Star of Stone

Star of Stone
by P. D. Baccalario
Recommended Ages: 12+

In Book Two of the Century Quartet, four kids with Leap Day birthdays come together again to solve another puzzle, this time in New York City. Elettra from Rome, Mistral from Paris, Sheng from Shanghai, and Harvey from Manhattan face an evil nightclub owner, five dangerous women, a one-eyed crow flying surveillance for a shadowy group of Native Americans, and a trail of clues seemingly left behind by a man who lived over 100 years without growing old. Their friend Ermete, master of disguise, comes along to help and ends up in the hospital. And while Elettra still struggles to understand the strange power over the element of fire that emerged in her during their previous adventure, the sweetness of first love connects her to Harvey.

Harvey is at the center in this installment. His relationship with his parents is strained, and he still has not healed, since the death of his older brother a year ago. He tries to channel this pain into boxing lessons offered by a basement gym. But then he starts hearing voices—particularly, the voice of his dead brother—and manifesting strange powers that he isn't ready to accept. An antiques dealer notices, for example, that a dead plant blooms after Harvey touches it. And he isn't the only person to notice.

All this has something to do with a secret that goes back to the ancient Chaldeans. The kids have found an intricately carved wooden board, and four wooden tops which, if spun on a map of any place in the world, come to rest pointing at a vital clue. This magic has passed through the hands of Columbus, Leonardo, Aristotle, and countless other discoverers and thinkers. Plus, they have already found the "Ring of Fire" that lay hidden for centuries in Rome; now they must locate a "Star of Stone" somewhere in New York. And it might not hurt to get hold of a fifth top that has turned up in a local antique shop.

If the foursome fails, mankind may default on its Pact with Nature. There are already signs that the Earth is angry. The survival of the whole world may hang in the balance. All this responsibility lands on four scared kids, who have the henchmen of an evil hermit after them, while the only people who can help them are sworn to keep silent and let them work things out on their own. And that means risking trouble in and around such landmarks as Rockefeller Center, the New York Public Library, Ellis Island, and Central Park—to name only a few of the beauty spots, cultural treasures, and dark places to which the clues lead them.

And so Pierdomenico Baccalario ratchets up the danger, the drama, the spookiness, and the magic of this ongoing series. Translated from Italian to English by Leah D. Janeczko, this installment follows up on Ring of Fire. The last two books in the sequence are titled City of Wind and Dragon of Seas. A prolific author in the Italian language, Baccalario's other works in English include translations of the first four books of a twelve-book series under the title and pen-name "Ulysses Moore."

The Cat Who Used Figures of Speech

My 11-ish cat Tyrone demonstrated, at four o'clock this morning, that he knows how to use a figure of speech.

We have worked out a little vocabulary between us, mostly in body language. For example, when I'm reading on the couch with a blanket over me, or sleeping in bed likewise, he may climb up on my chest and paw at the hem of the blanket, purring loudly. This means he wants me to lift the hem and let him crawl under the blanket with me. Adorable cuddling ensues.

Sometimes he does this when I'm not under a blanket. Instead, he paws at the neck-line of my T-shirt. I generally take this to mean Drunk Kitty has forgotten the difference between a blanket and a shirt, and wants to snuggle up inside my shirt. This usually proves to be awkward, because there really isn't room for him to crawl down the neck of my shirt while I'm wearing it. Sometimes he tries crawling up from the lower hem, but usually stops halfway to play the "attack the hand through the fabric" game, favored by cats worldwide.

This morning, however, Tyrone found me sprawled in bed with neither a blanket nor a shirt covering my hairy mountain of flab. Nothing dismayed, the cat stood on my chest, purred, and pawed at my collarbone until I woke up. I correctly interpreted this gesture as a request to pull the sheet and blanket over us both. A minute later, Tyrone was curled up next to my knee, snoring. And I was wide awake, thinking: "My cat just used a figure of speech to communicate with me. Metonymy, to be exact. The bare chest for the blanket that covers it..."

The Well Between the Worlds

The Well Between the Worlds
by Sam Llewellyn
Recommended Ages: 12+

I was so overwhelmed by the strangeness and originality of this book's fantasy conceits that, in spite of several clues, I got halfway through it before I realized that it is a retelling of the Arthurian legend. Color me embarrassed! It mentions a round table. It features a sword in a stone, which only the rightful king can pull loose. It has characters in it named Ector, Uther, Kay, Mark, and Morgan—obvious references to the Arthur mythos—as well as less-obvious but still recognizable aliases, such as Ambrose (Merlin), Murther (Mordred), and Draco (Pendragon). The legend of King Arthur—at least, its earlier parts—provides the overall shape of this story, and thereby makes it deeply and timelessly compelling. Yet at the same time, that outline is filled in with an amazing piece of world-building, whose vivid colors and unique textures transform it almost out of recognition.

Welcome to Lyonesse, a strange country in a medieval world where two kinds of magic are in conflict. Representing the old ways is the druidical magic of Ambrose, who draws power out of starlight and focuses it with the aid of standing stones. In the opposite corner are the Captains from the mysterious neighboring kingdom of High Kernow. Their power relies more on machines, powered by water-dwelling monsters whose bodies burn like thermite on contact with air. These monsters come from another universe, a place endlessly filled with poisonous water, and if given their way they would use their telepathic wiles and their vicious fangs to subdue mankind.

Druid wizard though he may be, Ambrose is a cultured fellow. His lifestyle really straddles the line between the two ways, as he lives among the captains and controls one of the wells. Catching, cutting, and supplying the monsters to be burned in the machines is a big business. It's also a vicious cycle, because each time the portal between the worlds is opened and water is allowed to pour from the monsters' world into ours, the land of Lyonesse sinks. And so more power must be expended to run the pumps that keep the rivers, lakes, and ocean from pouring in and flooding the whole kingdom.

A kingdom needs a king. As our story opens, Lyonesse has a royal heir who is too young to reign. Kyd Murther, a fat spoiled vicious piece of work, is being groomed for the throne by his regent mother, who calls herself Sea Eagle, though everyone else calls her Fish Eagle. If anyone could be worse than Murther, it is Fish Eagle: a creature of terrifying power, who can rummage through people's minds, and feels no qualm against murdering anyone who even thinks about challenging her power. She has dark, dark plans for the future of Lyonesse, plans springing from the depths of the wells themselves.

Who can challenge such a deadly regent? Her private army is ruthless. The people of Lyonesse, through terror and misinformation, are being programmed to submit to her. And though she herself hails from Kernow, her son seems to be the last surviving heir of the previous, rightful king of Lyonesse. The only thing that could possibly stand in her way is the reappearance of the true king's "Lost Children"—an infant boy thought to be dead, and a daughter who vanished. And the whole kingdom is on guard against them.

And yet... Well, I'm not telling it the way the book does. You only find out about all this gradually, along with main character Idris Limpet. Early in the book, this strangely magnetic boy gets separated from his home and loved ones by the prejudice and superstition of the fishing village where he grew up. Not yet twelve years old, Idris escapes a gruesome execution and becomes an apprentice to the Great Ambrose. He studies to be a monstergroom (specializing in catching the creatures to be burned in machines). He develops his telepathic powers, which help him deal with the monsters, but will only last until he reaches puberty. And he finds friendship and even an adopted family, especially with a girl named Morgan, who feels strangely drawn to him. It becomes increasingly obvious that an important destiny lies upon Idris. The question is whether he can live long enough to fulfill it while Fish Eagle's suspicion sprouts into jealousy and finally comes into full flower as deadly enmity.

This is Book One of a series that, depending on whom you ask, is either called "The Monsters of Lyonesse" (cf. most sources), or "The Chronicles of Lyonesse" (Shelfari), or "The Lyonesse" (Amazon), or simply "Lyonesse" (my local library). The second book is titled Darksoltice. Sam Llewellyn is the mind behind the "Little Darlings" trilogy and many other books for adults and children, fiction and nonfiction, mostly related to boating and sailing. For more titles by this author, check out this list, or visit his website.

The Secret History of Tom Trueheart

The Secret History of Tom Trueheart
by Ian Beck
Recommended Ages: 10+

Young Tom comes from a line of storybook heroes. And by that I mean the actual heroes of such stories as "Jack the Giant Killer" and "The Frog Prince." Whether a clever tailor or a charming prince, the hero in each of your favorite fairy tales was most likely a member of the Trueheart clan, acting on instructions from the staff at the Story Bureau, and with a little help from sprites who carry messages and throw in a little magic now and then.

Here's how it works: Either Tom's father Jack (missing these last several years) or one of his six elder brothers (all named Jack, or some variation thereof), on receiving a memo from the Story Bureau, marches out of the family cottage and into either the north, south, east, or west gate of the Land of Stories—a place where all the ingredients are in place for an adventure with trolls, giants, fairy godmothers, wicked witches, and what you will. After completing their adventure, they come home and tell the story, and this is what gets published in our world. So the Truehearts serve a vital function, keeping tales of imagination and enchantment flowing into the world of hard facts and harsh realities.

But now, something has gone wrong. One of the idea men at the Story Bureau has gone rogue, embedding traps in a series of story-beginnings that are sent to Tom's older brothers. As the boy's twelfth birthday approaches, and his apprenticeship as a storybook hero is set to begin, all of his role models are obliged to march away, promising to return on time for his birthday party. Instead, Tom's birthday brings a message from the Story Bureau, ordering him to set out on a rescue mission to find his lost brothers, and by any means possible to help them complete their assignments.

And so Tom becomes the unsung hero in the untold part of the stories of Cinderella, the Sleeping Beauty, the Frog Prince, Jack and the Beanstalk, Rapunzel, and Snow White. And readers familiar with Chris Colfer's The Wishing Spell are treated to another "Land of Stories"—same name, different map—based on quite a different principle. While I'm not sure the concept behind this tale stands up to any scrutiny, there's no denying that it sets the stage for a thrilling adventure in which one small boy rights many wrongs, confronts a full-grown villain, experiences an interesting "behind the scenes" version of several well-known stories, and forms an endearing bond with a talking crow. It's a growing experience for a boy who worries about whether he will find his courage. It's wholesome fun for readers of most any age. And finally, it hints at a darker mystery that Tom must face in subsequent books.

Ian Beck is an artist and illustrator best known for his work on album covers, an animated telefilm, and over a dozen children's picture-books. His other titles include Pastworld, The Hidden Kingdom, The Haunting of Charity Delafield, and a book for "reluctant, struggling and dyslexic readers" titled Samurai; plus a collection of fairy tales, a retelling of The Little Mermaid, and two sequels to this book. Their titles are Tom Trueheart and the Land of Dark Stories and Tom Trueheart and the Land of Myths and Legends.

Beethoven Week

My best excuse for not blogging much lately is that, besides working a "day job," I've been rehearsing and performing fine-art music most of the last few weeks. There was "Brahms Week," in which the St. Louis Symphony Chorus (yours truly included) performed the Schicksalslied (Song of Fate) and Gesang der Parzen (Song of the Fates) under the baton of up-and-coming young conductor Ward Stare, formerly the St. Louis Symphony's resident conductor. Then there was a "Bach Week" (really more of a weekend) with the American Kantorei ("Bach at the Sem"), performing two whole cantatas and choruses from two others, led by guest conductor Scott Hyslop of Frankenmuth, Michigan. And now I have just touched ground after seven glorious days, including a full concert-order rehearsal and four nearly sold-out public performances, of Beethoven's 9th Symphony, with the celebrated "Ode to Joy" in the fourth movement.

The program began with an a capella choral number by Anton Bruckner, "Christus factus est" (Christ is made obedient unto death), for a middle-sized group of singers selected from the Symphony Chorus. This work, appropriate for the week of Ascension Day, focuses on the humiliation and glorification of Christ—more than half of it being devoted to the Latin words for "which is above every name" as a reference to the honor to which Christ has been exalted. Bruckner's short piece led without a break into Act 3 of Alban Berg's expressionist opera Wozzeck, in which a smaller select group of chorus members sang briefly. Berg, whose reputation is tied to the serialist school of Schoenberg, used the orchestra to powerful effect in portraying scenes of madness, murder, despair, suicide, superstitious anxiety, and the sociopathic egotism of a child who goes on saying "Hop-hop, hop-hop, hop-hop" when told that its mother is dead. And all this, drawn from a real-life drama that unfolded at about the time Beethoven was writing his Ninth, sets the background for his amazing testimony of faith in the brotherhood of man and the unifying power of humanistic ideals.

David Robertson conducted the hell out of this program. Based on his interpretation of the Ninth Symphony's four movements, I have distilled my thoughts down to a two-word description of what aspects of Beethoven's character each movement reveals. So, Movement I: the monumental sonata whose opening theme, based on a spare interval of a fifth, emerges out of a nebula "without form and void," represents Beethoven's fierce intelligence. Movement II: the scherzo driven by insistent rhythms, given to rude interruptions, pointed pauses, and sudden arbitrary changes of key, and ending in a joke—that shows the exuberant willfulness in Beethoven's character. Movement III: the slow, tender variations on an alternating pair of themes, painted in lush colors by his mastery of the orchestra (albeit a bit soporific to some exhausted participants in this afternoon's performance) demonstrates Beethoven's sincere humanity. But when he caps it off with a huge finale that makes the orchestra speak like a human voice, then unprecedentedly introduces the human voice to the symphonic form, he does so in a way that points up his revolutionary instinct. And there in bold type, o Freunde, you have my analysis of B9 in eight words.

"Is THAT How You Say" 3

Further to this and this, here are a few more instances of words whose "correct" pronunciation surprised me when I heard an audio-book actor speak them in the Queen's English...

Vicissitude—I have always taken this to be a Mississippi word, with three short is: "vis-Sis-sit-tood." As prolific audio-book reader Nadia May pronounces it, however, the first i is long: "vye-Sis-sit-you'd." There is a ring of rightness to this.

Sinecure—This word mainly appears in British prose, such as the novels of Anthony Trollope, describing a career situation exacting light labor for a heavy salary. So the Brits probably have the right of it when, as in the above example, they make the first i long: "Sign a cure," rather than "Sin a cure." Still, it's a bit of a surprise for a self-taught Yank who guessed how to pronounce most of his vocabulary after acquiring it in books. I'm used to that kind of thing by now.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

Meanwhile, the Latin phrase vice versa—whose vulgar American pronunciation makes possible my pun about a late-model Nissan being used as a narcotics undercover vehicle—comes over from across the Atlantic as "Veet-say Vair-sa." Clearly, our (classical) education has been sadly neglected.

Amenities—I'm pretty sure this word, in America, is pronounced like "a Men it ease," where it usually has something to do with cable TV, clean towels, and a continental breakfast. I'm pretty sure I heard Nadia May, just today, saying it with a long e: "a Mean it ease." And given that she was reading George Eliot, I doubt that she had the same examples in view.

Winston who?

Atelier—This word for an artist's studio is one I can't remember ever hearing spoken aloud until today. And so I have had the gravest misgivings about attempting to use it, not having the faintest idea how to say it. Wiktionary is no help, apart from hinting that it rhymes with "day." I wouldn't have even guessed the right number of syllables. Nadia May gives it as "At-lee-ay." Or, if you prefer a stronger mnemonic, it sounds like what you might say after discovering who was British Prime Minister at the end of World War II: "Attlee, eh?"

Distribute—In American English, the stress goes on the second syllable: "dis-TRIB-yoot." And although you would think denizens of the cradle of the English language might be onto something when they stress the first syllable—"DIS-trib-yoot"—I can't help feeling that they've blundered, somehow. It strikes my ear as clumsy and foreign, like an attempt by someone who speaks English as a second or third language to cover his or her ignorance. I think it must sound even more unwieldy with "-ed" and "-ing" suffixes added. It seems to run counter to the principle of euphony that made my late professor's pronunciation of "adversary" and "controversy" sound so right.

Merino—this word designates both a breed of sheep and the wool that it produces. Both sheep and wool are more of an English thing than an American, so I'll take their word for it when I hear British actors read the word with the stress, and a short e, both in the first syllable. I was just a little surprised by this, though, because I've met people with the family name Merino, who pronounce it "muh-REE-no." But coming from a country where the word "chops" is not automatically understood to mean mutton chops, they may be as mistaken as I was.

The Humming Room

The Humming Room
by Ellen Potter
Recommended Ages: 12+

Roo Fanshaw is a runty thief, good at hiding with her hoard of trinkets in tight spaces where big people can't come after her. Before we have time to find out what made her this way, we see her taken from the scene of her drug-dealer father's murder (which she witnessed) and passed along to a series of foster families, where she is even less loved and cared for than before. At last, she comes in for a landing at the remote home of her uncle—a reclusive man who was estranged from her father, his brother. Whether this is finally to be her home, however, will depend on how well she can adapt to a gloomy old house that used to be a sanitarium for children dying of tuberculosis, on an island in the Saint Lawrence River accessible only by boat, among servants who worry more about keeping the girl out of her uncle's way than about how she is doing. And yet the island stirs a new life in this closed-up, hurt girl.

Chiefly, what brings Roo back to life is the mystery, or rather the mysteries, of Cough Rock. There is the mystery about the beautiful wild boy whom the locals call the Faigne, who paddles alone among the rocks and isles, making friends with the wildlife and living without adult supervision. Then there is the mystery of the West Wing, where Roo is not allowed to go, and the humming sound which sometimes sounds like screaming and crying, though no one is meant to live there. And finally, there is the secret passage that leads Roo to an indoor tropical rain forest that has been hidden from the world.

As Roo and the Faigne (actually a flesh-and-blood boy named Jack) work to bring this dead garden back to life, life creeps back into Roo as well. And not only into her, but also into a certain spoiled, bedridden, perhaps mentally ill child named Phillip, who has been wearing himself out (and everyone around him) with grief since his mother died. Of all people, it is Roo who seems to have the magic touch to make Phillip open up to life again, along with his mother's little piece of jungle... if only his stern father will allow it.

When I reviewed Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic The Secret Garden years ago, I noted that while it's a fine book, its overall effectiveness is hurt by a serious structural flaw. In this retelling of the same story, updated from 19th-century India and England to 21st-century Florida and New York, I hoped to see the author of The Kneebone Boy and the Olivia Kidney books correct that flaw. Instead, I was even more disappointed. This book could have gone on twice as long, working out its rich dramatic conflict; instead, after reaching an exquisite climax, it resolves everything too abruptly and too easily. I was excited to ride along where this book seemed to be carrying me, but its sudden and unfulfilling ending yanked the rug from under my feet. And so, for perhaps only the second time in my book-boosting career, I call "do-over." I hope the author will consider my suggestion that she flesh out the conflict and its resolution in an expanded Second Edition.