(++++) SIMPLE SERIES, SOMETIMES SWEET

Those Darn Squirrels and the Cat Next Door. By Adam Rubin. Illustrated by Daniel Salmieri. Clarion. $16.99.

43 Old Cemetery Road, Book Three: Till Death Do Us Bark. By Kate Klise. Illustrated by M. Sarah Klise. Harcourt. $15.99.

Mix & Match Drawing: A Step-by-Step Drawing Studio. By the Editors of Klutz. Klutz. $19.99.

Zigzag Kids No. 3: Flying Feet. By Patricia Reilly Giff. Illustrated by Alasdair Bright. Wendy Lamb Books. $12.99.

Pony Scouts: Back in the Saddle. By Catherine Hapka. Pictures by Anne Kennedy. Harper. $3.99.

Batman: Batman and the Toxic Terror. By Jodi Huelin. Illustrated by Steven E. Gordon. HarperFestival. $3.99.

Spider-Man: I Am Spider-Man. By Joe F. Merkel & John Sazaklis. Illustrated by Andie Tong. Colors by Jeremy Roberts. HarperFestival. $3.99.

     The darn squirrels are at it again, as delightfully as in the original Those Darn Squirrels, as Adam Rubin and Daniel Salmieri return with Those Darn Squirrels and the Cat Next Door. This is a series with nearly infinite potential, because it has just the right elements to keep delighting young readers: a central curmudgeon who has a basically good heart (Old Man Fookwire), plenty of peculiar and oddly named birds (floogle birds, bonga birds and others), and of course those darn squirrels and the ginger-ale-and-cheese-puffs snacks that get their brains whirling. And they whirl most delightfully, they do, plotting and planning to handle whatever irritant may be nearby now that they have an uneasy truce with Old Man Fookwire himself. The irritant in the new book comes with the sweet lady who moves in next door. It’s not the lady herself – she makes delightful pies – but her cat, Muffins, who comes up with particularly clever and thoroughly rotten ways of terrorizing the birds and squirrels. But it’s never a good idea to get on the wrong side of these squirrels, and Muffins gets his comeuppance in a completely appropriate (but non-harmful) way. What next for the darn squirrels? It is easy to guess that a romance between Little Old Lady Hu and Old Man Fookwire could develop, now that the two are neighbors and Muffin is no longer bullying birds and squirrels alike. Whether or not Rubin and Salmieri take this series in that direction, though, you can be sure that the darn squirrels will find a way to mess things up, then make them right – hilariously.

     There’s hilarity of a different sort in the third installment of the 43 Old Cemetery Road series by the irrepressible Klise sisters. This is the sequence in which a boy whose own crooked parents are in jail has been adopted by a curmudgeonly author (yes, another central curmudgeon character!) and a ghost. Boy, man and ghost communicate via letters to each other, sometimes written on paper and sometimes on computer – the latter often being interrupted when Olive C. Spence (the ghost) decides to butt into the thoughts of Ignatius B. Grumply (the curmudgeon, in case you couldn’t tell from his name). The ever-hopeful Seymour Hope, the boy (yes, “see more hope”), not only writes but also draws; in fact, his illustrations plus Grumply’s writing make up a series of books that sustain the rather odd family. The complications in Till Death Do Us Bark revolve around a different ghost, Noah Breth (yes, “no breath” – ouch!), a recently deceased gentleman whose fortune is the subject of sniping involving his two ne’er-do-well children, Kitty and Kanine, who of course fight like cats and dogs. There’s a real dog here, too: Secret (and don’t you just know this dog will be the key to an important secret, with a name like that?). Secret was greatly loved by Noah Breth, and now Seymour, who really wants a dog, is determined to keep him – even if his adoptive parents don’t approve. The plots of the Breth inheritance and the odd family’s squabbles intertwine neatly, and the book is, like the earlier series entries, told through all sorts of communications – including the local newspaper, “The Ghastly Times.” Puns abound, silliness is supreme, and even though there is not really much of a mystery here, the eventual solution knits the various story threads together neatly and amusingly, and a good time is had by all. Including readers.

     Mix & Match Drawing is not exactly part of a series – not in the same way, anyhow – except that it is the latest entry in the many-years-long series of Klutz “books-plus.” These are essentially cleverly packaged crafts projects that appear in book form, with spiral-bound instructions and all the tools needed to get a reader/craftsmaker started. The nice thing about Mix & Match Drawing is that it functions well as a basic drawing course, giving budding artists clear step-by-step instructions that show how to create characters of all kinds (astronaut, puffer fish, vampire, knight, bat and many more); objects of all types (cactus, tennis racket, volcano, flowers, speedboat, etc.); and a wide variety of backgrounds (jungle, outer space, cave, living room, and so on). The packaging here is exceptionally clever, even for Klutz: a drawing pad is attached to the spiral-bound book, and when you pull the instruction book up and out, it sits above the pad, so you can look right at the step-by-step instructions while making drawings. Very well done indeed. Also included here are a pencil with eraser, a fine-tipped drawing pen, and four colored markers (blue, green, red and yellow). The “mixing and matching” suggestions explain the book’s title: Klutz suggests a shark on the moon, a lion in the living room, a shoe-wearing octopus in outer space, and so on. And there are nontechnical explanations of, for example, size: something bigger can be closer or can simply be a funny exaggeration (a huge parrot riding on an elephant, for example). Facial expressions, shadows, turning a dinosaur into a fire-breathing dragon, eyeball positioning – Mix & Match Drawing is packed with information, hints and fun, thus putting it squarely in the ongoing Klutz series of information-hints-and-fun offerings.

     Zigzag Kids is an altogether more traditional series, featuring a dozen multiracial, multinational, variously abled and disabled kids (a hearing-impaired child is introduced in the latest entry). Intended for ages 6-9, the books focus on the relationships and foibles of the characters, their teachers (such as art teacher Mrs. Farelli, an important character in Flying Feet), and their school’s principal, Zelda A. Zigzag. The books are rather on the obvious side and tend to lay the message down a bit strongly – in fact, their plots revolve around whatever message Patricia Reilly Giff wants to communicate; the messages do not emerge from what happens but are central to the events. The messages in Flying Feet are about sibling rivalry and the feeling of being second-best; the story has to do with Charlie’s determination to create an invention that will prove he is as worthy of attention as his big brother, Larry, from whom he gets sneakers to which he attaches suction cups so he (that is, Charlie) can climb walls just as Spider-Man does. Of course, things do not work quite as Charlie plans and hopes, and matters are further complicated when Charlie is assigned to be Peter Rabbit (definitely not Spider-Man) for “Come as a Character Day.” Everything eventually works out just fine as the kids all help each other in a heartwarming – if very, very obvious – display of the power of working together. Alasdair Bright’s pleasant drawings nicely complement Giff’s writing, although the kids are distinguished more by their physical features and any handicaps they may have than by strongly defined personalities. Flying Feet gets a (+++) rating – for fans of the Zigzag Kids series only.

     Also receiving (+++) ratings are inexpensive softcover series entries for even younger children. Back in the Saddle, part of the Pony Scouts series, is all about Annie’s recovery from fear after she falls off while riding a gentle pony named Splash. This is a Level 2 book (“Reading with Help”) in the I Can Read! series – a simple story, simply told and simply illustrated. And speaking of illustrations, they are a big part of the attraction in superhero-themed books, such as the latest ones about Batman and the non-sneaker-equipped Spider-Man. These short books do not repay close attention to plot, of which they have very little – and what they do have is often inconsistent. Batman and the Toxic Terror features eco-terrorist Poison Ivy – who does good things the wrong way in trying to preserve green space. So Batman has to stop her and then, in his identity as multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, simply buy up the disputed property and keep it green. If only things were really so easy! And I Am Spider-Man features an all-new villain who has “the ability to change into anyone” but conveniently forgets to do so when Spidey pursues him, making his capture simple. Again, if only things were really so easy! But the point of these books is not to intrigue young readers with subtlety – the idea is to get them interested in reading by showing them favorite action heroes in simple stories that do little more than connect the events between one battle and the next. The books do not have much value in themselves, but for kids who are fans of the featured superheroes, they can be useful steps along the road toward reading works of more substance.

(++++) VISUAL ADVENTURING

Epic Adventure: Epic Climbs. By John Cleare. Kingfisher. $19.99.

Epic Adventure: Epic Voyages. By Robyn Mundy and Nigel Rigby. Kingfisher. $19.99.

     Thrilling stories, thrillingly told, are the basis of the new Epic Adventure series. Or perhaps “portrayed” is a better word than “told,” because while the writing in the series’ first two books is fine, it is the books’ design and illustrations that are exemplary and that will make these oversize volumes attractive for kids in the target age range of 10 and up. These are big books (nearly 10x12 inches) with more content than their 64 numbered pages would suggest, since each contains a series of fold-out pages that are integral to the stories and add considerably to the content and visual appeal. Epic Climbs is about some of the most challenging mountains on Earth: Everest and K2 (the tallest peaks), McKinley, the Matterhorn and Eiger. The expected stories are thrilling enough – Sir Edmund Hillary’s and Tenzing Norgay’s successful ascent to the top of Mount Everest, for example. But the less-known ones are, if anything, even more fascinating – such as the failed attempt to conquer that mountain, 29 years earlier, by George Mallory and Andrew Irvine. As interesting as the stories of mountain climbing are those of the people who live year-round in the shadows of these gigantic peaks: the pictures of them, their villages, the local produce and local lifestyle, are intermingled with pictures of climbing gear old and new, famed climbers who succeeded or failed, photos of the mountains as seen from space, and a great deal of fascinating information. One example among many: from October to March, winds on Everest are almost constant at Category 1 hurricane levels of 75 miles an hour – but from June to September, there is almost no wind at all. John Cleare’s book shows the sure knowledge of someone who himself climbs mountains regularly, but it slips up occasionally in down-to-earth facts, at one point stating that the capital of Alaska is Anchorage (it is Juneau). Still, as a visual exploration of some of the world’s most challenging peaks and the people who have surmounted them (if not tamed them; they are untamable), Epic Climbs is wonderful to read and even better to look at.

     Robyn Mundy and Nigel Rigby do an equally fine job with Epic Voyages. Here the focus is on five of the great explorers of times past: Ferdinand Magellan, James Cook, Sir Ernest Shackleton, Thor Heyerdahl and Sir Francis Chichester. There are connections among these men that even readers familiar with their voyages may not know. For example, Cook visited Easter Island on his second voyage – and the island’s stone statues helped Heyerdahl develop his theories about Polynesian migration. There are tragedies as well as triumphs throughout this book, from Cook’s death during a battle with Hawaiian natives to the killing, under desperate conditions, of much-loved sled puppies born during Shackleton’s expedition. The maps of the various explorers’ routes are fascinating in themselves, and so are such features as a foldout showing construction of Chichester’s Gipsy Moth IV and a photo of a strange deep-water fish called the snake mackerel, first seen alive during Heyerdahl’s voyage. The accomplishments of the voyages are set side by side with their failures (the entire theory on the basis of which Heyerdahl sailed has been discredited), but the emphasis here is on heroism, on daring, on the willingness of explorers to go beyond the limits of the known to try to extend human knowledge while (not incidentally) bringing new riches and prestige to their home countries. Beautifully produced and visual impressive, both Epic Adventure volumes will bring readers thrills while at the same time providing a great deal of fascinating historical information – making them books that teach successfully in a visually focused age.

(+++) NEVERENDING SERIES

The 39 Clues, Book 11: Vespers Rising. By Rick Riordan, Peter Lerangis, Gordon Korman and Jude Watson. Scholastic. $12.99.

Warriors: Omen of the Stars #2—Fading Echoes. By Erin Hunter. Harper. $6.99.

Warriors: Omen of the Stars #4—Sign of the Moon. By Erin Hunter. Harper. $16.99.

Warriors: Super Edition #3—SkyClan’s Destiny. By Erin Hunter. Harper. $7.99.

     It is understandable that authors and publishers alike are reluctant to part with long-running series, especially ones that involve preteen and young teenage readers through games, online participation and even old-fashioned trading cards. And that explains the 11^th book in the 10-book series, The 39 Clues. Anyone who thought the sequence would end after Amy and Dan Cahill successfully completed their quest and discovered their place in the far-flung Cahill family and Cahill history did not reckon with a power even greater than that of the super-secret Cahill serum: the power of the sequel. So now there is a four-author followup book, which is really a transition to an entirely new upcoming series that will focus on the Cahills’ sworn enemies, the Vespers. Rick Riordan, who wrote the first book in the original series and designed the story arc that other authors would follow, is joined in the 11^th volume by Peter Lerangis (who wrote books 3 and 7), Gordon Korman (who wrote books 2 and 8), and Jude Watson (who wrote books 4 and 6). Lerangis, Korman and Watson will be writing novels for the new series as well, and there will also be reappearances by other contributors to the original sequence. But the names on the covers matter little, since the writers’ styles are interchangeable – deliberately so, no doubt, to avoid distracting readers with anything distinctive in the midst of these adventures. Vespers Rising is actually rather lacking in action, or at least present-day action, since its main purpose is to explain the 500-year-old rivalry between the Cahills and the Vespers and to set the stage for the next sequence of The 39 Clues, in which Amy and Dan will have to defend rather than discover them. Amy and Dan themselves are bit players here, living a more-or-less normal life until they travel to Switzerland to retrieve a Cahill family ring – of which Amy then becomes the new guardian. The entire book reads like a setup for events yet to come. It will be of no interest to readers who are not already involved in the mystique of The 39 Clues, but it will be a relief to those who are, since it indicates that the series is likely to go on for quite some time.

     The various Warriors series by Erin Hunter (a pseudonym for authors Kate Cary, Cherith Baldry and Tui Sutherland, and editor Victoria Holmes) seem to go on endlessly, not as an individual series but as multi-book sagas treating various warrior cats and various elements of the mythology that Hunter has built up around the cat clans. In addition to online elements, the new Warriors books feature built-in adventure games, an added element somewhat along the lines of the clue-focused trading cards included with every volume of The 39 Clues. It is the adventures within the books, though, that are the main attraction of Hunter’s complex stories, which – thank goodness – open with lists of characters and sets of maps that help locate and explain the action. These are complexly plotted tales in which the cat protagonists retain many feline elements even though they are also, in some ways, thoroughly anthropomorphized. The Omen of the Stars series turns on a prophecy of certain specific cats “holding the power of the stars in their paws,” which like all good prophecies is tough to understand or decipher. Just finding out which cats the prophecy refers to is a significant element here; the three turn out to be Dovepaw, Jayfeather and Lionblaze. In the second book of this sequence, Fading Echoes, released last year and now available in paperback, the three learn that the star-related prophecy does not come from StarClan, and a series of typically complex relationships and predictions leads eventually to a climactic battle between ShadowClan and ThunderClan in which Firestar loses his seventh life. Two books later, in the just-released Sign of the Moon, darkness is growing, interclan fighting is worsening, and the meaning of the prophecy remains unclear. Lionblaze is focused on protecting ThunderClan against another battle like the one in Fading Echoes, leaving Jayfeather to respond to the desperate request for help from the Tribe of Rushing Water, which may soon be wiped out. Jayfeather’s quest takes him to the mountains in search of an explanation of the links between the tribe and the clans – and, perhaps, a solution to the mystery of the prophecy. But the powers of the Dark Forest continue to gain strength here, and Sign of the Moon ends at a dramatic point that will be picked up in the next book, to be called The Forgotten Warrior.

     Warriors fans can go in a different direction with the Super Edition series, whose third book, SkyClan’s Destiny, looks at the modern version of an ancient clan that disbanded after a disastrous attack by rats. The modern SkyClan needs to put down roots to survive, but is unable to call on warrior ancestors for guidance. There is tension between traditional warriors and “daylight warriors,” who help the clan during the day but live with humans at night and therefore are disrespected by many in the clan. And there are various other tensions, too, as SkyClan seeks to find agreements and bonds through which it can survive and thrive. The climactic battle here is against rogue cats that steal prey, and the book ends with SkyClan leader Leafstar establishing rules designed to prevent conflicts from erupting in the future. The book is a sort of “side story” that fits into the overall arc of the Warriors world, satisfying enough in itself and adding a bit of additional depth to the fantasy realm in which all these tales take place. Like the other Super Edition volumes, it is not central to any of the various narrative threads, but will be enjoyable for readers looking for even more information on the intricacies of the Warriors world.

(+++) BOYS AND GIRLS (NOT) TOGETHER

Cheesie Mack Is Not a Genius or Anything. By Steve Cotler. Illustrated by Adam McCauley. Random House. $15.99.

Liar, Liar. By Gary Paulsen. Wendy Lamb Books. $12.99.

The Reinvention of Bessica Lefter. By Kristen Tracy. Delacorte Press. $15.99.

Calli Be Gold. By Michele Weber Hurwitz. Wendy Lamb Books. $15.99.

     Middle school clearly means different things to boy and girls, and middle-school-oriented books look at very different gender roles and use very different plot lines, too. Whether the books encourage typecasting or are simply reflective of the splits that exist in the real world is arguable, but the fact remains that the readership of Steve Cotler’s and Gary Paulsen’s new books is likely to be male, while that of Kristen Tracy’s and Michele Weber Hurwitz’s books will likely be female. The genders of the authors, and even to an extent of the characters, matter less than the books’ approaches, which are designed to appeal specifically either to boys or to girls, but not to both.

     Cheesie Mack Is Not a Genius or Anything is the beginning of a series about Ronald “Cheesie” Mack and his best friend, Georgie, starting in this book with fifth-grade graduation and continuing (or intended to continue) in later ones with summer camp, middle school and so on. What distinguishes Cheesie is not intelligence (hence the book’s title) but memory – he recalls everything that happens to him and writes it all down, with attitude if not always flair: “Granpa…once burped the opening to ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Musical burping is a Mack Family Tradition.” There are various stylistic flourishes, not only in the drawings (Adam McCauley’s fit the characters well) but also in the writing – for instance, when Cheesie learns that Georgie’s father has been laid off, Cheesie writes that Georgie’s dad works…then crosses that out and writes “worked” – for a technology company. There is very little real thoughtfulness here, and what there is consists of comments like this: “I’ve noticed a funny thing about crying. Little kids actually seem to like doing it. When you’re small, you wail and wail. It’s loud. You make enough noise to block out the rest of the world. …But when you get to almost eleven, like me, mostly you don’t do that anymore.” From a sister (Cheesie calls her Goon) portrayed as “a hideously deformed mutant” (the picture looks just as readers will expect it to), to the Point Battle between the two (which involves who gets punished for doing what, and by whom), to a series of sort-of-chapters of sort-of-books in various styles (SF, magical fantasy), Cheesie Mack Is Not a Genius or Anything is silly and funny and immature and often pointless, but friendship and basic goodness eventually win out over all, and everything ends happily and in anticipation of the next book.

     Paulsen’s fans anticipate all his books, which individually stand alone but have a great deal in common – including the fact that they are short and easy to read. Liar, Liar runs just 120 pages, but it actually raises a few issues in a typically Paulsenian humorous way. The protagonist, Kevin, is 14 – on the old side for a book targeted at middle-grade readers – and wants a girlfriend (unlike, say, Cheesie, who proudly proclaims that there are no girlfriends in his book). Kevin wants a girl named Tina to notice him, so he devises an elaborate plan that involves spying, becoming friends with Tina’s best friend, and changing his school schedule so he will have more chances to “run into” Tina. The schedule changes require Kevin to lie – effectively – about opportunities for him in the theater, student government and athletics. Kevin is also busy playing his parents off against each other so he can get permission to go to a concert. The problem for Kevin, of course, is that liars eventually trip up and get caught – or at least they do in books for this age group – so Paulsen weaves a story in which Kevin’s careful planning starts to unravel as he tries to balance school and home issues and keep everything he has been telling everyone straight. “I didn’t realize what had just happened. Everything had been going so well, I mean I guess not, but…” Kevin even finds that simply trying to tell the truth after all his lying doesn’t help: “That was not how this scene had played out in my head as I walked to school – she was supposed to be happy I’d confessed and secretly pleased. …She was totally ruining my great plan.” The chapter titles progress from, for example, “A Good Lie Has an Outcome Advantageous to All Parties,” to “A Good Lie Demands Substantial Amends,” to “A Good Lie Is an Oxymoron,” in case readers didn’t get the point strongly enough from the story itself.

     Friendship, uncertainty, middle-school angst, feelings of being left out, and similar issues are as prominent in girl-oriented books as in ones targeting boys, but they are handled quite differently. The Reinvention of Bessica Lefter (is anyone really named Bessica?) features a hair-salon incident; a with-it grandmother, complete with mountain-climbing boyfriend, and a mother who doesn’t get it (no surprises there); an enforced separation of Bessica from her best friend, Sylvie; and worries such as this one: “‘I won’t know the dorks from the dweebs. In fact, I might be mistaken for a dork or a dweeb. I don’t even know what people wear!’” These concerns are about as surface-level as they can be, which is not to say they are unrealistic for Tracy’s book’s audience. Bessica is not a particularly distinctive character, although she is prone to making lists. Number 1 on “Things to Do in Middle School,” for example, is “Avoid Psycho-bullies, Crispitos, and Dolan the Puker.” While dealing with typical (in middle-grade books) family issues and typical (in middle-grade books) teachers – the PE teacher says that “victory starts with impeccable clothes” – Bessica negotiates various people’s illnesses and injuries, deals with bullying and with cheerleading practice, talks on the phone a lot (in sections printed as back-and-forth dialogue), and eventually decides, “‘My life sucks and things are terrible.’” But of course, entirely predictably, Bessica eventually turns out just fine, learns some lessons about herself and capital-L Life, and even gets to wear fur pants.

     The story has a little more depth in Calli Be Gold, which features an 11-year-old who is constantly overshadowed by her high-achieving brother (a high-school basketball star) and older sister (a competitor in synchronized ice skating). Calli feels like a failure, having tried unsuccessfully to be a star at gymnastics and violin playing. Then her parents sign her up for improvisational acting, and Calli soon starts to discover that she does have talent – but acting isn’t it. What happens is that she is paired in the school’s Peer Helper Program with a very shy and withdrawn second-grader named Noah Zullo. And Calli finds that she can really help Noah: she and he end up creating a Friendship Fair booth and filling it with all sorts of surprises. The big surprise – although not for readers – is what a good job the two do together, giving the lie to Calli’s feeling of being just a “C” (her brother’s name starts with A, her sister’s with B). But before she can come to terms with herself and have her own sense of triumph and individuality, Calli has an encounter with The Calendar, on which her mom puts Post-It notes for all Calli’s brother’s and sister’s activities (but rarely anything for Calli herself). The tearing of the calendar is the closest thing here to a metaphor for the ripping apart of an overscheduled, manic life through some warm and simple activities that tug quite deliberately at readers’ hearts. And that, above all, is where this book and others intended for girls differ the most from ones for boys in the same age group: “girl books” aim for the heart, while “boy books” aim for – well, it’s not exactly the heart and not really the head, but maybe it’s the funny bone.

(++++) THIRDS FROM THE NORTH

Nielsen: Symphony No. 3 (“Sinfonia Espansiva”), with alternative version of the “Andante pastorale”; Silkesko over gylden laest; Saenk kun dit hoved; Helios Overture; Paraphrase on “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” Eva Hess-Thaysen, soprano; Jan Lund, tenor; Nicholas Cox, clarinet; Kevin Price, trombone; Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Douglas Bostock. Scandinavian Classics. $9.99.

Johan Halvorsen: Orchestral Works, Volume 3—Symphony No. 3; Black Swans; Wedding March; Wedding of Ravens in the Grove of the Crows; Fossegrimen—Dramatic Suite for Orchestra; Bergensiana—Rococo Variations on an Old Melody from Bergen. Ragnhild Hemsing, Hardanger fiddle; Marianne Thorsen, violin; Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Neeme Järvi. Chandos. $18.99.

     Nielsen’s Third Symphony is not his strangest – that would be his Sixth – but it can be his most problematic. The relative infrequency with which it is performed is due both to its calling for soprano and tenor voices – which sing wordlessly, and only in the slow movement – and to its finale, which can be quite a letdown after the first three movements, often landing with something of an aural thud. Douglas Bostock’s new recording (actually a re-release of a CD from 2002) solves the two problems neatly, in part by including several other Nielsen vocal works and in part by tying the finale more effectively to the rest of the symphony than many other performances do. This is a broadly conceived reading, especially in the opening Andante espansivo (which gives the symphony its title), but it moves well and gives Nielsen’s elegant orchestration plenty of opportunities to shine. An interesting addition is the alternative version of the second movement, Andante pastorale, in which a trombone replaces the wordless vocalists. The other major work on this CD is the Helios Overture, a bright and brilliant musical tracing of the sun’s path from dawn to dusk, played with fervor and its own form of expansiveness that is impressive and highly effective. The remaining three works are short fillers: the orchestral Paraphrase on “Nearer, My God, to Thee”; the early (1892) song for tenor, Silkesko over gylden laest (“Silken Shoe on Golden Last”); and the first-ever recording of the version for soprano and orchestra of the 1903 song, Saenk kun dit hoved (“Lower Your Head, You Flower”). These are minor bits of Nielseniana, rarely heard in concert, and therefore all the more worthwhile to have in recorded form.

     Norway’s Johan Halvorsen was a close contemporary of Denmark’s Nielsen, living from 1864 to 1935 (Nielsen’s dates are 1865-1931). But Halvorsen’s symphonies, like the rest of his music, have never caught on in the way that many of Nielsen’s works have. Halvorsen’s Symphony No. 3, which anchors the third volume of Chandos’ excellent survey of the composer’s orchestral music, is quite unlike Nielsen’s Third. It was written considerably later (Nielsen’s Third dates from 1910-11, Halvorsen’s Third from 1928) and includes what the composer called “many peculiar things,” by which he may have been referring to the unusual structure of the first movement or to the work’s passing references to Grieg, Sibelius, Puccini and even Rachmaninoff. The symphony has some striking instrumental effects, one of the most prominent of which is not without controversy: Halvorsen initially included a glockenspiel in the finale, and it is used by Neeme Järvi in this recording, but in fact the composer struck it out by the time the symphony was performed, much as Mahler withdrew the third hammer blow from his Sixth Symphony earlier in the century. The instrument’s effect is striking and quite attractive, but whether Halvorsen actually wanted it or not is an unanswered and unanswerable question. In any case, Järvi conducts the work with balance, drive and understanding – this is a piece that is well worth hearing. So is the longest work on this CD, Fossegrimen—Dramatic Suite for Orchestra, which among other things includes prominent use of a Hardanger fiddle, a traditional Norwegian stringed instrument that looks like a violin but has eight or nine strings rather than four. Halvorsen himself played the instrument at the première of the play Fossegrimen in 1905; the suite heard on this disc is drawn from his incidental music for the stage work. The title is the name of Norway’s mythical music master of underground creatures, who, legend has it, gave a famed Norwegian fiddler his striking abilities (much as the Devil was once said to have given Paganini his tremendous virtuosity). The suite is, unsurprisingly, episodic, but there is much interesting music here, with a strong sense of rhythm and fine orchestration, and Ragnhild Hemsing plays her Hardanger fiddle with great style and understanding. The much shorter Bergensiana is an attractive piece, too: it is a set of variations on a song regarded as Bergen’s city anthem but in reality most likely a composition by Jean-Baptiste Lully. In any case, Halvorsen here creates old-fashioned variations with some newfangled instruments, such as the xylophone – a pleasing mixture. Among the shorter works here, the most interesting is Black Swans, which Halvorsen wrote under a pseudonym: it is a somewhat Impressionistic work, created at a time when that musical style was decidedly frowned upon in Norway. Wedding March, on the other hand, is a straightforward piece, based on a folk tune, with a prominent violin part; and Wedding of Ravens in the Grove of the Crows is also based on a folk melody – one that Grieg used as well, making a piano arrangement. The Chandos survey of Halvorsen has turned up some remarkably attractive music, raising the question of why this composer has remained largely neglected for so many years. Perhaps, with Järvi’s advocacy, that neglect may be coming to an end.

(++++) BOLD BEGINNINGS

Geek Fantasy Novel. By E. Archer. Scholastic. $17.99.

Books of Beginning, Book One: The Emerald Atlas. By John Stephens. Knopf. $17.99.

Amos Daragon #1: The Mask Wearer. By Bryan Perro. Translated by Y. Maudet. Delacorte Press. $16.99.

     The fact that preteen fantasy-adventure novels tend to come in threes, if not more, has not stopped E. Archer from doing something almost unheard of in the field: writing a single novel that is complete in itself and does not have to lead to a sequel (although, if it sells well, he could surely be prevailed upon to write one). Geek Fantasy Novel is delightful precisely because it absorbs the conventions of two fields – fantasy and geekdom – and simply refuses to take them seriously. It is, in fact, a multilayered book, but along the lines of a video game rather than those of, say, Shakespeare. The narrator keeps getting in the way of the story, often hilariously, as in narrating a confrontation between Ralph, the American hero of the book (which, however, takes place in England and other fairylands), and his relative, Duchess Chessie of Cheshire, sometime TV pitchwoman and sometime fairy godmother and rather too good at playing the role of villainess into which she casts herself: “I’d hoped not to have her perform any more magic in front of Ralph. Foreigners always tend to get unnerved when confronted by a good old Buckingham spell. But I figured that Ralph had already been subjected to unicorns and fairies, so what would some real wizardry matter? She raised her fingertips – she could have shot her arms to the sky, but one needn’t be tawdry – and magically ripped away Ralph’s shirt.” There is even a battle of sorts here between two “narrative voices,” the one presenting this book and the one that presented Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen, which is the basis, more or less, or one portion of Geek Fantasy Novel. Archer’s book turns on the issue of wishes – why not to make them and what happens when you do so anyway – and on old magic vs. the new ways, and the ways in which magic and science are, umm, interrelated. Such as: “It may be difficult to imagine how one climbs a gas ladder. But one must remember that a gas is just a solid whose atoms are spaced farther apart. Even as your narrator, I can’t speak with total surety, but my theory is this: If you try really hard, you can be sure your atoms are in the right position to rest on the gas’s atoms, and you can climb a gas ladder as you would a ladder of the more conventional variety. You just have to concentrate.” When the narrator is not injecting himself into the book, he tells a breezy story of how Ralph’s life gets intermingled with those of his three cousins, Cecil, Daphne, and Beatrice, each of whom gets a wish (granted by Chessie) that does not quite go the way he or she hopes or expects – nor quite the way Chessie herself anticipates. Geek Fantasy Novel is a romp, to be sure, but it is an unusually entertaining one, because it steadfastly refuses to bow down to the conventions it is bending – and yet it does adhere to them in significant ways. The result is that readers are never quite sure what is going to happen next. Exploding bunnies, anyone? How about exploding bunnies that only blow up when they feel like it, not when hurled like hand grenades? The book’s finale, which takes it into something like metaphysics (or meta-silliness), is called “The Private Lives of Narrators” and is a delight in itself. A sequel may not be a necessity, but it’s a fair bet.

     Sequels are already in the works for The Emerald Atlas, because John Stephens’ first novel is also the first book of a planned trilogy – focused, interestingly enough, on books. Stephens, a TV writer and producer, knows how to pace a story, and he has clearly read all the usual suspects that influence fantasy writers today, from Tolkien to C.S. Lewis and beyond. He knows how to create the right mixtures of protagonists (Kate, age 14; Michael, age 12; and Emma, age 11), put them in a suitably isolated setting (10 years in orphanages), and make them appropriately important (they are, of course, potential victims of a horrible evil of which they are unaware – but which, through the atlas of the title and the two books-about-books to follow, they will learn about and will be able to withstand). Yes, the echoes of Narnia and Middle-Earth and of many, many lesser, derivative heroic fantasies are constant here, but Stephens brings a fine sense of pacing and occasional glints of humor to what could easily have become just another formulaic preteen adventure story. Yes, he writes such wholly typical lines of the genre as, “The path was steep and slippery, never more than a couple of feet wide and usually much less. It zigzagged back and forth, and the children clung to each other as their shoes slid in the mud and gusts of wind tried to pull them into the void.” But he also creates a wry perspective through, for example, having the three protagonists encounter vicious creatures called Screechers and, of course, a warrior who knows how to fight them, who tells the children to “manage your fear.” Which leads to this: “Kate thought of telling the man that it was probably a lot easier to ‘manage your fear’ when you were a sword-wielding, wolf-killing giant, but Michael was already scribbling in his journal, murmuring, ‘Manage…fear,’ and she let it go.” And then there is the encounter with Dr. Pym, 15 years before the kids are going to meet him, which leads to the perfectly reasonable comment, “‘I see,’ Dr. Pym said. Then he shook his head. ‘Actually no, I don’t see at all.’” And what of the book of the title? It gets the kids into the past, but without it, they cannot return to the present, and it turns out to be in the Dead City, “the ancient dwarf capital” that “had been abandoned some five hundred years earlier after being devastated by an earthquake.” This leads to: “‘Bhuhoduuknoballdis?’ Michael asked (he had most of a banana pancake crammed into his mouth).” It is this constant balance between the humorous (if not actually silly) and the serious (the formulaic quest-to-find-one’s-true-role-in-fulfilling-a-prophecy) that keeps The Emerald Atlas moving along nicely and at a higher level of interest than the many, many other preteen fantasies out there. It remains to be seen whether Stephens can sustain this balancing act through two more books-about-books (one fictional book per child, and one part of The Books of Beginning focused primarily on each protagonist). Certainly readers of The Emerald Atlas will hope for more of the same.

     A trilogy is not enough to contain the Amos Daragon story, a Canadian tale that runs to no fewer than 12 books and was written in French. Now the first of these short novels (under 200 pages, vs. the more typical more-than-400 of Stephens’ book) has been translated into English, and it makes a fine beginning for what is sure to emerge as a wide-ranging saga. Like heroic fantasy in general, the story of Amos involves journeys and quests, with the title The Mask Wearer being the key to what is going on. Very early in this first book, after Bryan Perro establishes Amos’ family’s poverty and the cruelty of the lord under whom they live, Amos encounters a dying mermaid princess, learns of the war between mermaids and merriens (“sea creatures who resemble mermaids but who are repulsively ugly and brutal”), and is appointed mask wearer – and given a white stone with which to go on his initial quest. Amos is soon shown to be quick-witted – he dupes the harsh Lord Edonf not once but twice – and is encouraged by his parents to head to the mysterious woods of Tarkasis, where the mermaid has told him he must take the white stone. In short order, Amos encounters a number of not-unexpected magical people and creatures, from an evil sorcerer seeking a skull pendant (which, of course, ends up in Amos’ hands) to a boy who can change into a bear to none other than Medusa – not exactly the gorgon from Greek mythology, but close enough, complete with snakes for hair: “They’re my only friends and my solace. I’ve known them since I was little, and each one has a name.” Amos is as full of foolhardy courage as any hero of an old-fashioned fairy tale, telling the “humanimal” Beorf at one point, before the two join forces, “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. And since you know me so well, you must be aware that I am not from this realm and that I’m not a threat to you. …I advise you to eat me quickly.” Amos soon discovers that he is protected, at least after a fashion, by a goddess of sorts known as the Lady in White, who “sponsors each of the mask wearers.” And it is Amos’ ultimate quest – which will be worked out in the next 11 books – to find the three elemental masks he does not yet possess: earth, fire and water (the mermaid, interestingly, has given him the one for wind, not water). In truth, The Mask Wearer is a rather thin introduction to the series, laying out the basics in a fairly leisurely fashion for such a short novel; but it hits its stride with a battle late in the book that promises considerable excitement to come. And Y. Maudet’s translation is a stylish one that keeps the action moving and will have young readers eagerly awaiting the next installment in English of the Amos Daragon series.

(+++) PREDICTABLE ADVENTURES

Max Cassidy: Escape from Shadow Island. By Paul Adam. Walden Pond Press. $5.99.

The Vampire Diaries: The Return, Volume 2—Shadow Souls. By L.J. Smith. HarperTeen. $9.99.

The Vampire Diaries: The Return, Volume 3—Midnight. By L.J. Smith. HarperTeen. $17.99.

     Although the essence of adventure is unpredictability, the essence of adventure novels is frequently a predictable pattern, even though the specifics vary and the authors provide plenty of twists and turns along the way. Preteens and teenagers will not be especially surprised at the characterizations (which are thin) or the ultimate outcomes of these books, but fans of thrillers will enjoy the ride even if the works ultimately end up at unsurprising destinations. Paul Adam makes sure to pull readers into the story of his improbable Max Cassidy protagonist from the very beginning with a stage show at which Max, a sort of 14-year-old Houdini, shows his ability to escape from handcuffs, chains and just about anything. Indeed, Max is the world’s greatest escape artist since the death of his father, who taught him the tricks of the trade. Max’s dad was supposedly killed two years before the book starts, allegedly by Max’s mom, who is now in jail. So we have, from the beginning, a shattered and troubled family, a highly talented teenage central character, and, soon enough, a mystery – in the form of a man who meets Max backstage after a performance and says that Max’s dad is actually alive. Never mind the improbabilities here – the man’s “proof” is a piece of paper with eight digits on it – and just go along with the thrill ride as Max journeys to a nation called Santo Domingo and discovers the Isla de Sombra: Shadow Island. “It’s privately owned. By a rich businessman, I think, or maybe a multinational corporation,” Max is told. “It used to be a pirate stronghold back in the sixteenth century; then it was a Spanish fort and, for a time, an English one. More recently, it was used as a prison, I believe.” Pirates! Fort! Prison! What better place for Max to break into – and out of? And there’s the plot, as the young escape artist has to figure out how to get to the island, evade the inevitable nefarious evildoers, discover the truth about his family, and eventually get away. The bad guys are caricatures – after Max is (inevitably) captured and (inevitably) makes an initial, failed escape attempt, they leave him handcuffed in a jail cell and, when he asks to have the cuffs removed, tell him, “You big trouble. Handcuffs stay on.” Max (inevitably) gets help from a grizzled older man with horrible memories of Shadow Island – who assists Max after he sees “the steely determination in his eyes.” The ultimate bad guy is “like an octopus. His tentacles are everywhere. If you cross him, he will throttle you.” This is all very much like bargain-basement James Bond material (that is, bargain-basement Ian Fleming at a time when most people know Bond only through the increasingly grotesque movies based very loosely on Fleming’s novels). But the point here is scarcely style – the idea is to provide vicarious thrills and a positive ending that nevertheless sets readers up for a planned sequel.

     The world of The Vampire Diaries is filled with supernatural thrills rather than Bondian ones, but it too takes its characters along predictable paths. There are several series called or based on The Vampire Diaries: the original one, The Secret Circle, and The Return. The last of these began with Nightfall, with Shadow Souls published a year ago and now available in paperback – and the conclusion of the trilogy, Midnight, just out. The series contains all the elements of a made-for-TV movie (or, more accurately, series, which in fact appears on The CW): a love triangle, demons, simple good-vs.-evil battles, and all sorts of manufactured excitement. Shadow Souls has 18-year-old Elena Gilbert braving the perils of the Dark Dimension to try to rescue her vampire boyfriend, Stefan Salvatore – with the help of Stefan’s older brother, Damon, the most ambiguous good-or-evil figure here. A basic element of The Vampire Diaries is the relative ease with which characters pass from being human to vampire and back again: Elena has done this, and vampire Damon becomes human when Stefan is freed. The added aura of implausibility of these circumstances matters very little to L.J. Smith’s narrative, which is primarily concerned with getting the protagonists in and out of various dangers and love triangles while reminding readers that there is some sort of curse, in the form of demons, afflicting Elena’s hometown of Fell’s Church (no relation, presumably, to Falls Church, a pleasant small city in Virginia). So the “Dear Diary” entries (a rather silly plot device that nevertheless knits this whole concept together) percolate through the story of Damon’s eventual rescue and then progress into Midnight, in which Celestial representatives have some interesting dealings with the devious Damon, as when a Guardian tells him (with thinly veiled sarcasm): “Our job is really only to try to keep the peace here – and you can see how well we succeed. It’s a matter of too few of us; we’re insanely understaffed.” Throw in some wolf transformations, Master Keys stolen from the Celestial Court, orders stemming from a source of supreme evil, a thriving slave trade, and a number of comments along these lines: “Her mood and the dynamics of the situation had just been turned upside down.” Stir briskly, and you have an attractive potboiler of a novel (and a trilogy) that never pretends to be more than it is – which, in this case, is a strength of the writing. The overriding message here, to the extent that there is one, is, “No one is alone. Not really. No one is ever alone.” And death is not permanent, and dimensions are many, and conclusions are ultimately inconclusive – for the adventuring is sure to continue, one way or another.

(+++) REAL ANGELS, REAL GHOSTS?

A Book of Angels: Reflections on Angels Past and Present, and True Stories of How They Touch Our Lives. By Sophy Burnham. Tarcher/Penguin. $16.95.

Ghost Huntress, Book 5: The Discovery. By Marley Gibson. Graphia. $8.99.

     Sophy Burnham says she did not grow up believing in angels – but then one saved her life when she was a young adult. Marley Gibson says she never saw ghosts when growing up – but became a ghost hunter as an adult and now not only believes in spirits but also may have photographed or otherwise captured their images. Burnham and Gibson have taken their experiences in two very different directions: Burnham to a nonfiction book in which she repeatedly affirms the existence of angels as intercessors in the real world, Gibson to a series of novels in which she creates characters whose thoughts and feelings are “typical of those experienced by young people awakening to sensitive or psychic abilities” – and having those characters interact with spirits in ways intended to reflect and dramatize what real-world ghost hunters do.

     Neither of these books will convince nonbelievers in these phenomena, and neither is intended to. Burnham’s, originally published in 1990, asserts that angels occur in one form or another in all major religions (which requires some bending of texts of certain faiths) and interact with human beings even when humans are unaware of them (which is a wholly unprovable proposition). It is intended as a “we are not alone” feel-good volume providing support and a sense of hope to readers who want to believe that there is something of the divine presence (however defined) watching over the human race (if not necessarily over every person at all times). For those who find reassurance in such assertions, Burnham’s book will be balm for the troubled spirit: “We do not know what angels are or whether they stand in hierarchies in the skies. Nor whether they are assigned their duties according to seniority. We know nothing of this other realm, except that we are given brief, fleeting glimpses in our hearts. We hear its singing in lost memories. We see it at the edge of our eye, but so ephemerally that when we turn to face it, it’s already gone.” The poetic language – bolstered by Western works of art and Western snippets of poetry and prose – may lull and satisfy those already predisposed to belief in angels, but will scarcely calm others. The reasons for angels’ evanescence are not explored (angels being unknowable and their ways therefore incapable of being humanly understood); but Burnham does provide some interesting information on mentions of angels (broadly defined) in some little-known faiths. It is intriguing, for example, to consider the blood-drenched Kali (“one of the many aspects of God”) as an angel. It is more horrifying to read stories such as the one of the woman who pushed her five-year-old daughter to her death on subway-train tracks because she wanted the girl to “be with the angels.” Burnham occasionally brings some rationality to her observations, although she afterwards dismisses it quickly: “I once had an angel come as a swan. Or perhaps the swan was an angel. Or perhaps the occurrence is nothing but coincidence distorted: post hoc, propter hoc. Which means, because one event preceded another, you decide that the first one caused the second.” But because Burnham is sure there are angels and that her own life has often been influenced by them, she returns again and again to them as explanations of events. There is nothing wrong with this – faith is, after all, a matter of belief, not reason – but there is nothing particularly convincing for those not already convinced. Burnham’s purpose, in fact, is not to argue but to affirm, for herself and those predisposed to agree with her, that coincidence, happenstance and the inevitable incongruities of life are all evidence (within a given belief structure) that there are beings out there watching over and (at least sometimes) protecting us. Whether this is a slice of reality or a pleasant fantasy will depend on what a reader brings to A Book of Angels.

     Gibson does not insist on belief in ghosts as a prerequisite for enjoyment of the Ghost Huntress series, which after all is fiction. But she does use her own ghost-hunting experience to lend verisimilitude to these stories of 17-year-old Kendall Moorehead, who heads a ghost-hunting team that (unlike those in real life) has no significant difficulty tracking down spirits, some of which prove to be quite evil. In fact, The Discovery picks up after Kendall has pulled herself back together, body and soul, following an encounter with an especially malevolent one. Each Ghost Huntress book shows Kendall balancing normal teenage concerns (boyfriend, family, friends, school) with her special sensitivity to the paranormal and the ghost hunting that results. Typical of Gibson’s interweaving of fact and fantasy is the story in this book about a voodoo doll named Xander, created as protection for a boy but later said to cause strange and unnerving things to happen: “Nothing could ever prove the doll was animated, yet people swore it was,” one character helpfully explains. Gibson bases the Xander story on a tale from Key West, Florida, thus bringing an aspect of reality into Kendall’s fictional world. Of course there turns out to be evil there – the doll-comes-to-life theme is an old one in horror literature and films – and the result is that at one point, Kendall actually lives through a car accident that kills a classmate who is a cheerleader and budding opera singer, after which boyfriend Patrick reassures her, rather lamely, “Now she can sing with the angels.” Patrick, who speaks fluent cliché, also tells the distraught Kendall, “There are things in this world people aren’t meant to understand, Kendall. Even psychics like us.” And the classmate proves rather blasé about death, anyway, returning as a spirit to help Kendall and Patrick in their investigation. A mystery involving the Underground Railroad turns out to be the key to much of what is going on in The Discovery, and the original protective function of the doll turns out (not surprisingly) to have been changed into something evil connected with long-ago slave escapes. “You psychics get to see all the cool stuff,” one non-psychic girl complains to Kendall and Patrick, and even if not everything seems “cool” to the fictional characters, it will certainly be enjoyable to real-world fans of this series, which ends with the unexpected return of Kendall’s former boyfriend – a definite plot point for the next book.

(+++) REAL LIFE: SOME SERIOUS, SOME SILLY

The Available Parent: Radical Optimism for Raising Teens and Tweens. By John Duffy. Viva Editions. $15.95.

Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Curioddities. Scholastic. $12.99.

     “The challenge for you [as a parent] is to acknowledge and accept your children right now, where they are,” writes John Duffy in The Available Parent. And that is the basis for his prescription for parenting teenagers and preteens. It is all very simple, he says – or at least simple to state, if not to do: “Our goal [as parents] is to foster an environment that is most likely to provide a sense of competence and resilience. Competence and resilience. That’s it.” How to do this is what the rest of Duffy’s book is about. Duffy says that teens possess plenty of strength and wisdom, even if they do not show these qualities and consistently make bad decisions. Parents, he says, must make a leap of faith and acknowledge teens as strong and wise, then act on this belief. He suggests observing young people closely to see how they interact with their environment – not with you as a parent – and using that to get a sense of who they are, or rather are becoming. Duffy has no especially new comments or revelations about preteen and teen behavior – he talks about the need young people have to forge their own identity, for example, and notes that rebelliousness is normal and does not last forever. He also talks about what does not work – again, nothing surprising here: living vicariously through your teen is ineffective, for example, and so are snooping and micromanaging his or her behavior. So what does work? Based on his experience as a family therapist, Duffy says an intuitive understanding and connection with your child, emotional role modeling, laughing together and being willing and able to step outside your own comfort zone are all valuable tools. He also suggests finding common ground, such as music or sports, and interacting within the common-ground context so as to create a better bonding experience. “We need more moments [of love and recollection] with our teens, little reminders of our connections,” says Duffy, and this is really an unexceptionable comment. Indeed, it is hard to argue with very much in The Available Parent, which is a thoroughgoing, sincere, well-meaning book. But how does a parent of a recalcitrant preteen or teen create those special moments, revive the love the parent felt when the child was younger, even get the teen to agree to a “sample behavioral contract” along the lines of the one that Duffy helpfully provides? That is by no means a simple task; it may, for some parents and in some family situations, be quite impossible. And this is where The Available Parent disappoints. Looking at family issues from a therapeutic viewpoint, Duffy writes about what he sees when parents and children come to him for help. But what about families that cannot even agree on going for counseling? Or cannot afford it? What about parents so stressed by work and other family members (adults and children both) that they can barely make it through each day, having little of the time and emotional availability that Duffy deems crucial when children are in the process of becoming young adults? These situations, which exist wholly outside the artificial therapeutic environment in which Duffy works, are never addressed here. Duffy admits that “it may require you to dig deep for that fondness and admiration,” but how to “dig deep” never comes up. Duffy’s certainty, which often sounds facile, may not sit well with frustrated parents: “Be curious with your disinterested teenager, and I am confident that…the outlines of his passions will begin to emerge with time.” Duffy has the advantage of guaranteed sit-down time with teens and preteens – sometimes with parents, sometimes without – in a controlled therapeutic environment. Real-world families may find his arrangement difficult, if not impossible, to replicate in everyday life, and may therefore have considerable trouble trying to implement his mostly sound suggestions.

     Perhaps – for preteens if not teenagers – a little dose of absurdist humor would help lighten matters up. Might be worth trying, anyway, with a copy of Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Curioddities – a compilation for younger readers of items from another Ripley’s volume called Totally Bizarre. It is very hard to take this picture-packed volume (complete with a water-skiing squirrel on the cover) seriously, even though everything in the book exists, or did exist, in the real world. Here you will find photos of a man with the 14-foot-tall bass fiddle that he built, a motorcycle powered by 24 chainsaws, a catfish that tries to swallow a basketball, an ice-cream flavor containing raw horseflesh, a dog with 13-inch-long ears, and so on. There are also brief paragraphs describing a cottonwood tree in Nevada that is draped with hundreds of pairs of shoes, a marriage proposal carved into a farmer’s corn crop, a beekeeper who wears 10,000 of the insects on his face, a woman with five-inch-long toenails, a 37-foot-long hot dog, and much more. Some of the photos and descriptions are gross enough for almost any teen or preteen to enjoy. Others are funny, many are groaners, and most are likely to make adults shake their heads in something between wonder and bewilderment. But maybe that’s an offbeat way to communicate with teens and preteens. Goodness knows it’s worth a try if the much more sober, reflective and intense ideas of therapists such as Duffy prove too difficult to implement in ordinary life.

(++++) WHAT PRICE QUALITY?

Microsoft Express Mouse. Windows 7, Vista or XP (excluding XP 64-bit) or Mac OS X 10.4x-10.6x. Microsoft. $19.95.

Microsoft LifeCam HD-3000. Windows 7, Vista or XP/SP2. Microsoft. $39.95.

     Being over-engineered can be a good thing, or not so good. The concept involves building in more features or more complexity than the vast majority of users will ever want or need – or creating something with far higher quality than most people will be able to use. Since technology continues to advance rapidly, today’s over-engineering may turn into tomorrow’s simple adequacy; and over-engineering that comes at a reasonable price may be something people enjoy having even if they never use (or even understand) all the available features. But finding the right blend of engineering quality and pricing is never easy for any company, not even one as large as Microsoft, whose outstanding hardware division – although a small part of the total firm – consistently turns out top-quality products but does not always make ones priced at a level that will entice people to buy them. Over-engineering is the key. Superb mice with multiple functionalities for use in presentations, excellent cameras with 1020p HD capability, are nice to have and highly impressive technical achievements. But they are also comparatively expensive, and in an era in which so much hardware is throwaway (or at least replace-frequently), Microsoft’s excellent offerings may simply cost too much for the added value that their top-of-the-line technical specs provide.

     Hence the thinking behind two new company offerings. Express Mouse (as in “express yourself,” not as in “express vs. local”) is a wonderfully functional, full-featured mouse that comes in half a dozen bright, attractive colors, is easy to use right-handed or left-handed, has a completely smooth surface (rather than one split between left and right buttons), and costs no more than $20 (with discounts widely available). No, it does not do absolutely everything that the top-of-the-line mouse products from Microsoft do, but it comes surprisingly close, with fully programmable left and right buttons plus a scroll wheel that can be used for “middle click” functions (where available) and can also be programmed in a wide variety of different ways. Not quite as little as some notebook mice, Express Mouse is significantly smaller than traditional mice designed for desktop use, and in fact it works quite well with any hardware setup as long as you have a USB port close enough to take advantage of this mouse’s generous-length (34-inch) cord. So yes, this is a corded mouse, USB-powered, not quite as flexible as a wireless model – but also priced a lot lower and not requiring any batteries. Completely symmetrical in design, it works equally well for left-handers and right-handers – no one will have to compromise between efficiency and comfort with this unit. On the other hand (or is that the third hand?), because of the vagaries of desktop and laptop design – specifically because of USB port placement and the number of ports available in units from different manufacturers – it may turn out that the mouse is more practical on one side of a given computer than the other. So know the layout of your USB ports before buying (or make life simple and get an inexpensive multi-port hub). And enjoy choosing a color. The colors of this mouse are super-bright and are used for the cord, scroll wheel and even the Microsoft name on top of the unit: each mouse is primarily white, but the color wraps around the sides, appears on top, and extends out via the cord all the way to a conforming color for the USB connector. The colors available are grey, red, dark green, pinkish purple, and two blues called “ultramarine” (darker) and “coast” (lighter). All are pleasing to the eye and stylishly integrated into the mouse. In fact, the stylishness of this mouse is one of its best points: it may be inexpensive, but it looks really good. Another of its best points is functionality: it does just about everything a user could want a mouse to do, seamlessly and unobtrusively, and can be used for many hours without producing hand fatigue or even the slightest twinge of looming carpal-tunnel syndrome. Express Mouse is, in short, engineered exceptionally well for its functions and priced low enough so that it could be called over-engineered – in the best possible way – when considering its cost.

     Microsoft’s LifeCam HD-3000 aims for a narrower market niche, since it works only on Windows PCs, not Macs – and will be of interest only to users whose computers do not have built-in webcams (although it is far superior to the built-ins, few people who got a camera when they bought a computer will likely want to add an additional piece of hardware). Webcams have not quite reached the near-throwaway level of mice, but the LifeCam HD-3000 is very well priced at $40 (with discounts available), and like the Express Mouse, it provides nearly all the functionality of units costing twice as much or even more. Like other Microsoft webcams, it is, unfortunately, optimized for use with Windows Live Messenger, which for many people will not be the program of choice. But the LifeCam HD-3000 works quite well with Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and other sites, so a commitment to Microsoft’s entry is scarcely necessary. The LifeCam HD-3000 is a breeze to set up, with a universal base that neatly fits any computer – laptop, notebook or desktop. Like any external camera, though, it is clunkier and more visible in use than any built-in camera – an inevitability of design. Still, there is undeniable sleekness to the “widescreen” appearance of the camera – a subtle indication that it takes video in a 16:9 ratio. The LifeCam HD-3000 uses the same “TrueColor Technology” as Microsoft’s more costly models, which works just as well here as elsewhere, producing sharp pictures and true-to-life colors under a wide variety of lighting conditions. The video is not at the absolute highest 1080p level – it is 720p – but although this is a cost-driven compromise, it is unlikely to make very much difference to most users, since the visual difference between 720p and 1080p is quite minor in the vast majority of computers. What Microsoft’s hardware division has done here is produce a reasonably priced, very high-quality camera whose market reach will inevitably be limited by the facts that so many people have computers with built-in cameras and that this unit works only on Windows PCs. People within that fairly narrow target market will get a real bargain with this unit, which is well engineered (if not necessarily over-engineered), sturdy, attractive and fully functional at a level just about as high as the level of far costlier webcams. It is not for everyone, to be sure; but it is sure to do a very good job for computer users looking for a high-quality external webcam at a particularly reasonable price.

(++++) CHAMBER DELICACIES

Saint-Saëns: String Quartets. Fine Arts Quartet (Ralph Evans and Efim Boico, violins; Nicolò Eugelmi, viola; Wolfgang Laufer, cello). Naxos. $9.99.

Brahms: Sonatas Nos. 1-3 for Violin and Piano; Scherzo from FAE Sonata. Arabella Steinbacher, violin; Robert Kulek, piano. PentaTone. $19.99 (SACD).

Stravinsky: Duo Concertant for Violin and Piano; Sonata for Two Pianos; Requiem Canticles; Abraham and Isaac; Élégie for Solo Viola; Bluebird Pas de Deux. Jennifer Frautschi, violin; Jeremy Denk, piano; Ralph van Raat and Maarten van Veen, pianos; Sally Burgess, contralto; Roderick Williams, bass; David Wilson-Johnson, baritone; Richard O’Neill viola; Simon Joly Chorale, Philharmonia Orchestra and Twentieth Century Classics Ensemble conducted by Robert Craft. Naxos. $9.99.

     The “conversational” element of chamber music is among its major attractions, and Camille Saint-Saëns was particularly deft at bringing it out in his two string quartets – both of them late-in-life creations. Saint-Saëns’s cleverness and his creation of music intended to delight the ear are well known, and his string quartets offer both these characteristics in abundance – making the composer’s apparent hesitation to attempt the form until he was in his 60s something of a mystery. The quartets’ relative lack of popularity is a mystery, too, because both are very well-formed works, tuneful and filled with understanding of the capabilities of the instruments. The first, in E minor, was written in 1899 (when Saint-Saëns was 64) and is dedicated to Eugène Ysaÿe, who quite admired it and hoped (unfortunately in vain) for many more. The famed violinist’s appreciation is understandable: although the quartet does not give the first violin unusual prominence (except in the slow movement, where it does lead the other instruments), it requires considerable virtuosity of all the players, and features such interesting effects as the use of mutes for the opening of the first movement – followed by their removal for the movement’s main section. The Fine Arts Quartet plays the work with sure-fingered mastery and excellent give-and-take among the instruments. The players do equally well with the very late second quartet, which dates to the composer’s 73^rd year, 1918 (three years before his death). Although in G major, this wartime quartet is scarcely sunny or triumphant, and it is a thornier work than the first quartet: Saint-Saëns once described the first movement as “youth” and the second as the sad loss of it. It is easy to see why this quartet was not popular in its own time: it is absolute music and fully tonal. And it is true that the work needs more than one hearing to produce a strong effect, since some of its techniques, such as the repeated use of plucked open strings, sound a touch odd at first. This is, in fact, a work of more depth than Saint-Saëns sometimes gets credit for being able to create, with the excellent performance here being a clear indication that the composer had more to say in chamber music than some critics and listeners may realize.

     Brahms’ works for violin and piano are more career-spanning than are the Saint-Saëns quartets. The earliest piece on the new SACD by Arabella Steinbacher and Robert Kulek is Brahms’ scherzo from the rarely performed FAE Sonata, written for violinist Joseph Joachim by Brahms, Schumann and Albert Dietrich. The work’s title comes from Joachim’s personal motto, Frei aber Einsam (“free, but lonely”); but Brahms’ movement uses the F-A-E notes negligibly – an argument, incidentally, for performances of the entire sonata, to put Brahms’ contribution in context. This scherzo was composed when Brahms was just 20, in 1853, and shows skill, if no particular depth. The three violin-and-piano sonatas, though, are another matter. The first dates from 1878-79, the second from 1886 and the third from 1886-88, and all require maturity of approach, elegance of style and intensity of commitment – which they receive from Steinbacher and Kulek. The first sonata is built around thematic material from songs that Brahms had composed several years earlier, and it became a favorite work of Clara Schumann, to whose son’s serious illness the second movement pays close attention in the form of a funeral march (young Felix Schumann died in February 1879). None of the personal background is needed, though, for listeners to be swept into the heartfelt emotion of this sonata, much of which has an overall feeling of darkness despite the work’s tonic key of G major. The second sonata is also in a bright key – A major – and it too is based in part on songs that Brahms composed separately. Like the first sonata, it is an intimate and personal work, truly reflecting the notion of chamber music as being intended for performance among friends and family, in a small room rather than a grand hall. Steinbacher and Kulek realize this, giving the sonata its proper scale and not attempting to make of it a grander or more far-reaching piece than it is. For the third and final sonata, though, the performers correctly open things up, for this is an altogether broader work – not as long as the first sonata, but built on a bigger scale than either of the earlier ones, in four movements rather than three, and clearly intended for concert performance. Structurally, the third sonata is more conventional and less deeply emotive than the first two, and it responds well to Steinbacher’s and Kulek’s appreciation of its grand gestures and broadly constructed themes.

     More than 40 years later, when Stravinsky wrote his Duo Concertant for violin and piano in 1932, the roles of the instruments – and of chamber music itself – had changed considerably. The latest entry in Naxos’ ongoing Stravinsky series by Robert Craft is a hodgepodge CD that is, more or less, an offering of chamber works from various times in the composer’s career – although in truth, the disc is rather arbitrarily put together, with little significant relationship among the included pieces. The Duo Concertant shows Stravinsky trying to reconcile the differing tones and methods of sound production of violin and piano – the composer maintained for years that the instruments were largely incompatible. This sonata, inspired by Virgil’s Georgics, gradually gives the piano the lead role and features some very clever and interesting rhythmic variations. The Sonata for Two Pianos (1943-44) is more lighthearted and upbeat, despite being a wartime composition, and features a central theme-and-variations movement based on a Russian folksong. Élégie for Solo Viola is another chamber work from the same time (1944), and is a lovely and emotionally moving piece that contains elements of both a song and a fugue. And Bluebird Pas de Deux (1941), an arrangement of four short excerpts from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty ballet for chamber orchestra, shows a light, chamber-music-like touch and some clever instrumental rethinking of the original score – although Craft’s suggestion that Stravinsky’s addition of a piano and change of a flute duet to one for flute and clarinet make the Stravinsky version far superior to the composer’s original is, at best, an arguable overstatement. The remaining works on this CD are larger in scale, vocal in focus and not a very good fit with the chamber pieces. Both were written much later in Stravinsky’s life: Requiem Canticles in 1965-66 and Abraham and Isaac in 1962-63. The latter, subtitled “A Sacred Ballad for Baritone and Chamber Orchestra,” has a portentous sound throughout as the singer declaims the tale of God’s demand that Abraham sacrifice his son, Isaac – and Abraham’s willingness to do so. A story fraught with difficult implications for many biblical scholars, the tale gets an absolutely straight treatment from Stravinsky. It is sung in Hebrew, and there is even some tone painting (rapid clarinet notes to indicate the fruitfulness of Abraham’s seed, for instance). Requiem Canticles gets a very carefully thought-through structure as well, consisting of six vocal movements divided in half by an instrumental dirge, with a prelude at the start of the whole work and a postlude after the final vocal section. Craft himself led the world première of both these late pieces, and his interpretations in this new recording are sure, intelligent and exceptionally well-informed. Indeed, the whole CD seems to be as much about Craft as about Stravinsky – which, given the quality of the performances, is not a bad thing at all.