Three short works by John Philip Sousa

Delightful tales from the musical pen of a composer and writer for Friday’s Forgotten Books at Patti Abbott’s blog Pattinase.

“That,” said Mephistopheles, solemnly, and with no pretense of sophistry, “is the string of death, and he who plays upon it dies at once.”

The plan was to review American music composer and conductor John Philip Sousa’s The Fifth String (1902), a novella about Angelo Diotti, a fictionally renowned Italian violinist who comes to America and falls in love with Mildred Wallace, the coldhearted daughter of a wealthy banker. 

At the heart of the story is Diotti’s possession of a unique and magnificent violin gifted to him by Satan. Unlike a typical violin which has four strings, this one has a fifth string. The four strings, when played, arouse feelings of pity, hope, love, and joy in the listener, and the fifth string, while also enchanting the listener, will mean death to the player. 

The question is does Signor Diotti play the death string?

The conversation between the composer and the devil is lively, and there is humour in the narrative. However, since I’ve only just started reading the fifty-five page ebook, I cannot offer a full review of this unusual tale.

I also read two other works by John Philip Sousa—The Conspirators, a short story about the abduction of a young girl, and Experiences of a Bandmaster, a short biographical sketch of the music composer. 

The author in 1900.
© Elmer Chickering
Wikimedia Commons

In The Conspirators, three “scoundrels,”—Dennis Foley and his son Tom, and their accomplice Hildey, kidnap little Lillian and hold her hostage in a shack near Beaver Dam, an isolated creek, and demand ten thousand dollars in ransom from her wealthy father, Colonel Franklin. What follows is a Hardy Boys-like search and rescue of the girl by her brother Gilbert and their friends Sandy, Dink, and Leander, and some tense moments in a boat chase across the river. The action and excitement in The Conspirators is mild compared to a Hardy Boys adventure.

In Experiences of a Bandmaster, Sousa relives some of his memorable experiences as a music conductor in the service of the United States and that of the general public. As a conductor of the Marine Band, he played at state functions in the White House, under Presidents Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield, Chester A. Arthur, Grover Cleveland, and Benjamin Harrison in that order.

I think I may say that more than one President, relieved from the onerous duties of a great reception, has found rest by sitting quietly in the corner of a convenient room and listening to the music.

In one anecdote, Sousa recounts his embarrassment when President Arthur approached him quietly and asked him to play the Cachuca, a Spanish solo dance music. When the composer explained that the Marine Band did not have the music, the President, it seems, looked surprised and remarked: “Why, Sousa, I thought you could play anything. I'm sure you can; now give us the Cachuca.” The brief sketch has many such anecdotes.

John Philip Sousa had a distinguished music career and was known mainly for American military and patriotic marches, which earned him the title ‘The March King’ or the ‘American March King.’ He must have composed music as beautifully as he wrote his stories. The two stories and the memoir were certainly well written. You can read more about Sousa here.

How the West Was Written, Vol.1, by Ron Scheer

Author Ron Scheer

© Buddies in the Saddle

I was fourteen when my paternal uncle introduced me to my first western, Sudden, by British author Oliver Strange. He used to read the Corgi editions in a single sitting of two hours. By the time I finished reading the ten adventures of the lightning-quick Texas outlaw, and an additional five by compatriot Frederick H. Christian (writer Frederick Nolan), I was hooked to western fiction. 

I followed up the Sudden series with westerns by J.T Edson, Zane Grey, Max Brand, George G. Gilman's Edge, Wayne D. Overholser, Giles A. Lutz, and Louis L'Amour whose Flint remains one of my favourite novels in the category. 

Over the past three decades, I read many westerns by various authors. I read them without pattern or proper knowledge of the genre. It was only in the past few years, and especially after I started blogging, that I realised there was far more to westerns than gunfights, saloon brawls, and rustling. My understanding of the Wild West has been coming mainly from reading about early and historical frontier fiction on blogs published by veterans in the field, James Reasoner, Ed Gorman, Ron Scheer, and Richard S. Wheeler, among several illustrious writers. Their reviews and articles about western stories in particular and western fiction in general have enhanced my pleasure of reading both early and contemporary westerns.

My education in frontier fiction is set to get a boost when I read Ron Scheer's just-released How the West Was Written, Frontier Fiction, Vol.1, 1880-1906. The book—the first of a two-volume series on frontier fiction during 1880-1915—is published by Beat to a Pulp whose editor-publisher David Cranmer describes Ron as "the premier reviewer of Western literature." I couldn't agree more as I'm a lot wiser about the Wild West after reading his many in-depth reviews of western books and films. If you're a fan of westerns, then you should head over to his blog Buddies in the Saddle.

While the title tells you what the book is about, here is a brief description from the introduction:

This book began as a question about the origins of the cowboy western... how it grew from Owen Wister’s bestseller, The Virginian (1902), to Zane Grey’s first novels a decade later. A reading of frontier fiction from that period, however, soon reveals that the cowboy western was only one of many different kinds of stories being set in the West.

Besides novels about ranching and the cattle industry, writers wrote stories about railroads, mining, timber, the military, politics, women’s rights, temperance, law enforcement, engineering projects, homesteaders, detectives, preachers and, of course, Indians, all of it an outpouring between the years 1880–1915. That brief 35-year period extends from the Earp-Clanton gunfight in Tombstone, Arizona, to the start of the First World War.

The chapters of How the West Was Written tell a story of how the western frontier fed the imagination of writers, both men and women. It illustrates how the cowboy is only one small figure in a much larger fictional landscape. There are early frontier novels in which he is the central character, while in others he’s only a two-dimensional, tobacco-chewing caricature, or just an incidental part of the scenery.

A reading of this body of work reveals that the best-remembered novel from that period, The Virginian, is only one among many early western stories. And it was not the first. The western terrain was used to explore ideas already present in other popular fiction—ideas about character, women, romance, villainy, race, and so on. A modern reader of early western fiction discovers that Wister’s novel was part of a flood of creative output. He and, later, Zane Grey were just two of many writers using the frontier as a setting for telling the human story.

How the West Was Written promises to be the literary equivalent of the epic film How the West Was Won, 1962. The book is currently available as an ebook for Kindle and in paperback. Ron Scheer says there will be a second volume for the years 1907-1915.

Love Story, 1970

A short run through a popular film of the seventies for Overlooked Films at Todd Mason's blog Sweet Freedom.

Ryan O'Neal is probably best remembered for the soap opera Peyton Place. But when I think of his films I immediately think of Love Story (1970), based on Erich Segal's popular novel, and Irreconcilable Differences (1984) where a little girl takes her warring parents to court with the intention of divorcing them. I've seen little else. 

Love Story is both a love story and a family drama where Oliver Barrett IV (O'Neal), a Harvard Law student, risks the wrath of his wealthy and elitist father by falling in love with an ordinary but intelligent girl, Jenny (Ali MacGraw), and marrying her. But their love is doomed for reasons other than familial opposition. Directed by Arthur Hiller and written by Erich Segal, Love Story is a poignant tale of two mature adults whose love and friendship depends on complete honesty with each other. 

While the late Erich Segal wrote in a clean and simple style, he weaved emotional stories, playing on the sentiments of his many readers. I believe when Love Story was released people came out crying from cinema halls. His Man, Woman and Child (written in 1970, filmed in 1983) was no less sentimental as a married man and father of two daughters grapples with unexpected events after he learns that he has a son from another woman, the result of a past affair. He wrote lines that became popular like "Love means never having to say you're sorry" in Love Story and "Sheila is why I believe in marriage" in Man, Woman and Child. I never saw Oliver's Story (1979), the sequel to Love Story and also based on a Segal novel.

Love Story is a nice depressing little film. But whatever happened to Ali MacGraw?

A short break

I'm on a short holiday from Friday, April 18, through Sunday, April 20, during which time I'll not be posting anything. I'm leaving my laptop behind but I'll be reading other blogs on my cellphone and tablet, although I may not have the time to comment. On this trip I'll be reading a book and an ebook respectively—Stallion Gate by Martin Cruz Smith and The Education of a Pulp Writer & Other Stories by David Cranmer. David is the editor-publisher of Beat to a Pulp, a webzine that publishes short stories in many genres. I'll be with my family and giving us company in the hill station will be lots of birds, monkeys, and horses, and unfortunately people too. A happy Good Friday and Easter weekend to you all.

Anne by Fanny Stevenson, 1899

She was, at last, however, forced to believe that she was growing old. She was old, and the days were flying past her with an incredible rapidity.

© Wikimedia Commons

I had no idea Robert Louis Stevenson’s wife had written a short story. I would probably have missed ‘Anne’ in Scribner’s Magazine,  July 1899, had she not been referred to as ‘Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson’ in the contents page. Inside she is mentioned as Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson. The famous Scottish novelist and poet was her second husband.

‘Anne’ is the touching story of a gentle old woman who, one spring morning, spends a few quiet moments on a lovely hill reminiscing about her past, her childhood and youth, her marriage to John, ten years her senior, the purchase of their first and only house, and also thinking about their shared present as they grow old, slowly lose their faculties, and prepare to meet their maker. Anne has no children and she has been lavishing all her motherly instincts on her husband, petting and spoiling him like a child.

As Anne dreams on, she hears a clear voice and sees a familiar face, that of Marian, her mother’s cousin who died when Anne was a little child. Anne is startled and frightened when Marian tells her that she is a spirit and that they are not in Anne’s dream. Anne is, however, unwilling to accept that she is dead.

"Don't, don't!" cried Anne; "don't repeat that dreadful word! I am not, I cannot be! And yet I know, and hate the knowledge, that it must come to me very soon, for I am, as you say, an old woman. Let me enjoy this beautiful dream wherein I am still young. But is this youth?"

When a troubled Anne returns home through a mysterious fog, she finds John sitting by the table, leaning forward, probably asleep, but her husband sees nothing and hears nothing when she kneels beside him and places her hands on his.

"Oh, my dear old husband," she said; "husband of my youth and of my old age; we are one; we cannot be parted. I will not leave you. I shall wait beside you."

In the end Anne and John pass out of the house as their serving-maid shouts aloud, "Help, help, master is dead!"

The philosophical underpinning of the story is evident. Anne looks at the inevitability of life and death in a beautiful way, and accepts it, however reluctantly. There is nothing morbid about the story. It is a clean and simple tale with a touch of the supernatural, if you like. Although ‘Anne’ was written at the end of the Victorian era, the writing style is not Victorian.  

Fanny Stevenson, who was known for her charm and wit and who did not leave her devoted husband in spite of his unfaithfulness, collaborated with him on at least one work of fiction called The Dynamiter, classified as pulp. The 1885 novel is available free online.

Reading Habits #8: 12 questions about blogs

1. What is your motivation for reading other blogs?
Me: I have two reasons: one, getting to know other likeminded bloggers (I have more blog friends than real friends), and two, a shared interest in books and films (I have learned a lot about both over the past few years). Although I haven't personally met any of my fellow-bloggers, I feel like I have known them for a long time. It has been a fruitful blog journey so far.

2. Do you visit other blogs out of a sense of obligation?
Me: Yes and no. I visit several blogs during the week, some more often than others depending on the content and time on my hand. First, I make it a point to visit those blogs whose owners visit mine, a sort of quid pro quo, as most things in life are. Then, I visit bloggers who don't usually hop over to mine; I like to read what they post though I may not leave a comment. Conversely, other bloggers whose blogs I don’t look up regularly visit mine, and I appreciate that. Finally, I visit random blogs that come up during “search” on the internet or in “comments” on other blogs. I visit these blogs on a one-off basis though I may “follow” them later.

3. Do you at times skip blogs that you frequent or follow?
Me: I do, sometimes because I genuinely forget and sometimes because of a serious lack of time. Besides, there are indefatigable bloggers who post faster than I can visit, read, comment, captcha, and exit the first time. I don't know how they do it and I say this with not a little envy. I find getting out of the bed in the morning easier than getting a post out of the way.

4. Do you read the entire post on other blogs or do you skim through and get the essence of it?
Me: I read the entire post from top to bottom even if my interest is waning, my coffee's getting cold, I'm missing a deadline or I'm running late for the 8.23 am train to work, and you know how important those last three things are.

5. Do you always leave a comment every time you visit another blog?
Me: Mostly I do and if I don't, it’s because I have nothing concrete to say. Sometimes I like a post very much but I genuinely don't know what to say. There have been times when I have left a comment and wondered later if I'd said too much or too little, too smart or too dumb, sounded too zealous or what.

6. Are you completely honest in your comments on other blogs?
Me: Almost always. But when I’m saying good things about a post, I’m not being polite, I actually mean it.

7. After reading a review of a book by a fellow-blogger, do you really mean it when you say that you're going to add it to your growing TBR pile?
Me: ‘I’m going to add it to my TBR pile’ is probably the most done-to-death line in blog comments. I mean it when I say it, but I never say when I’m going to read it. I make a mental note. Generally, on a scale of 1 to 10, my score is a poor two, maybe one and a half, which isn’t bad considering the sheer number of “new” authors and books I read about on other blogs every week. My intent is good.

8. Are you impressed or intimidated by what other bloggers post?
Me: I'm both impressed and intimidated. I'm impressed by the kind of books and films my fellow-bloggers review, not to mention the way they review them, and intimated by the superior knowledge and understanding they bring to those reviews.

9. What do you like reading most on other blogs?
Me: Let’s take books. I like reading about miscellaneous stuff, like a blogger’s or an author’s writing process or a visit to a vintage bookstore or new additions to the TBR pile or who is reading what, and then there are the reviews.

10. Do you speak the way you write on your blog?
Me: Not always, sometimes I blow up my writing. For instance, I may use certain words or terms that I'm never likely to use in a conversation. In my answer to Q3 I used the word "indefatigable;" in speech, I'd use the word "tireless," it's easier on the tongue. I take creative liberties.

11. Does your blog reflect the kind of person you are?
Me: Mostly, yes. For example, when I overreact or get carried away in my own posts or in my comments on other blogs, that’s me. I have a rather exaggerated disposition towards most things but as I have been saying all along, I mean it.

12. Are you proud of your blog and do you show off?
Me: I’m and I do. What do you think this post is all about!

All answers submitted by me in this post are true to the best of my knowledge and disbelief. What are your answers like?


For the previous seven Reading Habits, including an animated conversation between a paperback and a hardback, look under Labels.

Public Murders by Bill Granger, 1980

A little-known author and his little-known crime fiction make their way into Friday’s Forgotten Books at Patti Abbott’s blog Pattinase.

Soon it would be over. Now she could see. There was the knife only. She could see her own terrified eye reflected in the blade. She watched her own eye staring at her.

My copy of the book. © Prashant C. Trikannad

 
If someone asked me which was the grittiest crime novel I'd read in recent times, I'd have no hesitation in saying Public Murders by Bill Granger, the late journalist turned novelist from Chicago.

The story begins with nine men watching porn in a theatre. One of the men gets up from his seat and walks out. He follows Maj Kirsten, young, good-looking, blonde, Swedish, into Grant Park, Chicago, and brutally rapes and murders her. She is discovered naked and mutilated by a black kid playing softball with his friends.

Soon, two more young, good-looking, blonde immigrants are raped and killed in and around Grant Park. One of them, famous porn star Bonni Brighton, is knifed from behind and neatly cut from back up while watching her own film inside a theatre.

There are suspects including Bonni’s German father, Frank Bremenhoffer, who has disowned his daughter for being a cheap whore. But after months of intense public, media, and political scrutiny, the hard-nosed Chicago law enforcers are nowhere close to apprehending the serial rapist-killer.

Desperate for a closure, investigators send feisty policewoman Karen Kovac, young, good-looking, blonde, as “a decoy to entice a maniac.” Kovac is a single mother who wants to be transferred to homicide.

The characters
There are no heroes, only characters, like those you'll find in an Ed McBain novel. Their names are suggestive of actual Chicago policemen. Matthew Schmidt, “the tall, cadaverous lieutenant of homicide,” and Jack Donovan, chief of the criminal division for the state's attorney’s office, are the principal investigators. They are assisted by Sid Margolies and Terry Flynn, two no-nonsense plainclothes sergeants.

Breathing down their necks are Leonard Ranallo, chief of homicide, Thomas P. Halligan, the new state's attorney, and Leland Horowitz, first assistant and chief political meddler.

Mario DeVito is in charge of trial work at the state’s attorney’s office; Maurice Goldberg is a young assistant at Area One Homicide, where the crimes take place; and Karen Kovac is out to prove her worth as sex bait.

Bill Granger gives the reader a glimpse into the rather bleak personal lives of the law enforcers which is enmeshed with their professional duties. They have serious issues but they don’t let it affect their work. Matt Schmidt has a debilitating illness and his wife won’t wake him up at night, while Jack Donovan, father of two children, is separated from his runaway wife who is insane.

Most of the men are known to one another and have worked together before. Some of them, like Jack and Mario, are friends and depend on each other. The men work on this special case as a single unit. They are tough and competent.

Final word
Public Murders is a harsh portrayal of the underbelly of Chicago, its gritty crime investigation division, and its noisy criminal courtrooms.

Again, in the best traditions of a McBain, the novel is strong on police procedurals and courtroom procedures, police jurisdictions and overzealous investigation. The entire story revolves around these elements of crime fiction. Granger does not hold back. His style is blunt, even sexist and racist at times, in keeping with the overall narrative. His description of crimes is graphic but not overly disturbing. There is plenty of dialogue, a lot of it short and coarse; the way cops talk, straight from the shoulder. His detectives appear conscientious and play by the rules, somewhat reluctantly. There is dark humour. And there is frustration as the case drags on.

This is a realistic story that isn’t real. As Granger observes in the author’s note, “Realism presents a problem in this book. The novel is set in Chicago. Chicago is portrayed as it really is… Nevertheless, the story is fiction.”

Did I enjoy it? Very much.

Crime fiction buffs such as Sergio (a sworn Ed McBain fan) at Tipping My Fedora, Tracy at Bitter Tea and Mystery, and Col at his Criminal Library will like this book. I just hope they haven't read it yet.

© Chicago Sun-Times

The author
Bill Granger (1941-2012) was born in Wisconsin and died in Chicago where he lived most of his life. He specialised in political thrillers and wrote some 25 novels. His first was The November Man (1979), an espionage thriller. He also wrote under the pseudonyms of Joe Gash and Bill Griffith. Prior to becoming a published writer, Granger was a journalist at Chicago Tribune and other Illinois newspapers. He also served briefly in the US Army. Public Murders won an Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America in 1981.

There is very little about Public Murders on the internet. However, I read a fine obituary of Bill Granger by Dennis Hevesi in The New York Times, May 5, 2012. Among other things, he says, “Mr. Granger’s favorite, and perhaps best-known, book was Public Murders, in which the city is in an uproar as a rapist-murderer strikes again and again. Public and political pressure exacts an emotional toll on the tough, foulmouthed detectives investigating the crimes.”