"The sound from the strings of a violin are made by the bow and the hand that moves that bow, but the sound, once the violinist has learned and practiced and discovered what these can do—his hand and the bow—the sound comes from the body of the violin."
Good grief Mary... your knowledge and exquisite use of metaphor... the profundity in this gave me goosebumps!
Oh, Susie, your words mean so much. Sometimes, I feel as if I'm disappearing here, and then you and the others below appear and give hope. Love to you!
The images of cutting and breaking, the tenuous fine flayed string, the bow, the (imagined) bursting of the river tunnel, plus the "dark lighted ride through the tunnel of my head". Such compelling imagery, making this such a powerful chapter.
Haunting, beautiful and memorable. I cannot forget these characters and how their lives intertwined. The part about the rare violins is a welcome break from the intensity, yet it perfectly sets up the painful metaphor between the bow and the body. Brilliant, Mary. You are so gifted with how you string words together. 🩷
So grateful to you, Susan, for reading and commenting so generously. You've been true and deep supporter of this literary effort that comes from my heart.
“How foolish I was to think of the bow and not the body.” I mean, wow. This chapter is so devastatingly honest and beautiful. This metaphor will live in me forever.
" Are all artists strivers ? @maryltabor, says we are driven to reach deeper "The sound from the strings of a violin are made by the bow and the hand that moves that bow, but the sound, once the violinist has learned and practiced and discovered what these can do—his hand and the bow—the sound comes from the body of the violin. And so the musician soon wants a Stradivari whether or not he can afford it.
I suppose, Ellen, that I wonder if that's true, as it is Robert, the narrator, who says this words about the violinist. I know I was driven when writing this novel that moves towards its close. Thank you so for quoting his words and mine. You are lovely and a deep reader, for sure.
Very moving. I especially loved the paragraph on Mosconi. The fragility of life and things reflected beautifully in your choice of words. And on top of that, this afternoon, I was writing about amber glass as my childhood house had those amber-glass sliding doors with the round pattern across them. A bitter-sweet memory but it shows how writers and readers can connect through stories and experiences. My subscription ends soon and will be renewing again. Even though I don't comment often, I do visit and read you Mary each week and I am grateful to you and your generosity with advice, time and of course your teaching. xo
Ah, Isabelle, I'm so glad this chapter touched you in this way and affirmed its universality. You were wonderful to work with and, as with almost all my students, I learned as we worked together.
Lovely, as usual - so no surprise that this stirred me, which it did. One trigger reminder for me was the 'keeping a file of things to do' for use when the time comes. I had one of those, 4-identical folders of the same information: 1 in my briefcase, 1 at home, 1 at my office, 1 in my car ... so I'd never have to fret about where it was or have to journey to get it ... a nice/happy/remembrance of my dad's demise 10 years ago. So nice to have that memory waft through my brain just a few days before father's day. And wondering if I should prepare one for me X 4 ... Cheers, Mark
Ah, Mark, your comment here moves me, as I hope so that what I write will touch in just the way you so eloquently describe and make personal to your own experience--with feeling here of you and your memory of your dad.
Actually, it's a bit perverse - today would be my mother's birthday, but it's my dad's memory/connective tissue that gets triggered (not just because of Father's Day weekend and feeling painfully disconnected from my kids)
Wow! Best last line ever. This short chapter hits with great force. Keep asking myself, "How does she do that?"
Talk about makin' a girl's day, Del! xx
"The sound from the strings of a violin are made by the bow and the hand that moves that bow, but the sound, once the violinist has learned and practiced and discovered what these can do—his hand and the bow—the sound comes from the body of the violin."
Good grief Mary... your knowledge and exquisite use of metaphor... the profundity in this gave me goosebumps!
The whole chapter!
Oh, Susie, your words mean so much. Sometimes, I feel as if I'm disappearing here, and then you and the others below appear and give hope. Love to you!
The images of cutting and breaking, the tenuous fine flayed string, the bow, the (imagined) bursting of the river tunnel, plus the "dark lighted ride through the tunnel of my head". Such compelling imagery, making this such a powerful chapter.
Oh, Jeffrey, how you read so deeply and with such heart. Heart to heart, my dear virtual friend and superb essayist!
It's a treat to read such finely wrought writing, Mary!
Haunting, beautiful and memorable. I cannot forget these characters and how their lives intertwined. The part about the rare violins is a welcome break from the intensity, yet it perfectly sets up the painful metaphor between the bow and the body. Brilliant, Mary. You are so gifted with how you string words together. 🩷
So grateful to you, Susan, for reading and commenting so generously. You've been true and deep supporter of this literary effort that comes from my heart.
It's a pleasure to read your work! Each week I'm delighted to see the next installment in my inbox!
“How foolish I was to think of the bow and not the body.” I mean, wow. This chapter is so devastatingly honest and beautiful. This metaphor will live in me forever.
You are so lovely! And, have I said this before? What a reader you are! And with a novel coming out with Alisa Kennedy Jones! Hurrah!
And you too!!!! We're all Empresses now! Though you and Eleanor were empresses long before Alisa came along. ;)
I"m so thrilled. Here is Alisa's interview with me for those who haven't seen it: https://alisakennedyjones.substack.com/p/the-empress-questionnaire-theres
" Are all artists strivers ? @maryltabor, says we are driven to reach deeper "The sound from the strings of a violin are made by the bow and the hand that moves that bow, but the sound, once the violinist has learned and practiced and discovered what these can do—his hand and the bow—the sound comes from the body of the violin. And so the musician soon wants a Stradivari whether or not he can afford it.
I suppose, Ellen, that I wonder if that's true, as it is Robert, the narrator, who says this words about the violinist. I know I was driven when writing this novel that moves towards its close. Thank you so for quoting his words and mine. You are lovely and a deep reader, for sure.
Wonderfully moving, Mary, as I’ve found all of your writing to be. Thank you for sharing with us. Xoxo
Oh, Natalie, your words mean so much. Thank you so. Heart to heart.
Very moving. I especially loved the paragraph on Mosconi. The fragility of life and things reflected beautifully in your choice of words. And on top of that, this afternoon, I was writing about amber glass as my childhood house had those amber-glass sliding doors with the round pattern across them. A bitter-sweet memory but it shows how writers and readers can connect through stories and experiences. My subscription ends soon and will be renewing again. Even though I don't comment often, I do visit and read you Mary each week and I am grateful to you and your generosity with advice, time and of course your teaching. xo
Ah, Isabelle, I'm so glad this chapter touched you in this way and affirmed its universality. You were wonderful to work with and, as with almost all my students, I learned as we worked together.
"It was a dark lighted ride through the tunnel of my head." Rather striking, Ms. Tabor
Ah, Richard, that means so much and shows me that you see the metaphor in those words. Thank you, Mr. Donnelly!
Lovely, as usual - so no surprise that this stirred me, which it did. One trigger reminder for me was the 'keeping a file of things to do' for use when the time comes. I had one of those, 4-identical folders of the same information: 1 in my briefcase, 1 at home, 1 at my office, 1 in my car ... so I'd never have to fret about where it was or have to journey to get it ... a nice/happy/remembrance of my dad's demise 10 years ago. So nice to have that memory waft through my brain just a few days before father's day. And wondering if I should prepare one for me X 4 ... Cheers, Mark
Ah, Mark, your comment here moves me, as I hope so that what I write will touch in just the way you so eloquently describe and make personal to your own experience--with feeling here of you and your memory of your dad.
Actually, it's a bit perverse - today would be my mother's birthday, but it's my dad's memory/connective tissue that gets triggered (not just because of Father's Day weekend and feeling painfully disconnected from my kids)