This morning dawned unseasonably bright, warm and sunny, as
have several days here recently. After breakfast I lay in bed reading the ‘Literary
Review’. There is a new book, by the singer Ian Bostridge, called ‘Schubert’s
Winter Journey: Anatomy of an Obsession’. ‘Oh, good,’ I thought; ‘a book about
that beautiful and, in the proper sense of the word, tragic work ‘Die
Winterreise’. I shall almost certainly get it, but let’s just see what the
reviewer (Rupert Christiansen) has to say.’
My Christmas smile started to drop as I read ‘This is
emphatically not a narrow musicological monograph’…’engage the non-specialist
reader’ …’nicely unbuttoned, unhectoring style that won’t deter the uninitiated’…
and more of the same pap.
It is painfully clear that the reviewer, and presumably the
author, regard all these as virtues, and think we should too. What is the point
of all these ‘accessible’ books that make no intellectual, literary, or indeed
musical demands of the reader? Why don’t Messrs Christiansen and Bostridge just
say ‘Hi guys and gals! Forget boring, difficult old Schubert! Check out the ‘Easy
Listening’ section and get your self some nice, soothing Mantovani!’
In case anyone’s interested, here anyway (not very well reproduced I fear) is the first page
of ‘Die Winterreise’:
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