John Fowles' second novel
The Magus made a huge impression on me when I read it as a teenager. Now I'm rereading the account of protagonist Nicholas Urfe, specifically as he spends his second weekend as a guest of the mysterious Mr. Conchis. The scene is the private villa on Phraxos, overlooking the Aegean, where so much of the action takes place:-
Quote:
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I sat in his music room and listened to him play the D minor English suite. Conchis seemed to me to play as if there was no barrier between him and the music; no need to "interpret", to please an audience, to satisfy some inner vanity. He played as I suppose Bach himself would have played -I think at a rather slower tempo than most modern pianists and harpsichordists, though with no loss of rhythm or shape. I sat in the cool shuttered room and watched the slightly bowed bald head behind the shining black harpsichord. I heard the driving onwardness of Bach, the endless progressions.
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My Verdict: Placed within the fascinating story that unfolds around Mr.Conchis, and given that rather exalted description, I had hoped this piece of music might be better. In my own crass opinion, it's an irritating and shrill display of proficiency for the sake of proficiency. Instead of driving onwards, I feel it to be going round in circles, destination: nowhere. To be fair though, I've only posted a 3-minute bit of a 30-min piece, and some of the slower parts don't sound too bad.
I wonder if old man Conchis played the entire thirty mins, as Nicholas sat in respectful silence? And incidentally, isn't there sometimes an embarrassing pause to be filled when you have just been granted a personal performance by a musician? Has anyone else ever found that? Clapping is a bit weird, so you have to say something, but what? Let's see what Nicholas came up with after his half-hour endurance test:-
Quote:
Conchis had finished, was watching me.
"You make words seem shabby things."
"Bach does"
"And you."
He grimaced, but I could see he was not unpleased, though he tried to hide it by marching me off to give his vegetables their evening watering.
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"You make words shabby things." Hmm, not exactly the best line in the book - in fact, possibly one of the weakest in a book that is in other respects a
tour de force of intellectual mystery.