Cherry Blossom in Washington
Day 3 and driving into Washington this morning, with the staggeringly beautiful blossom draping the trees, I'm struggling now to see everything in terms of the lyrics of songs. Perfect Day, for example. Another song, America, this time by Razorlight. Or the notes of a Debussy song, La Damoiselle Elue, subtle, gentle, bringing to mind images of sunlit French gardens and a girl with stars in her hair.
The way that music connects us to different times and places, and to other people, both strangers and familiars - is one of the themes of Sepulchre. My modern heroine, an American writer in Europe on a research trip, Meredith Martin, carries with her always a piece of piano music. Only the date - 1891 - and the title at the top of the first sheet give any indication as to its origins. Tucked inside the envelope, too, are a couple of old black and white photographs. But the notes on the stave of music carry her - and hopefully readers too - to places beyond the reaches of her knowledge, her imagination, her experience. Meredith is researching the life of the French composer Claude Debussy, but also looking for clues to her own family background. Woven into Meredith's journey from Paris to the south west of France, is the idea that the music itself contains information, clues, if only she had the ear to hear it. As the Eliot wrote, 'music heard, yet not heard.' Within Sepulchre, the power of the music is precisely that it speaks beyond language, beyond time and beyond place, until finally the story is told.
As it is for my imaginary characters in Sepulchre, the quick and the dead, the living and the ghosts, so it was for me this morning. Driving into Washington, listening to music that reminded me of other visits here, each experience becoming layered one upon the other with a unique soundtrack playing in the background.
What about you?
A bientôt
Kate
The way that music connects us to different times and places, and to other people, both strangers and familiars - is one of the themes of Sepulchre. My modern heroine, an American writer in Europe on a research trip, Meredith Martin, carries with her always a piece of piano music. Only the date - 1891 - and the title at the top of the first sheet give any indication as to its origins. Tucked inside the envelope, too, are a couple of old black and white photographs. But the notes on the stave of music carry her - and hopefully readers too - to places beyond the reaches of her knowledge, her imagination, her experience. Meredith is researching the life of the French composer Claude Debussy, but also looking for clues to her own family background. Woven into Meredith's journey from Paris to the south west of France, is the idea that the music itself contains information, clues, if only she had the ear to hear it. As the Eliot wrote, 'music heard, yet not heard.' Within Sepulchre, the power of the music is precisely that it speaks beyond language, beyond time and beyond place, until finally the story is told.
As it is for my imaginary characters in Sepulchre, the quick and the dead, the living and the ghosts, so it was for me this morning. Driving into Washington, listening to music that reminded me of other visits here, each experience becoming layered one upon the other with a unique soundtrack playing in the background.
What about you?
A bientôt
Kate
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