“Eulaliaaa!” Remembering Brian Jacques

This week’s Digest pays tribute to the late Brian Jacques, who passed away on February 5 at age 71. But first, some commentary on the Boston Symphony Orchestra and an announcement about my book.

I WAS DRIVING HOME last Saturday night at around half past nine when I had the good sense to switch on my radio and turn the dial to WCRB, our local classical music station. There, on most Saturday nights of the year, listeners from across New England can hear a live broadcast of the Boston Symphony Orchestra from the stage at Tanglewood or at Symphony Hall.

These concert broadcasts are always a treat, and this one was no exception. Although I had missed the first half of the program, the Fifth Symphony of composer Jean Sibelius (1865–1957) was about to begin. At the podium was Susanna Mälkki, a guest conductor from Finland—the same country that had produced Sibelius himself.

Sibelius was in his early 50s when he wrote the symphony, his fifth of seven. But within ten years, the maximalist pressures of the concert hall (magnified by raging alcoholism) had all but extinguished his creative spirit. For decades, he attempted to complete an eighth symphony, but eventually burned the only copy in a fit of despair. By the time of his death, he had not published a note in over thirty years.

But for all this, to hear the BSO perform such magnificent music was a keen reminder that classicists are not alone in producing masterpieces. MAXIMALISTS MAKE GOOD ART, too. When I call Sibelius a maximalist composer, I do not mean to indicate that he wrote bad music but rather that he experienced such pain as he wrote it. That’s why the mission of About the Artist is to say, “we can do better,” by encouraging the artists of today to seek more sustainable forms of artistry.

You can read more about the weekend’s program in this review by the Boston Globe’s Jeremy Eichler.

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TO EVERYONE WHO has already purchased a copy of The Maverick and the Champion: Musical Craftsmanship in the Twenty-first Century, I owe my most hearty thanks! The book had a “soft release” on the publisher’s website (Lulu.com) at the beginning of January, and today I am very proud to announce its availability on AMAZON.COM—the largest online bookstore in the world. You can learn more about the text and view a complete list of purchase options by visiting my Book page.

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TWO WEEKS AGO, the world lost one of its most successful storytellers when the English children’s author Brian Jacques passed away quite unexpectedly at the age of 71.

Born in 1939, Jacques (pronounced “Jakes”) was best known as the writer of the REDWALL series of adventure books, but to call him simply a children’s author gives far too narrow a description of this wonderful gentleman. A glance at Jacques’ biography reveals that after having abandoned “the lonely life of a sailor, he returned to Liverpool where he worked as a railway fireman, a longshoreman, a long-distance truck driver, a bus driver, a boxer, a bobby (Police Constable 216D), a postmaster, and a stand-up comic.” But it was as a milkman, according to the obituary in the New York Times, that he began to volunteer at a school for the blind located along his route, reading aloud to the children. He became so discouraged at the “adolescent angst” which characterized the available reading material that he decided to create his own, drawing on his years of rough-and-tumble experience and longstanding knack for telling a “good yarn.”

Soon after that day in 1986, Jacques published the first of more than twenty exciting novels featuring the talking animals of Redwall Abbey—a fine display of classical artistry by any standard. His constraints were simple: to craft an adventure complete with heroes and villains, to describe it in such vivid detail that listeners both blind and sighted would be entertained, and to do it all again once he’d reached The End.

For millions of children around the world, the style which emerged has proved delightful. The most recent addition to the series is The Sable Quean of 2010, a book which would not have been complete without the description of an always-enticing Redwall feast:

The table linen was spread upon the orchard grass, with pretty blossom arrangements decking the fruit trees. Lanterns hung, ready to be lit by evening. Casks of strawberry fizz, October Ale, dandelion and burdock cordial and jugs of mint tea or pennycloud brew were placed in the tree shade. Scones, tarts, pies and pasties were there in abundance, alongside trifles, broths, oven-baked breads and delicate almond wafers. The entire effect was magical or, to quote the Abbess, “the setting for an evening’s delicious enchantment!” And it really was just that.

I can say with confidence, Mr. Jacques, that the only thing better than a Redwall feast was a Redwall story. Rest in peace!