Jeremy Eichler, Time's Echo **** 1/2

Time's Echo is a work of history centered on four composers who wrote major works responding to the cataclysm of World War II and the Holocaust: Richard Strauss, Arnold Schoenberg, Dmitri Shostakovich, and Benjamin Britten. The author's thesis is that music transmits complex emotions across time, and that

musical memorials are therefore more meaningful and enduring than stone monuments or new church railings.

I approached the book with some trepidation. Books relating to the Holocaust tend to be uncomfortably impassioned, and the prose in the introduction tended toward the abstract phraseology of Continental philosophy ("Yet it is not just we who remember music. Music also remembers us."). I needn't have worried, though: Eichler manages to stay grounded in realistic detail despite the enormity of the subject and the non-representational nature of music.

Eichler effectively describes how contemporary events and attitudes shaped the music and the audience response to it. I especially appreciated how he shows the meaning of a piece of music seeping in from the Zeitgeist rather than flowing from the composer's explicit intension. For example, he explains how important music is to the German identity and how intertwined were Jewish contributions to that sense of self.

The book presents a clear case for the importance of art in our responding to the world around us. Time's Echo often reads like particularly comprehensive chapters of Alex Ross' The Rest is Noise, a book that continues to rise in my esteem due to how often I think about it. Both books are filled with incidents and episodes that enrich their musicological analysis. My favorite episode in Time's Echo is the world premiere of Schoenberg's A Survivor from Warsaw performed by the amateur Albuquerque Civic Symphony Orchestra. I am also inspired to visit Coventry Cathedral, whose destruction inspired Britten's War Requiem, and to learn more about the European exile community in Los Angeles during the war.

The only thing standing in the way of a full five-star rating is that I am not moved by the music in focus (Strauss' Metamorphosen, Schoenberg's A Survivor from Warsaw, Shostakovich's "Babi Yar" Symphony, and Britten's War Requiem). The only affecting piece that I discovered was Shostakovich's Piano Trio #2.

Roland Allen, The Notebook: A History of Thinking on Paper ***

This enjoyable book is a compendium of musings on the various uses of notebooks. Sketchpads, ships' logs, business ledgers, common-place books, zibaldoni, travel journals, recipe collections, artist/scientist notebooks, diaries. Allen believes that the advent of paper notebooks in the 14th or 15th century enabled new forms of thought; in particular, he believes that notebooks made possible the artistic innovations of the Renaissance.

The subtitle shines a light on the use of notebooks as an extension of our thinking, but many of the included examples show different purposes, such as aides-memoire, contemporaneous record keeping, and social connection. Allen establishes the value of notebooks to the historian more convincingly than he shows their value as tools for self discovery. Expressive writing (like in diaries) is a surprisingly recent development, as is the detailed ship's log. (The log of Magellan's circumnavigation, for example, is notably sparse.)

My favorite sections of the book were those describing the notebooks of specific people, such as the Venetian Michael Rhodes (1434), Adriaen Coenen the King of the Herring (1570), Leonardo da Vinci (1519), and Charles Darwin (1837).

I picked up this book hoping to be inspired to maintain my own notebook(s). There is a chapter that extols the health benefits of writing about your feelings and the psychological benefits of thinking on paper. I didn't find myself inspired. Although after retirement, I may try Julia Cameron's "morning pages" exercise from The Artist's Way (write three pages of stream-of-consciousness each morning).

Marlon James, A Brief History of Seven Killings ****

A Brief History of Seven Killings is a kaleidoscopic epic about rival posses in 1970s Jamaica and the wider forces that fueled their violence. It is not brief (686 pages) and features countless killings. The story covers a couple of decades, but it swirls around one central event: the attempted assassination of Bob Marley in December 1976.

Numerous characters take turns as narrators. Their distinct voices and points of view are the best thing about the book. Many of them use Jamaican patois, with a few explicitly calling out the differences between American and Jamaican slang. The sense of time and place is strong. When we're introduced to the CIA section chief in Kingston, for example, he vividly describes the knock-off fast food restaurant King Burger: Home of the Whamperer. One stylistic decision I found distracting was always referring to Bob Marley as The Singer. It felt like an abstraction in the midst of palpable concrete details.

The story takes place over four time periods: 1976, 1979, 1985, and 1991. The portion in 1970s Jamaica is far stronger with its Cold War politics and local color. When the story moves to 1980s America, it simplifies into a story about the drug trade and loses its distinctive flavor. The narrative voices start to all sound the same; for example, I had a hard time telling the two gay characters apart even though one was a Jamaican and the other was a white guy from Chicago.

Franz Nicolay, Band People ***

Driving home one evening, I heard the author interviewed on KQED's Forum. The book is about the life of working musicians, and the discussion about group dynamics in a (rock) band immediately resonated with my feelings about what's missing in my work groups. Thinking of the technical writer as the bass player in a band is a great metaphor for communicating my views on proper collaborative behavior.

Some bands consider all of their members to be equal partners, others have a core of members supported by "hired guns." Who gets recognized as the artists and who are the (mere) support personnel? The distinction has an impact on how the music develops and, of course, on how the various players feel about their contributions. There is a hierarchy among the instruments, with singers, guitarists, and keyboardists being more recognized as artists than the rhythm section is. (Interesting fact: this discrepancy is enshrined in copyright law, which allows copyrighting of lyrics, melody, and harmony, but not rhythm.) Lou Reed is considered the writer of "Walk on the Wild Side" even though its most distinctive feature is its bass line. In short: session players are vital contributors to the success of a song, but they are sometimes seen as replaceable service providers.

Band People consists of excerpts from interviews with over 50 working musicians, interspersed with material from sociological studies of "cultural production" and workplace relations. The book is written and organized like a college research paper that had one editorial pass. Nicolay arranged his voluminous source material into categories, found an academic epigraph for each category, and threaded the interviews together. The musicians have interesting insights, but Nicolay doesn't construct any arguments or extract any explicit lessons from them.

I found myself attracted to two of the bibliographic sources from which Nicolay quotes: the academic Art Words by Howard Becker and This Wheel's on Fire by Levon Helm.

Daniel Mason, North Woods ****

The main character in North Woods in a plot of land in the forests of western Massachusetts. Each chapter tells the story of the occupants of the land, starting with lovers who flee a Puritan colony and including non-human protagonists such as a catamount, a scolytid beetle, and invasive plants. There are murders, abductions, sibling rivalry, artists, ghosts, a con man, a schizophrenic, stories told in a variety of styles from poetry to conference lecture. It's an enjoyable amalgam whose theme is ecological succession.

The only way to understand the world as something other than a tale of loss is to see it as a tale of change.

 

Ian McEwan, The Innocent ****

When Evelyn and I visited England in 1990, tube stations and bus panels were filled with advertisements for Ian McEwan's new novel The Innocent. It seemed unusual for a book to get so much attention, and in one of my then favorite genres (spy novel). I was excited, but had to wait nearly a year for the book to appear in paperback in the United States.

The Innocent follows a young Englishman assigned to a secret project in the classic espionage setting of 1955 Berlin. A joint American-British team is digging a tunnel into the Russian zone in order to tap their telephone lines. Our hero needs to learn his role and navigate the competing loyalties of his co-workers. He starts an affair with a German woman whose motives we readers are more skeptical about than he is.

The espionage is well handled, although spy novel aficionados might feel there's too much distracting romance. The story takes a genre-shifting turn about two-thirds of the way through, but the twist felt organic rather than a gimmick.

A very entertaining genre novel.

Daniel Brook, A History of Future Cities *** 1/2

A History of Future Cities tells the stories of four cities that were deliberately designed to bring modernity to a self-consciously per-modern society: St Petersberg, Shanghai, Mumbai, and Dubai. All four of these cities are Asian, and they all adopted European models of modernity, so Brook characterizes them as being "purposely dis-orient-ed."

The history of each city is fascinating. I was particularly taken with the story of Peter the Great working incognito as a shipbuilder in Amsterdam, earning his carpentry certificate and determining which aspects of Dutch success to import to Russia. He had his forces capture a Swedish seaport and built St Petersberg.

Making connections between the four histories is left largely to the reader. Brook explains his premise in the introduction but leaves his arguments implicit during the narratives. I enjoyed discovering the similarities in how the cities developed but would have liked to hear how Brook interprets the variations. For example, St Petersberg and Dubai were created by their rulers while Shanghai and Mumbai were colonization projects; how does this difference affect their development?

The book raises two main questions:

• Is "modernization" equivalent to "Westernization"?
• Can traditional societies and authoritarian regimes modernize without losing their traditions or power?

Brook does not attempt to answer these tough and still-relevant questions.