Jun Märkl’s CDs of the orchestral music of Debussy features one major work, Images, whose coloristic writing is brought forth especially successfully by the orchestra. This is a work of nuance, both musical and geographic – the first movement, Gigues, for example, is supposed to represent not merely England but Northumbria. The Spanish flavor of the second through fourth movements is heard through a French filter (as in Ravel’s very different Rapsodie espagnole), while the concluding Rondes de printemps speaks of France itself, with a pronounced Gallic accent. The four remaining works on the CD – two of them piano miniatures orchestrated not by Debussy but by Maurice Ravel – are lesser pieces, but each has its own charms, most notably La plus que lente, a very slow waltz that carries a suggestion of parody (and again, a very different work by Ravel, La Valse, comes to mind). Everything here is played idiomatically and with flair, the musical colors coming through vividly.

     Stéphane Denève has now completed his cycle of the four symphonies by Albert Roussel, continuing to manage to make the Royal Scottish National Orchestra seem thoroughly comfortable in music from across the English Channel. Roussel’s fourth and final symphony, first performed in 1934, is not particularly well known and does not represent a significant stylistic advance over his third. But its longest movement, marked Lento molto, is exceptional, written in polyphonic style but filled with wind color, intensity and expressive clarity. The Sinfonietta dates to just before this symphony and is a three-movement miniature, lasting only as long as the Lento molto of the larger work. It is mostly animated and pleasant rather than demanding. The Concert pour petit orchestra is also a compressed, carefully refined three-movement work. Rapsodie flamande (Flemish Rhapsody) is based on five 16^th- and 17^th-century songs and moves from solemn expression to liveliness, while Petite suite is a picturesque piece with some lovely and subtle woodwind writing. Denève has a very knowing way with Roussel’s music, fully exploring its emotional potential and bringing out the many details through which its charms emerge.

     Also built around a final symphony is the third volume of Rumon Gamba’s series of Vincent d’Indy’s orchestral works. D’Indy composed only three symphonies, the third being written in 1916-18, right in the middle of World War I, and featuring more dissonance and harmonic intensity than is usual in d’Indy’s music. In fact, some parts of the work are rather blaring – again, not an adjective usually applicable to d’Indy – but others are highly expressive, and there is some very lovely orchestral writing, such as a first-movement theme for cor anglais and solo viola and an effective trumpet solo in the slow movement. Later than the symphony is Diptyque méditerranéen (1926), the composer’s final orchestral work, a two-movement tone poem whose texture is reminiscent of Debussy and whose moods include mystery, warmth, melancholy and the clarity of night. The other two pieces on this CD are significantly earlier. Istar, first performed in 1897, is a complex set of variations that ends rather than starting with the basic theme – reflecting an ancient Assyrian story in which a goddess must leave an article of clothing at each of seven doors to the underworld, eventually entering her destination naked. The form of the work is clever, and its progress from complexity to simplicity reflects its source, but the whole has a somewhat detached feel to it despite its structural skill. As for Choral varié (1903), it makes full use of the flowing expressivity of the saxophone in a work that is at times Romantic, at times steeped in Impressionism – and that dies away into quiet moodiness. Gamba directs all the music with a sure hand and a fine feeling for d’Indy’s structural and melodic approach; the saxophone solo in Choral varié is beautifully played; and although the Iceland Symphony lacks some of the apparently inborn warmth of continental European orchestras, it offers fine balance among sections and evenness of tone that together provide a fine showcase for music filled with French eloquence.

(++++) HIGH ADVENTURE, OLDEN STYLE

Barnaby Grimes #2: Return of the Emerald Skull. By Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell. David Fickling Books. $15.99.

Barnaby Grimes #3: Legion of the Dead. By Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell. David Fickling Books. $16.99.

The Story of Cirrus Flux. By Matthew Skelton. Delacorte Press. $17.99.

     Adventures above old London – on its rooftops in the Barnaby Grimes stories, in a balloon in The Story of Cirrus Flux – are over-the-top in the best sense in these books for ages 8-12. Easy to read, excitingly plotted and filled with odd (if not always individually memorable) characters, all three novels have something Dickensian about them in their focuses on the seedier parts of town, and the even seedier characters who dwell therein.

     Barnaby Grimes is a tick-tock lad – a messenger for whom time is money (hence, “tick-tock”). He is the most elevated sort: a highstacker, who delivers messages and packages by traveling over the roofs of London instead of being a cobblestone-creeper who must maneuver through the twisting, dirty and dangerous streets. Not that Barnaby – whose age is not given but who seems to be in his late teens – is a stranger to danger. In fact, he stumbles into it anew in every book. In Return of the Emerald Skull, he literally stumbles into it, as a worse-than-usual fog settles over the scene while Barnaby attempts to pick up a package containing a stuffed bird for the eccentric headmaster of a boys’ school. Paul Stewart has a flair for eerie writing, as in the discovery of a deserted ship whose crew’s “hasty and chaotic departure was indicated by upturned tables, meals left half eaten and, most singular of all, a blood-stained boat-hook pinning a banknote to the door of the captain’s cabin.” It soon turns out that great evil has been unleashed at Grassington Hall School, and a series of genuinely chilling scenes shows a Lord of the Flies mob mentality that will quicken the pulse of readers. The chapter in which the starving students get something to eat – and the way in which they eat it – is genuinely upsetting. But there is a touch of amusement in the way Barnaby finally overcomes the evil here, and that is one thing that sets Stewart’s writing well above the adventure-story average. As for Chris Riddell’s illustrations, they are as wonderfully evocative, as carefully executed and as reminiscent of the highly detailed work of Albrecht Dürer as they have been for years in the Stewart-Riddell epic, The Edge Chronicles. The pictures add immeasurably to a story that would be quite gripping enough on its own.

     Legion of the Dead is equally effective, involving everything from gangland warfare in one of 19^th-century London’s worst neighborhoods to a curse descending on one of its best. And in the course of the novel, Barnaby encounters a terrifying creature whose existence turns out to knit together many of the tale’s threads. This is a story of grave robbing – “You could make a pretty penny from a recently buried corpse” – or perhaps of something even worse: reanimation of the dead. It is a tale of an excellent, modern (for its times) hospital whose renovation may be due to singularly unpleasant circumstances. And it is the tale of an old war veteran and his knowledge of the Temple of Kal-Ramesh – a six-armed demon goddess – and the grisly things done in her name. Stewart’s consistently well-paced writing makes Barnaby and some (if not all) of the subsidiary characters come alive; even more, it makes the settings of the story seem completely real. And Riddell’s illustrations, including silhouettes as well as highly detailed portrayals of monstrous creatures and long-dead corpses, once again turn a story that is quite scary enough on its own into a tale that will stay with readers long after they have finished the last page.

     The one Dickensian element that the Barnaby Grimes stories lack is Dickens’ fondness for offbeat, euphonious names. That element is present to a great degree in The Story of Cirrus Flux, but rather incongruously, since this novel is set in the 18^th century rather than 19^th. Still, Matthew Skelton could clearly not resist naming characters Mrs. Kickshaw, Mr. Sorrel, Mr. Leechcraft, Mr. Sidereal and Madame Orrery. And of course there are Cirrus’ own name and the name of the girl whose fate is intertwined with his: Pandora. In this book, which seesaws back and forth in time among various years between 1756 and 1783, the central mystery involves something called the Breath of God, which has come into Cirrus’ possession and which all sorts of unsavory characters are determined to claim from him. This is a more conventionally plotted novel than the Barnaby Grimes tales, but it is certainly packed with excitement, colorful characters (such as a sinister mesmerist and a nefarious skull collector), and the sorts of choices that young protagonists inevitably must make in adventure novels: who is a true friend, whom to trust, and where to turn in a crisis. Cirrus himself, an orphan who spends much of the book on the run or in hiding, is a bit of a weakness in the novel: much happens to him, but he is a more passive central character than, for example, Pandora. Nevertheless, so much does happen that preteens and young teens will be swept away in the excitement of narrow and narrower escapes, balloon flights, confrontations with toughs such as Cut Throat Charlie and Half Thumb, the Hall of Wonders, and much more. What ends up hurting Cirrus the most is a betrayal that readers will likely see coming before Cirrus does – but in the end, thanks largely to Mr. Hardy (another Dickensian name), both Cirrus and Pandora end up with, as the final chapter’s title has it, “H-O-P-E.” And that is as fine an outcome as readers themselves could hope for.

(++++) IN THE PINK

Pink Me Up. By Charise Mericle Harper. Knopf. $16.99.

The Very Little Princess. By Marion Dane Bauer. Illustrated by Elizabeth Sayles. Random House. $12.99.

     Although both these books are intended for children roughly ages 5-9, they are so different in approach, seriousness and intensity – and even in format – that few kids will enjoy them equally at the same time. Pink Me Up, designed as a picture book, is light and amusing – albeit with an underlying message of some seriousness. It is all about the “Pink Girls Pink-nic” for a little girl bunny and her mother – and what happens when mama comes down with a sickness (pink spots all over her!) and cannot go. That turns the anticipated best day ever into the worst – until guess who steps forward to take mama’s place? Daddy! But the little girl protests, “It’s a PINK girl party! Boys are NOT pink!” But they can be, her father says, and finds a pink tie in his closet. Hmm…not enough…but it’s a start: “‘Don’t worry,’ says Daddy. ‘We just have to pink me up.’” And so they do, drawing pink polka dots on his shirt, taping pink stripes to his pants, putting pink stickers on his jacket, and more. Daddy looks so good, and he and his little girl have so much fun, that “all the girls want to PINK UP their daddies, just like me” – and Charise Mericle Harper, whose illustrations are as much fun as her story, shows six little girl rabbits imaging their daddies as a pink business bunny, a pink doctor bunny, a pink painter bunny, and so on. The book’s message, for parents who want to emphasize it, is one of avoiding gender stereotyping and simply enjoying people as people. But this is not really a “message” book – it ends with the little girl falling asleep as she dreams that “we’ll all live pinkishly ever after” and with an inside-back-cover picture of her cat wearing a pink hat – and it is fine just to take the story at face value and enjoy it from start to finish.

     There is pink all over the cover of The Very Little Princess, too, and the color figures in this short novel as well. But this is quite a serious book, and the color has serious implications, as Marion Dane Bauer explains in one of her many direct-to-the-reader comments: “:I could have told you that Zoey’s favorite color isn’t really pink, it’s purple. She used to like pink when she was a little girl, but now she prefers purple. And her mother has never noticed that she has grown beyond pink to purple. That’s just the way her mother is.” In fact, the way Zoey’s mother is – which becomes clear only gradually – lies at the heart of this tear-stained tale, which centers both on 10-year-old Zoey and on a tiny princess doll that Zoey finds at her grandmother’s house when her mother takes her there for the first time. Princess Regina, who (it turns out) has been Zoey’s mother’s and grandmother’s doll and dates back even farther than that in the family, wakes up and starts talking to Zoey after the girl inadvertently drops a tear on her. And Zoe, after getting over being startled by the living doll, is only too happy to take care of her – or, well, maybe not that happy. For the doll is princess-bossy, and the game of Princess and Servant, which Zoey remembers playing with her mother, is not much fun when the doll does all the ordering-around and expects Zoey to obey without question. Still, Zoey is glad to have something to do while her mother and grandmother…well, not fight exactly, but discuss something involving Zoey very seriously indeed. Bauer’s writing in this book is quite remarkable, giving the doll’s perspective as well as Zoey’s and creating some real depth of perception about a never-explained form of mental illness, in which Zoey’s mother’s mind is – “well, perhaps the best word is full. Her mind is so full, in fact, that she often doesn’t notice things like Zoey’s growing from pink to purple.” But tear-stained though the story is at times, it is not a simple tearjerker, thanks to Bauer’s skillful presentation. It is a story of the wonder of small things, of adjustment to life’s uncertainties and reversals, of understanding and acceptance of another person’s inability to connect – even when that person is one’s own mother. There is a tremendous amount packed into 122 pages here, and there is far more maturity in this doll-comes-to-life story than anyone would ever imagine from simply seeing the pretty pink figure on the cover.

(++++) MAJOR DEVELOPMENTS

The Princeton Review Guide to College Majors, 2010 Edition. Edited by Laura Braswell. Princeton Review/Random House. $21.

     “What the heck is a major, anyway?” Don’t laugh – not all high-school students really know, and it makes perfectly good sense that The Princeton Review Guide to College Majors asks the question straightforwardly. This is just one of the good questions in a more-than-800-page focus on college majors and how to come up with the best one for you. (Not to mention minors, double majors and even triple majors – although the book does mention them.)

     Most of The Princeton Review Guide to College Majors consists of two-page discussions about what a particular major includes, what other fields of study may be of interest to someone considering that major, and what to do in high school if you think this may be the major for you. The “high school prep” element may be worrisome to some students who think of the suggestions as mandates, and who are less than certain that they really want to try a particular major (40% of college students change majors at least once). Still, high-schoolers who have a pretty good idea of their future direction will find the “prep” ideas helpful, and others need not worry: these ideas are not mandatory.

     Each two-page focus also includes some truly useful real-world (as opposed to academic-world) elements: what percentage of schools responding to The Princeton Review surveys on which this book is based actually offer a given major; what career options each major opens up; and what starting salaries those careers generally command. Given the fact that the most popular major this academic year is business administration, it is reasonable to assume that many students have a genuine economic interest in where their chosen major fields of study will take them after graduation.

     One of the niceties of this book is the way it offers a touch of levity in what is, after all, a serious subject (although not the life-or-death decision that many students seem to fear the selection of a major to be). Each discussion of a major includes “Fun Facts,” which range from important dates in Bible history (for Biblical studies) to the story of the development of the paper chair (for furniture design) to “Top Ten Signs a Therapist Is Approaching Burnout” for clinical psychology (No. 7: “You are watching a rerun of The Wizard of Oz, and you start to categorize the types of delusions that Dorothy had”).

     The core of this book, though, is its descriptive nature. Kinesiology, for example, is offered at 16.1% to 20% of colleges; involves how the human body moves and why it moves the way it does; and usually includes courses in biomechanics, exercise physiology and statistics. Modern Greek, offered by no more than 4% of colleges, leads to career options including professor, teacher and translator; high-school courses in history, religion and philosophy can be helpful preparation. Business education, available at 12.1% to 16% of colleges, can be a good choice for people who are “fascinated by the business world, but not the business dress code and late hours at the office” – and usually includes courses in macroeconomics, marketing, financial accounting and entrepreneurship. A physics major, available at 48.1% to 52% of colleges, “requires a solid footing in mathematics,” can lead to such careers as aerospace engineer, architect or demolition expert, and produces graduates commanding starting salaries of $45,000 to $60,000 in private industry. And so on – and on. Whether you are considering becoming a financial planner, fish-conservation aide, hazardous-waste manager or florist, there are majors worth considering in this book – in fact, one of the neat features of The Princeton Review Guide to College Majors is a “Career Index” cross-referenced to suitable majors. The book is no substitute for a caring, well-informed high-school guidance counselor – but not all students have access to one, and even the best guidance counselors are responsible for so many students that it can be hard for them to individualize their recommendations for everyone. The great thing about The Princeton Review Guide to College Majors is that it gives high-schoolers (and college students dissatisfied with their current choice of a major) a once-over-lightly look at lots and lots of possibilities that they can then, if they wish, explore in more depth in other books, online or in face-to-face guidance meetings.

     The book has a high “serendipity quotient,” too. On the face of it, it offers logical extensions showing what “you may also like” if you are interested in a particular major (for example, those interested in jewelry and metalsmithing may also want to consider art, fashion design, floriculture or photography). But an even better way of finding interesting fields you have not previously considered is simply to thumb through the book, or open it at random. Students unsure of where they want to concentrate in college may come up with some intriguing possibilities simply by reading the brief overviews of cytotechnology, medical illustration, mortuary science, naval architecture, rehabilitation services, digital communications or logic. The possibilities are not quite endless, but there are far more of them than most high-schoolers will realize are out there – and that fact alone may make it easier for a student to decide just which of all those available majors will fit him or her most comfortably.

(+++) FANGS – OR THE MEMORIES

Fangs! By Heather Dakota & Tammi Salzano. Designed by Leanne Thomas. Photographs from www.critterzone.com. Tangerine Press/Scholastic. $8.99.

Poison! By Tammi Salzano & Heather Dakota. Designed by Michelle Martinez Design, Inc. Photographs from www.critterzone.com and other sources. Tangerine Press/Scholastic. $8.99.

Dr. Seuss Happy Graduation Gift Set: Oh, the Places You’ll Go! Scholastic. $14.99.

     Scholastic does so many kinds of books so well that it is bound to slip up now and then. Fangs! is a slip – a book filled with (++++) photos but with (+) text, a flawed premise and an inaccurate title. The clever cover, showing multiple open-mouthed animals with their fangs prominently displayed, will likely lead many parents and children to pick up the book – but this is one that you really have to look through carefully before buying. First of all, it is only partly about fangs, including lots of animals without them as well as ones with them. Secondly, the suggested age range of seven and up is too old for the super-simple text, which defines such words as “retract” and contains such comments as, “Dogs are smart” and “Snakes do not have legs.” The text is at its worst when trying to explain, obliquely, what the many creatures in this book are doing there: “Bees have a stinger instead of fangs.” “Mosquitoes…do not have fangs.” Sometimes, readers will expect an explanation when none is forthcoming: “Elephants have tusks” (are they similar to fangs?). “Hippos use their teeth for fighting” (are their teeth fangs?). Furthermore, the text is so incomplete as to border on inaccuracy. “Snake fangs are hollow” – true, but the authors never mention that only poisonous snakes have fangs, making matters worse by saying there are 2,700 different kinds of snakes and implying that all have fangs and thus are poisonous (in reality, there are fewer than 400 kinds of poisonous snakes). Even the brief facts about the animals are misleading. For example, “a copperhead has a triangle-shaped head” – true, but so do many other snakes, as the photos themselves make clear, so the head shape is not an identifying characteristic. But those photos are just wonderful, and they are what salvage this book and may make some families want to own it. CritterZone is a supplier of nature photos to publishers and other businesses that need animal pictures – and its photos are excellent, with vibrant colors and wonderful detail. The spider photos in Fangs! are especially good, but the gorgeous pictures of snakes are a highlight as well – from the rattler facing the camera and apparently about to strike (its rattle clearly visible), to the cobra with its spread hood. It is a real shame that the text of this book is so inferior to its excellent visuals.

     And it didn’t have to be so. Poison! is by the same writing team (although their names are listed in reverse order); most of its photos come from the same source, with some from alternative suppliers such as Getty Images; the book’s design, despite the different attribution, is nearly identical. But this book really works, simply because it stays focused entirely on its title. All the animals shown here use poison in one way or another – and some of those ways are fascinating. Even readers who are familiar with poisonous snakes and black widow spiders may not know about the saddleback caterpillar, which injects poison through hollow hairs; the male platypus, which has poison-injecting spikes on its hind feet; or the short-tailed shrew, which has venom in the glands of its lower jaw. When Scholastic does this sort of book well, it does it very well indeed: Poison! is packed with interesting information (in small, easily digestible doses), excellent photos and some really offbeat facts – for example, stingray venom (from the spine at the end of the animal’s tail) was used by ancient Greek dentists to numb patients against pain.

     The Dr. Seuss Happy Graduation Gift Set is a very different kind of Scholastic product. Parents have to be careful about one thing here: the set looks as if it contains a copy of Oh, the Places You’ll Go! – but it doesn’t, and is not clearly labeled along the lines of “book sold separately.” That misleading packaging keeps the set to a (+++) rating, but many families will nevertheless enjoy what it does contain: a set of amusingly celebratory items for children as young as age three. Inside the book-size packaging is a box with the book’s title and some of its many brightly swirling colors on top. And inside that box are color-coordinated (and book-coordinated) objects ranging from a greeting card with envelope to a diploma emblazoned with a Seussian elephant to a door hanger with the message, “Graduate Inside! Please Knock.” There are also magnets, a bookmark topped with the boy from the book wearing a graduation cap, stickers, a photo frame and – biggest if not necessarily best of all – a banner proclaiming “Congratulations on Your Graduation!” Different kids will enjoy different enclosures to a greater or lesser extent: the small jigsaw puzzle, for example, will be more fun for the youngest recipients (preschool or kindergarten graduates, perhaps?), while the “Graduation Journal” will be of more interest to older kids who like the idea of writing about the places they’ll go. Fans of Oh, the Places You’ll Go! will naturally gravitate to this gift box, and will not be disappointed by its contents. In families with parent fans of the book, it would be better to get children the book itself first and follow up with the gift box if and only if the kids thoroughly enjoy reading the work in its original form.

(++++) LABORS OF LOVE

Idil Biret Beethoven Edition, Volume 16: Piano Sonatas Nos.6, 12 and 15 (“Pastoral”). Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $8.99.

Idil Biret Archive Edition, Volume 3: André Boucourechliev—Archipel IV; Niccolò Castiglioni—Cangianti; Leo Brouwer—Sonata Pian e Forte; İlhan Mimaroğlu—Session. Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $8.99.

Schoenberg: String Trio, Op. 45 (1946); Four Pieces for Mixed Chorus, Op. 27 (1925); Three Satires for Mixed Chorus, Op. 28 (1925-26); Septet-Suite, Op. 29 (1925-26); Accompaniment to a Cinematographic Scene, Op. 34 (1929-30). Soloists and chamber musicians, Simon Joly Chorale, members of the London Sinfonietta, and London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Robert Craft. Naxos. $8.99.

     The two new releases in the ongoing IBA series devoted to the pianism of Idil Biret are beautiful examples of this pianist’s range of talent and artistry – and will clearly be appreciated by very different audiences. Their release at the same time has little meaning, since they were recorded decades apart: the Beethoven CD in 2003 and 2005, the one of then-new piano music in 1976. But it is striking, hearing the discs in close proximity, to realize just how many things Biret does well, with intensity and understanding and with the use of a strong musical intellect as well as sheer technique.

     Actually, Biret’s intellect sometimes gets in the way of full expression of some pieces’ expressive potential, as occurs to an extent in Beethoven’s “Pastoral” Sonata, Op. 28. Although this is the latest sonata recorded here, it still predates the Second Symphony, and there is a certain pleasant openness and even jollity to the themes to complement sections of drama and intensity. It is, however, in the more exploratory parts of the sonata that Biret excels: she thinks everything through so carefully that the playfulness of the Scherzo, for example, is less than it can be. Similarly, in Sonata No. 6, Op. 10, No. 2, the Haydnesque turns of the first and third movements are somewhat less sprightly and therefore less effective than the minor-key middle movement, whose Allegretto tempo designation belies its seriousness. In Sonata No. 12, Op. 26, the best movement is the third, a funeral march to which Biret gives great forcefulness – although the opening movement, a set of variations, is also quite impressive. Biret’s carefully considered performances may be a little dry for some tastes, but there is no question that she thinks carefully about what she wants to do in this music, and then does precisely that.

     The re-release of hyper-modern 20^th-century piano works shows Biret in quite a different light. Written between 1959 and 1978, the four pieces on what was originally a recording for the short-lived Finnadar label have not worn particularly well. Thirty to 50 years after their creation, they sound far more dated – far more like pieces of a particular time and a particular form of musical experimentation – than do Beethoven’s much earlier experiments in design and sonority. İlhan Mimaroğlu, the composer whose proposal actually led to the creation of Finnadar, calls Session “agitprop music.” It includes his own paraphrases of Karl Marx quotations plus speaking roles for characters designated as The Attorney, The Accountant, The Publicist and The Artist (Biret). The piano is almost incidental to this electromagnetic-tape assemblage, which may have once seemed daring but now comes across as merely sad. André Boucourechliev’s Archipel IV is one of those aleatoric works seemingly constructed more for the composer’s sake than for that of any audience: it is deliberately designed to have its elements shuffled so each performance is entirely different – which seems to render any recording irrelevant, since the piece will never be heard that way again. Niccolò Castiglioni’s Cangianti includes both determined elements (based on the precision available when creating electronic music) and indeterminate ones (such as duration of those elements). Leo Brouwer’s Sonata Pian e Forte plays games with the whole notion of defined and undefined elements – for example, one “defined element” is “improvisation,” and one element is specified as a quotation from a Scriabin sonata (but which sonata is decided by the performer). This sort of music is an acquired taste that most listeners have never acquired. Biret’s re-release, which gets a (+++) rating, will make no converts to these works, but it certainly shows her capabilities in pieces that go well beyond any sort of traditional repertoire – for her and other pianists.

     Arnold Schoenberg’s works are much older than those on the Biret CD – Schoenberg, after all, died in 1951 – but many listeners still have trouble absorbing them even today. Robert Craft, the greatest living exponent of this music, continues his thoroughly researched and meticulously presented Schoenberg cycle in a new (++++) CD consisting mostly of chamber and choral music. These recordings were made between 1994 and 2005, and those of the Septet-Suite and Accompaniment to a Cinematographic Scene (the only piece for full orchestra here) have been previously released. The String Trio, which dates to the same time as A Survivor from Warsaw, is highly virtuosic and intense. The Four Pieces for Mixed Chorus are carefully constructed to go with their texts, two of which Schoenberg wrote himself – it is a shame that none of the texts is provided. The Three Satires for Mixed Chorus are both more accessible and less interesting: Schoenberg wrote all the texts himself (but again, they are not given with the CD) and wrote both words and music to attack some of the contemporary composers (unnamed) who had previously attacked him. The Satires are comparatively easy to follow but not really indicative of Schoenberg’s style – nor were they intended to be. The Septet-Suite is somewhat out of character, too, in its lightheartedness, but it is a much more successful work, very complex in construction but sounding well to listeners without requiring them to understand its underlying intricacies. Accompaniment to a Cinematographic Scene, written for an imaginary film, is even easier to follow, using a 12-tone framework but falling clearly into three sections that Schoenberg called “Threatening Danger, Fear, Catastrophe.” All the playing of all these works is exemplary both technically and in understanding of the composer’s structures and overall approach to his material – not always easy music to hear, even in the 21^st century, but music whose performers handle it with a committed intensity that is easy to follow and understand.