Symphony of Secrets by Brendan Slocumb: A review

Bern Hendricks is well known as one of the world's preeminent experts on the music of twentieth-century composer Frederick Delaney. When the board of the Delaney Foundation asks him to help authenticate some recently found music that may be Delaney's lost opera, Red, it is a dream come true for him. He happily gets to work on the project and gets help with it from his tech-savvy acquaintance Eboni.

But soon Bern and Eboni begin to uncover information that leads them to believe that Delaney may not have, in fact, composed this music or much, if not all, of the music attributed to him. They discover that it may instead have been composed by a young Black woman named Josephine Reed.

It was the 1920s and Josephine was living on the streets of New York and frequenting jazz clubs. In one of those clubs, she met Frederick Delaney. Delaney was trying to establish himself as a musician but it was not going well for him. His music was not making the impact that he hoped for. But once he met Josephine, he took her music as his own and his career took off.

Josephine was a prodigy who heard music in all the sounds of the world around her and she was able to translate that into her own compositions. Josephine and Delaney worked in a kind of uneven partnership. It was a partnership in which one of the partners was never acknowledged, but it was that partner whose talent and creativity made Delaney a success.

As Bern and Eboni continue digging, they become convinced of their discoveries and they pursue their own quest to right the wrongs of history and give Josephine Reed the credit she deserved. But they are working for the Delaney Foundation. Will that entity ever allow them to go public with their newly found information?

Brendan Slocumb writes a rousing good tale, one that easily held my interest throughout. His book gives a realistic picture (at least to the best of my understanding) of life in the 1920s and of the way that women and minorities and their music were perceived and were treated during that period. This is Slocumb's second novel. The first was The Violin Conspiracy. Based on the evidence so far, I would say he has a bright future as a novelist.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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