27 September 2020

Sequestering Arts | A Little Music, A Little Theater

Illustration from
J. J. Grandville's Un autre monde (1844)
Sequestering Arts | About this intermittent series

With the world in lockdown due to Covid-19 (<-- link to the CDC info site), many people are struggling, practically, emotionally, and creatively. As a long-time creative & librarian I thought I might be able to help by doing what I do best: finding/sharing information. My goal is to provide links to interesting, comforting, & creative online resources that you can explore & enjoy while home- or place-bound.
  • Mary Pappert School of Music | Duquesne University
    Music on the Bluff - Virtual Series

    Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyejVSw0ivQBeIiC7wa2lN1nsBljMSIiB

    [From website] "Beginning in September, we will release a new Bluff Series video on the Mary Pappert School of Music YouTube channel that will feature the talents of Artistic Director and pianist, David Allen Wehr, along with our all-star faculty, members of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, and internationally-renowned guest artists."
    • Sonata for Cello and Piano (Debussy)
      Fri Sep 18th - Thu Oct 15th 
    • Première Rhapsody for Clarinet and Piano (Debussy)
      Fri Oct 16th - Fri Nov 20th

  • Ralph Zurmühle | Composer & Pianist
    Live Recording Session at Little Big Beat Studios

    [Video description] "
    Video of the full program performed in the live recording session on the 19th of August 2020 at Little Big Beat Studios in cooperation with Tangente, Eschen/FL. There is a unique silence in such a recording session, a silence that is challenging, intense and at the same time extremely inspiring - one can literally hear the drop of a needle. The connection between performer and audience is intimate through the use of earphones and both journey together, moment by moment… with every key touched, every note played and every melody transmitted.

    [From website] "The Swiss composer and pianist was born in Zürich and grew up mainly in Liechtenstein. He graduated from the University of Zürich and lives in Spain. Ralph discovered his natural ability for the piano at the age of five. He fostered his talent over decades with jazz and classical music training in Zürich and Liechtenstein. Imbued with subtle changes of tempo and nuance, crossing various musical genres, Zurmühle’s compositions maintain the intuitive feeling of improvised music. With great sensitivity to touch, he combines fluidity and freedom with refinement and development, resulting in graceful melodies, sublime sound textures and introspective ambiences."

  • Beall & Finch
    Playlists: https://www.youtube.com/c/BeallandFinch/playlists
    [From website] "Jesse Finch and Rosalind Beall are two guitarists who enjoy playing classical music and also writing their own music (with classical, folk and singer-songwriter influences)."

* * * * *

 Procession of Characters from Shakespeare's Plays | Link/Info below

"I don't think people should bother to read Shakespeare.
They should see him in the theatre. Reading just reduces him to an examination subject."  

~ Sir Ian McKellen (Source info below)

  • Shakespeare's Globe Theatre | Romeo & Juliet |
    Available: 9/28/2020 - Feb Half-Term 2021

  • Sadler Wells Theatre
    Sadler's Wells Theatre is a performing arts venue in Clerkenwell, London, England. Noted on 9/10/2020 (What's On Stage). They are set to reopen for public performances and will be releasing archived shows online. See their website for show info.

  • Cirque du Soleil | 60-MINUTE SPECIALS
    See their playlist of 1-hour specials here:
  • The Curve Theatre (Leicester, England) | My Beautiful Launderette
    Available until the Curve reopens
    Hanif Kureishi's play based on his Oscar-nominated screenplay, featuring original music from Tennant/Lowe of the Pet Shops Boys. Omar Malik and Jonny Fines star in the production, filmed at Leicester's Curve theatre in 2019.

  • Clock Productions (Chicago, IL, US) | Black Joy
    [From website] "BLACK JOY is a World Premiere featuring a variety of original scenes, songs, and spoken word pieces, all written and performed by Black artists. The festival will have a Facebook premiere on October 9th and also be available to stream here on the website from October 9th thru 23rd. Tickets are a Pay-What-You-Can donation.Adapted and Directed by Clock alumna Kayla V. White, BLACK JOY takes a physical and emotional journey through the seasons, sharing stories about being Black in America."

  • St. Ann's Warehouse (Brooklyn, NY)
    • Julius Caesar | October 9–15
      [From website] "Harriet Walter, Jackie Clune, and Jade Anouka star in Phyllida Lloyd's all-female production of the Shakespeare play, filmed in December 2016 at the Donmar Warehouse King's Cross in London."
    • Henry IV | October 16–22
      [From website] "Harriet Walter plays the title role in Phyllida Lloyd's all-female production of the Shakespeare play, filmed in December 2016 at the Donmar Warehouse King's Cross in London."

Other posts in this series can be found via this link.


Source/Image Credit
  1. The Telegraph. "Sir Ian McKellen: Don't bother reading Shakespeare." By Patrick Foster,  27 Oct 2015.
  2. Procession of Characters from Shakespeare’s plays, c 1840  | William Shakespeare | Signature from Last Will  

02 September 2020

Cool Book: The Four Profound Weaves: A Birdverse Book by R.B. Lemberg


The Four Profound Weaves Book Cover

This morning I read R.B. Lemberg’s novella, The Four Profound Weaves (San Francisco: Tachyon, 2020.) [1] I expected not to like it but I hoped, very much hoped, that I would.

Reader: I did, very much did.

I expect to not like most things I read. I am, as I noted in this essay, an angry reader. It is my private idiosyncrasy. It tends to flare more often when I read fiction. Non-fiction, it seems, just annoys me as it is often a matter of sloppy thinking, bad-writing, incorrect information, etc. (though I draw the line at plagiarism). These are not good things, but I tend to cut a non-fiction writer a little slack. The younger ones anyway. Experienced oldsters should know better and deserve every ounce of flack thrown their way.

Poets get all the slack and all the love from me. Poetry is its own universe. I go there, I write there, and I know that the poet’s mind is the mind of an artist who, as Ursula K. Le Guin noted, goes

into the gap between . . . . They go limping and weeping, ugly and frightened, and they come back with the wings of the redwing hawk, the eyes of the mountain lion.” [2]

Fiction writers, many of them anyway, are artists too. And I try to temper my readerly temper on their behalf. Writing isn’t an easy craft. I know this. So to come upon a story that takes me into it then lets me walk back into myself and back again, well, it’s a rare work that can create that two-way bridge and make it an easy yet challenging walk.

R.B. Lemberg’s The Four Profound Weaves is such a story. I am a long time reader of Ms. Le Guin. Her work is crafted down to the molecules as writing and to the subatomic in terms of story. One feels utterly held by her. Lemberg’s novella holds a comparable easeful regard of its readers while pushing, pushing that deeply reflective quality one hopes to find in works of imagination. There is world building and there is cosmology. Lemberg has managed to do both and, fittingly, woven them together so that each one is visible, yet not, while informing the other.

I will not summarize the story. Other reviewers have done this better than I could (See Foreword Reviews or Publishers Weekly). My intent is to relay my immediate response as a reader. (I literally read it this morning.)

For me the heart of a fiction work is character. I want to know the persons almost more than I want to know the plot in which they are encased. So I am sensitive to point of view. As a reader I typically balk at first person narration. It is too easy, I think, for the author to channel themselves. Solid, credible first person point of view is hard to master.

Lemberg does master it, twice, their chapters alternating between two trans “elders,” former/current friends, who travel together on a quest to find the aged aunt of one, a legendary weaver. One, Uiziya, seeks to know how to weave a carpet of bones, the other, nen-sasaïr, the so-called nameless man, to learn their new name. By narrative necessity their tales overlap, but who they each are, who they perceive themselves to be, what their respective “mission” is, what they each hope for, is succinctly delineated. They are different people but their cultures overlap, they have awareness of the other cultures. So it could have happened that Lemberg’s “first persons” could have sounded like one person. They do not. And the characters themselves are vividly rendered in voice, movement, beliefs, history, and emotion/psychology. They are real, which is something quite powerful when the story is not simply fiction, but fantasy fiction.

Another thing that either catches me or doesn’t are the opening lines of the first chapter. Personally, I hate it when literary agents (on Twitter is where I tend to see this) harp on the importance of opening lines. But they are right for the most part. It’s not simply the content of those sentences, though one hopes they set the tone for the story and, if one is lucky, the whole damn story itself.

The opening two sentences of Four Weaves are “I sat alone in my old goatskin tent. Waiting, like I had for the last forty years, for Aunt Benesret to come back.” I laughed, out loud. For in that split second I recalled the opening lines of three other authors I’d read recently and semi-recently, all trying something similar with varying degrees of—to my eye—success. (Disclaimer: I do not presume that my take is anyone else’s but my own.)

The steerswoman centered her chart on the table and anchored the corners around. A candlestick, a worn leatherbound book, an empty mug, and her own left hand held the curling parchment flat.” 

Matt said you find things. For a living,” the woman said on the phone.

There was a wall. It did not look important.

The first is from Rosemary Kirstein’s The Steerswoman, described as a science fantasy novel. It is the first of a series. Established here: who, something of a setting, an overall tone, and that wonderfully curious phrase, “her own left hand.” [3] The opening description was slightly cliché but that single phrase--her own left hand--caught me. It was a quality of character subtlety that intrigued. Going forward, I read the first three books, I was very much intrigued by the tale but the writing kept tripping me. Description overrode things, the “own left hand” turned out to be a phrase quirk and no more. The story got lost in the telling. I didn’t read book four and book five has yet to be completed.

The second is from Kristen Lepionka’s 2017 mystery novel The Last Place You Look. Typical noir in cadence, snarkish tone, and an anonymous caller. [4] I know I probably shouldn’t, but I laugh at that noir verbal tic. I can’t take it seriously. I didn’t get beyond the first chapter. I couldn’t, and I wanted to. But time is precious and I only read what I want to read.

The last is from Le Guin’s SF novel The Dispossessed. The cadence is the same as Lemberg’s opening two sentences. Setting, tone, context nailed in nine words. [5] I have read most of what Le Guin has written, fiction, non-fiction, and poetry. I don’t like everything she’s done but I’ve read it. Not simply because she is a master at the craft of writing and an imagineer, world builder, and cosmologist of the highest level. She exudes the power of a soul sorted, explored, and faced with ruthless honesty. I am drawn to her in a way I am drawn to no other author.

Lemberg does that for me and, frankly, I am floored. I came across them only recently and incidentally, someone I follow on Twitter mentioned them. Perhaps they quoted them, I don’t recall but I was curious. I started to follow them and saw mention made and discussions shared about this new work coming out that had a flavor of originality. I am keen for new stories. There was something else, though, a personal grief, which the nature of Twitter meant it was a public grief. I have been touched by the quality of their expressions and efforts in this deeply mournful time. There was grief, but an ineffable connection with life too.

I typically avoid seeking out the personal about an author. I want their stories, I don’t want them. I believe writers, like everyone, are owed their privacy. That I know what I do about Le Guin is mostly due to the scholarly articles I’ve read about her, the personal remarks she makes in her essays and writing instructionals, and Arwen Curry's splendid documentary, Worlds of Ursula K. Le Guin. I honored Lemberg's mourning but did not, as a stranger, want to in any way intrude.

I preordered The Four Profound Weaves and, in awaiting its arrival, did something I never do. I avoided all reviews and all commentary as best I could. I don't mind spoilers, so it wasn't that. It seemed to me that this book might be the kind of book that gave my angry reader self a needed calming down. I have never before so prepared myself to read like this. And I am grateful that I was not disappointed.

I am in the end, I guess one might say, a creature of the work, of deep storytelling, and of imagination. In Lemberg’s novella, I find all three. They craft their writing. There is cadence to the sentences, the narrative flow, and the plot itself. They know how language works to deepen the culture surrounding people and their doings. Character names sound real. The words used to describe artifacts, cultural behavior, the sociology of the different peoples all ring true. With regard to the journey that is imagination, Lemberg bends their mind (and heart too, one senses) into that gap between and emerges with the wings of the redwing hawk. This tale seems to have been torn from their soul.

The Four Profound Weaves is an unexpected gift. In Lemberg’s Birdverse context, I am an elder (though I do not feel like one). I have not felt as young as I do now, as a child looking forward to sitting at their feet, awaiting future tales. I am grateful to know that their stories are and will continue to be told after I am no more.


[1] ISBN: Print ISBN: 9781616963347; Digital ISBN: 9781616963354

[2] Le Guin, Ursula K. Always Coming Home. (NY: Harper & Row, 1985; ISBN: 0-06-015456-X), pgs: 74-75.

[3] Kirstein, Rosemary. The Steerswoman. Published by Rosemary Kirstein. ISBN MOBI: 978-0-9913546-0-3

[4] Lepionka, Kristen. The Last Place You Look. (NY: Minotaur, 2017; ISBN: Print: 978-1-250-12051-9; eBook: 978-250-12052-6) 

[5] Le Guin. The Dispossessed. (NY: Avon Books, 1974; ISBN: 0-380-00382-1)

A Reader with Serious Attitude

Face | Artist: J.A. Jablonski
May not be used without permission

It is likely that I am not the person many writers of books would want as a reviewer. I am, as I describe myself to myself, an angry reader. I am not out to attack anyone when I read, nor am I looking to punch down or up or any which way. Simply put, I wish to be taken, persuaded, challenged, entertained (if fiction), and informed (if non-fiction) and I want it to be done with grace, style, and some measure of verbal power. If this does not happen, due to the vagaries of my psychological and intellectual wiring, my immediate response is the emotion of anger.

I spent many years reflecting on why this is so. It boils down, ultimately, to my two pet peeves: of having my time wasted and of seeing what could have been done well not done well. And I’ve learned how to use this anger, to harness it, be patient with it.

As a long-time writing instructor (of undergrads, master’s and PhD students) I’ve noted that when I am angry it is a sign to back away for a moment then come back with teacherly questions: Why am I angry at this moment? Is it a badly constructed sentence? Awkward phrasing or word choice? Is it a sloppily thought-out concept? Does the thesis or core idea lack credible support? Would I have stated it differently? Do I simply disagree? I am never angry at the person, it is the words, the thinking, the approach that riles me. I use these questions to guide the feedback I give and corrections I suggest. My students have told me they found my commentary always helpful.

As an academic in the Humanities and Social Sciences--a teacher of literary criticism and information organization, an academic librarian (and professor), a one-time theater major, an artist, and a long-time, wide ranging reader--my emotional response to non-student work is more nuanced. I recall telling someone that I find watching live theater so very difficult. If I see a crack between canvas flats in the scenery that should not be there, a hem on a skirt that’s fallen and not been caught for repair by the wardrobe crew, an artifact or prop that does not match the era being staged, or an actor pulling too hard for an audience reaction, I find myself pushed out of the imagination bubble that the play and players want to create for me.

It’s not that I want perfection. Lord no, there are few things that achieve that. 

I saw a play once where an actor, who was to open a scene with the main character, apparently missed his cue, leaving the main actor alone on the stage for nearly 3 excruciating minutes. The onstage actor didn’t miss a beat. He broke the fourth wall and began talking to the audience, in character, explaining why the other character was late, harkening back to the first time they’d met, then detailing how he’d learned about that little personality quirk. On the spot, he created and performed a backstory that didn’t take the audience away from the play and kept them within the bubble of belief. (When the other actor did appear, the audience broke into applause for this little narrative gift, much to the latecomer’s confusion.)

Most importantly, I save my anger as a reader for me. It is my response alone. What it gives me, though, is a sense of immediacy, of intimacy, with the story. What I want is a sense that the person(s) creating the thing are utterly present, that they have seen beyond the bones of plot, of setting, of description, and of character. 

I want to trust the author and, in return, I want them to trust me back and leave me alone with their story and their words. In the end, and I know this as a writer and creative myself, the thing made is no longer yours. The thing viewed, read, or heard by the person at the other end is theirs to be cherished or not, valued or not, remembered or not. The interpretation is theirs. 

The author/artist is something of an angel, certainly they are a gift giver. I like to think my anger honors that. What it does do, is serve as fuel for my respect for those who create in any realm, a respect most profound.

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