(+++) PRETEEN JOURNEYS

The Wonder of Charlie Anne. By Kimberly Newton Fusco. Knopf. $16.99.

Sunshine Picklelime. By Pamela Ellen Ferguson. Illustrated by Christian Slade. Random House. $16.99.

Windblowne. By Stephen Messer. Random House. $16.99.

Rocky Road. By Rose Kent. Knopf. $16.99.

     Inner and outer journeys tend to move in parallel in books for ages 8-12. The outer, physical travel takes many forms, but the inward progress – toward self-awareness and maturity – is usually pretty much the same from book to book. These four novels are, on the surface, as different as can be, but their protagonists all take the same trip internally, from naïveté and confusion to greater understanding of themselves and the world they live in.

     Charlie Anne’s world is the tough one of the Great Depression, and her family life is not easy, either. Her mother has died, her father and brother have gone north to find work building roads, and her little brother has been sent to live with an aunt and uncle. This leaves Charlie Anne at the family farm and in the care of her mother’s cousin, Mirabel – doing an endless series of tasks that take her away from enjoyable pastimes such as talking to farm animals and to her mother’s spirit (Mama’s grave is by the river). But then a neighbor, Mr. Jolly, brings home a forward-thinking, trousers-wearing new wife named Rosalyn – and a daughter, Phoebe, who is black. More importantly to Charlie Anne, Phoebe and she are the same age, and at last there is someone to talk to, to share things with, to make Charlie Anne’s life seem less constricted. But to the townspeople, the only thing that matters is the color of Phoebe’s skin, and Charlie Anne needs to learn important lessons about prejudice, about standing up for what is right, and about growing up by knowing when to challenge adults, before she can attain the maturity toward which, without fully knowing it, she has been striving. Kimberly Newton Fusco’s writing can be preachy – there is no question of who the good guys and bad guys are here, and Rosalyn talks in language more appropriate for the 1970s than the 1940s: “We do not need to be defined by our circumstances. We can make things different, we can change things, even climb right up and out of the boxes that some people want to put us in.” But the obviousness of the style and some plot elements will not diminish the charms of The Wonder of Charlie Anne for the preteen girls who will be its primary audience.

     They will be the primary audience for Sunshine Picklelime as well. This is the first book for young children by peripatetic journalist Pamela Ellen Ferguson, whose nine previous books (fiction and nonfiction) were for adults. Subtitled “A Story of Life, Laughter, and Lemonade,” the novel strives for cuteness from the start, and often attains it. PJ Picklelime, a little girl with big hair, lives in a village that seems to exist on the boundary between magic and the everyday; and that is where her life perches, too. PJ is one of those eternally perky, upbeat girls who talks to birds and gives one of them, a yellow warbler, a temporary home in her big crop of black hair. PJ later cuts her hair at one point (to help clean up an oil spill), and she makes lemonade that has some very special effects, and everything is simply delightful and quirky – until dark clouds appear, first in the form of fights between PJ’s parents and then in the death of a friend. Now PJ needs to confront reality, tinged with its inevitable sadness, while trying to preserve her happy-go-lucky nature; and this proves far from easy, even when she tries to find out how her friends and neighbors cope with life’s periodic reverses. Eventually, thanks to friends both human and animal – and her own inner resilience – PJ finds a way to integrate her winning personality with the difficulties that she knows she will surely encounter, preserving her inner brightness in a less naïve, which is to say more grown-up, way.

     There is even more of magic in Windblowne, which is both the title of the book and the name of the town where the protagonist, Oliver, lives. It is a town where kite-flying skill is crucial, but Oliver is like Charles Schulz’s Charlie Brown: every kite he tries to fly crashes. A major kite-flying festival is coming up, and Oliver wants desperately to prove himself, so he tracks down his reclusive great-uncle Gilbert, a former champion, to get help. But Gilbert is kidnapped (by kites) and Oliver, searching for him, journeys to another world (yes, by kite) to search for him. There he finds a kind of negative town of Windblowne, where Gilbert’s evil twin is destroying oak trees to obtain energy that he plans to use to rule the world – while Oliver’s Gilbert has been banished. Stephen Messer’s book has all the elements of a grand, heroic and potentially very amusing journey, but he plays the tale straight throughout, which somewhat undermines its effectiveness. This is Messer’s debut novel, and the entire adventure seems derivative not only of Diana Wynne Jones (whose work helped inspire the book) but also of other modern post-Tolkien fantasists. The use of kites is clever and offbeat, and there are occasional flashes of amusement in the writing: “‘I’m imagining things again,’ he whispered to the kite. The kite offered no opinion.” But by and large, Messer takes the story seriously, whether Oliver is being yanked by a kite from place to place, captured by surly guards, or trying to interpret an ancient manuscript while being pursued by the bad Lord Gilbert’s hunters. His eventual triumph over evil, if not at the kite-flying festival, is no surprise; neither is his return to home, wiser and more experienced than before. Many of the settings of Windblowne are unusual; its plot is much less so.

     Nor is the plot of Rocky Road anything special. Here again are family issues: single mom (Pop “stormed out for good with all his stuff” years ago) raising the book’s protagonist, Tess, and Tess’s deaf little brother, Jordan. The twist in Rose Kent’s novel is that Ma lives by coming up with a series of get-rich-quick schemes that inevitably fail, landing the family in financial hardship. But now she has a get-not-so-rich-not-so-quickly idea: move to rundown downtown Schenectady, New York, and open an ice-cream parlor. Kent gives short shrift to the irresponsibility of this whole way of raising children; and even though she makes Tess well aware of the family’s financial problems and Ma’s periodic collapses (days when she cannot even get out of bed), the author stays determinedly upbeat and has Tess do so as well, at least most of the time. The title of the book is, of course, a giveaway of the plot, since it is not only an ice-cream flavor but also a description of the family’s life – including the notions that 1) the road may be rocky, but the eventual taste will be sweet; and 2) it is the simple pleasures in life, such as ice cream and family, that really matter. The ice-cream parlor, called A Cherry on Top, turns out, of course, to be more expensive than Ma ever figured (lease, business insurance, jukebox, dipping cabinet, and of course all the ingredients). But in this town, Tess is growing up and really getting involved in things on her own (notably peer mediation); and eventually everything works out, thanks to a combination of a Cinco de Mayo celebration, an adventure with a turtle, and Tess’s determination to make the Resuscitate State Street Association a success. A nice “Smattering of Ice Cream Recipes from A Cherry on Top” provides a sweet postlude to a story that ends as happily as readers will expect and desire, despite the very expectable bumps along the way.

(+++) TEACHING KIDS, TEACHING SOCIETY

The Learning Tree: Overcoming Learning Disabilities from the Ground Up. By Stanley I. Greenspan, M.D., and Nancy Thorndike Greenspan. Da Capo. $26.

7 Dirty Words: The Life and Crimes of George Carlin. By James Sullivan. Da Capo. $26.

     The Learning Tree is the fourth and final collaboration between clinical psychiatrist Stanley Greenspan and his wife, Nancy Thorndike Greenspan: Stanley Greenspan died shortly after finishing it. It is a book that takes its title very seriously. The Greenspans’ approach to improving the learning skills of learning-disabled children is laid out in the form of a tree: trunk, roots and branches. Not surprisingly, it is a very well-conceived conceptual framework: the “trunk” is a child’s ability to think; the “roots” are the sensory systems; and the “branches” are specific academic skills. This is important because it puts academics in perspective: they are not a “root” problem. The Greenspans – assisted by Richard Lodish, Ed.D., associate headmaster of Sidwell Friends School in Washington, D.C., who discusses several of the school’s “projects” that attempt to implement Learning Tree approaches – first give specific examples of ways to build basic and advanced thinking, then show how the thinking levels work in a school setting. Having gone through the “trunk” section, they explain in the “roots” portion of the book about such issues as visual-spatial and motor-sequence processing, sound deciphering and language development, and experiential building to help with such tasks as sound-vision connection and word understanding. Eventually moving on to “The Learning Tree in Action,” the Greenspans and Lodish give specifics about challenged students’ classroom behavior and ways to manage it to maximize participation and comprehension, including student expressiveness in writing and speaking. One of the most interesting things about The Learning Tree is that, despite its overt focus on children with learning disabilities, its structural elements really apply to all children as they grow, learn and develop. Kids identified as LD simply have a more difficult time making headway and need more careful management and guidance through the various progressive stages. Parents may find some elements of the book somewhat overwhelming – the Greenspans even point out in one chapter that previous chapters “have offered a lot of information – enough so that a process to pull it all together might be helpful to some readers.” In fact, what would be especially helpful would be to have someone like Lodish managing elements of the Greenspans’ approach at each child’s school. In the real world, implementation of these ideas is likely to fall more on parents than on schools, which have enough staffing and discipline issues already without trying to develop an implementation system for the Greenspans’ ideas (however worthy those ideas may be). Unfortunately, Learning Tree approaches are time-intensive and require a level of focus that parents may be unable to provide, especially if they have other children (LD or not) at home. Thus, although the book promises “practical advice for parents, from infancy through high school,” the practicality is likely to be compromised by real-world time and life pressures. The Learning Tree system itself, though, is a very worthy and well-thought-out one, worth considering as an ideal toward which to strive even if parents find they cannot manage to implement all (or even most) of its elements.

     Adults have plenty to learn, too, and one of the more interesting teachers as regards modern propriety and uniquely American hang-ups was comedian George Carlin (1937-2008). Carlin is most famous for his “Seven Dirty Words” routine, which was responsible for the 1978 Supreme Court decision in which the high court, by a 5-4 vote, affirmed the government’s right and power to regulate indecency on public airwaves (thereby leading to, among other things, a proliferation on cable TV and satellite radio of things that could not be said or done on over-the-air television or traditional radio broadcasts). Despite its title, James Sullivan’s 7 Dirty Words is not focused on that famed Carlin routine or the landmark court case; it is, instead, a fairly straightforward biography, although not a lot about Carlin can be said to be “straightforward.” A political satirist of some note, among whose subjects were religion and politics as well as issues of language, Carlin was known for his funny faces and weird noisemaking as well as his social commentary. Questioning authority was his stock in trade, but in fact – this may surprise readers of the book – his actual confrontations with “the system” that landed him in jail were such minor things as drunkenness, insubordination and public obscenity (for doing his “Seven Dirty Words” routine at an outdoor festival). Carlin was cynical about the United States – he said you had to be asleep to believe in the “American Dream” – but was a uniquely American phenomenon, from his Catholic-school upbringing to his addictions (notably cocaine and painkillers) to his larger-than-life comedic persona. There is still a lot to learn from George Carlin, not only for other comedians (many of whom have praised him and cited him as a major influence on their own work) but also for everyone who listens to comedy and wants to know why he or she finds things funny. Carlin avoided the topical; he was more interested in deeper issues (although he would not have put it quite that way). Even the “Seven Dirty Words” routine (one of whose words, “tits,” is scarcely considered “dirty” anymore) was an attempt to explore the reasons people hate and fear words – which are, after all, just bits of shaped air processed by vocal cords and emitted orally. Sullivan, a pop-music and culture critic who has written for The Boston Globe, Rolling Stone and other publications, generally does a good job of capturing Carlin’s freewheeling style and underlying seriousness of purpose. He is guilty, though, of being closer to his subject than readers may want to be: Sullivan throws names and references around with abandon, with the result that some readers may overdose on trivia. One example among many: “[Johnny] Carson’s producers did make a few concessions, booking the Committee, the hippie sketch-comedy troupe that had been on the Smothers Brothers show with Carlin; former pro football linebacker Dave Meggysey, known for his 1970 exposé Out of Their League, which blew the lid off the inhumane culture of the NFL; and Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks, led by a psychedelic gypsy-jazzbo born in Little Rock but shaped by San Francisco’s Summer of Love. (At the time Hicks and his band were in talks with Monte Kay to become the next Little David act, though it never panned out.)” Readers with a taste for minutiae will revel in this sort of detail; others will likely find it more information than is really needed. Still, as a book about Carlin and some of the societal issues he raised, 7 Dirty Words is, on the whole, effective – although scarcely as punchy as the comedian himself.

(+++) PIANO BYWAYS

Beethoven: Piano Variations—Fifteen Variations and Fugue on an Original Theme, Op. 35, “Eroica”; Twelve Variations on the ‘Menuett à la Viganò’ from Jakob Haibel’s ‘Le nozze disturbate’; Twelve Variations on the Russian Dance from Paul Wranitzky’s ballet ‘Waldmädchen’; Ten Variations on ‘La stessa, la stessissima’ from Antonio Salieri’s ‘Falstaff’; Eight Variations on ‘Tändeln und Scherzen’ from Franz Xaver Süssmayr’s ‘Soliman II’; Six Variations in D Major, Op. 76. Ian Yungwook Yoo, piano. Naxos. $8.99.

Idil Biret Concerto Edition, Volume 5: Tchaikovsky—Piano Concerto No. 2; Concert Fantasy. Idil Biret, piano. Bilkent Symphony Orchestra conducted by Emil Tabakov and José Serebrier. IBA. $8.99.

Ries: Works for Flute and Piano—Sonate sentimentale, Op. 169; Introduction and Polonaise, Op. 119; Sonata for Flute and Piano, Op. 87; Variations on a Portuguese Hymn. Uwe Grodd, flute; Matteo Napoli, piano. Naxos. $8.99.

Mendelssohn: Concertos Nos. 1 and 2 for Two Pianos. Aglika Genova and Liuben Dimitrov, pianos. Münchner Rundfunkorchester conducted by Ulf Schirmer. CPO. $16.99.

     Anyone seeking the profound side of Beethoven will do well to shy away from Ian Yungwook Yoo’s CD of six of the composer’s sets of piano variations. These are display pieces, plain and simple, mostly created before Beethoven’s encroaching deafness marked the beginning of the end of his virtuoso career around the turn of the 19^th century. Actually, the “Eroica” variations – the best-known work here – date to 1802, and the Variations in D Major (whose theme is familiar from The Ruins of Athens) were written as late as 1809. But the principle underlying all these works nevertheless holds: make considerable technical demands of the performer without expecting much from him intellectually, and without asking much of the audience other than to pay attention and enjoy the many ways a theme can be twisted and rearranged hither and yon. Yoo’s performance fits the music admirably: it is bright and brash, even a bit pounding, without subtlety but with plenty of flair. The quieter variations are not particularly thoughtful, really – they are more in the nature of pauses to allow pianist and audience to get ready for the next burst of virtuosity. Yoo is technically very impressive, and if his interpretations are rather superficial, so, after all, is the music. The “Eroica” variations lead to his impressive handling of the fugal voices before the brilliant conclusion. The four sets of variations on popular music of Beethoven’s time, if not as elaborate as the ones that Liszt would create some decades later, are all well put together, and all take not-terribly-significant music and spin it out in entertaining ways. Yoo shows himself an impressive technician in this light repertoire, and the CD is fun to hear; but there is nothing on it to show Yoo to be – or ask him to be – particularly thoughtful.

     The problem with a pianist as thoughtful as Idil Biret is that she tries to overthink Tchaikovsky’s emotionalism and his formal shortcomings, with the result – in the latest CD in the Idil Biret Concerto Edition – that she plays very well but not very convincingly. The sprawling first movement of the Second Piano Concerto simply does not come together here: its seams constantly show, its somewhat overdone repetitions are more obvious than they need to be, and its forward momentum is lacking. Biret relaxes in the second movement, played in its original (and much better) version, in which it has something of the flavor of a triple concerto for piano, violin and cello. This movement sounds unforced and sweet, but not overdone. But then Biret chooses so slow a tempo for the final Allegro con fuoco that the finale comes across as ponderous, a foot-dragging slog rather than a bright capstone to the solemnity and considerable length that have come before. Emil Tabakov, who conducts the concerto, goes along with Biret fastidiously, and the Bilkent Philharmonic plays adequately if without real passion. The orchestra might have been expected to be more pliable under José Serebrier in the Concert Fantasy, but here too Biret over-analyzes the music, taking it apart so that it fractures into component pieces that are, it must be said, none too coherent. This is one Tchaikovsky work that really needs firm control by both pianist and conductor to have a strong effect: the form is experimental and not always successful, but individual themes and sections are simply gorgeous, and the discontinuities can come across as pleasant surprises if well handled. Here they simply make the piece seem chaotic. The result is a very well-played CD that does not sound idiomatic at all, as if Biret really does not care much for Tchaikovsky’s idiosyncratic style of composition.

     Uwe Grodd and Matteo Napoli do seem to enjoy the music of Ferdinand Ries, for all that the works are on the trivial side. The piano is more the focus here than the flute – Ries was a famous piano virtuoso – but the flute writing is pleasant and idiomatic, if not especially challenging: most of these pieces were intended for performance by adept amateurs, not professionals, and the Introduction and Polonaise would certainly have given an amateur flautist a workout while providing a pleasant 10 minutes of listening in a 19^th-century drawing room. The most substantial work on the CD is the Sonate sentimentale, a well-constructed and nicely balanced work that makes no pretense to profundity but that has some heft to it. The other sonata here is shorter and lighter – its central slow movement lasts only a minute and a half – but concludes with a very finely honed set of variations. The Variations on a Portuguese Hymn are very well constructed, too, and are especially interesting to hear because the hymn that Ries uses is Adeste fidelis (“Oh come, all ye faithful”). Hearing this usually solemn tune, so ubiquitous at Christmas, turned every which way – including, at the end, into a bright and bouncy version – is a very enjoyable listening experience, as indeed is the entire disc.

     Even more enjoyable, and offering music of much more substance, is the (++++) CD of Mendelssohn’s two concertos for two pianos, exceptionally well played by Aglika Genova and Liuben Dimitrov, who handle the music with such understanding and apparently intuitive communication that it often sounds as if there is only one soloist, playing a remarkably large instrument. Genova and Dimitrov move, apparently effortlessly, between the flair of the outgoing outer movements of the first (E Major) concerto and the tenderness of the central Adagio non troppo, which sounds tender and sweet without becoming maudlin. The altogether grander second concerto (in A-flat Major), which lasts some 50% longer than the earlier one (the two are separated by only one year), is handled from the start in a more serious manner, Genova and Dimitrov handing off elements to each other – or playing together – with something approaching solemnity, although not so much of it as to disguise the attractive and ever-changing flow of the music. The very difficult piano parts do not sound difficult in this performance, where the whole focus is on the flow and emotion communicated by the music. Ulf Schirmer is an excellent partner for Genova and Dimitrov, conducting the Münchner Rundfunkorchester with consummate skill, allowing the soloists to be in the forefront most of the time but taking over the spotlight from them as appropriate, and bringing as much sensitivity and nuance to the orchestral parts as the pianists bring to the keyboard ones. Warm, moving and suffused with beauty from start to finish, this is an excellent recording of music whose technical difficulty and performance requirements have kept it relatively unknown, but which deserves to be heard far more often in tribute to its skillful construction and sheer loveliness.

(++++) STRUNG OUT

Bartók: Violin Concertos Nos. 1 and 2. Arabella Steinbacher, violin; Orchestre de la Suisse Romande conducted by Marek Janowski. PentaTone. $19.99 (SACD)

Kreisler: Paganini Arrangements. Philippe Quint, violin; Dmitriy Cogan, piano. Naxos. $8.99.

     The two Bartók violin concertos are contrasts in just about every way except one: they are unmistakably redolent of the composer’s style. The first concerto, a two-movement work of largely Romantic sensibility that Bartók wrote for and dedicated to the Swiss violinist Stefi Geyer, who did not reciprocate the composer’s affection, is a highly personal piece with none of the folk-music focus that was to pervade Bartók’s later compositions. Written in 1907-08 but not performed in public until more than a decade after Bartók’s death, it offers music of sweetness and warmth that is nevertheless filled with dance rhythms and that required all the virtuosity that Geyer could command. Arabella Steinbacher throws herself into the music – not with abandon, since she is a very controlled performer, but with enthusiasm and a sense of emotional connection that together make this early Bartók work a treat to hear and a bittersweet experience to share. Steinbacher handles the very different Second Concerto – written 30 years later – with plenty of style, too. This is a complex work, written on commission for the violinist Zoltán Székely, who wanted a piece in traditional three-movement concerto form. Bartók gave him that but also gave him far more, since the work is essentially a series of variations from start to finish: the third movement comprises variations on material from the first, while the second consists of its own set of variations. This is late Bartók, with all the complexity and dissonance that he brought to bear in his music by this time in his career, and the work is not as immediately appealing on an emotional level as the First Concerto; it is more of an intellectual exercise. As such, it is a piece to which Steinbacher is fully equal, and one in which Marek Janowski and the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande provide clear and pointed backup that is as appropriate here as their sumptuousness is in the earlier concerto. These two works are very nearly bookends of Bartók’s compositional life, the first begun when he was 26 and the second finished just seven years before his death at age 64. Each concerto clearly reflects what techniques and influences the composer had absorbed by the time of its composition: the First is far more personal and considerably more in line with 19^th-century norms, although its language is distinctly that of the 20^th, while the Second is mature, deep and innovative. Steinbacher and Janowski deserve special praise for approaching these two very different concertos in distinctive but equally effective ways.

     The effectiveness of Philippe Quint and Dmitriy Cogan should not be doubted for a moment, either, but their Kreisler/Paganini collaboration gets only a (+++) rating – not because of their skill but because the music itself is less than enthralling. Fritz Kreisler’s revisions of Paganini’s works were designed to highlight Kreisler’s own distinctive style of violin virtuosity at the expense of many of Paganini’s innovations. Kreisler, for example, was fond of artificial harmonics, which he introduced into several of the pieces heard here. He was not fond of scordatura, which was a primary Paganini technique (most famously in his Violin Concerto No. 1), so Kreisler simply took it out when making these arrangements. There is plenty of virtuosity here – Moto perpetuo, in particular, is astonishingly well played, with Quint continuing at a breakneck pace no matter how often it seems that he cannot possibly keep it up. And there is some interesting treatment of the three more-extended works on the CD: Introduction and Variations on “Non più mesta” from Rossini’s “La Cenerentola,” Introduction and Variations on “Di tanti palpiti” from Rossini’s “Tancredi,” and – most of all – the simply titled but notoriously difficult Le streghe (“The Witches”). Still, most of the interest lies in what Paganini created, not in what Kreisler did to modify the earlier master’s work. This is even truer in the shorter pieces, which include three of the 24 Caprices, Op. 1 (Nos. 13, 20 and 24) and the “La Campanella” finale from Violin Concerto No. 2. Quint plays everything extremely well – he must be quite something to watch when doing works like these in concert – and Cogan backs him up admirably even though, in truth, he does not have much to do (Kreisler gave the piano accompanist only minimal chances to shine). It is certainly understandable that Kreisler, who performed mainly in the 20^th century, would want to put his personal stamp on music created by one of the greatest violinists of the 19^th. But that does not make the Kreisler arrangements particularly interesting from a musical standpoint. All Quint’s skill cannot conceal the fact that this is very thin gruel indeed.

(++++) BEAUTY AND/OR ODDITY – YOUR CHOICE

2011 Calendars: Wall—Kitchen Herb Garden; Pearls Before Swine; 365-Day—Pearls Before Swine; Liō; Non Sequitur; The Dictionary of Corporate Bulls**t; Disney/Pixar. Andrews McMeel. $14.99 (Kitchen); $13.99 each (all others).

     The pleasures of summer warmth will start to fade soon enough, but one of the wonderful things about calendars is that they can provide those pleasures – or enjoyment of many other kinds – throughout the year. It’s just a matter of deciding what sorts of things will be fun to see when 2011 arrives, which it will quite soon enough. The Kitchen Herb Garden wall calendar is a perfect example of finding growth and beauty through the year. It features a dozen works of art – and they are works of art – by Sherri Buck Baldwin, each devoted to a homey scene that is made special by Baldwin’s keen eye for detail and unerring ability to find beauty in the ordinary. This is, in fact, a perfect calendar to hang in a kitchen, with its pictures of delicious-looking fresh vegetables, potted herbs, food being prepared and a meal being served. There are no people here – just ingredients, plates and finished dishes – and the result is a feeling that these everyday wonders somehow exist or are created by a sort of magic. The beautiful decorations above and below each month’s display further enhance the calendar’s charm.

     Prefer amusement in your daily diet? Then consider Stephan Pastis’ wild and weird Pearls Before Swine strip, which can regale you (if that is the right phrase) in either wall or page-a-day form in the new year. Groaner puns and bizarre situations share space in both Pearls calendars with appearances by the strip’s recurring characters: Pig, Rat, Goat, Danny Donkey, and the imbecilic and expendable crocs. The wall calendar includes one strip per month, plus a full-color blowup of one panel of that strip – and those are not for the squeamish (but then, neither is Pearls Before Swine). Arguably the funniest of the large panels is the one in which a croc in Colonel Sanders clothing stands bewildered, surrounded by chickens. Or maybe it is the one in which Pig wears fried eggs over his eyes. Or the one in which Rat urges figure skaters to start acting like hockey players by getting into fights. Or maybe it is the front of the calendar, which features “Da Fantasteek Four (Math Not Part of Their Fantasticalness)” – three, count them, three, ridiculously overdressed croc supernumbskulls. Or maybe…well, you pick. Or pick a different Pearls strip every day with the 365-day calendar, which for 2011 is called “Dr. StrangeCroc, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Reptile.” The cover of this one features one of those poor unfortunate crocs riding a bomb toward Earth, in a parody of a scene from Stanley Kubrick’s famous 1964 movie, which was itself a parody: Pastis has now moved to parody parodies. Pearls Before Swine is an acquired taste, but if you have acquired it, you will want to acquire at least one of these calendars.

     Speaking of acquired tastes, Mark Tatulli’s Liō and Wiley Miller’s Non Sequitur deserve the same description. Liō is the simple and nearly wordless story (the title character himself never speaks) of a young boy, his pet giant squid and homicidal kitten, his fascination with such scientific experiments as nuclear bombs and reanimating the dead, his reinterpretation of “alien abduction” to mean that he abducts the alien, and much more. None of these strips follows from anything that has come before – in fact, you could say that Liō is a non sequitur strip, except that the title Non Sequitur is already taken, and taken very well indeed. There are some recurring characters in Non Sequitur – notably Danae, a young Goth girl, and some of those in her orbit, including Martians. But by and large, the strip is filled with whatever Wiley (as he prefers to be known) feels like drawing to make whatever point he feels like making. The 2011 Non Sequitur calendar is in color, and the coloring tends to be as subtle as some of the barbs and as understated as some of the sarcasm. This is a calendar in which a man’s favorite cell-phone app is the off button; a climber seeking the secret of life goes up the mountain to a cave where he finds the secret to lawn care, and pedestrian “walk/don’t walk” signs become “advance” and “obstruct” while a character worries that the change doesn’t faze him anymore. Non Sequitur means “it does not follow,” but followers of the strip will find plenty to go along with in this calendar.

     Another thing that does not follow is corporate jargon, or corporate bulls**t, as in The Dictionary of Corporate Bulls**t for 2011. Subtitled “A Year of Empty, Enraging, and Just Plain Stupid Office Talk,” this calendar is packed with verbiage that only Dilbert’s Pointy-Haired Boss could love. This daily dictionary of dumb, dumber and disastrous double-speak goes beyond the obvious meaningless words, such as “synergy” (although yes, it is included) to provide the real definitions of such verbal bloatware as “impactful” and “incentivize” (neither of which is a real word), “self-starter” (someone who will be required to work without training or supervision), “goals” (imposed objectives designed to be used against you at performance-review time), and many more tidbits of tortured meaning. It may or may not be a good idea to keep this calendar on an office desk – if you work in the sort of place that actually uses this vocabulary as if it has meaning, you’re better off keeping the calendar at home to help you return to the real world every evening.

     But no one says you have to spend time in the real world, at least in calendar terms. One of the most wonderful unreal worlds you can go to all year is the world of Pixar animation – which is actually a lot of different unreal worlds. And for 2011, the Disney/Pixar calendar is one of the most enjoyable and cleverest offerings around. It is not, strictly speaking, a day-to-day calendar, since it display a week at a time – but what displays those weeks are! Pixar (now part of Disney) has created an astonishing number of memorable characters that exist only as tiny models or computer bits and bytes, but that seem more solid and emotionally realistic than most flesh-and-blood Hollywood movie protagonists. The fantastic creations from all 11 Pixar films people every calendar page, even when the characters are not people but bugs, robots, monsters, cars, fish or toys. Ratatouille, Nemo, Lightning McQueen, the Incredibles, the cast of the three Toy Story films, and many more creations are here – and the calendar is (get this) interactive. The pages do not merely display – they become keepsakes. Some are punch-out postcards, bookmarks or door hangers; others are collector cards or standup display items called “standees.” These are disproportionately enjoyable to punch out, set up, use and display, for adult Pixar fans as well as kids. Along the way, the calendar offers some neat Pixar trivia, such as the full name of Mater, the twangy-talkin’ tow truck in Cars – it’s “Tow Mater,” as in “tomater,” as in the way the character would pronounce “tomato.” Get it? By all means get it – the Pixar/Disney calendar, that is – if you want to balance your everyday world with one that, if not necessarily as realistic, is a lot more colorful and can be every bit as emotionally gripping. This is one calendar that combines oddity (the characters and their adventures) with beauty (their design and the underlying warmth that distinguish every Pixar movie made to date).

(++++) ANIMALS, CUTE AND NOT SO MUCH

Dillweed’s Revenge: A Deadly Dose of Magic. By Florence Parry Heide. Illustrated by Carson Ellis. Harcourt. $16.99.

Piggy Pie Po. By Audrey Wood. Pictures drawn by Audrey Wood and painted by Don Wood. Harcourt. $16.99.

How Rocket Learned to Read. By Tad Hills. Schwartz & Wade. $17.99.

     You probably think that all animals in kids’ books are warm, cute, loving and thoroughly adorable. That means you haven’t met Skorped, the one true friend of a boy named Dillweed. Imagine a playfully doglike reptilian creature with a long tail, prominent spines running down its back, a sharklike mouth half the size of its body, and a predisposition for getting into trouble, and you’ll have some idea of what Skorped looks like. Oh – and he’s blue. Dillweed’s Revenge results partly from mistreatment of Skorped by adults who just don’t understand the bond between a boy and whatever Skorped is. But the revenge springs directly from the ill treatment Dillweed himself receives from all the adults in his world. His parents constantly travel on adventures, leaving Dillweed at home with a demanding, drunken butler named Umblud and a perfidious housekeeper named, of course, Perfidia. While the baddies throw parties for their friends and act as if they own the sprawling old mansion where Dillweed lives, Dillweed himself is reduced to the role of a servant, forced to chop wood and clean clothes and generally do the jobs that Umblud and Perfidia are supposed to be doing. His is no Cinderella tale, though – it is written and drawn like something combining a touch of Charles Addams with a bit of Edward Gorey, all wrapped up in the sensibilities of Hilaire Beloc’s Cautionary Tales. The ones who should practice caution are Umblud and Perfidia, because they go too far when they decide to take action against Skorped. At that point, Dillweed pulls a strange box out from under his bed and does “something” – it involves the use of magical objects in the box, and results in the appearance of half a dozen gray and ghostly demonic-looking things. And that is that for Umblud and Perfidia in short order – and, in slightly longer order, that is that for Dillweed’s parents, who return from their latest adventure to decide that they do not like Skorped, and who unceremoniously drop him out a window. Bad mistake. Florence Parry Heide’s mayhem here is decidedly tongue-in-cheek, taking place just outside the excellent drawings by Carson Ellis – in much the same way that Gorey’s violence generally occurs. The Addams influence is clear not only in the pictures of the house but also in such very clever displays as the one showing the parents arriving home in the foreground while the coffins containing Umblud and Perfidia are being carried out in the background. All ends so happily for Dillweed and Skorped that, at the very end, the boy throws the box of magical stuff into the ocean from the deck of the ship on which boy and friend are happily traveling. This is, to say the least, a very unusual children’s book, which very unusual families will find unusually appealing.

     But back to those warm, cute, loving and adorable animals. There are certainly a lot more of them in kids’ books than there are creatures like Skorped. Take the disarmingly charming Piggy Pie Po, for example. In their new book, Audrey and Don Wood, best known for The Napping House, present three very short rhyming stories of this smiling, pudgy piglet with a prominent curly tail. These are super-simple tales for very young readers. In one, Piggy Pie Po wears different clothes to do different things – party pants for dancing, rubber fins for swimming, a yellow slicker for boating, and so on. In another, he displays his skill at art, counting, reading and more. In the third, he gets a little too eager for the food set out on the table, sloppily eating everything in sight until he makes a big mistake by eating an entire super-hot red pepper (the closeup of his expression when he chomps down on it is wonderfully funny). There is no lesson or moral in these stories – they simply celebrate the everyday activities of an adorable, huge-eared, bright-eyed character who almost always smiles (although not after eating that pepper).

     There is a lesson in How Rocket Learned to Read – several reading lessons, in fact. Here, Tad Hills’ latest sweetly expressive character – drawn in the same style as his feathered friends and sometime rivals, Duck and Goose – is a playful puppy who spends his time running around, chasing leaves and chewing sticks, tiring himself out so much that he falls asleep under a tree where, it turns out, a little yellow bird is getting ready to teach a class in reading. The bird, who very closely resembles the avians in Hills’ other books, hangs a huge banner displaying “the wondrous, mighty, gorgeous alphabet,” and starts reading a story as Rocket tries to sleep. Soon the little dog gets caught up in the tale, decides he wants to be able to read it himself, and chases after the bird to find out what happens. But the bird has gone for the day – so Rocket returns to the tree early next morning, eager to learn to read. As he learns the alphabet, he finds out how to spell – and starts applying his knowledge immediately. In one especially cute scene, a dog called Mr. Barker bares his teeth at an uncertain Rocket and the little bird hiding behind him, as Rocket learns how to spell “GRRRRRRRRRR!” After the bird flies south for the winter, Rocket continues practicing spelling and the alphabet, at one point creating a huge “ABC” by running through the snow. And then the lessons resume, happily, when spring returns and the bird comes back. The pictures are a bigger attraction in How Rocket Learned to Read than the story, which is a little obvious and slightly heavy-handed. But the pictures are so good that kids ages 3-7 – the book’s target age range – will want to look at them again and again. There is almost an overflow of adorableness in the illustration showing Rocket lying on the grass next to a whole pile of books as the little yellow bird sits on the pup’s paw, reading to him. It is all super-sweet, super-cute and – who knows? – just might encourage some young children to start learning to read on their own.

(+++) A TOUCH OF SCARE

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Collected by Alvin Schwartz. Illustrated by Brett Helquist. Harper. $15.99.

Pretty Dead. By Francesca Lia Block. HarperTeen. $8.99.

Poison Apple Book: Miss Fortune. By Brandi Dougherty. Scholastic. $5.99.

     It sometimes seems as if the authors of scary books can’t make up their minds whether they really want to be frightening or not – so they write sort-of-scary stories that end up being significantly short of the horrific. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark – a new edition of a book first published in 1981 – takes old tales and retells them, but Alvin Schwartz tries too hard to tell readers that they ought to be scared, with results that often come across as only a little silly. Most of these stories are very short, only two pages or so, and Schwartz several times suggests that young readers tell the stories to their friends at night and scream “AAAAAAAAAAAH!” at the end instead of actually wrapping things up. The better tales here, though, are often longer and actually have endings. “Cold as Clay,” for example, is about a woman’s night ride with a man she thinks is still alive; “The Haunted House” is about a woman’s vengeful ghost, who tells a preacher how to find the man who killed her; “The Guests” is a travelers-lost-at-night tale about people who unknowingly stay overnight in a ghost house; “High Beams” is a mystery with a clever twist, in which the thing that frightens a young woman driver turns out not to be the real danger to her. These are high points of the book, but there are low points as well, including a chapter of short tales that seem like horror stories but are supposed to be funny (“supposed to” being the operative phrase). There have been two Scary Stories collections published since this one originally came out; all three anthologies contain enough tales (29 in this one) so young readers will find at least a few to enjoy. But Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark is even more uneven than most anthologies, and not as scary as it intends to be.

     Nor is Francesca Lia Block’s Pretty Dead pretty scary or pretty much of anything except intermittently involving and generally incoherent. This is a vampire love story in which (as in several other recent vampire novels) there is a strong suggestion that vampirism can somehow be reversed – the authors ignoring the inconvenient issue that vampires are, you know, dead, so reversing their condition would actually mean finding a way to reverse death itself, and wouldn’t that be something? It’s not the thing here, though. Pretty Dead is about a vampire who does not want to be one and who is eventually changed back through some sort of mystical (and never-explained) “trade” process that also involves the vampire who originally “made” her – who maybe is not just a vampire but is actually the Devil, or something like that. There is so little attempt at explanation here that it is impossible to figure out who did what to whom and why. For example, there is a whole section about the tragedies witnessed and experienced by William Eliot, the person (creature?) who made Charlotte Emerson whatever she became. Did William somehow cause the Nazi bombing of London and the atomic destruction of Hiroshima, among other things, or did he know in advance that they would happen so he could bring Charlotte to witness them? How did he know, if he did? Don’t ask Block – she never says. What she tries to do is make Pretty Dead a love story, between immortals on the one hand and mortals on the other, and she does manage to create some bittersweet scenes and an unsurprising but well managed “return of memory” plot point to sort of explain some of what occurs. Of course, she never tells readers the reason for the loss of memory, but hey, coherence is not what she is after. Pretty Dead is more surrealistic than scary, although it does have one genuinely horrible element: the cover of the new paperback edition, which is an extreme close-up of a mouth sucking a red-and-white mint candy whose red stripes are melting in a way suggestive of blood. The picture is ugly and unrelated to the story, but why should it be any clearer than the narrative?

     The relatively modest aims of the Poison Apple series seem positively literate by comparison. The third book in this sequence of standalone novels (after The Dead End and This Totally Bites!) has to do with a carnival, where a mysterious necklace is given to Zoe after she and her best friend, Mia, have their fortunes told. Bad things start happening to Zoe when she wears the necklace (an oven fire when the oven is turned off, for example), and somehow Zoe’s phone is part of all this – she gets threatening texts and calls, and seems to be calling other people even though in fact she has not done so. “This has to be a bad dream,” she thinks, but no such luck. There is a raven involved in the plot, too. And when Zoe and Mia belatedly decide to get rid of the necklace by burying it, Zoe soon gets a text that says, “You shouldn’t have done that.” Let’s see…there is also a mysterious book that seems to disappear and reappear conveniently, and when the girls get their hands on it, Mia says, “‘We need the Zifiri spell to break the curse of the snake eye,’” so that explains everything, right? An overnight bus trip, the gathering of a batch of odd ingredients, some totally clueless parents, a disguise as a boy, and a bit of precise timing later – oh yes, and a hammer – and the curse is lifted: “Zoe’s computer was fixed, all her wounds were healed, her film was restored, and Professor Meyer had loved her new idea for a short film about a girl who’s been cursed.” And the moral is – well, there isn’t one, but there is another Poison Apple book coming soon enough, and fans of the mild frights of this series will surely look forward to it.

(+++) DRAGONS AND OTHER REPTILES

Thomas and the Dragon Queen. By Shutta Crum. Illustrated by Lee Wildish. Knopf. $15.99.

Dragon Keepers #3: The Dragon in the Library. By Kate Klimo. Random House. $15.99.

Mamba Point. By Kurtis Scaletta. Knopf. $16.99.

     Dragons are reptiles, aren’t they? Fire-breathing and flying aside, they do have all those scales, and generally seem to have a reptilian nature, at least in legend – all that lying about in caves, dozing most of the time except when needing to feed, but being implacable hunters when hungry, and so on. In books for preteens, though, what dragons mostly have is character. The one in Thomas and the Dragon Queen also has a name – Queen Bridgoltha – and a dozen little dragonlets, who are just adorable and tremendously playful when Thomas (smallest squire in the kingdom, and later smallest knight) comes upon them as he attempts to rescue the abducted Princess Eleanor, who is actually doing just fine, thank you very much. This book is a good-humored sendup of fairy tales and fantasy adventures, with amusing writing by Shutta Crum and illustrations by Lee Wildish that sometimes tug at the heartstrings (as when poor Thomas loses, one after another, all the important things with which he has gone a-questing) but more often tickle the funnybone (as when Thomas tickles two of the baby dragons and one of them climbs onto him). One of the most enjoyable things about the book is the way Crum unravels typical elements of adventure tales. Thomas has a sword, which comes complete with an elaborate legend and a hilt made from the tooth of some unknown beast – but soon after Thomas is given it, the sword is broken and lost. He has no warhorse but “a donkey named Bartholomew,” and does not even have Bartholomew for long, because he lends him to someone. He has no armor, not even a metal shirt or padded vest: “I had a leather jerkin, but it was stolen from me by dolphins.” The only thing Thomas has by the time he reaches the Dragon Queen’s lair is a toy given to him by his sister, Isabel – and of course his own good, honest nature, which proves to be just what he needs to succeed, in an appropriate way, in his quest. Thomas and the Dragon Queen is a little simplistic and a touch obvious, and will be a bit too easy for many readers toward the upper end of the target age range of 7-10. But it is a charming tale nevertheless, and its unfailing good humor makes the book a light and frothy confection.

     The Dragon Keepers series, for ages 8-12, is light and amusing as well. The Dragon in the Library is the third book of Kate Klimo’s sequence, after The Dragon in the Sock Drawer and The Dragon in the Driveway. The first book was a genuine delight; the second and third are more like variations on a theme. Cousins Jesse and Daisy are the Dragon Keepers, and Emmy is their quickly growing dragon. In the first novel, Jesse and Daisy discovered a huge red book. In The Dragon in the Library, the cousins learn the secrets of the book and also find out why Emmy has been in a really bad mood lately, complaining about missing something but not knowing what it might be. St. George, the famous dragon slayer of English myth, is the bad guy in these books – one of the neat ideas introduced in the first volume – and his girlfriend, Sadie Huffington, is no better: in the third volume, she kidnaps Professor Andersson (a helpful dragon expert whom Jesse and Daisy consult from time to time) as part of a plot to capture Emmy. The “shelf elves” in a magic library are an especially clever element of the third book: “They slid from shelf to shelf on a webwork of fine silken filaments, like mountaineers rappelling down a rock face.” The elves’ Chief Steward speaks partly in parenthetical statements, as when Jesse and Daisy explain that they are looking for a book: “‘A book, you say? How novel! (Toss in a little shelf elf humor now and then, I always say, don’t I? I do!)’” Elves and books and a dragon who tells the real story of St. George are all part of the plot here, and the plan to rescue the professor turns out to rely on dog biscuits that are to be used only in dire circumstances (which emerge soon enough). What Emmy is missing turns up at last, and involves both a book and a dragon, and there is a closing scene that introduces bibliotechnicians and bibliotherapists and will surely whet fans’ appetites for another Dragon Keepers entry.

     There is reptilian magic in Mamba Point, too, but this book for ages 9-13 is set in the real world, not a fantasy one, and is based on Kurtis Scaletta’s own experience of living in Monrovia, Liberia, in the early 1980s. The mystery here is not about human connections to dragons but about a boy’s possible connection to one of Africa’s deadliest snakes, the black mamba. Twelve-year-old Linus Tuttle thinks he may be one of the kasengs, people with a strong and mysterious relationship with specific animals. Linus, who has come to Africa with his family because his father has gotten a job at the U.S. embassy in Monrovia, first sees a black mamba when getting off the plane – and keeps seeing them, despite assurances that the deadly snakes are rare. At first frightened and unsure of himself and his new surroundings, Linus gradually comes to accept himself as a kaseng, and even keeps a black mamba in his laundry hamper (about as sensible an idea as keeping a dragon in the library). “I would have to tell…about the snake,” Linus realizes. “It would probably get out and everyone would think I was a freak. I wouldn’t have a single friend the entire time I lived in Africa. I had to do it, though. If I knew anything about facing fears, it was that waiting made it harder.” The snake becomes the center of considerable drama and near-death experiences both on the human side and for the snake itself. But eventually the black mamba – now clearly a symbol of Africa and of Linus’ own need to grow up and assert his individuality – survives and is taken to its own happy ending, while Linus grows up and learns much about himself and about the country where he has lived temporarily. The exotic settings and reptilian focus distinguish what is essentially a straightforward coming-of-age story. There may be no dragons in Mamba Point, but there is magic of a different kind.

(++++) PLUG AND PLUG AND PLAY AND PLAY

Seagate FreeAgent GoFlex series: GoFlex Desk 2TB External Drive; GoFlex Pro Ultra-Portable 500 GB Drive; GoFlex USB 3.0 Kit—Desk or Laptop; GoFlex FireWire 800 Upgrade Cable; GoFlex Powered eSATA Upgrade Cable; GoFlex Auto Backup Upgrade Cable. Windows 7/Vista/XP or Mac OS X 10.4.11, 10.5.8 or 10.6.2 (32-bit kernel only). Seagate Technology. $189.99 (GoFlex Desk 2TB); $129.99 (GoFlex Pro); $79.99 each (USB 3.0 Kits); $39.99 (FireWire 800); $19.99 (eSATA); $29.99 (AutoBackup).

     Just when you think external hard drives have become about as dull, boring and predictable as, say, keychain drives, along comes something that is actually new and, yes, exciting. And just when you believe that the extremely rapid expansion of available local storage space is about to come crashing into the inevitability of improving forms of connection that will make hard drives obsolete long before they have been used at anything close to capacity, along comes a company with an elegant solution to that element of technological progress.

     Seagate Technology is going in a genuinely new direction with its GoFlex line of modular external storage systems – a direction that, if it catches on, could also be more profitable for Seagate than its previous FreeAgent line, which GoFlex is replacing. Whether we live in the best of all possible worlds, in which consumers are willing to pay more for GoFlex drive systems than for competitors’ drives and thereby benefit both themselves and the manufacturer, will be an open question for some time. What is clear already, though, is just how clever the GoFlex concept is.

     An external hard drive is, let’s face it, a pretty boring thing. It’s a lump of plastic and metal that connects to your computer through the fastest port you have available – you buy the drive that will give you the best transfer speed. Ah, but what if you, the consumer, could change your port selection? That is, what if you could get, say, a USB 2.0 drive now, then switch to FireWire 800 or eSATA or even USB 3.0 later? That would certainly extend the usability of the drive, encouraging you to buy it even if you expect to upgrade your computer soon – you could hold onto the existing drive after getting a new computer and not deal with data transfer to a new drive through a different interface. What if, in short, you could swap the type of connection at will?

     This is exactly what GoFlex is all about. In the GoFlex line, the interface is part of the cable rather than part of the drive. You buy the drive and interface separately – which can make the combo more costly than competing single-interface drives. But if you use more than one interface or want to upgrade to a faster connection later, all you need to do is get a new cable, at a much lower cost than buying a whole new drive with the upgraded interface – and without having to move data from one storage unit to a new one.

     This is really a wonderful concept. GoFlex drives’ connections are built into assemblies at the drive ends of Seagate’s GoFlex cables. This means GoFlex drives themselves are not USB 2.0 or USB 3.0 or FireWire 800 or eSATA drives; they are simply huge (in space, not form factor) electronic storage cabinets onto which you can dump files through any method you choose, now or in the future – assuming that Seagate continues to make new connectors for the drives.

     Ah, there’s the rub. The modular GoFlex system requires the purchase of proprietary Seagate hardware: using GoFlex drives long-term – which is their biggest attraction – means making a long-term commitment to Seagate, which will be great for Seagate’s revenue and income if people do it. Will it also be good for consumers? It is very early to say for sure, but “yes” is a pretty good tentative answer – despite a few concerns that prospective buyers need to address with themselves up front. Consider: GoFlex adapter cables connect directly to the hard drive through a hot-swappable SATA connection. That is good – but the connection can be delicate (although Seagate seems to have strengthened the area around the connectors), so users need to be careful when making swaps. Also, on some adapters, the cable is built into the end piece – where the logic board is – while on others it isn’t. This means you cannot use your own cables, which may be irritating if, for example, you are used to an extra-long one. Buying into GoFlex as a concept means buying into Seagate’s configurations and buying (not just buying into) whatever hardware it offers.

     The hardware works as well as Seagate’s usually does, but the drives are nothing special in terms of appearance (although they do come in a choice of red, blue, silver or the traditional black); the GoFlex Desk series includes a 1TB version and a 3TB unit as well as the 2TB drive. The connector assemblies are glossy black plastic with plastic tips that lead to short black cables; the end piece sports a white LED activity indicator. Multiple careful plugging and unplugging shows some play, but not much, between adapter and drive; the whole setup seems secure – but could conceivably be a long-term concern, since the whole point of GoFlex is to change interfaces at will. Users who do that often will need to be careful; it remains to be seen whether there are any significant wear points in the design.

     Here is what is clear already, though: the GoFlex approach has some very significant benefits in our fast-changing technology landscape. Yes, USB 2.0 is usually the connection of choice right now, but USB 3.0 is on the way – and in fact is here already if you buy Seagate’s excellent GoFlex Desk USB 3.0 Kit, which is available in two versions (one for desktops and one for laptops). It includes not only a USB 3.0 cable (also sold separately for $29.99) but also a PCI Express add-on card for desktop computers or ExpressCard 2.0 for laptops. This is a perfect example of GoFlex in operation – the kit takes the basic drive to a new level.

     Another example: until now, the easiest drive to use for full-system backups, including programs and settings as well as data, has been Seagate’s Replica. Now the GoFlex line replicates (so to speak) the same functions without users needing to buy a dedicated drive for backup use only (which was the major problem with Replica, since it could not be used for anything but backup purposes). Just buy a $29.99 Auto Backup cable, which comes preloaded with Replica software; connect it to the GoFlex drive of your choice; and the drive emulates the functions of the Replica drive: it backs up your entire system continuously, including data, applications, settings, even the OS. But when you want to use your drive for other purposes, just swap out the cable – and, when you are finished, reattach the Auto Backup cable and continuous backups resume automatically.

     The extreme cleverness of the USB 3.0 Upgrade Cable Kit and Auto Backup cable is not without some hitches. For one thing, the driver for USB 3.0 comes from NEC, and has to be installed exactly according to instructions – which means (to use the laptop kit as an example) attaching the kit’s cable to a GoFlex drive, uploading the driver to your computer through a USB 2.0 port, starting the driver installation manually if Autorun does not come on, unplugging and then removing the drive and cable, and then inserting the ExpressCard 2.0 with its cable, one end plugged into the card and the other into a USB 2.0 port. You will then find you are all set to go with your “NEC Electronics USB hub.” Yes, that is how the installation identifies what you have installed; and yes, it may throw you until you realize what is going on.

     As for the Auto Backup cable, it not only installs Replica software but also calls the installation Replica. That is, when using this cable with a GoFlex drive, the drive will be identified as Replica, not GoFlex, and you will get Replica icons on your screen to check backup progress. Want to use USB 3.0 for your backup? You can install the upgrade kit, then install the Replica software from the Auto Backup cable, then plug that cable into the newly upgraded USB 3.0 port – as long as the location is convenient. Some users may find Seagate’s cable lengths irritatingly short, since they limit placement of the drives – especially when combining two or more elements of the GoFlex line, such as USB 3.0 plus Replica. On the other hand, some people may find the cables too long if they want to use several GoFlex elements and keep everything close together and tidy. There’s no pleasing everyone; Seagate seems to have found a pretty good midpoint here.

     The GoFlex Desk drives are the storage-capacity champions of the line, but there is a lot to like in GoFlex Pro as well. This 500GB drive includes a desktop dock (with a capacity gauge – a nice touch) and a distinctive design, with a silver band around the side. Smaller and lighter than the GoFlex Desk drives, it can easily be carried – and you can buy a special leather pouch in which to do just that for $29.99. And the drive spins at 7200 rpm – a speed you will notice if you pair it with the USB 3.0 interface. However, the dock takes the place of a cable, so if you want to use, say, the eSATA or FireWire 800 cable instead of USB 2.0, you cannot have the drive stand upright – it must lie flat, which may be less convenient (especially if someone comes by and tries to use its glossy black surface as a coaster – that is tempting but a major no-no). Again, you cannot have it all with GoFlex, but you can have a lot more of it (whatever “it” is) than with other external drives.

     In fact, it has to be pointed out that the GoFlex product line can be a little overwhelming. Seagate is really taking the notion of modular interoperability to new levels: GoFlex products can connect with a TV and over the Internet as well as with a local computer – you can buy a GoFlex HD TV Media Player, a GoFlex Net Media Sharing Device, and more. This is how using GoFlex can get very expensive very quickly. But if this Seagate line makes it easier to manage various aspects of digital life, where is the harm?

     And GoFlex does simplify things in many ways. Seagate has eliminated installer CDs: all installer files are pre-loaded on its drives, so you have the files accessible wherever you go. The drives are designed for both Windows and Mac operating systems, thanks to the pre-loaded “NTFS for Mac OS” program from Paragon Software that is on every GoFlex drive and requires only a onetime installation – after which GoFlex drives will work on both PCs and Macs with no speed loss (in fact, Seagate is going to phase out its Mac-only drives). There is a small catch here, though: the drive won't work with Time Machine if you use NTFS for Mac at the same time, since Apple requires all external storage to be HFS+ formatted. Seagate’s workaround is its own backup software from Memeo – also pre-loaded on all GoFlex drives. Memeo lets you back up all data on your computer (although not, unfortunately, programs and settings), or specify files and folders to be saved; you can even encrypt your backup. You do all that through the desktop Seagate Dashboard (also from Memeo), which is intuitive in design and easy to use. Again, there is a slight irritation: in common with other file-based backup systems, the Seagate/Memeo one does not keep a record of applications you install on your system. For that, you have to buy Memeo Premium Backup for a onetime fee of $29.95 – and the default installation setting is, in fact, to the premium service’s 30-day free trial. That’s a little sneaky and is out of line with the classiness that Seagate usually displays: you have to figure out that “instant backup” is free and choose to install it, or you will get “premium backup” and have to remember to cancel it within 30 days if you do not want it. And see how the cost of all these modular elements, hardware and software, can quickly add up?

     Still, most users are not going to feel they are being “pecked to death by ducks” by being charged extra amounts for hardware or services every time they turn around: Seagate is a technology company, not an airline. Nor need users worry that Seagate’s GoFlex drives will break in a year and a day: instead of the standard one-year warranty offered on most companies’ drives, Seagate offers three years on GoFlex (which is actually down from its five-year warranty on the original FreeAgent Go, but still better than what consumers will get from most of Seagate’s competitors).

     GoFlex also has something that, for want of a better term, could be called the “fun factor.” There is just something tremendously enjoyable about configuring and reconfiguring drive setups, trying different cables, using or not using a dock, changing functions by switching to a new cable, and generally snapping a lot of stuff in and out repeatedly. Admittedly, this is not the sort of enjoyment that home or small-business users will likely experience, since they will buy only the GoFlex products that serve their needs and will leave the drives set up, doing what needs to be done, then swap cables and functions only when necessary. Still, there is something empowering, if not necessarily exhilarating, in being able to choose a new way to use a drive and simply making the change you want with a quick snap-out, snap-in of cables. Users of both PCs and Macs, and people who want huge-capacity drives that can serve multiple functions, will get tremendous benefit from the GoFlex arrangement; so will people whose computers have different ports and who want to maximize the speed of data transfer based on whatever configuration a particular computer has (USB 2.0, USB 3.0, eSATA or FireWire 800).

     Here, then, is where things stand on GoFlex, early in what could be called the GoFlex experience. Seagate’s new line is highly innovative in operational design, although not in appearance. If you want only a single interface and are unconcerned about faster transfer speeds in future computers, and if you are sure you will never need data access through both PCs and Macs, there are a number of perfectly good external drives you can buy for less than you will spend on GoFlex. But if by any chance you feel that you need or simply want flexibility – upgraded and improved transfer speeds, PC-Mac interoperability, integrated installation and backup software, and longer-term use of a storage system backed by a longer-than-average warranty against factory defects – then GoFlex is the best choice you can make. And if you really want to extend a storage system to encompass TV and Internet access, there is simply nothing competitive with it at all. Seagate has not exactly reinvented the wheel with GoFlex, but it has made it (figuratively speaking) rounder, smoother and adaptable to a wider variety of uses. Yes, the need to buy proprietary hardware can be an irritation; yes, there are questions about the durability of GoFlex products, especially in the areas that are going to get the most use through frequent hot-swapping. But it will take time to find out if there are any major long-term concerns involving the GoFlex line, and prior experience with Seagate’s products indicates that there will likely not be any overwhelming ones. Taking a chance on something genuinely new in technology is always – well, chancy. It is also the only way to stay out in front in a field that changes constantly and with increasing rapidity. GoFlex is the only system currently available that gives users a shot at staying ahead of (or at least keeping up with) data transfer and storage at a reasonable price and without any major operational complexities. It is, in short, a significant accomplishment for Seagate – and can be a significant benefit to any home or small-business computer system.

(+++) OF TIME AND PLACE AND MUSIC

Marcel Tyberg: Symphony No. 3; Piano Trio in F. Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by JoAnn Falletta (Symphony); Michael Ludwig, violin; Roman Mekinulov, cello; Ya-Fei Chuang, piano (Trio). Naxos. $8.99.

Alberta Ginastera: Estancia (extended suite); Suite de Danzas Criollas; Panambí (extended suite); Ollantay; Popul Vuh: The Mayan Creation. London Symphony Orchestra, Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra and BBC National Orchestra of Wales conducted by Gisèle Ben-Dor. Naxos. $8.99.

Mi Alma Mexicana/My Mexican Soul. Philharmonic Orchestra of the Americas conducted by Alondra de la Parra. Sony. $13.98 (2 CDs).

     There is always some level of personal connection between a composer and his or her music. Mozart, for example, was not fond of violin concertos, but knew he had to write some; so all of his date from early in his career, and none of them pushes the boundaries of the form or expands use of the solo instrument or the orchestra in any significant way – in contrast to, say, his piano concertos and works for winds. But the violin concertos are glorious music nevertheless, and it is absolutely not necessary to have one iota of information about their composer’s attitudes or personal circumstances at the time the pieces were written in order to enjoy them thoroughly.

     But all the music on these CDs – all of which feature female conductors, and it is absolutely wonderful to find that women on the podium are no longer the rarity that they were just a few years ago – requires some knowledge of the composers’ situations for full appreciation. The works here stand reasonably well on their own, but for a full appreciation of them, at least some familiarity with their composers’ lives and the circumstances of the music’s creation is very helpful and perhaps even necessary.

     This is especially true of the CD of orchestral and chamber music by Marcel Tyberg (1891-1944), an otherwise wholly unknown composer. Tyberg, of Jewish ancestry, died at Auschwitz, transported there by the Nazis after entrusting his music to a family by the name of Mihich. Six decades later, a member of that family – a doctor at a major hospital in Buffalo, New York – got conductor JoAnn Falletta so interested in Tyberg’s work that Falletta and Naxos decided on a Tyberg release to mark the start of the Buffalo Philharmonic’s 75^th anniversary season. And it must be said that the CD is an extremely impressive presentation: the orchestra has never sounded better, and the performers in Tyberg’s Piano Trio bring warmth, empathy and strongly communicated emotion to the music.

     But without knowing the Tyberg story, without understanding how special this release is from a biographical and historical-rediscovery standpoint, listeners relying solely on the music itself may find themselves disappointed in it. This is very, very old-fashioned music to have been written in the 1930s. Both the symphony and the trio invite listeners to say “that sounds like Schumann!” and “Mendelssohn!” and “how Brahmsian!” and so on and so forth. It is difficult to point to anything in either work of which one could say, “That is unmistakably a new voice – that is true Tyberg.” The Piano Trio reflects Brahms almost throughout, and as for the symphony – well, the Scherzo is so Mahlerian that it sounds like a homage to the older composer; in fact, the cadences and orchestration are so Mahlerian that, in other hands (say, those of Shostakovich), this movement would come across as satire or parody. This is not to say that there is anything inelegant in Tyberg’s music – in fact, it is very well crafted, and its earnestness can scarcely be doubted. It is strongly orchestrated – or, in the case of the trio, expertly balanced among the instruments – and pervaded by seriousness of purpose, tunefulness and clear mastery of harmony, sonata form and all the other basic structural elements of the early to middle 19^th century. But, except in a very few details, Tyberg’s music could have been written by, say, Ferdinand Ries or Charles Stanford – admirable craftsmen who took the musical language of their time and refined it in small ways without really advancing it at all. Tyberg took his language from the music of a much earlier time than his own – he is one 20^th-century Austrian quite uninfluenced by Schoenberg, Berg or Webern. His music is eminently listenable and undoubtedly well-constructed, but if it were not for the composer’s tragic history, his works (at least these first two) would scarcely be worthy of much attention.

     The biographical elements are less germane, but still important, in a new CD of music by Argentine composer Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983). Conductor Gisèle Ben-Dor is the glue that holds this otherwise scattered compilation together: she leads three different orchestras in performances recorded as far back as 1997 and as recently as 2006. All the ensembles play well for her, although it would be hard to call any of the performances instinctive or idiomatic: the pervasive Argentinian folk tunes are all handled skillfully, but there is no special lilt or sense of familiarity with them forthcoming. Three of the works on this CD are sort of world première recordings – “sort of” because all have been recorded before, but not quite in the form in which they are heard here. That is, the “extended suite” versions of Estancia and Panambí are premières, and Suite de Danzas Criollas is so designated only because this piano work – one of Ginastera’s better-known pieces – is here heard as orchestrated by Shimon Cohen. Ginastera himself divided his music into three compositional periods, so although it is technically true that the works on this CD span his career, it is more precisely correct to say that they omit one entire segment of it. All these pieces except Popul Vuh were written in 1947 or earlier, within what Ginastera called his “objective nationalism” period of 1934-48. Nothing on the CD comes from his more personalized and abstract “subjective nationalism” period (1948-58). Popul Vuh, which Ginastera did not finish although he worked on it starting in 1975, is from the final compositional period, which Ginastera labeled “neo-expressionism,” and indeed it has more expressive flow and less obvious use of folk melodies than the other pieces here – although all five works are redolent of Argentinian sounds and rhythms. Ginastera’s work is colorful, well-orchestrated and evocative of Latin American culture. Everything sounds good here, although most of the music projects the sense of a travelogue rather than putting forth anything particularly profound.

     Nor is profundity the primary intention of the new two-CD set featuring up-and-coming conductor Alondra de la Parra, who here offers 15 works celebrating this year’s Mexican Bicentennial. Except for Carlos Chávez and perhaps Silvestre Revueltas, few of the composers on this compilation will be known to most audiences outside Mexico. No matter: the works here were clearly selected for their immediate appeal, rhythmic vigor and tunes with a flavor of Mi Alma Mexicana – “my Mexican soul,” as the set’s title has it. Written as early as 1884 (Juventino Rosas’ extremely famous waltz, Sobre las olas, which could have been written in Vienna – or by Émile Waldteufel) and 1890 (Gustavo Campa’s Mèlodie pour violon et orchestre, complete with French title) and as recently as 2006 (the Largo from Eugenio Toussaint’s Concierto para piano improvisado y orquesta, with title emphatically in Spanish), these pieces are flavorful if scarcely deep, providing a sampling of Mexican composers’ music over more than a century without delving very far into anyone’s personal style. One traditional Latin American instrument, the guitar, comes across particularly well here, in one of the best works in the set: Manuel Ponce’s Concierto del Sur para guitarra y orquesta, featuring soloist Pablo Sáinz Villegas. In her debut recording, de la Parra shows that she can certainly handle a symphonic ensemble: the Philharmonic Orchestra of the Americas is balanced, responsive and fluid throughout. What she does not show is whether she can explore the depths of profound music, since there is none of it offered here. The works are mostly bright and vibrant, attractively orchestrated and well assembled in a variety of styles; and most do have distinct Latin American elements that de la Parra brings out effectively, although some (such as Mario Lavista’s 1990 Clepsydra) simply sound like a lot of other music of the same vintage. Everything is very well played by the Philharmonic Orchestra of the Americas, which de la Parra founded in 2004 and of which she is artistic director. This two-CD set is strongly focused on de la Parra herself, filled with celebrity-like photos of her as well as pictures of her conducting. It is something more than a collection of encores and something less than a serious consideration of the ins and outs of Mexican music in the past 125-plus years. The individual biographies of the composers are not needed to enjoy these works, but the fact that they are all Mexican is crucial, since it is what unites all their music and is the reason for this compilation in the first place. Few of the pieces are interesting enough in and of themselves to attract listeners who are unfamiliar with the music and indifferent to the circumstances of its composition.