Source of book: Audiobook from the library
As a classical musician, this book went on my list as soon as it came out. It sounded like an interesting blend of genres, and a chance to read fiction that actually got music stuff right. (And don’t get me started on all of the god-awful terrible no-good faking that goes on in movies.)
Brendan Slocumb is a professional violinist and teacher, a black man who managed to build a solid career in the extremely white field of classical music. He decided to try his hand at writing, in order to open the world of his experience to a wider audience, and, I think, he has generally succeeded with this book.
Before getting into the book itself, I wanted to note that less than two percent of professional classical musicians are black, and probably lower than that for string instruments. Classical music has been viewed as a white person’s art form for a long time, although when I was a student, Chinese American, Japanese American, and Korean American kids were the bulk of those I played with in young orchestras (again, at least in the string section.) Black and Hispanic classical musicians remain fairly rare, and are rarer the further up you go.
This perception of classical music as a white art form tends to be self-perpetuating. Students who don’t fit the “look” - and often the economic status as well - are not consistently encouraged, and they do not see themselves represented that often. The cycle continues.
As a white kid, I at least looked the part, although our family was consistently lower income than most - all those doctor’s kids had instruments costing four or five figures while in elementary school, while I scraped along with a hundred dollar instrument.
For Slocumb - and his protagonist, Ray - they started out on school rentals, and lacked the family encouragement and assistance that made me the musician I am today. Both the true story of Slocumb and the fictional story of Ray are inspiring, and I truly hope that a generation of black musicians are encouraged by this book to pursue their craft and join those of us making what I believe to be the most beautiful music ever created.
Over the years, I have had the privilege of playing with a number of fine African-American players, and I can confirm that the stories that Slocumb tells in this book match the stories I have heard from my colleagues over the years - including an incident at a hotel that was very much like the book - our orchestra manager (a conservative white woman, by the way) gave the hotel staff holy hell over the incident, and made it clear that we didn’t do that shit.
And the other stories - getting crap from cops, being mistaken for a waiter at gigs, the stereotyping, having to fight for respect at every level - Slocumb’s experience is distressingly common and universal.
So what is this book? It probably is good to set some expectations. It is genre fiction - ostensibly a mystery/thriller sort of book. The writing is mostly good, but there are some clunky moments. I felt that the last bit, with Ray’s successful career, felt like slathering it on a little thick.
The mystery itself requires a bit of suspension of disbelief. The premise is meant to be attention-grabbing: a black kid’s great-great-great-great grandfather’s old violin turns out to be a Stradivarius. And certainly, selling a book about such an instrument being stolen is easier than just a straight-up coming-of-age story about a black violinist as he overcomes poverty, prejudice, and long odds to become a brilliant success.
Which is kind of too bad, because this bildungsroman hidden inside a mystery story is actually the best part of the book.
The ending, too, seemed a bit obvious and a bit contrived. The problem (speaking as one raised on classic British mysteries) is that there are too few suspects. The extremely limited number of people who had the opportunity to steal the instrument means you pretty much know the answer to the mystery from the beginning. I also found the solution to be psychologically unconvincing - a person sociopathic enough wouldn’t just appear seemingly out of nowhere like that, so I felt it didn’t really “work” in light of the rest of the book. That’s my main quibble, and I think it was the result of the mystery being the framing story - and selling hook - for the main story, which is a different sort of book.
Thus, the beginning and the ending of the book were my least favorite parts. It is the middle, where the author goes back and tells Ray’s story, that truly shines.
I also thought a few moments were a little off - Ray’s search of a house seemed a bit illogical in the places he looked that were too small to hide a violin. More than anything, I think the fact that this is the author’s first book shows a bit. The writing is a bit uneven in places, and usually when he is trying to tell the mystery story rather than the musical story.
Many of the incidents in the book actually happened to Slocumb. For example, the time he was unable to get in to play a wedding because the host didn’t believe a black kid could be a violinist. Or the arrest in Baton Rouge by a cop looking to harass black motorists. Or the auditions where the judges openly used racial slurs. Or the assumption that black violinists could only play jazz.
Oh, and also, his own beloved violin was stolen in his senior year of high school. This violin makes it into the story, by the way, as the replacement instrument Ray uses during the Tchaikovsky Competition: a 1953 Eugene Lehman.
Also taken from real life is his mentor and violin teacher Dr. Rachel Vetter Huang, who appears under a different name in the book, and his grandmother, who keeps hers.
The prose in these passages sounds more natural than the mystery passages. They feel more “real,” undoubtedly because Slocumb is simply telling his own story, writing his own life, and channelling the reality he knows best.
For a violinist, the book has a lot of easter eggs. If you know, you know. Slocumb said in an interview that he had to tone down some of the technical stuff so that normal readers could understand it.
There is also a LOT of name-dropping. And by name-dropping, I don’t generally mean people (although there are a few of those, and the joke about Ricardo Muti is delicious, subtle, and unexpected.) What I mean is dropping the names of pieces of music. Slocumb unashamedly talks about much of the standard repertoire of a classical violinist, the pieces he loves, and the ones he isn’t as fond of, and all of the technical demands and rewards of each. If you are, like me, a violinist, this is fun stuff. If you aren’t really a classical fan, well, your mileage may vary.
Conveniently, Slocumb put together a Spotify playlist for the book, with 50 (!) selections. There are some lesser-known gems in there, to be sure, in addition to the works that literally played in my head while listening to the book.
I have done my best here to avoid spoilers, but I do want to mention a few subplots that I thought were fascinating.
First is the way Ray’s generally unsupportive family ends up seeing him as a source of money, once he starts making it as a professional musician. This is a story that is all too common. Certainly, you hear this about professional athletes. And not just African Americans, not by a long shot. People who dismissed all the hard work and commitment suddenly want to take credit when there is money involved.
Second is the subplot involving the Marks family - the descendents of those who enslaved Ray’s ancestor - and the source of the violin. They sue him, claiming it is a stolen work of art. That area of law is beyond the scope of my knowledge, so I can’t speak with any confidence on the legal aspect, but at least the idea of trying to bankrupt a struggling artist with attorney fees until he caves sounds plausible. As does the eventual resolution after a particularly brutal description of the horrors of the enslavement of Ray’s ancestors comes to light. (I believe this too was taken from historical descriptions, although it isn’t clear if it came from Slocumb’s own family history.)
From the viewpoint of cosmic justice, rather than our own legal system, which has never recognized the obvious legal rights those enslaved (and their descendents) should have been able to assert against those who enslaved them, the Marks family should have owed Ray and his family millions of dollars for the labor they stole. Just like Jourdon Anderson should have gotten his own back pay.
In any case, the sense of entitlement the Marks’ have mirrors all too well the experience I have had in talking to white Southerners. Not all, and I know some notable exceptions, but…..let’s just say there is a noticeable pattern. And I do not mean to let people from the North or West off the hook - plenty of racism to go around. But the sense of entitlement - a belief they are owed deference from “those people” - is pretty obvious. But always couched in that lugubrious politeness - some of Slocumb’s best writing is in these passages.
Finally, all of the passages about auditions, performances, rehearsals, and the competition - that’s good stuff that any classical musician will recognize. Ray is world class - Slocumb quipped that he is a bit jealous of Ray - and I am nowhere near that stratosphere myself - but who hasn’t had a flop sweat over an audition? Or had to deal with an arrogant player in youth orchestra? Or had a conductor who took out his personal frustrations over his stalled career by denigrating a guest artist?
In this sense, Ray isn’t “just” a black violinist - although he is that - his character feels familiar to all of us who love the instrument and the music. (And who fan-boy on Hilary Hahn like Ray does…) He is also a well-written character. We get his frustrations, his failings, his triumphs - and we really do have to cheer him on when he stands up for himself. A particularly great moment is when he tells the concertmaster of a small regional orchestra “charity really is a bitch, isn’t it?” echoing her complaints about the “charity” of having to have a black guest artist.
I ended up starting the audiobook on the way down to an LA Phil concert, because my hold came up right at that point. Kind of interesting, although Mahler isn’t really a solo violin composer - unless you count the 2nd movement of the 4th Symphony - tuned up a full step. But classical nonetheless, and also the fact that Gustavo Dudamel is an example of a musician of color who has risen to the top.
The audiobook is read by J.D. Jackson, who is marvelous. He deserves his reputation as one of the best audiobook artists of our time. I’m tempted to listen to one of the Colson Whitehead novels he has narrated, just to hear him do it. (Although Beresford Bennett was so good as well…)
For obvious reasons, I think my musician friends will enjoy this one, but those who like a mystery, or just want a look into a different world from a unique perspective, may want to give this book a try.
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