reading: Glissando by David Musgrave

Musgrave, David. Glissando. Sleepers Publishing, 2010.

Glissando is remarkably close to its name in its inception and execution: a ripple across strings previously played by others, to largely dramatic effect, with a melancholic afterglow.

The strings have been noted by others - Murnane and White come to mind (think plains, hidden properties, maps, remarkable houses, Voss-like travels, a melancholy narrator.)

The problem with this book to me, if there is one at all (and I think I'm nitpicking when I say this), is that dipping into such a potent mix carries the hazard of producing a pastiche from the contents. I think Musgrave manages to avoid this, but it is a narrow escape.

I do like the central conceit of the lost wager of the National Theatre, tying Murnane and White together with a bond of pure whimsy. And the empty house, Glissando, with its library containing the narrator's grandfather's journals, reminds me of another house in another book, by Alex Miller. But perhaps all that means is that Australia is full of empty settlers' homes with mouldering libraries in them.

So the worry for someone like Musgrave, following in these people's steps, is not pastiche, but simply, how to make this a memorable excursion, when one's fabric is shot through with so many other threads? Madame is a good start, as is Reggie, the narrator's disturbed brother and maestro pianist, travelling the world like David Helfgott. But I am concerned that I will mainly remember this book because it reminded me of others (and pasting in all of the travelling company from Voss doesn't help with this.) It would be better to be able to take away the deeper satire at the expense of theatre, notably at a Rabelaisian feast later in the book, but regrettably that has not stayed with me.

Nor do the notes of sadness struck in the coda act as a satisfactory recall of earlier themes for this reader - Archibald Fliess is first and foremost a narrator, and doesn't quite emerge as a full character, so it's a bit late in the day to start giving him a personality at the end, I think. Though this is not unknown in literature, of course, as many great satirists play outside the margins, do they not? Once more, the aptness of that title springs to mind.

It is pretty much imperative that one has read Voss before reading this, and reading Gerald Murnane's The Plains wouldn't hurt either. Having read David Marr's biography of Patrick White just prior  was, for this reader, one of those remarkable reading coincidences - is it accident that the Fliess grandfather is a great collector, as was one of White's uncles at the fabled Belltrees? I don't think so. That music has a dying fall indeed.

Comments

[LiteraryMinded]

Great review! I got stuck about half-way through the book as I kept expecting to care more about Archie, the narrator and main character, but he still hasn't drawn me in. Despite the beauty of the writing and so many elements of interest - the houses, the theatre troupe, shadows of the past - without knowing Archie better I've been reluctant to pick it up again. I read Voss a while ago, and I can see how it would be useful to have read it, but maybe not necessary? For me, it was difficult to keep going as I didn't quite care enough about Archie. Also, it flipped around a lot and at times I just wanted to be on one path (and wanting to find out what was going to happen) instead of just going along for the ride. Not sure if I'll finish it! Have loved everything Sleepers have published thus far & I'll prob still try & read whatever they put out.

[genevieve]

Thanks, Ange! Young Archie is a curious mix indeed. The end is elegiac, but didn't quite stick for me. There are some similar issues with The Bath Fugues, I have read here and there, for readers who are familiar with its 'borrowings'.
I have a sneaking suspicion I'm struggling with the patchwork impulses in it because it's Australian, too - overseas writers can do it, but if one of our own does we start nitpicking all of a sudden. We are tough on our own, I think.
Trout Opera, when I'm in my antipodean reading mind, is a more organic affair. Perhaps I will reread The Bath Fugues and see if I can give the three of 'em an organic star rating in my mind.
I will stick, in a friendly fashion, to my guns over the Voss-ter - whoever reads without Voss first will have a different colouring to the trip(py) stuff, but of course they could give it a try.
Speaking of Voss, I am currently missing my copy of Captain Midnite - dash it all.

[genevieve]

Captain Midnite is home now. Welcome back, buddy. We missed you.