A Poet Amongst Us

River God and The Seventh Scroll by Wilbur Smith

 Not entirely sure what I am thinking.  Maybe I am not.

I read River God over a year ago but thought so little of it that I didn't even put a review of it on the blog.  Basically the premise of that novel was that one Egyptian eunuch slave, Taita, was responsible for inventing absolutely everything.

As if that wasn't enough to put me off, I then went and bought (at a second hand sale) the second in this Egyptian series.  Smith does the most unusual trick (sarcasm alert) of weaving a modern story in with an ancient story to help find an ancient buried/hidden treasure.  He further alienates me by putting his own previous novel and himself in the story.

Honestly,  I'm not sure why I picked up the second book when I thought the first one was so dire.  To make matters worse I think I've even picked up the third.  I might have bought them all at the same time.  At least that is the excuse I am going to use.  

You can read these books if you would like to fill your brain with loads of misinformation about the Egyptians.  Otherwise, I suggest you give them all a miss.  

Wonder if I will be able to resist the urge to read it?  God, I hope so.

Before I Met You by Lisa Jewell

Once again I am faced with a novel with two different story lines interwoven in alternating chapters where the characters have some sort of relationship in common but time goes back and forth.  It seems to be that this is the latest fashion for historical novels.  I'm not sure I am a fan.  I thought it was quite clever the first couple of these I read but now the novelty has worn off.

But it's not just the originality that has gone.  It is the inevitable fact that one story is more captivating than the other so you find yourself rushing through the chapters of one just to get to the chapters of the other.  So it is with Lisa Jewell's Before I Met You.

One plot line is based around 1920s SoHo London where the first world war has ended and Arlette's life as a member of a bohemian set of musicians and artists is just beginning.  Arlette falls in love with the most unlikely of men in the most unlikely of circumstances with the most tragic of endings.  This story line is filled with delicious details of a time and place that was new and fresh and young and free.  Women were granted freedoms previously unattainable.  The very fabric of British society was breaking down and irreversibly changing.  It was a fascinating time and I wanted to read this plot line endlessly.  The descriptions of the clothing was enough to fill my head with dreams of vintage clothing, complete with gloves, hats, and handbags

Regrettably, my joy was interrupted with the modern day plot line which has Arlette's grand daughter searching inexplicably to find a mysterious benefactor cited in her grandmother's will.  I guessed who the benefactor was about 50 pages into the novel which meant that half the book was a complete waste of time for me.  I didn't find any of the modern characters compelling and in fact found myself downright outraged by the rock star falls for nanny (but there's a better man) storyline.  Surely, Arlette's story proved that this atrocious relationship was ridiculous.

I really wish Jewell would have simply told the story of Arlette and left it at that.

I gave this book 4 out of 5 stars.

Jasmine Nights by Julia Gregson

I received a proof copy of this book ages ago.  I put off reading it because I thought her previous novel, East of the Sun, was a prequel.  After reading that book and liking it well enough, I felt adequately prepared to move on to Jasmine Nights.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Jasmine Nights had absolutely nothing to do with East of the Sun.  

Jasmine Nights is set during the second World War and I must admit to suffering some literary WWII fatigue.  It seems that lately there is a glut of it on my bookshelves.  And regrettably, this book offered little additional insight although it did offer an alternative perspective.

The setting of North Africa  and the characters of a band of wartime entertainers, eg singers, magicians, comedians  was new to me.  However, the shattered families, the devastated countries, and the pursuit of a few moments of passion in the midst of chaos and hopelessness, is nothing new.  A singer falling in love with a soldier, stolen nights of tenderness, and a suitably romantic ending make this novel, ultimately, a bit cliched.

I enjoyed the plot and the timing of the novel.  I was compelled to keep reading. So all is not lost.  but the characters failed to jump off the pages and capture my imagination.  

I also enjoyed the place of the novel.  Cairo, in fact all of North Africa, is a place I dream of visiting but avoid because I am apprehensive about the security situation.  So instead I read about it.  Or watch films.  You can never see Casablanca too many times.  The difficulty of travelling in wartime is brought alive in the novel's pages.  In fact, Gregson does a superb job conveying the sense of despair and tragedy of the area.  

She also shines a very bright light on the unsavoury business and characters of wartime.  I loved the various eccentrics who populate the troupe of entertainers, all carrying the burden of past secrets, all running away from something or to something.  They were savvy, desperate, and very resourceful.

I will read more of Julia Gregson because I think she is a good writer.  I just hope she uses her imagination more when it comes to choosing a time.

I give this novel 3 stars out of 5.

March Adventure

For my New Year's resolution, I promised myself that I would undertake a new adventure at least once a month.  This didn't have to be something as dangerous as swimming with sharks or parachuting out of an airplane.  I just wanted to make sure that I exposed myself to new experiences, new people and their lives.

In January, you may remember, that I went and visited the Metropolitan Police Air Support Unit in Loughton, Essex.  In February, I participated in recreating Michelangelo's Florence Pieta at the Mall Galleries in London.  I was Mary Magdalene!  This month, I volunteered our family home as a base for a semi-finalist in the Windsor Festival International String Competition.

When I first volunteered our services, I imagined it would begin and end with a clean bed, a warm shower, and a few hot meals.  I had no idea that we as a family would become so emotionally involved.

During the week of 11 March, we were told that Meng Feng Hsieh would be joining us and would be arriving at Heathrow airport on 18 March for us to pickup.  We knew nothing more about Meng Feng.

A quick google search revealed that Meng Feng was a he, that he was 23 years old, that he was from Taiwan and after studying in Singapore from the age of 16, he was currently in his last year of study in Zurich.  We also learned that he played the cello.  By watching his numerous YouTube videos, we quickly concluded that he played his cello very well indeed.

We subscribed to his YouTube channel, liked his fan page on Facebook and sent him a friend request on Facebook along with an introduction message.  We know knew what he looked like but weren't entirely sure about anything else than he was allergic to shellfish and didn't eat beef.  We didn't even know if he spoke English (although given that he studied in Singapore and Zurich, it was a fair bet that he did).

Armed with his name written on a sheet of paper and an image of his face from Facebook seared in my brain, I awaited his arrival at the airport.  He was easy to pick out as he was the only one carrying a cello on his back.  I should have guessed!

We chatted easily as I lost my way to our house from the airport, Terminal 5 and I having never met before.  Meng Feng hadn't slept well the night before so he crashed as soon as we got home.  This is going to be a breeze, I thought to myself as I prepared our dinner for the evening.  We took Meng Feng to St George's Chapel to attend Evensong with us and listen to Sebastian sing with the choir.  Meng Feng was very impressed with Sebastian which impressed Sebastian which impressed the hell out of me.

We then attended a small but perfectly formed drinks reception that evening sponsored by the Windsor Festival at the McDonald's Hotel.  We met some of the other host families and their corresponding competitors.  It was a friendly and jovial atmosphere.

That night we shared our evening meal with Meng Feng.  He fit into our family like pair of custom made leather gloves.  He laughed with us.  We shared stories.  He told us about his family and how he had gotten into the competition.  He told us about his studies and his dreams.  He told us what the competition meant to him.  And slowly but surely our hearts melted and we fell in love with him.  And he with us.

And then he went upstairs to the room we had designated as his rehearsal room (aka Sebastian's bedroom) and he began to practise his cello.  And our world tilted ever so slightly on its axis.  We stopped tidying up the dishes and listened.  We sat down on the sofa and listened.  Abigail went to bed and fell asleep to the beautiful music Meng Feng made.

It is hard to believe that just a young man and a cello can have such a profound effect on the lives of this ordinary family.  In that moment, I knew it was our job to do everything possible to make his dream of winning this competition come true.

Tuesday was spent rehearsing.  I am not just talking an hour or so.  I am talking about playing all morning.  Then practising for an hour with his pianist.  Then practising several hours in the afternoon.  We took a brief break to attend a reception at The Guildhall in Windsor hosted by The Worshipful Mayor of the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead Councillor Colin Raynor.   Then back to practising.

Our home was filled with beautiful and passionate music.  Our neighbour's homes were filled with beautiful and passionate music.  Our hearts were filled with beautiful and passionate music.

The next day dawned early for me.  I was up at the crack of dawn, showered and dressed, ready for the big moment.  At 2:00 pm we arrived at the McDonald hotel and the designated rehearsal room which was exquisitely furnished with everything and anything a person could need before a moment like this.

Meng Feng was the picture of poise.  I couldn't detect a single nerve, not a wobbly finger, not a shortness of breath.  I on the other hand was a bundle of nerves.  My heart felt like it was going to beat our of my chest and my stomach felt like a 1000 butterflies had taken flight.  I asked him if he was nervous.  He said no, because nerves wouldn't help.  I asked if he knew what his competition was playing.  He said no, because it wouldn't change what or how he played.

We walked across the street to The Guildhall.  The place was packed but I had a perfect seat.  Meng Feng took to the stage and played Bach, his first piece.  I held my breath through the entire thing.  It was exquisite.  then he played Beethoven.  My knuckles turned white and I became dizzy.  Then he played his piece de resistance, an emotional roller coaster of Dvorak.  My eyes filled with tears as he finished.  My applause hurt my hands.

I was so proud of him!  He couldn't have done it any better.  I had felt every note, every string, every movement, every beat, every breath.

That evening we took Meng Feng to see Abigail perform in her school play, a very modern interpretation of Romeo and Juliet.  She was brilliant with the comic timing of a professional.  Meng Feng had become a member of our family and was along for the ride.  He applauded Abigail the same way I had applauded him.

Late that evening at 9 pm, we made our way back to the Guildhall.  All 8 semi finalists had finished playing,  the juries votes had been tallied, and the results were in.  The first name was announced.  And then the second.  I reached over and grabbed on to Meng Feng's hand.  The third name was announced.  None of those names were his.  I blinked.  Did the jury not hear what I heard?  Did they not feel what I felt?

And then I witnessed the joy of others and I knew this was part of competition.  Meng Feng knew that he had given his best.  When I asked if he was OK he told me, yes, he had another competition to start thinking about the trouble was I didn't.  Meng Feng hadn't made the finals and I was angry.  I wanted to hit someone.  Instead I waited until Meng Feng had wandered away and I shed a few tears into my husband's shoulder.

On Thursday all competitors visited local schools and talked to children about being a professional musician. I watched the children St Bernard's School in Langley become mesmerised by Meng Feng's playing.  They asked great questions and he gave great answers.  He talked about how he loved playing the cello because he felt he could express every one of his emotions through the instrument.  He talked about the sacrifices he and his family have made for him to reach this level.  He talked about the dedication, single minded focus and commitment it takes to play at this level.  He talked about the physical scars on his hands and chest that practising and playing for hours leaves on his body.  He talked about the poverty of being a musician.  He talked about his dreams of bringing beautiful music to the world. He talked about being thousands of miles away from his family since the age of 16.

I dropped Meng Feng off in Windsor so he could do the tourist thing and see around the castle and town of Windsor.  The pressure of the finals was off and he could enjoy himself a wee bit.  So the next day I took him and another competitor from China into London.  I drove them round all the sites showing off this glorious city we call London:  Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, Tower Bridge, The Tower of London, London Eye, Westminster Abbey, etc etc etc.  Being musicians they wanted to see Wigmore Hall and so we did.  We stopped in at Bishop Instruments and the Chinese musician got to have a go on a Stradivarius violin that is several hundred years old and worth twice as much as my home.  The bow she played it with is worth 3 times as much as my car.  I could barely breath.

Never before have I felt like I have been in the presence of such promise of the future.

That evening we attended the final performances held in the majesty and splendour of the Waterloo Chamber in Windsor Castle.  We were honoured to be invited to the Governor's home for drinks and canapes afterwards.  Our children were well behaved.  They didn't spill anything on the priceless antiques or ruin any of the paintings of historical significance.

The next morning as I lazed about in bed, I reviewed the order of the day in my head.  It had been planned out with military precision.  I had to have Abigail at the school by noon to rehearse her ballet show that would be performed that evening at 5 pm.  Then I had to drop Sebastian off at 1 to rehearse the Passiontide which would be performed that evening at St George's Chapel at 7:30 pm.  Then I had to head to the airport by 2 pm to drop Meng Feng off by 2:30 pm to catch his flight at 3:30 pm.  Then back to school for the ballet show, then a quick dinner out with the husband and then the Passiontide.  No problems.

Right up until about 10 am when Meng Feng checked his airline ticket and we discovered that the schedule the Windsor Festival had provided me with did not reflect the time indicated on his airline tickets.  His tickets said that his flight had been at 7:30 am, which we obviously had missed.  We tried calling the airlines but due to the unusual snow fall, the wait time on the phone was over an hour.  So Meng Feng packed up everything.  I rushed him and his belongings to the airport and said a hasty goodbye hoping he could get on the 3:30 flight.

I raced Abigail to the school and dropped Sebastian off at the same time.  I took a shower and waited.  Sure enough.  At 2:30 the phone rang and British Airways had been unable to get Meng Feng on the 3:30 flight but had confirmed his place on the 7:30 am flight the next morning so back to the airport I went.

Some might say this was destiny.  The ballet had been arranged so that each dancer could have 4 members in the audience instead of the usual 2, which meant Meng Feng could join us.  And, more importantly, I had accidentally bought 2 extra tickets to the Passiontide concert and we had only been able to resell 1 of them which meant we had an extra one.  Obviously, the gods of the fate had decided that Meng Feng was going to be here and would be needing this ticket.

We watched Abigail give a serene and elegant performance in the ballet, Peter and the Wolf.  After a quick bite to eat, we watched Sebastian give a professional and breathtaking performance as a chorister singing strong in a larger choir of over 80 adults in celebration of the Christian holiday of Easter.

We collapsed into our beds emotionally exhausted.  My husband had the task of getting Meng Feng to the airport by 5 am on Sunday morning to catch his flight.

As I lazed around resting on Sunday, my mind drifted to what a joyful and wonderful experience the week had been.  I never dreamt our family would have grown to have such fond feelings about someone who just a few days prior was a complete and utter stranger.  I never would have thought I would have children who would achieve so much at such a young age.