Divided by a Common Literature

     Yesterday I went for my biannual teeth cleaning. Given that, when having your teeth cleaned/examined/otherwise-worked-on, you spend most of your time with your mouth open while gloved fingers grasping various tools muck their way around in it, you can't say an awful lot. You can, however, listen, if your hygienist or dentist is in a chatty mood, as my hygienist was yesterday.

     "Are you a fan of Downton Abbey?" she asked

     "Nng-nng, echh." (That's "Mm-hmm, yes" in teeth-cleaning speak.)

     This prompted a one-sided discussion on social class and snobbery, during which I longed in vain to contribute something other than grunts and whimpers. Even when the tools were withdrawn for a brief moment, it was only so that I could purse my lips around the little suction tube.

     When the cleaning was finally finished and I could speak again, my hygienist had moved on somehow to Persuasion.

     "I tried reading it once," she said, "but I just couldn't finish it. That father! Such a snob!"

     "It's probably my favorite novel of all time," I said, and prattled blithely on to proclaim the book's many merits, Jane Austen's genius, her comical treatment of characters—such as Mr Elliott—who are less than palatable, etc. "It's the kind of novel that's best read when one is older, I think; as opposed to Pride and Prejudice, which easily appeals even at a young age; no, Persuasion is much more autumnal in tone, and her heroine is older and therefore appeals to a more mature reader; I love Anne so much, because she knows very well what her father is, and yet she .... " Blah, blah, blah.

     At one point, I turned into Niles Crane and used the word "milieu"—"Austen portrays her own milieu so well, with such perspicacity, humor, sympathy"—and as soon as the "m" word flew out of my freshly cleaned mouth, even as I continued spouting Persuasion's and Austen's praises, I noticed a certain expression in my hygienist's eyes as they looked down at me over the surgical mask. True, my view of her was upside-down, since I was still prone in the chair, but I clearly saw in her eyes that it was time for me to shut up.

     "Well," she said, rather lamely, "maybe I'll try reading it again."

     I do hope she does. I wonder what we'll discuss at my next teeth cleaning.

    

Saturday Summary

Carl Vilhelm Holsoe
"Lady in an Interior"

 

     I have a predilection for muted palettes, not only in art but also interior design. If there is sufficient natural light in a room, I love the changing color of it during the course of the day, and its influence on the space and the objects in it.

     When a muted palette in a painting is paired with the subject of a lone woman reading or writing in a domestic interior, that painting immediately captures my attention. What I particularly like in this painting is the patch of sunlight on the wall, which gives brightness to the scene without actually adding color. The only other element of light is the gleam of the silver.

     So this painting is what I discovered this week. Also, this past week, I:

     ... wrote another new poem, a sonnet that's a bit non-traditional in the sense that while it's mostly iambic, the lines are not all pentameter; some are longer, others are shorter. And the rhyme scheme departs from the usual Shakespearean and Petrarchan. But it definitely reads like a sonnet. I'm pretty happy with it.

     ... have been listening to Persuasion, read by the excellent Juliet Stevenson (Truly, Madly, Deeply; Emma). Ms Stevenson does a splendid job, though the voice she gives Mary is borderline annoying. True to the character, I suppose. This is my first Austen audio book, actually. I'm enjoying it, but still prefer reading to listening, as reading affords the chance to savor and to read certain striking passages multiple times in succession with more ease. Nevertheless, I will probably be buying more audio books in future. If it's a book you're already well familiar with, it's rather nice to fall asleep listening to it, in lieu of an actual person reading you to sleep. You can always go back to the parts you missed after passing out.

     ... read Guard Your Daughters by Diana Tutton, a light, amusing mid-century novel that has been making the round of book bloggers lately. Very enjoyable, worth the purchase, and a definite candidate for re-reading every few years.

     ... received in the mail Christopher Morley's New York, which I fully expect to be every bit as delightful as his Philadelphia, if not more so. I really must read some of his fiction; never have, not even Parnassus on Wheels or The Haunted Bookshop. At any rate, his essays deserve to be on the shelf of every true lover of literature, maybe not beside William Hazlitt, but certainly beside Leigh Hunt.

     I also received the Hans Hotter/Gerald Moore recording of Schwanengesang, and Schnabel's recording of the Impromptus, to further my recent epiphanic reappraisal of Schubert. I'm learning to love him more and more each day. Another sure sign of middle age.

   

Autumn in My Heart

     It's ironic, and a bit sad, that autumn is my favorite season and I live in a part of the country where it is almost unrecognizable. Except for the slightly cooler temperatures and the odd flame-leafed tree, autumn here is more a state of mind than a season. By the time Halloween comes and images of leering jack-o-lanterns confront me at every turn, reminding me that it is indeed autumn, autumn is already a third gone.

     I like to call it "autumn" rather than "fall" simply because it sounds more poetic, and it is a poetic season. I also like the way the word looks, with the twin "u"s and the side-by-side "m" and "n" that almost make your lips hum just by seeing them; there's a savory, comforting roundness to the letters themselves. The adjective, too—"autumnal"—is a wonderful word to say and see. The stressed second syllable sounds like dry leaves tumbling down the street in a brisk wind, and the "t" amid all those rounded letters is balanced by the noble Doric column of the "l." (Well, it's a Doric column when it appears in a serif font.)

     Why is autumn my favorite season, when I live where it is almost non-existent? That's precisely why. It is a quirk of human nature that the thing most lacking and yearned for is the thing that's most appealing and cherished. "The grass is greener ..." and all that; or, in this case, "the leaves are redder ...." But there is another, more concrete reason: it was in autumn that my life took a definite turn for the better, though I didn't realize it then. Looking back, I see my life clearly divided by that one autumn; everything before it is indistinct, and everything after it sharply focused.

Ricordo

Each year the light of autumn weaves new lace;
Each year the shade of autumn slows the pace;
Each autumn I recall another place,
     Another year.

A time when music sang with sweeter grace,
When music lay in autumn's cool embrace;
The autumn when I first beheld your face,
     And time stood still.

[© Leticia Austria. First published in Dreamcatcher.]

Autumn read: Persuasion. Austen's last novel and my favorite of hers. Anne Elliott is also my favorite Austen heroine. The story of a long-lost but still-alive love restored to a woman who, in that era, was considered to be on the verge of spinsterhood (at the ripe age of twenty-eight), has a strong autumnal slant. Austen's writing, too, is more mellow and reflective here than in her other novels.

Autumn watch: Besides the exquisite 1995 BBC film adaptation of Persuasion, I would choose a comedy like Something's Gotta Give or It's Complicated—both about late middle-age romance.

Autumn listen: Schumann's great song cycle Dichterliebe, or the late Beethoven piano sonatas. Also, Chopin nocturnes and sonatas.

Autumn artist: American Impressionist Edward Cucuel (1879-1954)

"Two Girls in White beside a Lake in Autumn"



"Herbstlandschaft"

 

"Golden Autumn"

 

And my favorite:

"Beside a Lake in Autumn"

    

Film Scores I Love, Part Two

     Okay, it's not a feature film -- rather, they're not feature films -- but Hagood Hardy's scores to Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Green Gables, the Sequel (formerly titled Anne of Avonlea) are so wonderfully winsome, touching, humorous, romantic, and just downright perfect for these mini-series, I just had to include them here.

     Unfortunately, the CD is out of print and extant copies, both new and used, are outrageously expensive (at least from what I saw on Amazon). Shame. At least we still have this beautiful music on YouTube.

     One of my favorite film composers is Thomas Newman, whose most recent credits include The Help, The Iron Lady, and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. But it's his score to the 1994 Little Women that I love best. The titles theme is unabashedly American, almost Copland-esque, with its broad brass and sweeping strings, a perfect musical evocation of this quintessentially American novel and its atmospheric film adaptation.



     Another of my favorites is Patrick Doyle. Who doesn't love the music in the final scene of Sense and Sensibility ? All the music in this film is wonderful, particularly the songs sung by Kate Winslet and, over the end credits, the platinum-voiced Jane Eaglen.



     Speaking of Jane Austen films, I particularly love the songs Jeremy Sams wrote for the 1995 Persuasion, both of them in Italian and both so lovely (though the second one is incomplete), I wish they were available on sheet music. Those of you who have seen the film undoubtedly know the scene where Anne and her family attend a salon concert (" ... to be given in Italian," said Mr Elliott contemptuously ). The first song is repeated over the final credits.

     I couldn't write a post about favorite film scores without including this scene from The Holiday, in which Jack Black, playing a film composer, tells Kate Winslet's character -- in a most descriptive way -- what his favorite film scores are. (Fastforward to about 4:00 for the scene I'm talking about.)





Blogging A to Z: "P" is for . . .

Purses   After 40+ years of using purses, I have yet to find the perfect one. I've had purses that met some or most of my requirements, but not one has met them all.
        I don't understand this recent reign of the short handle. If I carry the purse in the crook of my arm, the handle creates a furrow; plus which, if I lower my arm for any reason, the purse falls to the ground. If I hitch it onto my shoulder, I wind up walking around like Quasimodo in the constant effort to keep it from sliding off the shoulder and, again, onto the ground. If the purse has double handles (another feature I don't understand), the outside handle inevitably droops off the shoulder, leaving the purse to hang precariously from the second, which is kept on the shoulder by means of the aforementioned Quasimodo posture. When it comes time to open the purse, say, to fetch money or a credit card, one must remove the purse from the shoulder and find a place to set it down.
     No, I much prefer the now hard-to-find shoulder strap, long enough to wear "cross-body," which is far more secure and comfortable, and hopefully wide enough not to dig a furrow into the flesh. Thus, both arms are left free to dangle, the hands left free to do whatever hands need to do, and the posture remains straight. When it comes time to fetch cash or card, the purse may be left right where it is; no taking it off and perching it on the counter. Brilliant.
     Then, of course, there's the question of size. For me, it must be roomy enough to accommodate wallet (another item of which I've yet to find the perfect one), small notebook (which a poet is never without), and possibly a book and even my journal. However, I tend to steer clear of purses the size of tote bags, simply because I'm clumsy enough without having my purse knock over that carefully arranged display of perfumes in the middle of the aisle. 9 x 12 x 5 inches is about as large as I'll go.

Page Turners   They are a mixed blessing. Some pianists prefer not to have them. For me, they were necessary in the performance of chamber music or voice recitals, because I could never trust myself and I had enough to worry about just playing well. But, oooooooh, woe was me if my page turner was less than competent! In that scenario, I found myself worrying about him/her more than my playing. After a couple of near disasters due to a bad page turner, I made certain I either knew my turner well and trusted him, or if he was a stranger, I made certain to brief him beforehand on the technique of turning.
        This technique was taught me by James Dick, when I turned pages for him in a chamber music concert at Round Top. Depending on the tempo of the music, you must judge when is the proper time to stand up: too late, you scramble for the page and distract the pianist; too early, you hover like an ominous buzzard and distract the pianist. Once standing, you take the page by the upper right hand corner and turn it down slightly, in preparation for the turn. At the proper second, which is sometimes gauged by your own judgment, or sometimes by the pianist's nod, turn the page quickly. Quickly. I had a page turner once, a singer, who turned slowly until I told her, before the next piece, to turn fast. She told me afterwards, "I thought if I turned fast it would distract you." No, dear.
        Bottom line--a good page turner is one who doesn't distract the pianist.

Perfect Pitch   Another mixed blessing. Although. . .I've always wondered, how can pitch be "perfect" when the standard for tuning varies throughout the world? And what about Baroque pitch? A modern "a" at 440 is not the same as a Handel "a" at 415 or 410.
        When we did Dido and Aeneas at HGO, I was chorus master. The piece was done at a very low 392, which is almost a whole step lower than modern pitch. We had to use a synthesizer in chorus rehearsals, so that my pianist could turn the pitch down via the handy transposition gauge, rather than transpose the whole piece on the piano. I was driven nearly mad, looking at one key on the page and hearing another from the chorus and synthesizer. I wound up having to "transpose" the score in my mind as we rehearsed.
        When I first started playing organ at Mass, Sister Teresa, our cantor, asked if I could transpose some of the hymns down, as the average age of our congregation is about 75. I was in a conundrum: I can't transpose at sight, unless it's simply turning flats into sharps or sharps into flats; but I couldn't use the organ's transposition gauge, because it drove me crazy to play one key and hear another; I kept wanting to play in the key I was hearing! So Sr. Teresa and the poor congregants had to squawk and squeak on the high notes. As the years passed, however, I've found that using the transposition gauge is not nearly as problematic as it used to be. In fact, I now use it quite often.
        All of which got me thinking: is perfect pitch merely a result of conditioning and not, as I was told, something one is born with? If I had grown up with A=392, would I still have "perfect" pitch?
        If perfect pitch is a result of conditioning, is it then true, as I have read and heard, that one can lose one's perfect pitch? In my present life, i. e., post full-time professional musician, I no longer practice daily (I don't practice at all!), or indeed, listen to music daily. As a result, I've found that my pitch is not as "perfect" as it once was. I can no longer pick pitches out of the air with great accuracy, or hear keys in my mind's ear; I can't even always identify keys and pitches when listening to music I don't know. Consequently, and somewhat surprisingly, I'm generally much more relaxed. Of course, I can still tell when a singer is out of tune, and that makes me nuts to the point where I have to turn off the TV or radio. And I can sometimes tell if a recording is high; for instance, if I'm listening to Beethoven's C minor Concerto and the recording sounds like C-sharp minor. But I've learned not to let that bother me too much.

Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice   Pride and Prejudice was the Austen novel I learned to love first; Persuasion is the Austen novel I've since learned to love most. Logical, really. The former fairly sparkles with humor and youthful emotion; the first blush of romance colors its pages; and Elizabeth Bennet is the kind of girl you not only want to hang out with, she's the kind of girl you always wished you were. The tortuous progress of her relations with Darcy never fails to thrill, even after the hundredth reading.
        Persuasion, on the other hand, is autumnal in tone; while not lacking in wit and comic characters, it is generally more serious and introspective. It's a story for every sentimental spinster like me to sigh over. Anne Elliot is now my favorite Austen heroine because she is the one I identify with and understand most. Some readers favor heroines that possess qualities to which they themselves aspire; I tend to favor those with whom I have qualities in common, but who ultimately triumph over, or despite, them.
        Of course, I love all of Austen's novels, but Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice remain my top two favorites, followed by Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Emma, and Northanger Abbey, in that order.

Perspicacity vs. Perspicuity   Finally, a little lesson in vocabulary. "Perspicacity" is keenness of mind, understanding, and discernment. "Perspicuity" is clearness or lucidity, as in a statement. Class dismissed.