The Director’s Chair – March 2017

Clive James is dying and has been for the past six years. In April 2011, he was diagnosed with B-cell chronic lymphocytic leukemia. He felt himself to be near the end of his life in 2012. However, as of February 2017 he is still here, writing a column in The Guardian entitled “Reports of My Death” that covers…well, whatever he wishes to write about. This is good news, to me at least, to have such a person around: someone who can write and think and who has something interesting to say. If you need any proof of his abilities in all those areas, pick up a copy of Cultural Amnesia (there is also what I would call a companion volume, Cultural Cohesion, that would do the same). Any book that juxtaposes “Terry Gilliam” and “Joseph Goebbels” in the contents can’t be bad.

James is not the only one in this class. Kurt Vonnegut used to be such a writer. Though gone now, his works are still here and questioning our motivations and circumstances. How we see the world around us and how we act in reaction to that world view can have far reaching consequences. Vonnegut’s Player Piano gives us a dystopian view of a future where technology has had a negative impact. However, one person’s dystopia is another person’s utopia. In Arrival, we get to see ourselves as the ultimate barbarians. We can say we never know enough about life, the universe and everything (to steal from Douglas Adams). This is the premise of Arrival, one of the more intelligent films I have seen in a long while.

There is not a lot of respect for learning in this country, though I am not sure why. Learning is about just that…learning. It is not about being ‘sure’ or being ‘right.’ Any time I think I am right about something I either try to test the idea or read more. Learning is just a way to get the tools one needs in order to think. I can’t think in a vacuum. And sometimes I am too lazy to go get more information. Shame on me. So I read magazines and the New York Times in order to find out what is going on in the world, and I read books like the ones below in order to stay sane. I write about them because…I might as well. I read to help me think. I write to see what has become of all that reading. Thanks for your indulgence.

 

A list of material read, listened to or watched:

Natasha’s Dance: A Cultural History of Russia     [947 F471]
Figes, Orlando

Arrival     [DVD AR]

Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts     [909.0982 JAM]
James, Clive

The Early Middle Ages     [Great Courses 940.1 DAI]
Daileader, Philip

Short Stories in Novels & stories 1950-1962     [Vonnegut]
Report on the Barnhouse Effect; EPICAC; Unready to wear; Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow; Harrison Bergeron; 2BR02B.
Vonnegut, Kurt

The Hollow Crown     [DVD HO]

 

Since at least the eighteenth century, the Russian view has been that the West represented decadence. In those days, France represented the loose morals and soft adherence to high culture that a part of Russia felt was decadent, even as another part of Russia wanted to be just like the French. And so today, we find Russian criticism aimed at America and American culture as being the source of all that is corrupt in the world, even as a sizeable number of them try to absorb as much of it as they can. The more things change…

What makes reading Natasha’s Dance so fascinating is that the culture it describes has always been so fertile, yet so lacking in confidence. In this, as in so much else, Russian culture has a lot in common with America. The stereotypical Russian is loud, emotional, crafty and devout. The stereotypical American can be described the same way. Russian literature of the nineteenth century was epic (War and Peace), intense (Crime and Punishment), and probing (Fathers and Sons); it could be tied to history and the land (the works of Aksakov and Turgenev) or viciously satirical of life in general (the works of Saltykov-Shchedrine or Goncharov). American literature of the same period was epic (Moby Dick), intense (The Scarlett Letter), tied to the issues of the day (Uncle Tom’s Cabin) or satirical (the works of Edgar Allan Poe). What they lacked in similarities they more than made up for in sympathy. So why has there always been such antipathy between Russia and the West?

I trace the conflict back to Peter the Great. He was the one who went on a trip to Western Europe and decided that Russians needed to catch up with ‘civilization.’ In founding St. Petersburg, the young tsar managed to create a schism both in the country and in the psyche of the Russian people. That being said, the dichotomy has been a good one for Russian art and culture. There have been two distinct schools of Russian literature since the nineteenth century: one classical in nature and realist in philosophy and originating in Alexander Pushkin (it includes Tolstoy and Turgenev); the other more baroque and fantastical and originating with Nikolai Gogol (it includes Dostoevsky). Visual arts have struggled between the more classical approach of European art and an adherence to nativist subjects and sympathies.

Orlando Figes has done an interesting job of analyzing the many facets of his subject. There can be no doubt that there are similarities between Russian and American cultures, but like any good family it is the dissimilarities that make it interesting.

The quest for power has always been a bloody one. Shakespeare made a career of charting the uses and abuses of power (Macbeth, Titus Andronicus, etc.), mainly because he was reflecting the anxieties of his time. Elizabeth I was nearing the end of her reign, but she had no clear heir. Consequently, there was a great deal of uncertainty as to the future of England.

Shakespeare wrote two tetralogies on leadership and kingship. It was almost as if he was trying to show through the popular entertainment of the day how England could go one way or the other after Elizabeth. The second tetralogy is made up of Richard II, Henry IV parts 1 and 2, and Henry V. Here he showed how a great ruler (Henry V was seen as uniting England after years of unrest) can arise out of uncertainty. The first tetralogy, made up of Henry VI parts 1, 2 and 3, and Richard III, shows how evil can arise from weakness. The portrait of Richard III that emerges in Shakespeare’s play represents that evil and its ability to derail the state.

The Hollow Crown is a distillation of the plays in the first tetralogy and does an effective job of combining storyline (it is quite violent) with Shakespeare’s poetry. Admittedly, the three parts of Henry VI are not of Shakespeare’s best work. They tend to be static and can be long-winded. However, Richard III is a wonderful play. In The Hollow Crown, Benedict Cumberbatch plays Richard III with such intelligent malice that he rightly steals the show. Why is it we love such evil characters? Is it cathartic? Do we long to be bad?

The Hollow Crown is long (6 hours), but worth every minute as a reminder of how corrupting the desire for power can be. But not only that, it is a cautionary tale of how our desire to believe and to accept political theatre can lead to chaos. As humans, I think we have an innate need to believe in something greater than ourselves. We would do well to question such desires.

Player Piano was Kurt Vonnegut’s first novel. I have read some of his others. Slaughterhouse-Five is a masterpiece. Player Piano is, in my opinion, not, though it is a solid story. I think the problem with Player Piano is one of pacing. I found the novel dragged through the first one hundred pages, so I switched to reading his short stories, which are far superior and represent some of Vonnegut’s best work.

Vonnegut used science fiction to address some of the social issues of his day. While that was common enough, it is interesting to see how the themes of his short stories echo concerns that are still with us today: e.g. overpopulation, the proliferation of war, political correctness. One of my favorite Vonnegut short stories is “Harrison Bergeron.” It is set in a world where everyone is supposedly equal. Even though there are people who are more intelligent, talented, or capable, the United States Handicapper General has devised rather sadistic methods for leveling the playing field. A beauty is forced to wear a hideous mask; a person with a high IQ is forced to wear a headphone that disrupts his thoughts every twenty seconds with a mind-numbing blast. Mediocracy reigns until the title character appears.

All of the stories in this volume were written around the same time as Player Piano, but they are tighter, better constructed. The focus makes them that much more enjoyable. They remind me a little of Chekhov’s work, but then I guess all good short stories should. Vonnegut was a master, so even if you are not drawn to his novels, look for his stories.

I like books like Clive James’ Cultural Amnesia. They offer a means of poking around history in order to discover unknown players, as well as discovering new information on known players in world history. Since these are not biographical essays, but rather digressions, James can take us anywhere he will. And he does. That is another reason why I enjoy his books so much. Not only can I be introduced to someone like Georg Cristoph Lichtenberg, an eighteenth-century German philosopher, but I get to take the associative ride that James takes the reader on. Sometimes it can be a wild ride (so much so that one can forget who the essay being read is about) which can be a drawback if I want to learn more about the subject. However, I spent most of my time tracking down many of the works mentioned in the text to see if I wanted to follow up on them, and in many cases I did.

The reader can use a book like this simply to get to know more about some of the great personalities in history (e.g., Charles Chaplin, Ernst Junger, Egon Friedell), as well as some scoundrels (e.g., Josef Goebbels, Grigory Ordzhonokidze). I knew something of about half the names in the index, but there were few I had ever read a biography of (in my opinion, well-written biographies are few and far between). James includes entries for four of my favorite filmmakers (Cocteau, Fellini, Chaplin and Gilliam), which makes me all the more curious as to what he would have had to write about Kurosawa or Renoir or Bergman. One could spend a lifetime following up on some of the names, but I am grateful to have had the opportunity to learn about Manes Sperber (his three volume autobiography is two-thirds fascinating), the “cabaret star and polymath” Egon Friedell, and the reluctant general Isoroku Yamamoto.

James puts forth his book as something of an argument against totalitarianism and for liberal democracy. As he sees it: “Procrustean enemies of our provokingly multifarious free society are bound to come…What they hate is the bewildering complexity of civilized life, which we will find hard to defend if we share the same aversion.” With the current aversion to knowledge and expertise, a fear of multiculturalism around the world, and a misguided conceit that all knowledge can be found on the internet, ergo we do not need to learn anything, many have fallen into a lazy, self-satisfied trap of ignorance. Wake up! “There is too much to appreciate…The real adventure is in what we do to entertain ourselves.” As we know, education is everything.

In the film Arrival, the ‘Other’ has indeed arrived. They are from outer space and the world would like to speak to them, mainly in order to find out how much danger it is in. We are a suspicious species. Each country’s army is in charge, in America and around the world, of the twelve landing sites of the others. At first the different countries involved share information in order to facilitate an understanding of this puzzle of communication. The Americans bring in a linguist and a physicist in order to lead contact with the visitors. Then something happens. China gets spooked and becomes hostile to the others. Russia joins them. Time is running out. What is to be done?

This is the surface story of the film Arrival. There is not much action, except for a rogue army response to escalating tensions. The real story of the film is one of time and our perception of time. I don’t want to give too much away, except to warn you to stay awake. Despite appearances, there is a lot going on in this film and Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner give outstanding performances. Forest Whittaker is in it, too, but I hardly recognized him. See it.

Finally, I want to highlight the Great Courses collection. The library has many roles it plays and those roles have changed over the years, but continuing education has always been and continues to be a prominent one. You can learn many things thanks to the collections, both actual and virtual, that the library makes available. One of our finest has to be our Great Courses collection.

In this era when anyone can post on internet and claim expertise, these courses actually are conducted by real college and university professors. Some of them are very entertaining (John McWhorter comes to mind), some can be a little annoying (Robert Greenberg has an odd sense of humor, but a great grasp of his subject), most of the presenters inspire confidence in the listener or viewer that they know what they are talking about. Will you agree with everything they say? No. But then you shouldn’t. This is a great place to begin to learn about linguistics, Russian literature, strategic planning, science, or any number of other topics.

I listened to Philip Daileader, a professor from William and Mary College, as he taught the history of the Early Middle Ages, essentially the history of Europe from around 300 to 1000. It is an overview, 24 lectures lasting each around 30 minutes, so he does not get much time to delve deeply into a topic. I wanted to learn more about “athletes of God,” the Carolingian Empire, and the Vikings (a particular interest of mine). Still, this course is an ideal stepping-off point for anyone interested enough to continue pursuing a history of the middle ages. The booklet accompanying the course has a very generous bibliography, so even though the course was recorded in 2004 it can serve to point the way towards more recent scholarship in the field. I learned a lot from the course, and that is always the goal.

That’s enough for this month. I read a little bit more than this, e.g. The New Yorker, Atlantic Monthly, the Christian Science Monitor, and the New York Times on a regular basis just to keep up with things. I did watch some interesting films, too: The Hollars, The Brand New Testament to name just two.

No, librarians do not sit around reading all day. We do, however, have the good fortune to work in a place where fascinating things come past our noses. Some are hard to resist.

The Director’s Chair – February 2017

Let’s face it: we know little of our own history. In an era when some people cannot identify the current Vice-President of the United States, never mind the name of the Secretary-General of the United Nations or the current Chancellor of Germany, it is not surprising that some of the major historical figures, both famous and infamous, have become less distinct in our collective memory. One of the reasons I read authors such as Clive James and Tony Judt is the intelligent ‘conversation’ they engender between writer and reader. Like good teachers, their writing arouses curiosity. I have been extensively educated (which has made me very good at certain trivia games), but I had never run into Manes Sperber, Leszek Kolakowsi, or Egon Friedell until I listened to Tony Judt (see below). Alternately, I admit that I do not know much about baseball, so I have spent February brushing up on a lot of things. Below is a list of a few of them so, play ball!

 

What I read, watched or listened to:

Red Harvest   [HAMMETT]
Hammett, Dashiell

History of Baseball in 100 Objects: a Tour Through the bats, balls, uniforms, awards, documents, and Other Artifacts That Tell the Story of the National Pastime   [796.357 LEV]
Leventhal, Josh

Reappraisals: Reflections on the Forgotten Twentieth Century
Judt, Tony  (available on audio through Hoopla)

Voronezh Notebooks   [Poetry 891.713 MAN]
Mandel’stam, Osip

 

“I first heard Personville called Poisonville by a red-haired mucker named Hickey Dewey in the Big Ship in Butte. He also called his shirt a shoit. I didn’t think anything of what he had done to the city’s name. Later I heard men who could manage their r’s give it the same pronunciation. I still didn’t see anything in it but the meaningless sort of humor that used to make richardsnary the thieves’ word for dictionary. A few years later I went to Personville and learned better.” So begins the story of the Continental Op coming to town and blowing the place wide open in Hammett’s Red Harvest.

The Continental Op (short for operative) was Hammett’s (author of The Maltese Falcon and The Thin Man) most durable creation, appearing as he does in two of his novels (the other is the Dain Curse) and in numerous short stories. He is described as short, pudgy and calculating; the perfect hard-boiled detective to come out of the pulp fiction detective genre of the 1920s and 30s.

Red Harvest was Hammett’s first novel and in some ways it shows. The action is lean and powerful at the beginning, but as the story progresses it gets bogged down in Hammett’s ultimately successful attempt to clarify his convoluted storyline. There is a high body count here, but most of the action happens away from the narrator, mainly because it is the result of the Op’s machinations.

Personville was a dirty town and someone had to clean it up. The Op was hired to do so after his original employer was gunned down before he even got to meet him. What follows happens fast and furious; it is a fun ride, but could have been improved with a bit more detail. One has to wonder if there are still small towns out there just like Personville. As an introduction to Hammett’s work, a reader could do no better.

Poetry can be very tricky to translate. This is because, at its best, poetry is language pared down to its essence. It can involve the reader emotionally or intellectually or visually, or any combination of the three. Reading poetry requires patience and imagination and concentration. It requires taking the time to read slowly. It is also meant to be heard aloud, and you can find plenty in downloadable audio through Hoopla and Overdrive (accessed through the library’s website).

Osip Mandel’stam (1891-1938) was a Russian writer who lived through some of the more turbulent times of twentieth century Russian history and who ultimately fell victim to the autocratic paranoia of Josef Stalin. As a poet, he is considered by many to be world-class. The reason why many English readers have never heard of him is because his work is especially difficult to translate. Good poetry can be particularly difficult to move from one language to another; great poetry, almost impossible.

Voronezh is a small town south of Moscow, essentially in the middle of nowhere. It was a good place to put internal exiles, which is why the Mandel’stams ended up there in 1935 after Mandel’stam’s arrest. The Notebooks were composed between 1935 and 1937, after which the couple was allowed to return to Moscow. Mandel’stam was arrested again after returning to Moscow and was sent to Siberia. He was never heard from again. No one knows when or where he died.

It was just luck that Mandel’stam’s poetry from the Voronezh Notebooks even survived. He was a literary star in the twenties, persecuted by Stalin during the thirties, and forced to live by doing translations. It was his wife, Nadezhda, who memorized his poetry while in exile, in order to ensure its survival. These days, it is good to remember that words have power over autocrats and that poetry can be more of a weapon than any bullets (the Russian have known this for a long time).

“When a child first begins to smile
The bitter and the sweet part company,
And the sober limits of that smile
Open, oceanic, into anarchy.”

“I’ll marvel at the world a little more,
The kids, the snow,
But like a road, a smile’s authentic,
Disobedient, no whore.”

We should make a point of embracing poetry. It forces the reader to slow down and think. Mandel’stam’s poetry puts the reader right in the middle of his exile, his ability to connect without a filter to the world around him. These poems are not about great events in history. They tell the story of one intelligent man’s survival in a world made hostile by politics. Andrew Davis did a marvelous job of translating them.

 

Given how American baseball is considered, it is interesting that the History of Baseball in 100 Objects goes all the way back to 1301 to begin its story, and then reaches even further into history: “References to ancient Egyptians playing stick-and-ball games can be traced to about 2400 BCE as part of religious rites and also simply for fun.” It took America to make it a religion again.

Every lover of the game really should own a copy of this book, rich as it is in the mystique and lore of America’s national pastime. Though the first 50 pages or so linger on the pre-history of pro ball (Did Abner Doubleday really invent baseball?), the real action begins with the Cincinnati Red Stockings Game Ball from 1869 and goes all the way to the World Baseball Classic Championship Trophy of 2013. Along the way we are shown “Shoeless” Joe Jackson’s shoes, the home run crown of the immortal Babe Ruth, Roberto Clemente’s 3,000th hit bat from 1972 and, my favorite, the National League Championship Series ticket of 1969 (the New York Mets won the series that year).

I am not a big fan of baseball, so I learned a lot from this book. Though the Negro Baseball League was active in the 1930’s, the first black player played for the Toledo Blue Stockings in the 1880’s. Ball parks only began to use lighting after 1935. The first televised game was August 26, 1939 and AstroTurf was first put in use in 1966.

If you are a student of the game, you might know most of the information in this book, but the illustrations alone make it worth perusing. Baseball has had a significant impact on the American psyche. It is a game we may have forgotten how to ‘play’ in recent years. We should relearn.

Tony Judt’s Reappraisals is more than just a reprint of book reviews and articles that first appeared in newspapers or journals. In it, he expresses his purpose as bringing the past “into sharper focus.” The reason, as he saw it, was: “Not only did we fail to learn very much from the past—this would hardly have been remarkable. But we have become stridently insistent—in our economic calculations, our political practices, our international strategies, even our educational priorities—that the past has nothing of interest to teach us. Ours, we insist, is a new world; its risks and opportunities are without precedent.” Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but explaining why requires readers giving careful consideration to his words and connecting the dots. History may be taught as a series of wars and dates, but it is actually made by personalities and thinkers, many of whom most of us have never heard.

Arthur Koestler was a political theorist and writer. He was once a communist (as were a few of Judt’s subjects in this book), which may explain why he is seldom spoken of these days. The author of such minor classics as The Ghost in the Machine and The Sleepwalkers, he did produce one lasting work of greatness, Darkness at Noon. Still, his impact on Zionism and Communism in the mid-twentieth century was felt equally via his presence as well as his writings.

Primo Levi was an Italian writer and chemist (is he well-known in this country?) who wrote eloquently of his experiences as a witness during World War II. “Like all such witnesses, of course, he wrote both to record what had happened and to free himself from it (and was driven forward be the sense that he was doomed to fail on both counts).” His testimonies highlight the benefits of revisiting historical, social and political movements.

Manes Sperber was a Jew from the shtetl who became an intellectual and a Communist in Germany in the 1930s. He wrote a three volume autobiography and his experiences show that then, as now, society and history are always in flux and that security is often an illusion. Sperber was, “constantly tempted by “knowledge,” only to shrink away from it, wary of its illusory quality, skeptical about its philosophical and historical adequacy.” He shared not only his Jewishness with these other individuals, but also the struggle for cosmopolitanism, intellectualism, and sanity in a world racing ahead of them.

These three, along with others (e.g. Hannah Arendt, Eric Hobshawn, Leszek Kolakowski), make the case for Judt: “The extermination of the past—by design, by neglect, by good intention—is what characterizes the history of our time. That is why the ahistorical memory of a marginal community that found itself in the whirlwind may yet be the best guide to our era.” Shining a spotlight on various moments as he does (e.g. France in 1940, Israel in 1967), Judt is able to lead the reader deeply into his subject. By doing so, he illustrates not only his own deep knowledge of his subjects, but also the vital uses of such knowledge. The world is a complicated place.

The only way to make sense of the world today is to read. Read newspapers, histories, novels, and even some websites. Challenge preconceived notions. Hold ideas up to scrutiny. There is evil in the world, but it is rarely pure. There is good in the world, but it is rarely innocent. Lift every rock. You may be surprised what you find underneath.

What the Director’s Reading – January 2017

Winter is the perfect time of year to catch up on one’s reading. Dour days make way for cozy evenings beside a fire or a heating duct, tome in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. Or so perceived wisdom would have us believe. I happen to think that anytime is a good time to read. But not only read. There are just as entertaining/informative/instructive things to listen to, watch or interact with and all can be found at your library or through its website. One can only wonder why more people don’t do so.

There have been a number of studies over the years concerning the benefits of reading, particularly of fiction (check out this article from Psychology Today). Just recently, I read in the New York Times how challenging your brain will keep it healthy (NYTimes, January 1, 2017, on Page SR10 of the New York edition with the headline: How to Become a ‘Superager’). I enjoy a challenge. Heck, I already play the ukulele! So I made a New Year’s resolution to read a few books each month and then to write about them (writing helps me remember what it is I read). Contrary to what people think, librarians do not get to sit around and read all day, except for the odd professional article or two. This is a window into how I spend my free time.

A list of material read, listened to or watched:

The Pioneers; or the Sources of the Susquehanna; a Descriptive Tale (1823)   [F Cooper]
James Fenimore Cooper

The Wandering Scholars of the Middle Ages (1932)        [871.0309 WAD]
Helen Waddell

Nutshell (2016)      [F McEwan]
Ian McEwan

My Brother’s Book (2013)   [811.54 SEN]
Maurice Sendak

Marian McPartland’s Jazz World (2006)
Blackstone Audio (available through Hoopla)

I don’t know if I had read Last of the Mohicans before seeing the most recent film treatment of it by Michael Mann. That was a terrific film, but its storyline was actually based on a 1936 film treatment of the novel. The only other book I had read in the Leatherstocking series (there are five of them) was Deerslayer, the fourth in the series and having the youngest representation of the character Natty Bumppo, alternately known as Hawkeye, Deerslayer or Leatherstocking. The others are The Pioneers, The Prairie, and The Pathfinder. The Pioneers was the first one written by James Fennimore Cooper, in 1823, and includes the character of Natty Bumppo as a man of 70.

The Pioneers is the story of the clash of two ways of life. Set in and around the town of Templeton, the picaresque storyline concerns the interactions between those living in the town, representing ‘civilization,’ and those living outside in nature. ‘Civilization’ has come rather recently to these environs and often clashes with the more ‘natural’ way of life embodied in Natty Bumppo and his friends. Though Cooper’s sympathies can be a little ambiguous at times (one gets the impression he grew up in just this type of ‘civilized’ environment on the edge of the wilderness), his resolution of the story seems to reflect the struggle of a young country with just these type of issues.

The Pioneers starts off slowly, as is typical of Cooper’s conversational style of writing and as he establishes his many characters, but once it gets started the story holds interest. I get a good sense from this story as to why he was the most successful American writer of the early nineteenth century. His characters are interesting, though a bit stilted in their delivery. Perhaps everyone back then spoke the way these characters do. Besides that, there are enough real emotions and situations to involve most readers.

The Wandering Scholars of the Middle Ages is a truly fascinating history of scholarship, learning and poetry from the late Classical period through the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance. What I love about this book is the many personalities it highlights (and there are a bewildering number of them; too many to justify a single reading) along with their stories. The Middle Ages was a long times ago, making it hard for us to relate to its experiences and realities. Having someone like Helen Waddell lead the reader through those stories is a unique experience, and one that I will revisit often.

Latin was the lingua franca of scholarship, government and the church of the time and, considering the amount of literature passed down to us, I can imagine that the lives Ms. Waddell illuminates represent a small fraction of this fascinating era. Take, for instance, Paulinus, who lived in Rome in the early years of the fifth century. In his older years, he sold himself into slavery in order to ransom the son of a widow. He was shipped to Africa, but was eventually returned to his life of quiet simplicity when his innate nobility was revealed. Was the story true? The literature of the Middle Ages is full of such stories. Perhaps the question should not be ‘was the story true,’ but what role did such stories play? And what are our stories?

Admittedly, The Wandering Scholars of the Middle Ages is a dense read. Ms. Waddell packs a good deal of information into 240-odd pages. But if you are looking for something completely different, learned but with a dash of humor, this could work.

There is something of Blake in Maurice Sendak’s artwork, at least here in this slim volume. My Brother’s Book tells the story of Guy, who eludes a bear and finds solace under his brother’s protection. The artwork is the interest here. It is more baroque than his children’s book illustrations and the story might be considered a bit less accessible than Where the Wild Things Are or I Saw Esau, but it might be the best introduction to an exhibit of his works coming to the library this summer.

Nutshell is the first novel by Ian McEwan I have ever read, but it will not be the last. He is the author of The Good Son, Enduring Love and, most notably, Atonement, which was made into a movie in 2007. He is a very thoughtful, articulate Englishman if the The Paris Review is any indication. They published an interesting interview with him in issue 162, “Ian McEwan, The Art of Fiction No. 173.”

I cannot write too much about the story of Nutshell, since I don’t wish to give away any of the story. Suffice it to say that it concerns a love triangle: Trudy, the wife of John, and John’s brother, Claude. Oh, and the story is narrated by Trudy and John’s unborn child.

Yes, the premise is preposterous! The narration is articulate and culturally informed, which makes it all the more absurd coming as it does from a fetus, but then what should we expect? The unexpected is what makes this novel so satisfying, even though the plot is straightforward almost to the point of being cliché. However, the unborn child (never given a name) is like a conscience, an omniscient presence held back from participation in the action by the thinnest of barriers. Still his running commentary on events, based solely on what he can hear and feel around him, is perceptive to say the least. I would like to get to know the kid…after he is born. And I will have to explore McEwan’s other works as well.

Marian McPartland became an institution in jazz during her ninety-five years as pianist and radio personality. She hosted Piano Jazz on NPR for thirty-three years and her guests included the royalty of jazz, piano and otherwise, Bill Evans, Dizzy Gillespie, Mary Lou Williams, Tony Bennett, as well as pop figures, Willie Nelson, Alicia Keyes, and Renee Fleming among them.

Marian McPartland’s Jazz World, an audiobook available through the library’s digital collection on Hoopla (accessed through our website) and narrated by the author, begins as a name-droppers delight. In telling her series of anecdotes, Ms. McPartland lets us into the diplomacy of doing a radio program with a varied array of musicians. The logistics of doing an ongoing radio show are mingled with the sheer joy Ms. McPartland brought to her conversations and playing. She was known to have an encyclopedic command of tunes, seeming to effortlessly reproduce and improvise on any one suggested by a guest, all in a very laid-back and intimately inviting manner. I listened to her show off and on from the late 80’s until her death in 2013 and this audiobook brings me right back to the pleasure of those days in discovering a deeper delight of jazz with such a wonderful guide. Listening to this audio really highlights to me how diverse jazz was and is, and how little I know about the many obscure, but marvelous performers she has stories about.

I love this type of material. It tells me about something I know a little about and gives me a path to follow towards a deeper knowledge and appreciation of its subject. And let’s face it, Jazz is worth delving deeper into.

That’s some of what I read and listened to this month. I’m looking forward to what next month has in store.