(++++) STILL SPLENDID AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

The Napping House. By Audrey Wood. Illustrations by Don Wood. Harcourt. $17.99.

The Firekeeper’s Son. By Linda Sue Park. Illustrated by Julie Downing. Sandpiper. $6.99.

     Reissued, these books are every bit as charming as they were when first published. This is the 25^th anniversary of The Napping House, a story on the “house that Jack built” model in which each event builds on the one before – until Audrey Wood undoes what she has constructed by removing things one at a time. The simple story starts with a house, within which is a bed, on which granny sleeps; grandson climbs on top; then dog; then cat; then mouse; then flea. But then the flea bites the mouse – and, one at a time, everyone wakes up, as Don Wood’s hilarious illustrations show the wide-eyed, legs-splayed cat in midair, the dog so startled that its fur stands on end, the boy waking with a start, and the granny and boy tumbling upside-down. But everyone turns out to be in a wonderful mood as the sun comes up and a rainbow that ends right at the house indicates the start of a bright new day. Straightforward, yes, but quite delightful – and the new edition includes a CD that features not only a reading of the book but also six original songs. It all adds up to a package every bit as wonderful as The Napping House was all the way back in 1984.

     The Firekeeper’s Son dates only to 2004, but the story – now available in paperback – feels much older, based as it is in the Korean of long ago. Linda Sue Park sets her tale in the early 1800s, when news of possible danger to Korea reaches the king by a series of signal fires. Sang-hee, the young son of the village firekeeper, learns how the system works: the village lights the first fire atop a mountain every night (because it is the settlement closest to the sea, from which danger is most likely to come). Seeing the fire, the next village’s firekeeper lights another one, and so on all the way to the mountain closest to the king’s palace. Seeing the fire, the king knows that all is well; if there is no fire, he sends soldiers to protect the land. Sang-hee wants so much to see soldiers, even if only once; and one night, his father has an accident and is unable to start the fire, leaving the responsibility on Sang-hee’s shoulders. All Sang-hee has to do to fulfill his wish is to avoid starting the blaze…but responsibility wins out in the end, and Sang-hee even learns something about his father’s own boyhood wishes. Park’s telling gives the story the feeling of myth, and Julie Downing enhances the atmosphere with watercolor-and-pastel illustrations that evoke the young boy’s reality and dreams with equal skill. But as Park points out in an Author’s Note at the end, the signal fires are a fact of Korean history – and were actually a far more complex system than this book indicates. Although modern communication rendered them obsolete, they remain part of Korea’s past, and The Firekeeper’s Son remains a lovingly written tribute to them and to the people who made sure they burned brightly.

(++++) SECOND HELPINGS

Beka Cooper, Book Two: Bloodhound. By Tamora Pierce. Random House. $18.99.

Sebastian Darke, Book Two: Prince of Pirates. By Philip Caveney. Delacorte Press. $16.99.

     It has been two-and-a-half years since Tamora Pierce introduced Beka Cooper in the first book of a planned trilogy, Terrier. That book’s title reflected not only Beka’s tenacity but also one of the conceits of this saga – that the Provost’s Guard in the city of Corus is widely known as “the Provost’s Dogs.” The Dogs are law enforcers in a world of magic, and their rookies are deemed Puppies, as was Beka in the first book. Pierce gave Beka some magic of her own, dubbing her a listener: she hears the information that flows like air through the Lower City, where she herself was born – whether the whisperings come from people, pigeons or ghosts. Beka’s story is part of a much larger one on which Pierce has worked for many years: that of the land of Tortall. The new Beka Cooper book is the 16^th novel set there and is, like the first Beka one, subtitled “A Tortall Legend.” It may take readers a little while to get into this lengthy (554-page) novel, as Pierce re-sets the scene and helps readers reimagine Beka herself and the animals with which she interacts in important ways. And the basic plot may seem a touch mundane for a book about a world of magic: Beka, now a full-fledged Dog rather than a Puppy, has to investigate a counterfeiting operation. But Pierce’s skill lies in characterization as much as in action, and as Beka follows the trail of counterfeit coins to Port Caynn, where she finds that that town’s Dogs do not seem to be doing much about the shady operation, she becomes a much more fully formed character as well as a far better member of the Guard. Pierce has an old-fashioned style of writing in which she does not hesitate to spend a paragraph or more simply setting a scene: “The noise swamped us. The smoke that floated along the ceiling made our eyes sting. It came from the fire in the great hearth where kettles full of wines and ales heated. Sweating mots wearing thin dresses and aprons filled pitchers from the kettles and handed them over to serving folk, then refilled the kettles to heat a new batch of drinks. I could smell spices, ale, wine, roasting meat, and hints of puke and piss.” It is through vivid imagery like this that Pierce makes this story come alive – and there is plenty of conflict and action, too, even if not of the nonstop variety. After all, Beka has made enemies in her fast rise in Corus; and now she is traveling with her mentor, Clary Goodwin, as well as with the scent hound Achoo and the pigeon Slapper (who keeps Beka in touch with the voices of the dead). The matter-of-fact use of magic, from balms to concealment spells, adds to the solidity of Beka and Tortall, while Pierce’s invented words (gixie, colemongery) keep the setting exotic. Beka even develops a romantic attachment in the midst of this adventure, although that particular “ache” goes nowhere, and Pierce ends by having Beka assert, “There’s plenty more trouble to get into” – as she no doubt will in the concluding book of this trilogy when Pierce gets around to writing it.

     The seriousness and intensity of Pierce’s writing stand in stark contrast to the lighthearted approach that Philip Caveney takes in his Sebastian Darke trilogy, which has also now reached its second book and which, like Pierce’s Beka tales, is intended for readers age 12 and up. The first Sebastian book, Prince of Fools, introduced the half-elf, half-human hero, who (like Beka Cooper) has some rather unusual traveling companions – in Sebastian’s case, a buffalope named Max and a fighting dwarf named Cornelius. By the end of that first book, Sebastian has realized that he will never make it as a court jester, so the second book, Prince of Pirates, takes him in an altogether different direction. Specifically, it takes him toward the port of Ramalat, from which he plans to take ship to search for the lost treasure of the Pirate King Callinestra. First, though, Sebastian and his companions have to avoid getting lost and waylaid themselves as they travel through the forest of Geltane (where a beautiful but dangerous sorceress awaits). And when, somewhat the worse for wear, they do eventually reach Ramalat, they find themselves dealing with kelfers (really dangerous, sharklike beasties: “not just pure evil, they’re cunning with it”) and a pirate called Captain Kid (real name: Beverly). As their quest proceeds, amid sea battles and pirate-infested islands and such, they are treated to such observations as, “There are many ways to rob somebody, and maybe being a pirate is the most honest method. At least you’re not pretending to be anything other than a crook.” There is a great deal of farce and a great deal of fun in Prince of Pirates, but always within the context of what really is a fast-paced swashbuckling adventure. And Caveney is a fine illustrator as well as a good writer, whether in a picture showing a battle with a huge-toothed, dinosaur-like creature called a yarkle, or in one giving individual character to each of the many faces crowded into a seedy tavern. Still, it is the humor of the writing that is most attractive here: “‘Well, that’s just typical, isn’t it!’ complained Max. ‘That just puts the ruddy cap on it! We go all that way, struggle through the worst odds, face the most terrible dangers, and for what?’” Well, for the amusement and enjoyment of readers, for one thing – and in the genre of heroic fantasy/quest tales, which tends to take itself very seriously indeed, Sebastian Darke’s adventures are especially welcome for their light touch.

(++++) CHAMBER DELICACIES

Brahms: Clarinet Trio in A minor; Sonatas Nos. 1 and 2 for Clarinet and Piano. Loren Kitt, clarinet; Lambert Orkis, piano; David Hardy, cello. Dorian Sono Luminus. $16.99.

Vivaldi: Oboe Sonatas. Burkhard Glaetzner, oboe; Ingo Goritzki, oboe II; Karl Suske, violin; Christine Schornsheim, organ and harpsichord; Thomas Reinhardt, bassoon; Siegfried Pank, viola da gamba; Achim Beyer, violone. Capriccio. $11.99.

Gade: Sonatas Nos. 1-3 for Violin and Piano. Christina Åstrand, violin; Per Salo, piano. Dacapo. $16.99.

Glenn Gould: String Quartet in F minor; Ernest MacMillan: String Quartet in C minor; Two Sketches for String Quartet based on French Canadian Airs. Quatuor Alcan (Laura Andriani and Nathalie Camus, violins; Luc Beauchemin, viola; David Ellis, cello). ATMA Classique. $16.99.

     The intimacy of chamber music – much of which was originally written to be played at home, as a communal event – can sometimes make it more enjoyable to play than to hear. But when there is sufficient joy in the playing, chamber works come through with an emotional immediacy that larger-scale ones do not quite match. Indeed, although the title of the new all-Brahms CD by Kennedy Center Chamber Players members Loren Kitt, Lambert Orkis and David Hardy – “An Emotional Journey” – is a bit overwrought, there is no denying the intense commitment of these superb instrumentalists to these late Brahms works. The Trio, Op. 114, flows beautifully and rather sadly, as if the musicians perceive in it a struggle whose resolution, even at the end, is uncertain (the work ends in the minor). The two Sonatas, Op. 120, are simply gorgeous, with Kitt and Orkis beautifully intermingling their melodic lines and the works’ passion, grace and yearning emerging in performances of overflowing loveliness.

     Vivaldi’s five Oboe Sonatas are of a much earlier time and are, in fact, from early in Vivaldi’s own compositional career, before he focused entirely on concertos. The new Capriccio CD featuring Burkhard Glaetzner is a reissue of a 1988 disc; the performances themselves date to 1986. They have worn well: the playing is strong and idiomatic, and the very different instrumentation of the sonatas (four of which, incidentally, are in four movements, not the expected three) is highlighted to excellent effect. The Sonatas RV 28 (G minor), 34 (B-flat major) and 53 (C minor) are for oboe and basso continuo; RV 81 (G minor) is for two oboes and basso continuo and is the only work here in three movements; and RV 779 (C major) is a real curiosity, being written for violin, oboe, obbligato organ and bassoon ad lib. Despite the fact that three of these five works are in minor keys, none of them plumbs or attempts to plumb any emotional depths; but all are poised, well balanced and full of interesting instrumental touches, very well realized in this recording.

     Niels Gade’s three violin-and-piano sonatas span a large portion of his career. No. 1 (A major) dates to 1842, when Gade was 25; No. 2 (D minor) is from 1849-50; and No. 3 (B-flat major) is from 1885, five years before the composer’s death. It is scarcely surprising that the works cover very different emotional territory. No. 1 is quite Mendelssohnian (Mendelssohn was a major influence on Gade: Gade was his assistant conductor at the Leipzig Gewandhaus and, after Mendelssohn’s death, his successor) and has a well-designed finale that, surprisingly, is in A minor. No. 2 is more compressed (it is the shortest of the three sonatas) and includes an interestingly designed middle movement that is in part a slow movement and in part a scherzo. No. 3 is musically a bit of a throwback, with youthful joyousness in its themes and without the broad emotionalism of Romantic-era works of its time. Perhaps not surprisingly, it has never been particularly popular, although it is very well constructed. Christina Åstrand and Per Salo play all these works with strength, understanding and a fine sense of balance between the violin and piano parts. The only real oddity of the CD is that it presents the works in reverse chronological order. It is easy enough to change the playing order, but the 3-2-1 arrangement does seem peculiar.

     The chamber pieces by Glenn Gould and Ernest MacMillan on a new ATMA Classique CD are also quite well played, but it would be difficult to regard them as major works, although they are considered important in 20^th-century Canadian music; the CD featuring them gets a (+++) rating. The most intriguing piece here is MacMillan’s String Quartet in C minor. MacMillan was in German territory when World War I broke out – he had been attending the Bayreuth Wagner Festival – and was imprisoned at Nuremberg for several months, after which he was transferred to Ruhleben (near Berlin) for the rest of the war. He wrote the first version of this quartet during that time, eventually revising it in 1921. There is no anguish in this work, which is in the traditional four movements and is well balanced among the instruments. It is a well and intelligently constructed quartet, but not music that shows a strong personality. In fact, the Two Sketches for String Quartet based on French Canadian Airs, which include Notre Seigneur en pauvre and Á Saint-Malo beau port de mer, have more character – and in their symphonic version are one of MacMillan’s most frequently played pieces. As for Glenn Gould’s Quartet in F minor, published as his Op. 1, it is his only significant original composition, completed in 1955 (when he was 23). Essentially a large Allegro in classical style, it is intellectually impressive but not particularly moving, although Quatuor Alcan certainly plays it with plenty of fervor and intensity.

(++++) BEETHOVEN AND BEYOND

Idil Biret Beethoven Edition, Volume 8: Piano Sonatas Nos. 23 (“Appassionata”), 28 and 31. Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $8.99.

Idil Biret Beethoven Edition, Volume 9: Symphonies Nos. 7 and 8 (Liszt Piano Transcriptions). Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $8.99.

Idil Biret Concerto Edition, Volume 1: Schumann—Piano Concerto; Grieg—Piano Concerto. Idil Biret, piano; Bilkent Symphony Orchestra conducted by Antoni Wit. IBA. $8.99.

     Although the fascinating Idil Biret Beethoven Edition is not yet halfway through its projected 19 volumes, another Idil Biret Edition is already starting. The Beethoven series continues to have the sonatas as its high points, although Biret’s “Appassionata” is a touch too quirky to be wholeheartedly recommended. It is played with very considerable attention to detail, so that, for instance, figurations rarely heard in the left hand when the right has the melody come through quite clearly. But to accomplish this, Biret uses mostly slow tempos; and what she attains in clarity, she loses in sweep and emotion. This is a cool “Appassionata” rather than a deeply felt one – highly accomplished and very well played, but somewhat too plodding (especially in the main section of the finale) to make the work’s title (given it by its publisher) a good fit. The two later sonatas here, however, are gems. No. 28 has both delicacy and drive, with a pleasant sense of freshness throughout. And No. 31 has just the right balance of solidity and emotionalism, culminating in a very effective handling of the last movement’s fugue – Biret makes the contrapuntal lines clear while still including Beethoven’s near-Romantic sweep and drama.

     Biret’s handling of Liszt’s transcriptions of Beethoven’s symphonies is still fine but still not up to her sonata recordings, which were made later (Volume 8 of the Biret Beethoven Edition dates to 2001, Volume 9 to 1986). Symphony No. 7 simply drags too much to be effective – it is more than six minutes before Biret even gets to the Vivace section of the first movement. The Allegretto is pleasant and nicely paced, but the finale is so far from “the apotheosis of the dance” (Wagner’s description of this symphony) that it simply plods. No. 8 is much better. The first movement is not exactly “con brio,” but the second has a pleasant “scherzando” feeling about it, the third contrasts with it effectively, and the finale has a sense of hustle that leads to a very effective conclusion (this is one of the few places in the transcriptions in which Liszt dropped Beethoven’s wide range to create a more effective piano finish). Biret brings out Beethoven’s subtleties very well in playing the symphonies, but she tends to lose sight of the overall arch of the works, making her performances more interesting than compelling.

     The first volume of Biret’s Concerto Edition, recorded in 2006, features comparatively slow tempos as well, a state of affairs that works better in Grieg’s concerto than in Schumann’s. Here the interplay between Biret and the Bilkent Symphony Orchestra under Antoni Wit is better than in the performers’ Beethoven concertos, in which the orchestra has sounded rather pale. For the Schumann and Grieg, it sounds fuller and more strongly committed to the music, and this makes it a fine foil for Biret, whose big sound and willingness to turn phrases into proclamations lead to solid, even stately performances. The Schumann tends to be a little stiff as Biret performs it, especially in the first movement (which is supposed to be played “affettuoso”), but the Grieg gets plenty of room to breathe here, and as a result has some of the expansiveness associated with Norway – an effect for which the composer was certainly striving, in light of his use of the Norwegian halling for the primary dance rhythm of the finale. Biret’s performances of these concertos and the Beethoven repertoire may not be definitive – it can certainly be argued that no one’s are – but she shows highly impressive range and great thoughtfulness in all these works, making all the Idil Biret Archives recordings worth hearing for their insights and the sheer quality of Biret’s pianism.

(++++) AN ENDING AND A BEGINNING

Just a Simple Wedding: A “For Better or For Worse” Collection. By Lynn Johnston. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.

Ink Pen. By Phil Dunlap. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.

     After 29 years of intricacy worthy of a novel and emotion worthy of a prime-time soap opera, For Better or For Worse came to an end last year, as Lynn Johnston wound up the story of multiple generations of the Patterson family and their many friends, neighbors, acquaintances and hangers-on. Just a Simple Wedding is the final collection of the strip, and fans will be dripping with nostalgia long before the last page. Johnston does not bring all the elements of her long-running tale together, but she knits up several of the major story lines and provides a full-page Sunday strip at the very end saying what happened to some characters in their later lives. Of course, these are simply drawings – they have no “lives,” earlier or later – but because Johnston’s strip has always been steeped in realism (and is partly autobiographical), these drawings feel real to millions of people. The arc of this final collection primarily includes the deteriorating health of Grandpa Jim and the challenges facing his wife and by-necessity caregiver, Iris; and the increasing closeness of Elizabeth and her high-school boyfriend, Anthony, who is now divorced and has a child. The marriage of Elizabeth and Anthony provides the book’s title and the strip’s climax, but much else occurs before it happens, including Michael’s growing success as an author and the ongoing daily trials he and his wife, Deanna, face in raising their children, Meredith and Robin; “bonus baby” April, now a teenager, learning to drive and discovering what she wants to do in life; John and Elly Patterson facing the realities of aging; and much more. Tossed in among the “story” strips are slice-of-life ones, including some of the wordless or nearly wordless Sunday strips that are a Johnston hallmark: an autumn family outing with leaf collecting; a winter scene with snow, featuring gloves turned into playthings; April’s battle with an umbrella during an intense rainstorm; and more. Fans of For Better or For Worse will be drenched in memories before the end of this book – and fanatical fans will no doubt be happy that Johnston did not exactly retire: she decided to re-draw the entire story from the start, with different perspectives and using some of the knowledge and cartooning skill that she has gained over the years. Still, Just a Simple Wedding stands as the summation and more-or-less conclusion of a remarkable comic strip, and it is impossible not to wish the nonexistent Pattersons well in the continuation of their unreal-but-somehow-very-real lives.

     Will Ink Pen last 29 years? Doubtful – it’s not likely that newspapers in their current form will last another couple of decades, and without them, the entire nature of cartooning is bound to change. But Phil Dunlap’s new strip has the potential to go on for as long as he wants it to, because Dunlap is really on to something here. Johnston’s chronicle-of-life concept was an old one that she handled with unusual skill. Dunlap’s chronicle of cartoon characters trying to find jobs for other cartoon characters by running an employment agency is something new – and seems so obvious, and so amusingly self-referential, that it is a wonder no one thought of it before. There were hints of this sort of approach in films such as Who Framed Roger Rabbit – think of the cigar-smoking midget whose job, within the movie, is to play a baby, or of Jessica Rabbit saying she isn’t bad, that’s just the way she is drawn. But no one has done this in comic-strip form, and it works wonderfully and often hilariously. Dunlap’s chief characters include a corporate-looking dog named Fritz who runs the employment agency, talks like a traditional boss, but lapses into canine behavior and four-footed locomotion when, say, a doorbell rings; a dirty and ugly rat named Bixby who is second-in-command and is a former child star who quickly outgrew adorableness and now spends much of his time wallowing in garbage; a pig named Hamhock who wants quality work but keeps getting jobs as food; a well-spoken rabbit named Ralston who seeks sophistication but gets only slapstick work because he is so good at getting hit and steamrollered; a super-dumb superhero called Captain Victorious and his nemesis, Mr. Negato, who got their powers at the same time and go out for beer together when not thrashing each other; and a number of just-passing-through characters, from another superhero named Dynaman (whose powers may come from steroids), to Joggles the Clown (“I’ve even painted a permanent smile on my face so as to never slip and hint at the searing pain and desperation lying deep in my soul”), to Jenn Erica (“generic,” with a feminine “a” ending), an all-purpose but easily forgettable female character. Dunlap manages to make this motley crew recognizably human through some strange power he appears to have to cloud people’s minds, and the characters’ interactions actually make sense within their weirdly skewed world. Ink Pen is a highly unusual strip that deserves a chance to be seen much more widely – it has the potential to grow in all sorts of interesting ways. And it’s plenty interesting already.

(++++) ANIMAL LEGENDS

Cecily G. and the 9 Monkeys. By H.A. Rey. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. $6.99.

Pig-Boy: A Trickster Tale from Hawai’i. By Gerald McDermott. Harcourt. $17.

     Some animals, such as Curious George, become legends in their own time. Others, such as Kamapua’a, are legends in their own cultures. In either case, their stories can be highly entertaining even when retold in far different circumstances from those of the characters’ origins.

     Cecily G. and the 9 Monkeys is a reprint of the American edition of the first book to feature Curious George – and the first book for children written by H.A. Rey (real name: Hans Augusto Reyersbach) and his wife, Margret. George is not the central character here, but it is easy to see how he would quickly come into his own and become the star of umpteen books in the future. Cecily G. (for Giraffe) has the lead role in this book, and George is but one of the eight children of Mother Pamplemoose. Cecily is sad because all her family and friends have been taken to zoos, so when she meets the nine monkeys – who are looking for a new home after the trees in their forest have been cut down – she offers them a place to stay and play. The simple but pleasant story turns on the amusing interactions of the giraffe (for whom the monkeys at one point create a pair of stilts, making her too tall to fit on the page) with the monkeys, each of whom has a different personality trait: James is good, Arthur is strong, and of course George is curious (and clever, too). The Reys’ good humor is already evident throughout this book, as Cecily turns into a sailboat with Johnny (who is brave) as captain, the monkeys use umbrellas as parachutes as they leap from Cecily’s head to the ground, and more. The book ends with a little song that the Reys wrote about the friendship of the monkeys and giraffe – and for parents and those children who want to know how books come to be, there is a wonderful afterword by Louise Borden giving the history of Cecily G. and the 9 Monkeys and the Reys. It is fascinating to find out that Cecily got her start as an amusing drawing for a French magazine, and was named Rafi (in France) and Raffy (in England) when she became the central character in her own book; and that George’s original name was Fifi. The backdrop against which the Reys wrote and drew their warm-hearted stories – World War II, with the two authors, who were Jewish, fleeing the advancing Nazis – will send chills up many spines and cause families to marvel at the Reys’ ability to create books of naïve good humor in the midst of so much tragedy. Cecily G. and the 9 Monkeys is a delightful tale in and of itself; and the story of how it became a story gives it unexpected depth.

     Gerald McDermott’s Pig-Boy is pure fun of a different kind, being a reinterpretation of an old Hawaiian legend. Kamapua’a is a trickster-hero unique to Hawaii but scarcely unique in type (think of Loki, Br’er Rabbit, Coyote, Anansi and many others). He is a shapeshifter who can appear as anything from a handsome warrior to an eight-eyed, four-tusked monster boar. McDermott makes him milder than in the original legend and more mischievous, showing him as “a hairy little hog” with pointy ears, curly tail, bristly back and dirty snout, who is raised by his devoted grandmother. The adventure in this book is all about Pig-Boy’s stomach: after eating everything in his grandmother’s taro patch, Pig-Boy is still hungry, so he steals chickens from the king, who pursues him. But Pig-Boy is good at slipping away: he turns into a hundred piglets, runs to the shore, seeks protection from the goddess Pele, then turns into a pig-nosed fish when she tells him to go away. Returning to shore, Pig-Boy is captured in a net by the king’s men, so he grows huge (McDermott’s version of the eight-eyed, four-tusked monster is funny rather than scary) and gets away again – turning himself small and returning to his grandmother to be cuddled to sleep. Pig-Boy is a slight tale, but in McDermott’s retelling and with his attractive illustrations, it is a charming one.

(++++) DIFFERENTLY DELICIOUS

This Little Bunny Can Bake. By Janet Stein. Schwartz & Wade. $15.99.

I’m Your Peanut Butter Big Brother. By Selina Alko. Knopf. $16.99.

     Food takes on very different meanings in these two books, one of which is actually about baking and the other of which revolves around a woman with “one in the oven,” as pregnancy sometimes used to be described. This Little Bunny Can Bake takes place in a cooking class in which only the little bunny pays attention and follows the rules, while the other students of master pastry maker Chef George drift into their own worlds and come up with some really strange desserts. The dog is determined to make something that involves shoes, the spoonbill wants to be sure fish are included, the tiger is looking forward to meat, and so on. Chef George, a wise if put-upon owl, offers the students a blackboard filled with a complete explanation of the elements of dessert creation – all of them accurate, as it happens (contrasts, sensory stimulation, textures and so forth). But only the little bunny – who alone is shown in color, with all the other characters drawn in black-and-white – pays close attention, takes notes and absorbs the information. Chef George realizes that he needs to take the class back to basics, and he tries to do so, offering nine of his own books of recipes for the students to study. But they – again, except for the bunny – play games, take naps or are otherwise unfocused. When it comes time to “train your noses,” only the bunny takes the blindfold test seriously – everyone else smells what he or she wants or expects to smell (for example, the mouse, holding a banana, thinks he smells cheese). Actual baking – measurement, mixing and all the rest – goes no better, and pretty much everything turns out to be a mess, except for the little bunny’s cake with the message “This Little Bunny Can Bake” on it. Everyone, including Chef George, eats some and enjoys it – a happy (and yummy) ending indeed. The “photos” of the other students’ concoctions, at the end of the book, are very funny – and Janet Stein includes eight real recipes on the inside front and back covers, from cream cheese tarts to chocolate meringue cookies. Kids who act like the little bunny and follow the recipes carefully – with adult supervision – will be able to make some very tasty desserts, inspired by Stein’s own experiences at a cooking school in Barcelona, Spain.

     Food is a metaphor rather than something to be really eaten in I’m Your Peanut Butter Big Brother, a story about the many possible appearances of interracial children. Selina Alko, a Caucasian woman married to an African-American man, was inspired by her own family’s makeup to create this story of a boy who awaits his soon-to-be-born brother or sister while wondering which foods he or she will resemble. He explains that he himself is a blend of “semisweet dark Daddy chocolate bar and strawberry ice cream Mama’s milk.” Will the new baby, he wonders, be “coffee with lots and lots of cream,” or perhaps “ginger cookie brown”? Will his or her eyes look like “hot cocoa footballs set wide apart or a perfect pair of pennies”? “Will you be my vanilla bean ice cream sibling or super-rich double chocolate fudge?” he wonders. Alko’s amusingly offbeat drawings – father looking like stars in a night sky, mother like the sun; contrasting ice-cream cones, one pointy sugar and one flat-bottomed cake; beach and playground scenes filled with different-looking people enjoying themselves as part of the same family – nicely complement her offbeat writing, which contains such phrases as “cappuccino-frosted ‘fro” and “pecan elastic band Sebastian.” The message of absolute acceptance of differences is delivered quietly and poetically, and after the new baby sister is born, the final picture of the boy encircling the little girl in his arms makes a lovely ending to a gently touching presentation of interracial family life.

(++++) WORD AND NUMBER FUN

Palindromania! By Jon Agee. Sunburst/Farrar, Straus and Giroux. $6.96.

Math Attack! By Joan Horton. Pictures by Kyrsten Brooker. Melanie Kroupa Books/Farrar, Straus and Giroux. $16.95.

     Both these books deserve to have titles that end in exclamation points! Offbeat, amusing and unusual in both words and illustrations, they turn subjects that can become drudgery – English and math – into fun!

     Jon Agee does this with a mixture of palindromes he invented and ones that have been around for a while. Using comic-strip-like illustrations, including some sequences that really are comic strips, he makes wordplay into a fine art. For example, “The Three-Palindrome Gnu,” a four-panel creation, starts with the title panel and then amusingly illustrates “gnu sung,” “gnu lung” and “gnu dung.” Even cleverer is a single two-page-spread panel of palindromic “Criminal Evidence,” showing a trench-coated investigator looking at a “mirror rim,” “pit tip,” “bird rib,” “trapeze part,” “balsa slab” and “motto bottom.” Elsewhere, we meet “Little Snitch,” who tattles, “Nate bit a Tibetan” and “Dennis sinned.” We see a sleepless man endlessly repeating the unending palindrome, “Six is a six is a six is a six is…” During a journey to Metaltown, a metal owl seems to have a touch of indigestion: “Gag!” “Kak!” Two other birds explain why: “Mr. Owl ate my metal worm.” All this back-and-forthing through words is enjoyable in and of itself, but Agee’s amusing illustrations make it even more so. Just catch the amazed expressions on the faces of an apple and orange that have been debating who is “Fruit of the year.” After one says “Now, I won” and the other replies, “No, Will, I won,” they are astonished at the actual result: “No way! A papaya won?!” One way or the other, Agee’s palindromes are wordplay winners.

     Joan Horton’s foray into silly math is more traditional in format – a story told in rhyme, with delightfully offbeat illustrations by Kyrsten Brooker. And it is just as enjoyable in its own way. A girl tries so hard to remember the multiplication table that, when her teacher asks her to multiply 10 by seven, her head goes wild: “I was thinking so hard all my circuits were loaded./ Then all of a sudden, my brain just exploded” – and numbers fly everywhere, whizzing throughout the classroom and all over the school. The nurse diagnoses “a case of arithmetic strain” and asks just when it happened – and as soon as the girl explains that she was trying to figure out 10 x 7, “Numbers flew out of my head as before./ ‘Gangway!’ cried the nurse/ As she dashed through the door.” The numbers mess affects everyone – the principal, the policemen who show up to find out what is going on, drivers who have to stop because of all the numbers in the road, and even “the clock in the tower/ Was crazily bong-bonging every which hour,/ For sixes and sevens had climbed from its base/ To join the twelve numbers that circled its face.” Can anything stop the number flood? Well, yes, the girl herself can – when she solves the 10 x 7 problem that started it all. And eventually she does remember the answer, and everything is fine – “UNTIL Miss Glass said, ‘What’s eleven times nine?’” And so the book ends with the promise of more hilarity ahead – but take a look at the inside front and back covers for something extra and educational, because they show the girl very proudly completing the entire multiplication table on her class blackboard, from 1 x 1 all the way to 10 x 10, and walking away with a big smile on her face. Math Attack! will put a big smile on yours, too.

(++++) SOUND SERVING SYMPHONIES – AND MORE

Mahler: Symphony No. 1. Bamberg Symphony conducted by Jonathan Nott. Tudor. $19.99 (SACD).

Mahler: Symphony No. 4. Mojca Erdmann, soprano; Bamberg Symphony conducted by Jonathan Nott. Tudor. $19.99 (SACD).

Stravinsky: The Rite of Spring; Symphony in 3 Movements. Bamberg Symphony conducted by Jonathan Nott. Tudor. $19.99 (SACD).

Janáĉek: Sinfonietta; Taras Bulba; Suite from “The Cunning Little Vixen.” Bamberg Symphony conducted by Jonathan Nott. Tudor. $19.99 (SACD).

     For nearly perfect examples of how excellence in recording and sonic reproduction can be put at the service of outstanding musical experiences for the home, listen to any or all of these new Tudor SACDs, in which the sound is so integral to the effectiveness of the presentation that it is in effect a third partner in the music – along with the conductor and orchestra. It is not just that sound quality is clear and background noise absent – any SACD and most CDs will deliver that. But the clarity here is of an unusual kind, whether you hear the discs on a system that fully reproduces the multichannel SACD experience or listen to them as if they were ordinary CDs. It sounds as if every instrument in the orchestra has been individually miked, with the 90 or so audio streams then blended through a sophisticated mixing system by a highly knowledgeable musician. This is nonsense, of course (and in practice wouldn’t work very well); but the clarity of individual orchestral voices, especially the middle voices that are often difficult for conductors to bring out, is truly remarkable here, and all these SACDs create an experience approximating that of the conductor himself – standing at a point where individual instrumental elements can be clearly heard as they coalesce into the totality of large-scale orchestral works.

     None of this would be of much consequence (except on a technical level) if the performances themselves were less than exemplary, but every one of them is highly worthy, and most are outstanding. The Bamberg Symphony may not be one of the world’s best-known orchestras; Jonathan Nott, the orchestra’s principal conductor for almost a decade, may not be one of the biggest names in his profession; but if this is the quality of music-making that this conductor and orchestra deliver consistently, listeners should become much more familiar with both the man and the players. There is, in fact, a responsiveness in the Bamberg Symphony that argues for a return to the practice, now largely discarded, of a conductor having a long-term, focused relationship with an orchestra, so everyone gets to know everyone else’s quirks and can respond almost intuitively when the music being performed is difficult.

     And make no mistake: all the music on these SACDs is difficult. Mahler’s First and Fourth Symphonies are repertoire standards these days, but that makes them, if anything, harder than ever to perform effectively, since audiences bring expectations to them. Nott handles both works with great sensitivity and excellent attention to detail – just the right approach to Mahler, whose huge climaxes are made up of details piled upon each other, and who, as a brilliant conductor himself, knew very well what sounds orchestras could produce if prodded to do so. So Nott, for example, uses the unusually clean and slightly dry sound of the Bamberg Symphony’s brass to highlight horn, trumpet and trombone lines in these symphonies, even as themes are being carried primarily by strings or woodwinds. He paces the works carefully and deliberately, retaining each movement’s forward momentum but allowing himself slight tempo changes that highlight individual sections of the more discursive movements (such as the first of Symphony No. 4). His handling of the finales is particularly adept: in No. 1, the movement begins with startling assertiveness and the brass is elegant and emphatic throughout, but Nott treats the slower sections expansively and with great beauty; while in No. 4, each verse of the sung text gets a slightly different orchestral emphasis, so there is both repetitive continuity in the movement and a sense of development. Mojca Erdmann is not an ideal soprano soloist here – her voice is a touch too rich to produce the childlike quality that the text calls for – but she does sing beautifully, and the orchestra is effectively interwoven with her words.

     On the Stravinsky disc, the sheer barbaric splendor of The Rite of Spring may be a touch too carefully controlled – there is never a sense that the music is about to burst at the seams – but the details of orchestration are highlighted splendidly, and the underlying dance rhythms of what is, after all, a ballet, are very skillfully handled. The Symphony in 3 Movements is top-notch as well, with the important piano and harp parts brought to just the right level of prominence – both by Nott’s skillful orchestral balance and by the excellence of the recording.

     On the Janáĉek SACD, the splendid Sinfonietta is the highlight, the brass ringing out with intensity and drama from the beginning and the rest of the orchestra delivering an angular, rhythmically convincing interpretation. Taras Bulba, with its contrasts between martial and emotional sections, is almost equally effective, and the František Jílek suite from The Cunning Little Vixen – less well known than the later one by Václav Talich – proves dramatic and convincing, focusing on the opera’s “transformation” music and providing the brass with the chance for a grand conclusion. Nott and the Bamberg players make an exceptional team, and Tudor’s outstanding technology captures their performances with such liveliness and transparency that listeners will find themselves hearing and delighting in things, even in relatively familiar music, that they simply had not known were there.

(+++) CHORAL MODERNS

James MacMillan: Seven Last Words from the Cross; Christus Vincit; Nemo te comdemnavit; …here in hiding… The Dmitry Ensemble conducted by Graham Ross. Naxos. $8.99.

Krzysztof Penderecki: Utrenja. Iwona Hossa, soprano; Agnieszka Rehlis, mezzo-soprano; Piotr Kusiewicz, tenor; Piotr Nowacki, bass; Gennady Bezzubenkov, basso profondo; Warsaw Boys’ Choir and Warsaw Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra conducted by Antoni Wit. Naxos. $8.99.

Kile Smith: Vespers. Piffaro (The Renaissance Band) with The Crossing Vocal Ensemble conducted by Donald Nally. Navona. $16.99.

Lewis Spratlan: In Memoriam; Streaming: Quartet for Piano and Strings. Sharon Hayes and Melinda Spratlan, sopranos; Jon Humphrey, tenor; Donald Barnum and Nathaniel Watson, baritones; Amherst College Choral Society and The Valley Festival Orchestra conducted by Lewis Spratlan (In Memoriam); Yvonne Lam, violin; David Kim, viola; Christian-Pierre La Marca, cello; Xiang Zou, piano (Quartet). Navona. $16.99.

     It is facile but inaccurate to think that the passing of the glory days of liturgical choral music – such as Bach’s Mass in B minor and the many masses that Mozart composed brilliantly, if often without much enthusiasm – has led to a complete drought of religious choral music. In fact, numerous later composers have turned to classic religious texts, interpreting them in much more personal ways than would have been allowed in the Baroque and Classical eras (think, for example, of Mahler’s Second and Eighth Symphonies). The reaching into the past for spiritual connections that are then interpreted in a modern context continues today, and in fact the field is a vibrant one – even if the works will not be to all tastes, either musically or spiritually.

     Among a number of interesting recent releases is Seven Last Words from the Cross by James MacMillan, written in 1993 for chorus and string orchestra on a commission from BBC Television. MacMillan’s treatment of Christ’s final utterances combines elements from his own earlier works (the piece starts with a figure from his clarinet quintet) with some very modern orchestral touches (hammer blows to open “It is finished”). Interestingly, a work whose focus is a major element of organized Christianity ends in a very personal, reflective manner, being completed by strings alone after the chorus has finished singing. This is an energetic and emotionally appealing setting of the text. And the CD is nicely filled out with three additional works that spring from similar religious impulses: Christus Vincit (1994) is an anthem for double choir based on a 12^th-century text; Nemo te comdemnavit (2005) and …here in hiding… (1993) are world première recordings. The Dmitri Ensemble performs everything with warmth, vigor and understanding.

     Penderecki’s Utrenja may be somewhat harder to understand and less accessible to listeners familiar with other religious settings. It is very effective but very “Pendereckian” in its mixture of lovely, pure vocal writing with percussion-heavy orchestral effects connected with the world of electronic music. Inspired by the Orthodox liturgy of Holy Saturday, Utrenja uses two female voices in purely musical roles and three male voices to assume dramatic ones: tenor (chaplain), bass (deacon) and basso profondo (lector). Written in two parts – in 1970 and 1971 – Utrenja is in Old Slavonic, its first part called “The Entombment of Christ” and its second “The Resurrection of Christ.” Whether the frequently dramatic orchestral effects intensify or undermine the text will be a matter of opinion. Utrenja is a work that tends to grow on listeners rather than one that, like MacMillan’s Seven Last Words, will have immediate appeal. Antoni Wit has clearly taken the measure of Penderecki’s structure, leading a strong and committed performance.

     The commitment is of a different kind in the new release of Kile Smith’s Vespers, which was commissioned by Piffaro and first performed only last year. Like Penderecki, Smith mixes old elements with distinctively modern ones, but both the elements and the way they are joined are quite different. Smith incorporates Renaissance vocal techniques and fluent modern writing for wind band, with some strikingly effective choral sections (on the word “Alleluia,” for example) and a series of instrumental movements that are more than interludes – they are themselves based on religious texts, which they seem to have absorbed and then reproduced in an alternative form. An especially interesting aspect of Vespers is that Piffaro specializes in music of the 15^th through 17^th centuries, and brings its handling of the works of those much earlier times to Smith’s writing; while Smith, clearly sensitive to Piffaro’s usual focus, has given the band material to work with that incorporates a clean, modern sound while paying tribute to compositional techniques of the past. Neatly interrelated and interwoven, Smith’s Vespers is an emotionally and musically appealing update of some timeless religious sentiments, with the use of German text enhancing a never-quite-imitative connection to the era of Bach – for example, in “Herr Christ, der einig Gotts Sohn” (“God’s only Son, for all time”).

     The tie to an earlier era is more apparent, and somewhat more exotic, in Lewis Spratlan’s In Memoriam. Despite the work’s Latin title, this four-movement piece – here in its world première recording (of a live Ravinia Festival performance) – has a Mayan rather than European focus. Spratlan, professor of music emeritus at Amherst College (where he taught from 1970 to 2006), wrote In Memoriam in 1993 to honor the victims of conquest. The five soloists, double chorus and orchestra open with “Prologue and Prophecy” and conclude with a “Prayer to the Sun” that looks to the future after the Mayans have been defeated. The work is impassioned and intense, with a strong central sociopolitical thesis (the middle movements are called “The Hero” and “Death and Lives of a Revolutionary”). Its sentiments differ from those expressed by MacMillan, Penderecki and Smith, but draw on the same themes of conflict, death and eventual resurrection (or at least survival in a different form). The Spratlan CD concludes with a fine performance of the piano quartet Streaming (2004), whose purely instrumental sound nicely complements the vocal focus of In Memoriam and provides a thoughtful conclusion to a thought-provoking disc.

(++++) TREASURABLE “TREASURIES”

My Bad: A “Zits” Treasury. By Jerry Scott and Jim Borgman. Andrews McMeel. $16.99.

Stop and Smell the Roses: A “Mutts” Treasury. By Patrick McDonnell. Andrews McMeel. $16.99.

     Andrews McMeel “Treasury” collections are a great way to get a big dose of your favorite comic strips in larger-than-usual format – larger than you will find in most collections, and much larger than the increasingly diminutive size in which comics are being printed in what seem to be America’s rapidly vanishing newspapers. Strips whose art work is a big part of their charm, such as Zits and Mutts, do especially well in the oversize “Treasury” format, which strongly emphasizes the visual quality of the strips. In Zits, for example, the multiple piercings of Jeremy’s friend Pierce show up in all their oddly shaped glory in My Bad. The 12 poses in which Jim Borgman draws Jeremy’s girlfriend, Sara, dancing – contrasted with Jeremy standing stock-still on the dance floor – come through with great clarity here, as do Sara’s many expressions as she moves to the music. A Sunday sequence in which Borgman illustrates how much mental space Jeremy takes up in the mind of his mom, Connie, is hilarious – and poignant – in drawings that show the 15-year-old crawling out of his mother’s ear. But excellent drawing without top-notch writing does not make an outstanding comic strip, and Zits is outstanding. Jerry Scott (who also writes the differently but equally wonderful Baby Blues) comes up with dialogue that fits the parents-raising-teenager scenario perfectly. For example, Jeremy objects to a 10-minute wait for Connie to pick him up because “ten minutes is a larger percentage of life at my age than it is at yours.” Pierce finds out the high school has a dress code that he is not violating, and is upset because “I hate it when I inadvertently conform.” After the school year ends, Jeremy suggests to his mom, “This summer why don’t you assume that I’ll procrastinate and I’ll assume that you’re ticked off at me? That way, you won’t have to nag and I won’t have to wonder if I’m in trouble” – and Connie is worried because “that almost makes sense.” In fact, a lot of things in Zits almost make sense – both in the writing and in the often-surrealistic art. When Jeremy and Sara call each other names (“immature,” “chicken,” “pig” and so on), the dialogue has the ring of reality, and the drawings – which show the characters changing into whatever they are called – add hilarity. It is this sort of thing that makes Zits a treasure of a strip – even more so in “Treasury” format.

     Mutts is precious, too, in both senses of the word: valuable and almost a little too sweet. Patrick McDonnell both write and draws the strip, so it is clearly 100% what he wants it to be; and what he wants is the most animal-friendly comic around, involving not only domestic creatures but also wild ones (such as tigers and other endangered species) and semi-wild ones (suburban denizens such as squirrels). McDonnell’s art, with its clean lines and abundant white space, is something of a throwback, and it is clear from the cartoonist’s introductory Sunday panels – which often pay loving tribute to great comics and “high art” of the past – that this is exactly how he wants his comic to look. McDonnell frequently gives his central characters, Earl the dog and Mooch the cat, week-long or even longer adventures, although they are not very adventurous in a traditional sense – instead, they are explorations of topics from a variety of angles. In Stop and Smell the Roses, for example, Earl and Mooch try to figure out how to hibernate; quotations from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Evelyn Waugh and others are used as reflections on Valentine’s Day and the animal-human relationship; other quotations (from Albert Einstein, John Muir and others) are used to reflect on “Earth Days”; a beach vacation features the ever-irascible Crabby the crab; and so on. Mixed in with these multi-day sequences are single-day jokes, such as a Sunday strip in which Mooch gets an “arm extender” so he can reach items on high shelves and knock them off, and a weekday strip each of whose three panels represents one-third of a sofa over which one of Mooch’s alleged owners (one never really owns a cat) is climbing to search for the exercise DVD that Mooch has hidden. Other strips feature Mooch as “the Shphinx” that “sees all, knows all”; McDonnell’s regular “Shelter Stories” sequence that encourages adoption by having animals plead their case directly to comics readers; Bip and Bop, the squirrels who constantly bonk other characters with acorns; and plenty of warmth-filled lines, such as the perpetually chained-up but nevertheless sweet Guard Dog’s thought, “The chain’s around my neck, not my heart.” McDonnell lays things on a touch too thickly at times, but the strips that cloy are more than compensated for by the ones that amaze – such as a Sunday sequence of Earl and Mooch riding a toy car through all sorts of far-flung landscapes, ending up in what can only be Coconino County from George Herriman’s famed Krazy Kat. McDonnell knows his history, his art, his characters and his readers, making Stop and Smell the Roses a very worthwhile stopping point indeed.

(++++) OUTDOOR DOINGS

A Garden of Opposites. By Nancy Davis. Schwartz & Wade. $10.99.

The Bug Book and Bug Bottle. By Hugh Danks, Ph.D. Workman. $13.95.

     A thoroughly charming way to teach young children the concept of words with opposite meanings, A Garden of Opposites uses familiar outdoor sights, plus drawings somewhat reminiscent of the work of Lois Ehlert, to showcase differences. “Short,” for example, is a squiggly bug that looks a bit like a slug, except with tiny legs, while “long” is a snake – same basic shape. “Big” is a huge green beetle, “small” a six-spotted ladybug. “Dull” is a trowel, “sharp” a pair of garden shears. Nancy Davis gives kids more chances to think things through than do many authors of “opposites” books. At the end, for example, a little girl stands in a garden, holding a jar that contains butterflies, and the word is “in.” It takes a moment’s thought to realize that the word refers to the insects in the jar. Fold out the full-page flap – the only flap in the book – and the word becomes “out,” as the girl releases the butterflies and runs happily through the grass as they fly away. That foldout also contains a challenge to find other opposites – a nice way to end a book that teaches an important concept and then gives young readers a chance to find out for themselves whether they have understood it.

     And speaking of bugs and gardens, The Bug Book and Bug Bottle is a delightful hands-on exploration tool for any budding entomologist (author Hugh Danks is one) – or just for kids who want a closer look at the innumerable insects that live all around us. The kit – packed in a sturdy, nicely designed, cylindrical plastic bottle – includes the bottle itself, a magnifying glass, a 110-page book with information on 47 common insects and suggestions on how to catch and care for them, a bug identification chart, and a small journal for taking notes on these denizens of the backyard. Well illustrated and packed with information, the kit explains exactly what bugs are and discusses their extreme importance to the environment. The instructions in the book are straightforward and easy to follow: “”Make the bug feel at home. Create a miniature habitat… Any bug found feeding on a leaf should be given the same kind of leaf.” There are, of course, admonitions to avoid bugs that can hurt you – there is a special symbol to show which ones those are. And there is interesting information on every insect mentioned. For example, “the leafhopper uses a sucking tube to feed on sugary plant juices, which pass rapidly through its body. The bug converts the sugar it doesn’t use into a sweet liquid called honeydew; it drops this liquid onto plant leaves, where ants and other insects eat it.” Danks shows kids where to find bugs beyond their yard, too: in fields, woods, at a pond and elsewhere. The identification chart is easy to carry (it folds neatly into the bottle or fits in a pocket), and its full-color pictures make it simple to use. The “bug journal,” with spaces to write about bugs and draw pictures of them, is a nice touch. And the bottle even has a measuring tool on top, in both inches and centimeters. The Bug Book and Bug Bottle is a clever, scientifically accurate and easy-to-use introductory guide to a large number of fascinating creatures – and a great thing to give children who are trying to figure out what to do outside during the spring and summer.

(++++) SF OF THE MIND AND BODY

Genesis. By Bernard Beckett. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. $20.

The Repossession Mambo. By Eric Garcia. Harper. $7.99.

     Brain adventures can, in the right hands, be far more exciting than body adventures, even in the SF field. Bernard Beckett’s Genesis is a book in which very little actually happens, except to a limited extent in flashbacks; yet it is a tremendously stimulating short novel that raises complex and profound questions about human beings, intelligence (artificial and otherwise), power and numerous other subjects. It is far and away a better book than the very good but much more typical chase-scene-filled The Repossession Mambo, although Eric Garcia’s novel would translate much more readily into a film (and will: a movie is already in the works).

     Genesis is the story of Anaximander, who has applied to admission to an extremely powerful and highly secretive organization called The Academy that stands at the pinnacle of her society. The book follows, hour by hour, her four-hour entrance examination, which consists of answering intense and probing questions posed by a three-member panel while presenting an extended thesis on her chosen subject. That subject is Adam Forde, a long-dead progenitor of the current society who, even though he died at age 19, made decisions with consequences that have continued to reverberate until Anaximander’s time. The nature of those decisions, the reasons Adam made them, and their importance, are revealed only gradually as Anaximander presents her arguments and analyses to The Academy, whose society was built on the ruins of one that attempted to implement in the real world Plato’s philosophy-based Republic from ancient Greece. Anaximander must explain to The Academy – and to readers – how that prior society worked and why it failed, and how Adam played a major role in its undoing. Then she must explain Adam’s punishment for what may or may not have been a crime: to interact on a 24-hour-a-day basis with a failed (or at least incomplete) experiment in artificial intelligence, a mobile being known as Art. Beckett, a genetics researcher as well as a novelist, knows exactly what he is doing in choosing names such as Adam and Art – and Anaximander, who in our world was a Greek philosopher with a strong belief that nature, like human societies, is ruled by laws, and that anything that disturbs the balance of nature does not last long. It is entirely in line with the real Anaximander’s teachings to discover that the fictional Republic of Genesis failed by disturbing the balance of nature. But what of the fictional Anaximander’s own society – one in which, by the way, her tutor is named Pericles? How does The Academy preserve it? Does it preserve it? And what was the true genesis of Anaximander’s society, and how does it relate to the differences and similarities between human and artificial intelligence? In fact, what exactly are those differences? These are disquieting questions, and Beckett’s answers (and refusals to answer) are more disquieting still. Genesis is an intense intellectual exercise that is not for the psychically or emotionally squeamish. So little seems to happen in it, in the sense of present-tense action; but so much of greater importance takes place that this is one of those novels that continue to resonate long after they are over.

     In contrast, The Repossession Mambo is nothing but action. It started as a short story and has also existed as a screenplay, and it is easy to see how it could become a slam-bang action film, maybe even (if well enough made) a cult classic along the lines of Blade Runner or Minority Report, both of which it strongly resembles. This is not a book that will stay with you after you finish it, but it is one of those thrill-a-minute rides that offer plenty of excitement while they endure. The “repo” here is not of cars but of bodily organs: the underlying assumption is that, in the near future, you can replace just about anything with a nearly indestructible artificial copy, provided you pay (and pay and pay and pay) for the replacement. Payment goes to an organization called the Credit Union, and if you balk or go broke or stop paying for any reason whatsoever, a Bio-Repo agent comes after you and cuts you open, pulls out the organ in question, and leaves you very dead. The book is the story of a top-notch Bio-Repo man named Remy, who has gone through five marriages, been knocked unconscious four times, is distanced (deservedly, as it turns out) from his one child (by his third wife), and is very good at what he does – until he finds himself a target for bio-repossession of his artiforg (artificial organ), his heart. “Let’s face it: Anyone who keeps knocking back the booze even after they’ve been fitted with an artiforg doesn’t deserve a whole lot of dignity in death,” opines Remy early on, in what passes for introspection. Later, when he is twelfth on the Hundred Most Wanted List and fleeing for his life, he gains no significant additional insight, although at one point he does say he has learned “to see color in a world that used to be so perfectly black-and-white.” But as Remy chronicles his life on the run (using an old manual typewriter, of all things), readers do learn more and more about the culture of Bio-Repo agents – not only the rough camaraderie but also the tremendous potential for abuse of trust, which in Remy’s case has to do with his best friend, Jake, who (in the tradition of many stories of this type) ends up being assigned to hunt Remy down. The twists and turns here are expertly done, although mostly to be expected; the novel gets a (+++) rating as a fast and furious read packed with considerable intensity – even though its plot and all its characters ultimately turn out to be forgettable.

(++++) PERIODS OF ADJUSTMENT

The Secret Lives of Boys: Inside the Raw Emotional World of Male Teens. By Malina Saval. Basic Books. $25.95.

The First Year: Autism Spectrum Disorders—An Essential Guide for the Newly Diagnosed Child. By Nancy D. Wiseman. Da Capo. $16.95.

     Ten boys in ten chapters. “Madolescence” as shorthand for “male adolescence.” Chapters called “The Mini-Adult,” “The Sheltered One,” “The Rich Kid” and “The Gay, Vegan, Hearing-Impaired Republican.” It is almost as if Malina Saval wants not to be taken seriously. But The Secret Lives of Boys is a very serious book indeed, and its content is much better than some of the excesses of its presentation. Saval profiles 10 boys ages 14 to 19, largely in their own words but with plenty of connecting copy and interpretation. The boys’ own comments are by far the most valuable thing here. “The Rich Kid,” 18-year-old Preston, was clinically depressed a couple of years ago and “started viewing myself as a tortured artist and I looked up to quote-unquote other tortured artists like David Lynch, Quentin Tarantino, Robin Williams, and Tom Cruise.” This is a much better and more interesting revelation than the oh-so-superior reaction of Saval, who has an MFA degree from the University of Southern California School of Cinematic Arts: “That he considers Tom Cruise a ‘tortured artist’ could be the most curious discovery of my fact-finding mission on the secret lives of boys. I can do nothing to mask my visible disappointment.” But, see, this is not, or is not supposed to be, a book about Saval, and it is a much better book to the extent that she keeps out of it and lets the boys reveal what they choose to about themselves, their worldviews, their opinions, their fears and worries. Christopher, the 17-year-old “Gay, Vegan, Hearing-Impaired Republican,” comments, “I don’t have a lot of experience with people bashing me because I’m gay, and my hearing impairment might have something to do with that. Those who do approach me are those who wouldn’t be inclined to believe those misconceptions about deaf people anyway, so I get a ‘purer,’ if you will, crop of friends.” Aziz, a 17-year-old practicing Muslim whom Saval labels “The Average American Kid,” talks about the importance of fitting in: “If you want to avoid the stereotyping, you have to mesh as much as you can, but without losing your entire identity. This goes for everyone, regardless of religion. It’s a delicate balance. Also, if you want to be social, don’t go home at 2:30 after school. Join a club. Join a sports team. The key is to get involved.” Tyrone, who at 19 is a father and has been to prison for drug possession, says, “I kind of fight myself a lot to change a lot of things. I’m sure there is a way out, but when you grew up seeing one thing, that’s kind of what you move towards.” The boys’ comments in The Secret Lives of Boys are far more revealing, interesting and sometimes even profound than Saval’s heavy-handed analysis and the predictable remarks by psychiatrists and other adults. It would be a mistake to think that Saval’s book provides good generalized insight into today’s teenagers – she has chosen her subjects far too carefully for that, as she tries to include one of every “type” she can while insisting that these boys are not “types” at all. But what is so good in this book is the chance to hear a variety of different teens, from a variety of different backgrounds, facing some similar challenges and many different ones, and handling them (for the most part) with much greater maturity and thoughtfulness than most media coverage of teenage boys would lead a reader to expect. Yes, the boys’ comments are edited and arranged by Saval, but enough comes through of these teens’ personalities to show that they are all seeking ways to handle the difficulties of their lives and to move past the tough times into what each hopes will be a better future – however defined.

     One boy in Saval’s book, 16-year-old Nicholas, called “The Troublemaker,” turns out to have ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) with “signs” of ODD (oppositional defiant disorder). A diagnosis of this sort can follow a child throughout life, affecting his or her ability to get jobs and health care and resulting in a world in which the child is thought of as if the disease defines him or her. This is even truer when a child is diagnosed with autism or a related condition – the subject of the newest entry in The First Year series. Nancy D. Wiseman, founder and president of a nonprofit group called First Signs, Inc., that focuses on educating parents and professionals about early signs of autism and similar disorders, takes parents step by step through the difficulties associated with understanding autism and helping a child who has it. Wiseman clearly knows this subject inside out – perhaps too well for many parents, for whom even the hint of this diagnosis is likely to be frightening enough without all the detail that Wiseman provides. For example, Wiseman explains that it is important to rule out other possible diagnoses in order to be sure that a child does indeed have autism. She then lists 20 disorders to be ruled out, ranging from early-onset childhood bipolar disorder to Fragile X syndrome, Landau-Kleffner syndrome and selective mutism. Just reading the list and going to the book’s glossary to find out what the disorders are may prove overwhelming for worried parents. In another section, about obtaining services under the federally funded Early Intervention program for infants and toddlers with disabilities, Wiseman says “the process is quite simple” for obtaining help – and then gives a 14-point list of things that have to happen, several of which are acronym-heavy and complex. In reality, it is complex, time-consuming, difficult and potentially overwhelming to try to understand autism and related conditions, to accept this type of diagnosis for your child, to understand the lifelong implications for the child and the rest of the family, and to try to develop a treatment program. The complexity of Wiseman’s book is thus in large part a reflection of the complexity of the situation. Certainly it is helpful that she addresses such realities as the financial burden of caring for an autistic child – although the figure of “easily upwards of $70,000 a year” will likely only upset families even more than they already are. Likewise, her chart of treatments and goals is well-designed and carefully organized – but parents facing its subdivision into five categories with a total of 29 treatment elements, each with three goals, will likely cringe. Wiseman deserves great credit for pulling together so much information on such a difficult subject. Parents dealing with a child’s autism will find a great deal of highly useful information here. But this may not be the best place for parents facing such a diagnosis to go first, since the matter-of-fact, even clinical tone – while wholly appropriate for the information being disseminated – will likely to be off-putting to families already facing deep and severe distress.

(++++) OPERATIC RESCUES

Beethoven: Fidelio. Andrew Kennedy, Lisa Milne, Brindley Sherratt, Anja Kampe, Peter Coleman-Wright, Nathan Vale, Anthony Cleverton, Torsten Kerl, Henry Waddington; Glyndebourne Chorus and London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Mark Elder. Glyndebourne. $29.99 (2 CDs).

Wagner: Lohengrin. Kwangchul Youn, Johan Botha, Adrianne Pieczonka, Falk Struckmann, Petra Lang, Eike Wilm Schulte; Prague Chamber Choir, NDR Chorus, NDR Radio Choir Cologne and WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne conducted by Semyon Bychkov. Profil. $50.99 (3 SACDs).

     In one of those ironies with which the operatic world is rife, the greatest surviving example of French rescue opera is in German. Beethoven’s Fidelio follows its formula closely, and in the wrong hands comes across as rigid: Leonore, disguised as Fidelio, is perfectly pure and the epitome of wifely duty; Florestan, imprisoned for boldly stating some never-identified beliefs that put him at odds with authority, is perfectly put-upon and a supremely devoted husband; Don Pizarro, Florestan’s enemy, is evil simply because he is evil; and Don Fernando represents mercy from the king because kings are supposed to be merciful. It takes really committed performers to break through these emotional straitjackets, and the new, live Glyndebourne recording is fortunate to have that sort of commitment at all levels. Anja Kampe brings fire and fervor to the role of Leonore/Fidelio – and also shows a touching vulnerability that is missing in other sopranos’ handling of the role, notably when she thinks she recognizes her chained and emaciated husband but is not quite sure. Torsten Kerl is appropriately distraught and subject to moments of alternating hope and fear as Florestan, although his voice is too strong to be that of a long-imprisoned, nearly starved victim (a flaw more in the role than in his handling of it). Henry Waddington is a forceful, upstanding Don Fernando, and Brindley Sherratt makes Rocco a far more human and humane jailer than in most productions – he is not merely following orders; he is trying to figure out why he must. The one significant weakness here is Peter Coleman-Wright’s portrayal of Don Pizarro, and this seems to be more a flaw in the recording than in his singing. There is something pinched in the audio when Coleman-Wright sings – his boasts and his hatred of Florestan sound as if they are being sung well but are curiously muffled, as if he is placed farther from the microphones than any other solo singer. Indeed, there are other recording oddities, such as sound effects that are much too loud for the music (knocking on a door during the overture, stage movements during the march in Act I). Nevertheless, this Fidelio packs an emotional punch, and the Glyndebourne Chorus is particularly good. Mark Elder has an excellent sense of pacing, making the opera into a unified whole rather than a series of episodes through well-chosen and well-contrasted tempos. And kudos to Glyndebourne for including the complete libretto, with translations into English, French and Italian side-by-side with the original German.

     The full libretto is included with the new Profil recording of Lohengrin, too, but it is arranged oddly: the entire German text is offered, followed later in the booklet by the entire English translation, and still later by a version in French. This makes following the opera’s progress line by line difficult if you are not fluent in German – but it is one of the few flaws in an otherwise excellent production, presented in really top-notch SACD sound. Lohengrin is a rescue opera in its own right, but formulaic it decidedly is not. There is considerable complexity in this story, even though Wagner was just 35 when he wrote it. It requires multiple levels of suspension of disbelief: the audience must, among other things, accept trial by combat as an accurate way to assess truth, and move willingly into a world in which perfect obedience and restraint are the only ways to ensure what has the potential to be an ideal marriage. Preventing Lohengrin from seeming a mere fairy tale is by no means easy, but Semyon Bychkov’s knowing conducting goes a long way toward doing so by letting the music sweep listeners inexorably into the story. And the singers really inhabit their roles. Adrianne Pieczonka manages to make Elsa simultaneously naïve and strong, even though she fails the ultimate test that Lohengrin poses. Johan Botha sings the title role with power and majesty – his ardor seems genuine, making his necessary abandonment of Elsa at the end all the more tragic. Petra Lang’s rich mezzo-soprano turns Ortrud into a force to be reckoned with, and it is scarcely surprising that Falk Struckmann as Friedrich is badgered and ultimately overwhelmed by his wife’s sheer power. Add a stately performance by Kwangchul Youn as King Henry and some powerfully declamatory singing by Eike Wilm Schulte as the King’s Herald, and the result is a Lohengrin that rarely flags throughout its three-and-a-half hours (it is, happily, presented uncut). Excellent choral work and fine playing by the WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne abet the strong solo performances to produce an interpretation that effectively mixes Wagnerian power with a very human sense of pathos.

(++++) SECOND ACTS

Janáček: Orchestral Suites from the Operas, Volume 2—Kát’a Kabanová; The Makropulos Affair. New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Peter Breiner. Naxos. $8.99.

D’Indy: Orchestral Works, Volume 2—Symphony No. 2; Tableaux de voyage; Karadec. Iceland Symphony Orchestra conducted by Rumon Gamba. Chandos. $18.99.

     These second volumes in series devoted to particular composers’ orchestral works continue and expand upon the promise of the first entries. Peter Breiner is in the midst of a three-volume set of orchestral suites he has assembled from Leoš Janáček’s operas, and here as in the first volume (which included Jenůfa and The Excursions of Mr. Brouček) he shows himself to be an adept arranger and a fine conductor of his countryman’s music. The suites this time are arranged a bit differently from those in the first volume. The one from the tragic Kát’a Kabanová more or less follows the action of the story, as did both suites in the earlier volume, although here Breiner’s choice of multiple excerpts that include the work’s ominous eight-note timpani strikes makes the suite even darker and more claustrophobic than the opera itself. This is a deliberate decision on Breiner’s part and is certainly not a flaw, but it gives the suite an intensity and strong focus that the somewhat more sprawling opera lacks. The suite from The Makropulos Affair is a bit more problematic, since here Breiner substantially deviates from the opera’s sequence in order to fashion a more dramatic work – and one which, incidentally, also emphasizes ominous timpani strokes, which the composer used frequently in his operas (but more sparingly than it would seem from the music Breiner selects). Listeners unfamiliar with The Makropulos Affair, and even many who know the opera, will not be bothered by Breiner’s decision here to create a suite with as much cohesion as this one has: it begins with a sense of glory for central character Emilia Marty (Elina Makropulos) in her long-ago days as an opera singer – a musical element that appears near the end of the opera, as a sort of flashback – and ends with a different sort of triumph when Emilia rejects a potion to extend her long life further and decides to die naturally. Thus, the suite both begins and ends with music from the opera’s conclusion, with various elements of the story sandwiched in between. Breiner’s approach to all these suites, which involves using originally vocal material converted into purely orchestral form, results in a kind of “opera without words” that effectively conveys much of the power of Janáček’s writing. The fine playing of the New Zealand Symphony adds to the suites’ effectiveness.

     New Zealanders playing Czech music and the Iceland Symphony beautifully handling some very French works – orchestras are nothing if not international in orientation these days. Conductors, too: Rumon Gamba is British, but his feeling for Vincent d’Indy’s music is strong and intuitive. Last year’s first volume of Gamba’s survey of d’Indy’s orchestral works included Jour d’été à la montagne, La Forêt enchantée and Souvenirs, showing d’Indy both in his musical maturity and in his earlier phase, when he was heavily influenced by Wagner. In the second d’Indy volume the whole orientation is Romantic, with the latest work here – Symphony No. 2 in B-flat – dating to 1903, but being constructed very strongly on mid-to-late-19^th-century lines. This is a big symphony and a very well-made one, with a huge number of tempo changes within movements (d’Indy was a stickler for such things) and considerable use of leitmotif-like mottos that recur and are developed skillfully. The symphony often sounds darker and more sinister than its B-flat major tonality would indicate, thanks in part to d’Indy’s choice of instrumentation – the melancholy solo viola in the third movement, for example. This is not a forward-looking work – d’Indy was as conservative musically as he was in his strict Catholic theology – but rather is a strong assertion of the importance of maintaining structural ideals in the face of the rise of Impressionism and other post-Romantic trends. Gamba takes the work at face value – it is not, in the final analysis, argumentative – and presents it with a pleasing mixture of fervor and dignity. He does very well with the two earlier, smaller works on this CD, too. Tableaux de voyage is an 1892 arrangement for orchestra of six pieces from a 13-piece set for piano that d’Indy wrote in 1889. Largely solemn in mood, the work expresses d’Indy’s feelings during hikes through Germany’s Black Forest and Tyrol regions. The sound here is sometimes simple, notably in a Schubertian trumpet melody in a section called “La Poste,” but d’Indy’s frequent forays into minor keys, and his sophistication in repeatedly recalling earlier themes during later sections, give the work a level of gravitas. This is notably lacking in Karadec, a lovely little suite for small orchestra that d’Indy composed in 1890 based on his music for a play by André Alexandre. By turns martial, gentle and jaunty, and always melodious, Karadec provides a fine encore-like conclusion to a CD that otherwise leans toward d’Indy’s serious side – and will make listeners eager to hear more of the music of this underperformed composer.