Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
This novel is by the same author who wrote The Time Traveler's Wife (the book is SO much better than the film!). I had high hopes.
The story is about two sets of twins - Edie and Elspeth, and Julia and Valentina. The latter set are Edie's daughters. Now didn't I read somewhere that twins skip generations in families? Or am I making that up?
Anyway. Edie and Elspeth haven't spoken for many years. Edie lives in the US with her husband and daughters, and Elspeth lives in London, next to Highgate Cemetery. Her companion, Robert, lives downstairs. He is a volunteer tour guide at the cemetery, and he's writing his thesis about its history and inhabitants. Elspeth's neighbor, Martin, lives upstairs. He has OCD. He washes things, counts, enters rooms a certain way, and hasn't left his flat for months. His wife leaves him and returns to Amsterdam at the beginning of the story. She can't take living with him and his illness anymore, especially since he doesn't seem to want to get help for it.
A great deal of the story is taken up with Martin dealing with his OCD and his wife walking out on him. His storyline is the most solidly resolved of all of them in the novel. He is also the most believeable character of them all. It's obvious Niffenegger did a great deal of research to convey the OCD in a way that wasn't creepy or mocking in any way. You understand why he has his odd rituals. You sympathize with him. However, his storyline feels distractingly inserted into the main plotline, and I'm not sure how it's supposed to support the main story. Especially when his son makes a swift appearance at the end of the story and is suddenly a new focus for Julia. That came across as thrown in at the last minute.
Robert, in turn, is also dealing with his grief over losing Elspeth and getting to know her nieces. He eventually finds out what drove Edie and Elspeth apart, and it was something I'd anticipated toward the beginning when it was clear something had happened years ago between them. He goes along with things too easily. He's pining. It gets annoying after awhile. It's also not clear where he gets his income.
Elspeth dies of cancer, and leaves her flat and most of its contents to her nieces, with the stipulation that they live in the flat for a year and that their parents never set foot in it. After the year is up, they can do as they please - sell the flat and its contents and use the money for whatever they want. She also asks Robert to remove some papers from her flat before the nieces arrive. (This is how he finds out her Big Secret.)
Julia and Valentina are just out of their teens. They are extraordinarily close. They do everything together. They even dress the same despite how silly it looks given their age. Julia is the stronger and more outgoing of the two. She is Valentina's protector and sometimes caregiver. Valentina has a weak heart and also has asthma. They are mirror twins, so Valentina's organs are not where they normally would be. Instead, they are are opposite to Julia's.
Valentina isn't too keen on going to London, let alone living there for a year, but Julia wants to go, and they do everything together...
I liked Valentina's character better than Julia's. Valentina's nickname is "Mouse." At the beginning of the story, she is timid and weak. A kitten comes into her life (go figure). She changes and starts to gain some independence. You want to cheer her on. Julia is bossy and can't see beyond her and Valentina spending the rest of their lives together. Any other possibility doesn't occur to her. Even at the end, she is left stunned and disbelieving that things did not work out according to her plan. But then, she never really had a plan, other than maybe getting a dog.
You don't get to know Elspeth well, besides the inventory of what is in her flat and what others say about her. In a way, this makes sense. She's dead. But everyone has a point of view in this novel. To keep her in the story, she finds herself back in her flat after she dies. In fact, she can't leave it. There is very little she can do, other than snooze in a desk drawer. She is glad to see the twins when they finally arrive. She tries to make herself known to them. It takes awhile, but she finally gets through. Valentina can sense her, and even see her after awhile, but Julia cannot.
Valentina becomes friendly with Robert, and Julia does the same with Martin. After hanging around the flat and exploring London, Valentina is the first to get bored. She wants to do other things. Things that don't necessarily involve Julia. A rift starts to form between them, and Valentina becomes obsessed with getting away from Julia and gaining some independence.
Elspeth hovers nearby watching the proceedings. Eventually, the twins are able to communicate with Elspeth via ouija board and automatic writing, although this happened too quickly and conveniently for my taste.
This is also the point where the story started getting weird, and where I stopped liking it.
Now, if Valentina had simply taken her share of the inheritance money and gone elsewhere to start her own life, that would have made more sense in the plot. However, it wouldn't have been much of a story at that point, so I can see why Niffenegger went in a different direction to keep the story going.
No one seems to be disturbed by the ghost thing for long. And lots of people find out about it. That aspect didn't sit right. Neither did everyone only showing the barest amount of reluctance to go along with the absurd plan that develops at the end of the novel. Not enough shock. Not enough "Are you crazy?" and trying to stop it. Again, if there had been, the story would have stopped, and the author was determined to get to the end and wrap things up.
Oh, and about the ending. Abrupt and unsatisfying. Leaves you with a feeling of most of the characters' efforts not being worth it after all. In a way, the ending felt like a set-up for another book, but I doubt that's the case.
The descriptions of Highgate Cemetery reminded me of Pere Lachaise, and I think Robert's thesis might have been an interesting read. In fact, next time I'm in London, I will try to go to Highgate and pay my respects to Douglas Adams, George Eliot, and Christina Rossetti.
I was really looking forward to this book, especially after reading The Time Traveler's Wife. As I said above, I liked it up to a point. But when it started getting strange and absurd, it was too much of a jolt from the flow of the story that had been established and just didn't fit. I don't know if that was sloppy editing or what. I wanted to like this book, but I can't quite bring myself to do it.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
his name is Oscar
Today is my cello birthday. I had my first lesson a year ago today. It's also the day before my dad's birthday, so it will be easy to remember. (And we're glad Dad's still around to have birthdays thanks to open-heart surgery nearly ten years ago.)
Anyway, I've had this new-to-me cello for about a month now. I definitely picked a winner. I play this one far more than I played my rental cello. It's amazing how the quality of something can make you want to use it more, or conversely, can very nearly make you go off it. Simply put, I make a better sound on this one, which is starting to improve my confidence. In fact, I play it so much lately, that the cats have taken to sitting near it as the time approaches for my evening practice. They are very into routine.
It's certainly a louder cello than the rental I was using. I got a new mute for it - the heaviest and most expensive I've come across. I'm hoping it makes my daily practicing more bearable for the neighbors. I got the mute from cellos2go.com, and I'm impressed with their service. Nice people.
And I think my cello teacher has a bit of cello envy. Every lesson, he says, " that's such a nice cello" or "that's really a beautiful cello." That's saying something considering that his cello is a professional-level one, custom made for him and likely costing at least three or four times what I paid for mine. He also gets a kick out of my minty green cello case. He says it has "personality." I'm not sure what sort of personality minty green reflects, but there it is.
My cello's name is probably not a surprise to people who know me, and know my interest in the writings of Oscar Wilde, which started in 9th grade English class after reading The Importance of Being Earnest. As I recall, there were only a few of us in the class who thought the play was funny. (BTW, I think the Colin Firth/Rupert Everett film version is hilarious. It's one of my go-to films, along with Bringing Up Baby and What's Up, Doc?, when I need cheering up.)
Oscar feels like an appropriate name because the original was always looking for beauty and perfection in art and in life, but he tempered it with a sense of humor. Consistently good intonation and rhythm still eludes me, even after a year, but I expected that - the cello is a damn hard instrument to learn to play, and I accept that it will take me the rest of my life to learn to play it well. However, even as frustration at trying to get better builds up, the process of learning and practice is still satisfying, and there are those moments when bad-sounding cello is funny. I suspect that the longer I play, the more I will need that reminder.
Monday, June 21, 2010
murderous book review
The Magnificent Spilsbury and the Case of the Brides in the Bath by Jane Robins
Sounds like a fictional murder mystery, doesn’t it?
Actually, it’s a real case, written as creative nonfiction. Instead of boring, dry statements of fact, books like this are written in more of a literary style, so they read a lot like novels while still being factually accurate. This book does a great job of it. One of the better examples I’ve seen in awhile.
The events take place at the beginning of the 20th century, and the case comes to trial in the midst of World War I. There is a lot of detail given about each of the people involved, written in such a way that you see them as characters in a story.
The background:
A man met a woman somewhere in England and quickly began paying his attentions to her. Their courting was extremely short, and the man soon asked the woman to marry him. He assured her that he had steady work and a decent income that would keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Although she saw little evidence of this and really knew nothing about him, she accepted his proposal. At the time, women had little to look forward to other than working for a pittance that would barely keep body and soul together and/or being a financial burden and embarrassment to their families should they end up as spinsters. A financially poor woman getting on or moving up in the world independently was rare. So marriage, even to an unappealing or unsuitable prospect was, unfortunately, the only way out for most women who were not wealthy.
Before, or very soon after, the marriage, the man asked for whatever money the woman had, which in those days was his right. She turned it over to him without question. Also before, or very soon after, the marriage, he took his wife to see a solicitor and they made their wills, leaving all they each have to the other. Finally, at her husband’s encouragement, the wife asked the solicitor for a life insurance policy, the beneficiary of course being her husband. All this done, the husband made promises of a stable and happy life together, and maybe even some travel to Canada to his new bride.
He took her on a honeymoon in a not-very-exotic British town, and they went looking for a respectable but cheap boardinghouse to room in. The man inquired of the landlords or ladies if there was a bathtub in the house, as he thought it more proper that his new wife have use of a private bath, rather than having to go to a public bath house, which was a common practice at the time. If there wasn't a bathtub in the house, they looked elsewhere for lodgings until they found one that did.
I promise it gets more interesting.
One night, the man found his new wife drowned in the boardinghouse bathtub. Shortly before this, he had gone out to buy something for supper. He and whoever had been called for help tried in vain to resuscitate her. The man mentioned that his wife had suffered from headaches in the preceding days and had seen a doctor. As there were no marks of violence on the wife’s body, nor any evidence of poisoning, the cause of death was determined to be drowning as a result of a sudden fit or faint. She was quickly buried in a cheap coffin in a common grave at the man's request. He left the boardinghouse soon after.
And the kicker:
This tragic scenario occurred in 1910, 1913, and 1914 to the wives of Henry Williams, George Smith, and John Lloyd. As it turns out, these three men were in fact one man going by different names. His real name was George Joseph Smith.
To mangle a speech from Lady Bracknell to Jack Worthing in The Importance of Being Earnest: To lose one wife in such a manner may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose three looks mighty suspicious.
Enter Detective Inspector Arthur Neil, the first person to make the connection that something is amiss. The trouble is, with no marks of violence on, nor evidence of poisoning in, any of the three victims, how could Neil prove they were murdered? At most, he could charge Smith for false signatures on documents because of the aliases.
That’s where Bernard Spilsbury came in – a doctor specializing in the new science of forensics, which at the time, was not thought of as reliable evidence. He was almost creepily obsessed with his profession – dissecting dead bodies in the morgue, and conducting chemical experiments in his home lab late into the night, keeping careful, detailed notes on what he found. He was called in to perform post-post-mortems on the exhumed bodies of the wives, and his testimony at the trial was the making of him.
What I appreciate most about the book is that Robins doesn’t shy away from pointing out the flaws in the investigation and in the conduct of many people at the trial. In other words, she points out that forensic evidence, let alone the manner in which it was presented in court, was certainly not as reliable at the time as we think it is now. (And even now, it often comes under close scrutiny for possible contamination or tampering.) Therefore, from a 21st-century perspective, the case probably shouldn’t have turned out the way it did.
I’m also impressed with Robins’ characterizations of Bessie, Alice, and Margaret and their families, along with other women in George Smith’s past. You might think they were gullible and desperate women, which naturally is why Smith preyed on them, but they had far fewer options then than women have now, so in the end, I sympathize with them. Smith’s defense lawyer is a master of oratory who could easily sway a jury, and yet, his final opinion of his client isn’t what you expect. The letters Smith wrote, and the ones he made his wives write to their families about how gloriously happy they were with him, reveal an arrogant, bullying, and greedy man (although it's interesting to note that he wasn't getting millions of pounds as a result of their deaths, only a thousand pounds or so from each, but perhaps he thought that would make their deaths seem less remarkable than if he was inheriting gobs of riches, and if he could have gotten away with it on several more occasions, he could have had a very tidy sum eventually). Conversely, on reading Spilsbury’s case cards (which is where things get a bit graphic, just so you know), it’s easy to see why the public thought of him as a real-life Sherlock Holmes.
I admit I don't read much true-crime thriller reading. However, there are two reasons why this book appealed to me when I read a blurb about it in New Scientist.
The first is that, courtesy of my mom, I’ve been watching a series on DVD called Murdoch Mysteries, which takes place in Canada close to the turn of the century. The series is based on books by Maureen Jennings. The main character, Detective Murdoch, is considered an eccentric by his colleagues, not only because as a Catholic, he makes the sign of the cross to himself whenever he encounters a dead body, but also because of his use of the new science of forensics in solving crimes. Since his methods get such good results, the mouthy, temperamental, likes-a-wee-drop Chief Inspector Brackenridge lets Murdoch carry on with his weird experiments, helped along by the good lady doctor working in the morgue and who cracks corny death jokes a lot, and an up-and-coming Watson-like constable who provides a lot of the comic relief. The whole thing is a fascinating look at forensics in its infancy (and Yannick Bisson is some nice eye candy, but they really need to lighten his make-up – he looks overly fake-tanned). The Magnificent Spilsbury is a real-life example of these techniques in use.
The second reason is that the scenario described in the book reminded me of a novel by Gladys Mitchell called Speedy Death, in which one of the characters dies in a similar way with no signs of violence or poisoning. Mrs. Bradley (the detective character) notes the water that splashed on both sides of the bathtub, which helps her figure out how the victim was murdered. The novel was published in 1929, so it’s possible that Mitchell may have heard of the Brides in the Bath case or read about it while doing research. (I make weird connections like this all the time; you get used to it.)
This was absorbing reading – I often extended my lunch breaks at work so I could “read just one more page.”
Sounds like a fictional murder mystery, doesn’t it?
Actually, it’s a real case, written as creative nonfiction. Instead of boring, dry statements of fact, books like this are written in more of a literary style, so they read a lot like novels while still being factually accurate. This book does a great job of it. One of the better examples I’ve seen in awhile.
The events take place at the beginning of the 20th century, and the case comes to trial in the midst of World War I. There is a lot of detail given about each of the people involved, written in such a way that you see them as characters in a story.
The background:
A man met a woman somewhere in England and quickly began paying his attentions to her. Their courting was extremely short, and the man soon asked the woman to marry him. He assured her that he had steady work and a decent income that would keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Although she saw little evidence of this and really knew nothing about him, she accepted his proposal. At the time, women had little to look forward to other than working for a pittance that would barely keep body and soul together and/or being a financial burden and embarrassment to their families should they end up as spinsters. A financially poor woman getting on or moving up in the world independently was rare. So marriage, even to an unappealing or unsuitable prospect was, unfortunately, the only way out for most women who were not wealthy.
Before, or very soon after, the marriage, the man asked for whatever money the woman had, which in those days was his right. She turned it over to him without question. Also before, or very soon after, the marriage, he took his wife to see a solicitor and they made their wills, leaving all they each have to the other. Finally, at her husband’s encouragement, the wife asked the solicitor for a life insurance policy, the beneficiary of course being her husband. All this done, the husband made promises of a stable and happy life together, and maybe even some travel to Canada to his new bride.
He took her on a honeymoon in a not-very-exotic British town, and they went looking for a respectable but cheap boardinghouse to room in. The man inquired of the landlords or ladies if there was a bathtub in the house, as he thought it more proper that his new wife have use of a private bath, rather than having to go to a public bath house, which was a common practice at the time. If there wasn't a bathtub in the house, they looked elsewhere for lodgings until they found one that did.
I promise it gets more interesting.
One night, the man found his new wife drowned in the boardinghouse bathtub. Shortly before this, he had gone out to buy something for supper. He and whoever had been called for help tried in vain to resuscitate her. The man mentioned that his wife had suffered from headaches in the preceding days and had seen a doctor. As there were no marks of violence on the wife’s body, nor any evidence of poisoning, the cause of death was determined to be drowning as a result of a sudden fit or faint. She was quickly buried in a cheap coffin in a common grave at the man's request. He left the boardinghouse soon after.
And the kicker:
This tragic scenario occurred in 1910, 1913, and 1914 to the wives of Henry Williams, George Smith, and John Lloyd. As it turns out, these three men were in fact one man going by different names. His real name was George Joseph Smith.
To mangle a speech from Lady Bracknell to Jack Worthing in The Importance of Being Earnest: To lose one wife in such a manner may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose three looks mighty suspicious.
Enter Detective Inspector Arthur Neil, the first person to make the connection that something is amiss. The trouble is, with no marks of violence on, nor evidence of poisoning in, any of the three victims, how could Neil prove they were murdered? At most, he could charge Smith for false signatures on documents because of the aliases.
That’s where Bernard Spilsbury came in – a doctor specializing in the new science of forensics, which at the time, was not thought of as reliable evidence. He was almost creepily obsessed with his profession – dissecting dead bodies in the morgue, and conducting chemical experiments in his home lab late into the night, keeping careful, detailed notes on what he found. He was called in to perform post-post-mortems on the exhumed bodies of the wives, and his testimony at the trial was the making of him.
What I appreciate most about the book is that Robins doesn’t shy away from pointing out the flaws in the investigation and in the conduct of many people at the trial. In other words, she points out that forensic evidence, let alone the manner in which it was presented in court, was certainly not as reliable at the time as we think it is now. (And even now, it often comes under close scrutiny for possible contamination or tampering.) Therefore, from a 21st-century perspective, the case probably shouldn’t have turned out the way it did.
I’m also impressed with Robins’ characterizations of Bessie, Alice, and Margaret and their families, along with other women in George Smith’s past. You might think they were gullible and desperate women, which naturally is why Smith preyed on them, but they had far fewer options then than women have now, so in the end, I sympathize with them. Smith’s defense lawyer is a master of oratory who could easily sway a jury, and yet, his final opinion of his client isn’t what you expect. The letters Smith wrote, and the ones he made his wives write to their families about how gloriously happy they were with him, reveal an arrogant, bullying, and greedy man (although it's interesting to note that he wasn't getting millions of pounds as a result of their deaths, only a thousand pounds or so from each, but perhaps he thought that would make their deaths seem less remarkable than if he was inheriting gobs of riches, and if he could have gotten away with it on several more occasions, he could have had a very tidy sum eventually). Conversely, on reading Spilsbury’s case cards (which is where things get a bit graphic, just so you know), it’s easy to see why the public thought of him as a real-life Sherlock Holmes.
I admit I don't read much true-crime thriller reading. However, there are two reasons why this book appealed to me when I read a blurb about it in New Scientist.
The first is that, courtesy of my mom, I’ve been watching a series on DVD called Murdoch Mysteries, which takes place in Canada close to the turn of the century. The series is based on books by Maureen Jennings. The main character, Detective Murdoch, is considered an eccentric by his colleagues, not only because as a Catholic, he makes the sign of the cross to himself whenever he encounters a dead body, but also because of his use of the new science of forensics in solving crimes. Since his methods get such good results, the mouthy, temperamental, likes-a-wee-drop Chief Inspector Brackenridge lets Murdoch carry on with his weird experiments, helped along by the good lady doctor working in the morgue and who cracks corny death jokes a lot, and an up-and-coming Watson-like constable who provides a lot of the comic relief. The whole thing is a fascinating look at forensics in its infancy (and Yannick Bisson is some nice eye candy, but they really need to lighten his make-up – he looks overly fake-tanned). The Magnificent Spilsbury is a real-life example of these techniques in use.
The second reason is that the scenario described in the book reminded me of a novel by Gladys Mitchell called Speedy Death, in which one of the characters dies in a similar way with no signs of violence or poisoning. Mrs. Bradley (the detective character) notes the water that splashed on both sides of the bathtub, which helps her figure out how the victim was murdered. The novel was published in 1929, so it’s possible that Mitchell may have heard of the Brides in the Bath case or read about it while doing research. (I make weird connections like this all the time; you get used to it.)
This was absorbing reading – I often extended my lunch breaks at work so I could “read just one more page.”
I got a copy from Waterstone's when I was in London in May. For some reason, Amazon isn't carrying this book, although it was published in April. But bookdepository.com has it.
That reminds me, Mom wants to read it now, so I’m sending my copy to her.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
the naming of cellos...
Meet my new-to-me cello:
A 2003 Y Chen Soloist with Larsen and Spirocore strings. It’s more of a deep honey color than the picture gives it credit for.
I got it from Gailes’ Violin Shop in College Park. I’ve been renting a cello from them for about a year now. When I mentioned to one of the staff that I would like to buy one, she set up an appointment for me to look at their selection.
I’ve never been in a room full of cellos. They were lined up along three walls. It’s amazing how luthiers can take one instrument and vary it so widely – everything from varnish color to subtle changes in the body shape and finishing.
I told the staff person what my price range was, and she pulled out eight cellos. She also pulled out four different bows for me to try. Then she told me to take as long as I liked, shut the door, and left me to it.
A couple of the cellos didn’t even have labels in them, so no way to tell their origins or age, although I’m sure people more experienced than I could make an educated guess. The others were by Doetsch, Chen, Wilhelm, Jay Haide, Forcheim, and Schumacher.
I tried them all – the same pieces with the same bow on each cello. I was surprised at how much my ear has developed in a year because I could actually detect distinct differences in sound, and I have a better sense now of what musicians mean when they say an instrument’s tone sounds warm or bright or focused or dull. Therefore, I was able to eliminate several from the running right away because playing them just left me shrugging with a “meh,” and moving on to another one.
I was especially interested in trying the Jay Haide because I know several cellists who have them, and they all love the sounds they can get from Jay Haides. However, I was disappointed in this particular one. It sounded muffled, like it was talking with its mouth overly full and covered with a napkin and a hand. I tried all four bows on it and got the same result. I realize this was only one cello by this luthier duo, so I make no judgements on the quality of their instruments overall.
After about an hour trying out the eight cellos, I narrowed it down to two – the Doetsch and the Chen. They both had a sound that really caught my attention, even with my extremely limited playing ability.
This shop lets you take an instrument out on loan for a week to try it out and get to know it before buying. I assumed I’d be taking one out and bringing it back in a week and then taking the other one out, but in fact, they let me take both at once, along with two bows. It’s an odd (and paranoic) feeling to be toting around quite a few thousand dollars’ worth of cello and bow, I can tell you.
It’s also rather cumbersome to get two cellos and their respective cases into a car and then out again and hauled up four flights of stairs, not to mention taken back down said stairs and put back into said car to go to my weekly lesson and present them to my teacher.
The extra exercise was worth it, though, because my teacher is head of the music program at the local community college, which has some nice recital halls that he has access to. We carted my prospects into one of the halls, and he made me get on stage and try them out while he sat in the back of the hall and listened. Then we switched places, and he played them while I sat at the back of the hall. It’s one thing to play a cello and hear the sound as it projects away from you. It’s something else to face the cello and hear the sound coming at you.
The Chen sounded wonderfully clear and full, while the Doetsch, which had a nice tone when it was heard from the player’s point of view, sounded very far away from the listener’s point of view, as though the volume had been turned way down. So that got me leaning toward the Chen, especially when my teacher played a bit of the Elgar on it (one of my favorite pieces). The Chen could definitely handle that piece, while the Doetsch just didn’t seem to have enough power and projection to do it justice.
My cello teacher said the Doetsch was a perfectly respectable cello with a sweet tone, but if that tone can’t be heard well, especially when played by a timid beginner such as yours truly, it could make learning and improving all the more difficult, if not downright frustrating, which might make me give it up entirely. “I think the Chen could teach you a lot and build up your playing confidence,” he said, “especially with a better bow. That cello has focus that wants bringing out.”
I spent several more days playing them both before making a final decision. I started to really get a sense that the Chen was for me because I couldn’t stop playing it. My rental cello had developed a sharp and annoying whine lately, especially on the A string. It was so disheartening to hear during practice that I was practicing less so I could avoid having to listen to it, and I was starting to think it was my playing that was annoying and whiny. The Chen doesn’t whine at all, not even on the A string, so I quickly got back up to my usual amount of practice time.
I got to haul them down the stairs and wrestle them into the car yet again to take them back to the shop. I turned in the Doetsch and asked to have the bridge cut down on the Chen. The ganglion cyst on my left wrist was not happy with my renewed enthusiasm for cello practice this week. I’ve found that having strings slightly closer to the fingerboard (via a lower bridge) eliminates quite a bit of left wrist pain. Then I handed over a check and packed up the new-to-me Chen-with-lowered-bridge into my minty green cello case and took it home.
As for the bows, both were an improvement on the one I have, but neither came forward as an OMG, THIS ONE! winner. And my cello teacher suggested holding off on upgrading the bow until I get to know this cello better anyway. In other words, one variable at a time. My current bow sounds all right on it, but I’ll be saving up for a better one – maybe that will be my Christmas present to myself. Anyway, my teacher promised to bring his $4K bow to this week’s lesson so I can try it on my new-to-me cello.
I really thought the cello-buying process would take longer, so I’m a bit dazed that it happened so fast. I’ve heard about professional-level musicians who try out hundreds of instruments before choosing one to buy. Of course, I’m not a professional-level musician and likely never will be (I’ll happily settle for competent amateur), so perhaps being able to pick from eight was good thing. And this is probably the first and last time that I’ll be able to spend my work bonus/tax refund money on something like this rather than making an extra mortgage payment/paying off bills/adding to the savings account.
Jeez! I guess this means I'm a committed (albeit not very good) cellist, huh?
Now, I think this cello needs a name. Any ideas?
A 2003 Y Chen Soloist with Larsen and Spirocore strings. It’s more of a deep honey color than the picture gives it credit for.
I got it from Gailes’ Violin Shop in College Park. I’ve been renting a cello from them for about a year now. When I mentioned to one of the staff that I would like to buy one, she set up an appointment for me to look at their selection.
I’ve never been in a room full of cellos. They were lined up along three walls. It’s amazing how luthiers can take one instrument and vary it so widely – everything from varnish color to subtle changes in the body shape and finishing.
I told the staff person what my price range was, and she pulled out eight cellos. She also pulled out four different bows for me to try. Then she told me to take as long as I liked, shut the door, and left me to it.
A couple of the cellos didn’t even have labels in them, so no way to tell their origins or age, although I’m sure people more experienced than I could make an educated guess. The others were by Doetsch, Chen, Wilhelm, Jay Haide, Forcheim, and Schumacher.
I tried them all – the same pieces with the same bow on each cello. I was surprised at how much my ear has developed in a year because I could actually detect distinct differences in sound, and I have a better sense now of what musicians mean when they say an instrument’s tone sounds warm or bright or focused or dull. Therefore, I was able to eliminate several from the running right away because playing them just left me shrugging with a “meh,” and moving on to another one.
I was especially interested in trying the Jay Haide because I know several cellists who have them, and they all love the sounds they can get from Jay Haides. However, I was disappointed in this particular one. It sounded muffled, like it was talking with its mouth overly full and covered with a napkin and a hand. I tried all four bows on it and got the same result. I realize this was only one cello by this luthier duo, so I make no judgements on the quality of their instruments overall.
After about an hour trying out the eight cellos, I narrowed it down to two – the Doetsch and the Chen. They both had a sound that really caught my attention, even with my extremely limited playing ability.
This shop lets you take an instrument out on loan for a week to try it out and get to know it before buying. I assumed I’d be taking one out and bringing it back in a week and then taking the other one out, but in fact, they let me take both at once, along with two bows. It’s an odd (and paranoic) feeling to be toting around quite a few thousand dollars’ worth of cello and bow, I can tell you.
It’s also rather cumbersome to get two cellos and their respective cases into a car and then out again and hauled up four flights of stairs, not to mention taken back down said stairs and put back into said car to go to my weekly lesson and present them to my teacher.
The extra exercise was worth it, though, because my teacher is head of the music program at the local community college, which has some nice recital halls that he has access to. We carted my prospects into one of the halls, and he made me get on stage and try them out while he sat in the back of the hall and listened. Then we switched places, and he played them while I sat at the back of the hall. It’s one thing to play a cello and hear the sound as it projects away from you. It’s something else to face the cello and hear the sound coming at you.
The Chen sounded wonderfully clear and full, while the Doetsch, which had a nice tone when it was heard from the player’s point of view, sounded very far away from the listener’s point of view, as though the volume had been turned way down. So that got me leaning toward the Chen, especially when my teacher played a bit of the Elgar on it (one of my favorite pieces). The Chen could definitely handle that piece, while the Doetsch just didn’t seem to have enough power and projection to do it justice.
My cello teacher said the Doetsch was a perfectly respectable cello with a sweet tone, but if that tone can’t be heard well, especially when played by a timid beginner such as yours truly, it could make learning and improving all the more difficult, if not downright frustrating, which might make me give it up entirely. “I think the Chen could teach you a lot and build up your playing confidence,” he said, “especially with a better bow. That cello has focus that wants bringing out.”
I spent several more days playing them both before making a final decision. I started to really get a sense that the Chen was for me because I couldn’t stop playing it. My rental cello had developed a sharp and annoying whine lately, especially on the A string. It was so disheartening to hear during practice that I was practicing less so I could avoid having to listen to it, and I was starting to think it was my playing that was annoying and whiny. The Chen doesn’t whine at all, not even on the A string, so I quickly got back up to my usual amount of practice time.
I got to haul them down the stairs and wrestle them into the car yet again to take them back to the shop. I turned in the Doetsch and asked to have the bridge cut down on the Chen. The ganglion cyst on my left wrist was not happy with my renewed enthusiasm for cello practice this week. I’ve found that having strings slightly closer to the fingerboard (via a lower bridge) eliminates quite a bit of left wrist pain. Then I handed over a check and packed up the new-to-me Chen-with-lowered-bridge into my minty green cello case and took it home.
As for the bows, both were an improvement on the one I have, but neither came forward as an OMG, THIS ONE! winner. And my cello teacher suggested holding off on upgrading the bow until I get to know this cello better anyway. In other words, one variable at a time. My current bow sounds all right on it, but I’ll be saving up for a better one – maybe that will be my Christmas present to myself. Anyway, my teacher promised to bring his $4K bow to this week’s lesson so I can try it on my new-to-me cello.
I really thought the cello-buying process would take longer, so I’m a bit dazed that it happened so fast. I’ve heard about professional-level musicians who try out hundreds of instruments before choosing one to buy. Of course, I’m not a professional-level musician and likely never will be (I’ll happily settle for competent amateur), so perhaps being able to pick from eight was good thing. And this is probably the first and last time that I’ll be able to spend my work bonus/tax refund money on something like this rather than making an extra mortgage payment/paying off bills/adding to the savings account.
Jeez! I guess this means I'm a committed (albeit not very good) cellist, huh?
Now, I think this cello needs a name. Any ideas?
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