Dangerous Liaisons (Les Liaisons Dangereuses) by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos (Book Review)

Pierre Choderlos de Laclos (1741-1803) wanted to write something out of the ordinary, something that would survive him across the centuries, and he fully succeeded. Published in 1782, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, a novel about sex and manipulation between protagonists without any moral scruples, was an immediate success a true Machiavelli in the bedroom.

The author Choderlos de Laclos was a military man – he took a sabbatical to write the novel – but returned to his martial duties after the novel was published, finally dying in Italy during the Napoleonic Wars. Research into ballistics led him to the invention of the artillery shell. He wrote no other fiction, making Dangerous Liaisons all the more special. The background of Choderlos de Laclos resounds in the story, for the relations between the sexes are often described in terms of military strategy: attack and defense, conquest and retreat.

Dangerous Liaisons is an epistolary novel – in fact, the best novel of this type ever written, thanks to the fact that the author fully uses all the possibilities of the form. Where earlier epistolary novels would only feature one or at most a few letter writers who penned their honest feelings, here we have a large group of persons whose letters are full of lies and tricks. The writers describe the same event in different terms to different people.

Having readers peruse other people's letters, was a trick of the early novel to persuade of its truth - and what can be more factual than a collection of letters published on the presumption that they have actually circulated and are about real events?

Les Liaisons Dangereuses was written during the final years of French aristocratic society, only seven years before the Revolution of 1789, when high heads would start rolling. The bawdy excesses of the leisure class were infamous (this was also the age of the Marquis de Sade), and Les Liaisons Dangereuses only added oil to the fire – without the intention to criticize, by the way, De Laclos did not present a clear moral message. The novel which picked up on the popular obsession with aristocratic evils sold out in only a few days.

The main characters in the novel are the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte de Valmont, former lovers and now partners in crime. Valmont is a notorious rake, a man who seduces women for sport. The Marquise, however, is a wealthy aristocratic widow who has maintained an air of social respectability. But she is all the more dangerous. In their jaded existence, both derive no pleasure from sex anymore, but instead need the headier kick of destroying the lives of other people.

Valmont is set on seducing the young, virtuous and married Madame de Tourvel (her husband is a judge long-term away on official duty). The most scandalous seducer in society sees this difficult feat as the ultimate triumph. Meanwhile, the Marquise wants revenge on a man who left her, M. de Gercourt, so she pushes Valmont to seduce a young woman, the fifteen year old Cecile, who is to marry De Gercourt in a few month's time – her enemy will be covered in shame when after the marriage it is made public that he has been preemptively cuckolded. Valmont’s reward will be the rekindling of his former love affair with the Marquise. Valmont and the Marquise de Merteuil are absolutely ruthless, they lie effortlessly in letters to their victims, then gleefully relate their successes in epistles to each other. The feeling ones are at the mercy of the unfeeling ones.

But things do not entirely go as planned. The Marquise is exasperated at Valmont's attention for Madame de Tourvel, a passion she does not deem worthy of him, and she is angry that he drags his feet regarding Cecile. Things are also complicated when Cecile falls in love with her music teacher, the Chevalier Danceny. Valmont, meanwhile, trying to perform the perfect seduction on Madame de Tourvel, does not intend to vanquish her by force, but wants to persuade her to give herself to him of her own volition. When that finally happens, the playboy who never had any feelings, has himself for the first time fallen in love, due to the intense passion that was necessary to batter her defenses... but ridiculed by The Marquise (who barely can suppress her jealousy), he breaks off the relation. This does not prevent that a gap has grown between the two partners in crime; they finally face each other as enemies. Mutual destruction will be the outcome and so ends this scandalous web of intrigue, infidelity, corruption and lust for power.

Dangerous Liaisons is a delicious book, as fresh and engaging as when it was written.

I have read Dangerous Liaisons in the Penguin edition, translated by Helen Constantine.  

Dangerous Liaisons has been filmed several times. The versions transposed to modern times and to Korea or China, can be forgotten; there are two films that aim at historical veracity: Dangerous Liaisons (1988) by Stephen Frears and with Glenn Close, John Malkovich en Michelle Pfeiffer; and Valmont (1989) by Miloš Forman and with Annette Bening, Colin Firth en Meg Tilly. The Frears version is tight and claustrophobic, but is true to the intention of the novel, and has great performances. It is usually deemed the best one, but in fact I liked Forman's film better - it is more relaxed and even humorous and has a better "18th century feeling." The performances are as good as those of the Frears film, and I liked the fact that the actors are lesser known, which foregrounds the story and not the actors.

Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded (1740) by Samuel Richardson (Book Review)

Pamela is the account of a beautiful 15 year old maid servant's defense of her virtue against the advances of her lascivious nobleman master, Mr. B. (no name provided to protect His Excellency), given in her own words via letters to her parents. When her mistress (Mr. B.'s mother), who has taught Pamela how to be a lady, dies, Mr B., who has a strong libertine streak, goes on the loose and trashes Pamela about the house because he is her master and believes he should get whatever he wants. The honest Pamela withstands him with the sacred mantra, repeated on every page of the book, of "rather my life than my virtue (read: virginity)." He pulls her in his lap, smothers her with kisses and puts his hand in her bosom. When that doesn't work, he suddenly jumps out of the closet while she is undressing, which brings on one of Pamela's splendid fainting fits, leaving her near dead.

Sexual deprivation next drives Mr B. to abduction. He kidnaps Pamela to another of his country houses where she is strictly guarded by the androgyne Ms Jewkes, a true Housekeeper from Hell. The evil housekeeper tells her to give in to Mr B. as it is better to be a kept woman than clean the dishes, and she uses interesting expletives as "saucebox" for Pamela. While thus hovering between maid servant and mistress, Pamela has several chances of escape but she blows them all, out of fear for a couple of cows in a nearby meadow, or by trying to climb over an unstable brick wall that collapses on top of her. The reader almost starts thinking she wants to stay. Pamela also enlists the services of the local preacher in her escape attempts, but unfortunately the young cleric falls in love with her, so that is no-go as well. When Mr B. hears about the preacher's unfortunate infatuation, he has him put in prison, because Mr. B. is the local magistrate and thus the law, and can do whatever he likes with 15 year old girls and obstinate preachers alike. This was 18th c. England, but I am afraid there could still be some backward places on this earth where a similar situation lingers on.

Another attempted rape, when Mr B. wearing the clothes of one of the maids, jumps into Pamela's bed, is fooled in the same way as before, by Pamela falling into a dead faint. In the meantime, Mr B. has had Pamela's letters intercepted and after reading them, is won over by her virtue - he suddenly decides to marry her "officially" despite the gap in social standing. And so it goes, although there still is a Lady Sister, who, outraged at her brother demeaning himself with a servant, has to be pacified. But after being dressed in style like a lady, Pamela also knows how to behave like a lady, and she appears more charming and educated than anyone she meets. The Cinderella wonder of it all.

As a modern reader, it is impossible to take the character of Pamela serious. Surely, we suspect, isn't she manipulating everyone around her (that is indeed what literally happens in the satire based on the novel, Henry Fielding's Shamela)? There seem to be some clues that she is an unreliable narrator and that honesty is not one of her virtues, but these were definitely not meant by Samuel Richardson, a fifty-year old printer who wrote the book as a straightforward moralistic example - not for nothing did he start it as a conduct book to educate the reader on social norms.

The story falls flat after Mr B. decides to marry Pamela. Unfortunately for the reader, when that happens, we are not even halfway through the 500 pages of this voluminous novel, and the rest of the book has been filled up with moralistic treatises and preaching. Thanks to Pamela's transforming goodness, all the baddies including the Hellish Housekeeper are exculpated - even Mr B. is forgiven a peccadillo in his past which has born fruit - and we end with one big happy family.

To conclude on a cynical note: this classic is a story of the near rape and kidnapping of a girl in her mid-teens, told by the victim in her own words to her parents (where were they? - her father only shows up when it is time for the wedding), promoted as the basis for a successful marriage. In reality, of course, such fairy tales never happened: it is more likely that the libertine masters took their pleasure with the girls they coveted and then discarded them to a life of prostitution. But fairy tales are popular, today and in the past. The novel led to a "Pamela craze" in England in the 1740s, and - like a modern blockbuster movie which it also resembles in other aspects - spawned various "Pamela goods," from fans and playing cards to teacups. I should have been warned...

Pamela is available for free at Gutenberg and eBooks@Adelaide. The best printed version is the one in Oxford Classics, which is based on the original, first edition of the novel.

"Boule de Suif" (1880) by Guy de Maupassant (Book review)

Published in 1880, "Boule de Suif" ("Ball of Fat" or "Dumpling") was one of Guy de Maupassant's earliest stories and it is generally considered as one of his masterpieces. It appeared in an anthology with stories about the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71 that was edited by Emile Zola. That war was in fact started by France's Second Empire under Napoleon III out of concern for a rising and expanding Germany, centering on Bismarck's Prussia. But thanks to their fast industrial development the Germans had the superior fire power and they inflicted a crushing defeat on the French army, occupying parts of northern France including Paris.

One could say that ten years later, when De Maupassant wrote "Boule de Suif" and other stories about this now almost forgotten war, the French were still licking their wounds - they were especially still coping with their mental shock. In France, the war led to the fall of Napoleon III, the Paris Commune and the ensuing Third Republic; in Germany the various states combined to form the German Empire under Wilhelm I, the first German nation state. Feelings of hatred on both sides prepared the ground for the First World War (which had better be called "Great European War," as that is what it really was). The Germans became unpleasantly arrogant and openly militaristic, something which pressed Turgenev, who had been living for many years in Baden-Baden, to evade the unpleasant atmosphere and move to France.

"Boule de Suif" is named after the main character, the prostitute Elizabeth Rousset who carries this nickname because of her physical properties: "Short and round, fat as a pig, with puffy fingers constricted at the joints, looking like rows of short sausages; with a shiny, tightly-stretched skin and an enormous bust filling out the bodice of her dress, she was yet attractive and much sought after, owing to her fresh and pleasing appearance."

The story is set in Rouen, recently occupied by the Prussian army. Ten residents of the city decide, for various reasons, to flee to Le Havre in a stagecoach. The group of travelers is made up of a petty bourgeoisie shop-owning couple, M. and Mme. Loiseau; a wealthy upper-bourgeoisie factory-owner and his wife, M. and Mme. Carré-Lamadon; the Comte and Comtesse of Bréville; the strict Democrat Cornudet; two nuns; and Boule de Suif. Of course, the good burghers of the city are not happy to have to share their coach with someone as vulgar as a whore, and initially Boule de Suif has to cope with various insults. This changes when it becomes lunchtime and she is the only one who has been so wise to bring a well-loaded picnic basket - which she kindly shares with the other hungry travelers.

Due to the bad weather, the coach moves very slowly and in the evening blunders into a village occupied by the Germans. A Prussian officer detains the party at the local inn without telling them why, but he repeatedly summons Boule de Suif for interviews, from which she returns in an agitated state. It becomes clear to the other passengers that the officer wants Boule de Suif to share his bed, something she indignantly refuses as she hates the Germans (in fact the reason for her departure from Rouen). "Kindly tell that scoundrel, that cur, that carrion of a Prussian, that I will never consent - you understand? - never, never, never!"

Initially, the other passengers support Boule de Suif and are indignant at the arrogance of the German officer, but when the days pass, they become impatient to leave and start pressing her to grant the German his wish. Isn't she a prostitute, after all, so why doesn't she do what she always does? Finally, Boule de Suif swallows her pride and gives in - more out of pity for the others than the strength of their arguments, the reader feels. The next morning, the coach is allowed to leave.

Now the hypocrisy of the "good" citizens explodes in all its ugliness. As they continue to Le Havre, the other passengers completely ignore Boule de Suif. She is treated by the group as if she had been infected with some deadly disease. Now Boule de Suif is the one who has no food, but the others don't even give her a bite from their rich provisions. Boule de Suif can only weep for her lost dignity.

"No one looked at her, no one thought of her. She felt herself swallowed up in the scorn of these virtuous creatures, who had first sacrificed, then rejected her as a thing useless and unclean. Then she remembered her big basket full of the good things they had so greedily devoured: the two chickens coated in jelly, the pies, the pears, the four bottles of claret; and her fury broke forth like a cord that is overstrained, and she was on the verge of tears. She made terrible efforts at self-control, drew herself up, swallowed the sobs which choked her; but the tears rose nevertheless, shone at the brink of her eyelids, and soon two heavy drops coursed slowly down her cheeks. Others followed more quickly, like water filtering from a rock, and fell, one after another, on her rounded bosom. She sat upright, with a fixed expression, her face pale and rigid, hoping desperately that no one saw her give way."

The main theme of the story is this terrible hypocrisy: the basic unworthiness of those who consider themselves as "virtuous."

Another interesting facet is that the German military in the story are depicted in a way which now has become a stereotype, but which in fact was new when De Maupassant wrote: as arrogant, uncultured and cruel.

Read Boule de Suif in a free translation on the internet; French original.  

It has been said that John Ford borrowed the plot of Boule de Suif for his film Stagecoach (1939). The most interesting film based on the story was Maria no Oyuki (1935) by the Japanese director Mizoguchi Kenji - it gave him the chance to depict his favorite type, a woman who sacrifices herself for others.  

Other posts about novels and stories of De Maupassant: Bel Ami; "A Country Excursion";  "The Maison Tellier."

"The Great Gatsby" (1922) by F. Scott-Fitzgerald (Book Review)

No, I haven't seen the latest Gatsby film (which doesn't seem such a big deal anyway if the first reviews got it right), but all the GG noise in the ether motivated me to try the novel, which I hadn't read before. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott-Fitzgerald (1896-1940) of course is a constant bestseller of which millions of copies have been sold, although I guess that most American readers have forcibly encountered it on their reading list at school. It also sits high on lists of the best books of the 20th century, but then again, such lists are usually uncannily similar to those school reading lists.

But enough of this introduction, what did I think about The Great Gatsby?

In a few words: a medium quality, fast read; well-written and attractive for its image of the decadent Jazz Age of the 1920s, but also seriously flawed in several respects.

There are two major flaws:
(1) the sodden melodrama (though hidden under the narrator's lightness of touch) - The Great Gatsby is the story of the mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby who owns a lavish mansion on Long Island where he hosts extravagant parties. As later becomes clear, his only purpose is to come into contact again with his former flame Daisy, who lives across the Bay, exactly opposite him, and who is now married to another very rich man, Tom Buchanan. This Tom, by the way, is an ugly fascistoid white supremacist; he also has a mistress, Myrtle, the disgruntled wife of a garage owner on the outskirts of New York. Although Daisy is a vapid and spiritual empty shell who only floats where the money is (she was brought up in a rich household herself, how could it be otherwise), we have to believe that Gatsby has been madly in love with her, even though she jilted him for $$ five years ago when he was still poor. The present fortune of Gatsby, by the way, has been obtained through bootlegging and other illegal pursuits - he is hand in glove with several gangsters. The crisis comes when Gatsby openly professes his love and tries to pry Daisy loose from Tom. Then Daisy, driving Gatsby's car, inadvertently runs over and kills Myrtle in a hit-and-run traffic accident (a plot twist that is rather too coincidental to be believable); the garage owning husband, who knows the car, goes after Gatsby - thinking that he was the driver - and kills him in his swimming pool to take revenge for the traffic accident before committing suicide - and yes, he also confused Gatsby with Tom Buchanan as the lover of his wife. Final curtain. Isn't this a cheap soap opera? Of course, Gatsby's funeral is a very lonely affair as all the partying people have already forgotten about him and anyway, they hate contact with death. The Great Gatsby is, if anything, aesthetically overrated, with a plot that is just silly. (Between brackets: that is why the plotless stories of, for example, Chekhov are so great - too much plot is just ridiculous. Life doesn't have a plot, either).

(2) the unnatural characterization - this is not a realistic novel, but a fable. The love of Gatsby for Daisy is not made plausible in the book, probably also because Daisy is only a piece of fluff. It is Scott-Fitzgerald's fault that he does not fill in the attraction or the psychological motivation between these two main players. It now seems that Daisy doesn't really return Gatsby's feelings but only plays along with him out of boredom, or to take avenge on her philandering husband - the novel certainly is not a "love story" as many people seem to believe (again due to reading the book as a teenager, I guess). When coming to Gatsby, I had just read John Updike's Couples and kept comparing both books - after all, both novels tell stories of adultery and love for a married woman. I found Updike vastly superior. His characters are just as ugly - in different ways - as those in The Great Gatsby, but they are real. His protagonists also behave like grown-ups do in the real world - no coincidental deadly traffic accidents, no convenient murders and no suicides here. But the attraction people may feel for the partner of another and the complex emotional problems such behavior engenders, are only properly addressed in Couples, while The Great Gatsby skims the surface by opting for cheap melodrama. In the end, neither Gatsby nor Daisy are believable characters. I don't mind that the characters are not likeable (unlikeable characters populate the greatest novels of the world) but I object to their being not real. The book is psychologically vacant.

There is also one plus point:
Not everything is bad in The Great Gatsby, and I probably would like the book better if it was not so overhyped. The descriptions of the parties Gatsby hosts are immaculate, Scott-Fitzgerald here demonstrates clearly the decadent, empty spirit of those times - in a most enjoyable way. And the style is beautifully polished, without calling too much attention to itself.

My final judgement:
But, when we make up the final reckoning, the positives are by far not enough to save this book as a superb novel, let alone the Great American Novel it has been made out to be. It can't compare with anything Henry James has written (surely, The Wings of the Dove is much better!), nor with Moby Dick, or Huckleberry Finn, or The Adventures of Augie March, Rabbit Run, Gravity's Rainbow, American Pastoral, and many others. Perhaps it is so popular because it is short and easy to consume.

"Couples" (1968) by John Updike (Book Review)

John Updike (1932-2009) was the chronicler of American small town life among middle-class WASPs, most famously in the Rabbit Angstrom tetralogy (Rabbit Run, 1960; Rabbit Redux, 1971; Rabbit is Rich, 1981; and Rabbit at Rest, 1990), but not less incisively in the 1968 novel Couples. This last book was even a succès de scandale because of the for that time explicit love scenes. Due to its frankness, the novel is often paired with two other literary landmarks of the sexual revolution, Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint and Gore Vidal's Myra Breckinridge.

Couples tells the stories of ten young married couples living in the "post-pill paradise" (two decades of promiscuity, until the AIDS scare put an end to it) and sleeping with each other in various combinations. Discreetly swapping partners, coming together for parties, sports and outings, they use adultery as a tool to relieve the boredom of small-town life. Sex seems their only refuge, almost like an emergent religion.

We could also turn things around and say that all these vigorous and constant couplings are a means to hide a state of inner emptiness, where the cure proves worse than the disease because nothing is as vapid as such mindless rituals. The newly won physical ease and freedom of the 1960s seem to make the couples forget that we remain always responsible for our actions. Great social change brings new moral choices with it.

That is brought home to Piet Hanema, a home remodeler with Dutch ancestry and a rather rough type who seems to "know" all the women of the town, and the tall and winsome Foxy Whitman, the wife of a stiff academic researcher and newcomer to the community. Piet is married to the sublime but unapproachable Angela. The old home of the Whitmans requires extensive remodeling, giving Piet and Foxy the opportunity to start a complicated relationship. When Piet and Foxy reject caution in their affair, which has some grotesque aspects (Foxy is pregnant with a child from her husband), they manage to shock the other couples and are finally ostracized. Decayed from within, the community then also falls apart. Piet is described as a regular churchgoer, but he proves himself totally lacking in moral consciousness, like most of the characters in the book. They just float like flotsam on the surface of life. It is Updike's greatness that he never resorts to preaching, but tellingly, in the last pages of the novel, the local church is hit by lightning and burns down.

The plot evolves against the background of historical events, such as the Kennedy assassination, in the years 1962-64. The book is rich in social and historical detail and has been called a time-capsule of the era. There are detailed descriptions of the homes and the furniture, of party games and party talk. John Updike writes a beautiful, even poetical prose, his lyricism stands in sharp contrast to the banality of the characters and the goings-on.

But it is not a grim book, on the contrary. Despite snaps of stream of consciousness prose, it reads as fast as a soap opera and contains much humor, not only in some situations such as when Piet and Foxy are almost caught in the bathroom by Angela, and Piet has to escape via a narrow window, but also in the larger story. It is possible to read the final events as irony, by interpreting Foxy's breaking of the news of her affair to her husband as a willful act, so that she can get a divorce from the man she abhors and at the same time wreck Piet's marriage in the hope that he will marry her. She succeeds and in this way, the serial adulterer is caught and finally tamed.

John Updike was born in Pennsylvania, went to Harvard and spent most of his life in Ipswitch, a small town in Massachusetts - like the fictional Tarbox in Couples, within commuting distance from Boston's academia. He was a regular contributor to The New Yorker and wrote more than fifty books, among which over twenty novels. He was one of the greatest American fiction writers, a true man of letters with a far-reaching influence, generally praised for his intellectual vigor and the excellence of his powerful prose style, a writer also who was at home in many genres. Like Chekhov for Russia, he was the realistic chronicler of American life in the broadest sense, as he expressed it himself: "My only duty was to describe reality as it had come to me, to give the mundane its beautiful due."

The humorous novels of P.G. Wodehouse (Book review)

The British humorist P.G. Wodehouse reached the ripe old age of 93 as a living proof that laughing is good for you. That also goes for a regular life and constant work - Wodehouse continued writing novels to his last gasp, to a grand total of 100 published books. He seems to have been happiest when he sat behind his typewriter, something which reminds me of his character Lord Emsworth of Blandings Castle, who also felt most blissful when he could potter among his flowers or feed his Prize Pig. Writer and character share a large and amiable degree of unworldliness.

There is a high level of Britishness in Wodehouse's books and it therefore at first sight seems strange that he spent most of his life outside his native country - mainly in the U.S. where he settled for good from the 1950s on, but also in France. But then, the England Wodehouse describes never existed - although containing elements from pre-WWI Britain, it really is a "never never land" where there is no death or illness, no pain or suffering, no violence or war, no anxiety and no angst. Wodehouse lived through two world wars and a cold war, but these political realities left no traces whatsoever in his books. The biggest problems he addresses are the theft of a silver cow creamer, or how Bertie Wooster can extract himself from the clutches of another marriage-obsessed female. Wodehouse's tales are completely cut loose from reality, which is probably only possible when as a writer you possess a great deal of naivete.

That unworldliness was sometimes also Wodehouse's problem. In the 1940s, while living in France, he was arrested and imprisoned by the Nazis; after his release in 1941 he was persuaded to tell about his experiences in a series of radio programs broadcast from Berlin. Wodehouse apparently saw that as a chance to show his stiff upper lip to his guardians and encourage the home front, but what he didn't realize was that after the war he would be seen as a collaborator.... (although he was officially exculpated). A similar story happened when he worked as a scriptwriter in Hollywood in the 1920s. In a magazine interview he boasted that never in his life he had received such a huge salary for so little work (being often on standby); the next day he was fired by the studio. It could be from one of his stories...

Already in the 1930s Wodehouse was accused of always writing the same book with the same characters, and in the 1950s Kingsley Amis declared his books dead. Wrong: today, Wodehouse is alive and kicking. I think I understand why. In his best books, those written roughly from the 1920s through 1940s, Wodehouse reaches a level of absurdism and zaniness that can be found nowhere else. It doesn't matter that his plots are always the same, for the plot is irrelevant. Nobody cares that his characters do not develop, because who would want Jeeves to change? No, you read Wodehouse for the surreal language, the madcap dialogues. Never was absurdity expressed more beautifully. The Monty Python quality is very high.

What are the best books of Wodehouse? Among the hundred books, two series stand out: the "Jeeves novels," about the indolent aristocrat and inveterate bachelor Bertie Wooster and his personal valet, the ingenious gentleman butler Jeeves, and the "Blandings novels," about the absent-minded Ninth Earl of Emsworth, living at Blandings Castle, whose greatest enthusiasm in life is reserved for his flowers and his prize sow, the majestic Empress of Blandings.

One of the best "Jeeves novels" is Joy in the Morning. Trapped in the countryside, Bertie tries to help his friends and promote the course of true love, but ends up becoming the prey of all and sundry - as usual, only Jeeves can save him. A top "Blandings novel" is Summer Lightning, in which the prize-winning sow is stolen, causing uproar in the otherwise so peaceful castle where imposters gather. Here are my lists of best "Jeeves" books and best "Blandings" novels.

The best Jeeves books:
The Inimitable Jeeves (1923)
Very Good, Jeeves (1930)
Right Ho, Jeeves (1934)
Thank You, Jeeves (1934)
The Code of the Woosters (1937)
Joy in the Morning (1947)
The Mating Season (1949)

The best Blandings books:
Something Fresh (1915)
Leave it to Psmith (1923)
Summer Lightning (1929)
Heavy Weather (1933)
Uncle Fred in the Springtime (1939)
Full Moon (1947)
Pigs Have Wings (1952)

Others: Psmith in the City (1910), Piccadilly Jim (1915).

Cheese (1933) by Willem Elsschot (Book review)

Being Dutch by birth, I love this cheesy novella which is Edam's great moment in world literature. Willem Elsschot (1882-1960; in real life called Alfons de Ridder) was a Belgian writer and businessman who because of the combination of these two functions, has been dubbed the “Flemish Italo Svevo.” Born in Antwerp, he also worked in Brussels, Paris and Rotterdam and managed his own advertising agency. More than his business endeavors, which he didn't enjoy so much – although he seems to have been quite successful – , his real vocation was literature. He wrote eleven short novels, notably Lijmen (1924), Kaas (1933), Tsjip (1934) and Het Been (1938). His main themes are business and family life and his stories are told in a mildly cynical style, a combination of comedy and pathos. His books also contain good sketches of life in Antwerp during the 1930s.

Cheese ("Kaas"; 1933) is a gentle fable, timeless in its skewering of the pretensions and pomposity of businessmen. Frans Laarmans, a humble shipping clerk in Antwerp, “getting on for fifty,” becomes the chief agent in Belgium and Luxembourg for a Dutch cheese company. Thrilled at the change in his status (and income), he goes on leave and sets up an office at home. He desperately wants to get some respect, as “thirty years of servility have naturally left their mark on me.”

Laarmans takes delivery of ten thousand full-cream wheels of this red-rinded Dutch delight. But he has no idea how to run a business, or how to sell his goods. He is more focused on setting up his office with a proper desk and typewriter, rather than doing the hard-selling that is needed. But as the bulk of the cheese sits in storage, crates and crates of it, the stinking and ripening substance starts to haunt him. And when his employer, the brusque Mr Hornstra, wires him to say he is coming to Antwerp to settle the first accounts, Laarmans panics...

Cheese is a gentle, humorous story of small-time ambition faced with too grand an opportunity, told with brisk efficiency. It is also a warning not to wander away too far from the trade we know.

English translation and preface by Paul Vincent. Published by Granta, 2002. Dutch original available here.

The Concertos of Tomaso Albinoni (1671-1751)

The Italian Baroque composer Tomaso Albinoni is - like his countryman Boccherini - famous for a work he never wrote: the mawkish Adagio in G minor, which often is one of the few classical pieces people who never listen to classical music know. Well, it is a hoax, for it was composed in the 1950s by an Italian musicologist and researcher of Albinoni, whose shameful name I do not want to repeat. He falsely claimed to have discovered it in outline on an Albinoni manuscript from the bombed out Dresden State Library, but (of course) never produced any proof in the form of an underlying manuscript. Being a pastiche and therefore in fact almost a piece of light music, the Adagio became popular on TV and in pop music, not to forget film. It can't be erased from our cultural consciousness anymore, but remember one thing: it is a modern work that has nothing to do with the historical composer Albinoni!

So what are the achievements of the historical Albinoni?

Tomaso Albinoni was born in Venice in 1671, and achieved fame in many Italian cities but also in the rest of Europe - Bach knew and appreciated his music. Albinoni came from a wealthy family - his father was a maker of playing cards and Albinoni followed in this profession until middle age, when he became a full-time composer. He was thus a man of independent means, and never had to seek a position as musician in the church or at court. Perhaps that is the reason we know relatively little about his life. The instrument he played himself was the violin.

Albinoni wrote both operas and instrumental music - his vocal music was especially popular in Italy where he was in the first place seen as an opera composer - and the second category attracted in its printed editions great interest in northern Europe. When I saw that Albinoni was also a composer of opera and secular cantatas (he claimed himself to have written more than 80 operas), I thought: where is the revival? After all, thanks to amongst others Cecilia Bartoli, many of Vivaldi's so far forgotten operas are now available on CD. Then I saw to my regret that from Albinoni's fertile operatic output only seven works survive intact today, plus some loose arias from others. So Albinoni's posthumous reputation will of necessity remain influenced in favor of his instrumental work. But it is true that also his sonatas and concertos are imbued with a lyricism and breadth of phrase that are recognisably vocal in origin. By the way, Albinoni's wife - he married in 1705 - was an operatic soprano.

Albinoni's instrumental works were printed in nine collections, four of chamber music (Trio Sonatas Op 1, 1694; Balletti a Tre, Op 3, 1701; Trattenimenti Armonici Op. 6, 1711; Balletti e Sonate Op 8, 1722) and five for string ensemble (Sinfonie e Concerti a Cinque: Op 2, 1700; the rest all Concerti a Cinque: Op 5, 1707; Op 7, 1715; Op 9, 1722; Op 10, 1735/36). Besides these printed works of certain authenticity, we have many sonatas, sinfonias and concertos in manuscript and other printed editions not published by Albinoni himself, and here one has to thread carefully, for more than 25 works of those ascribed to Albinoni are on stylistic grounds deemed false by experts.

What is special about Albinoni's instrumental music? That is his pioneering work in the upcoming genre of the solo concerto - Albinoni came to maturity just after the first concertos were being written in Italy, and before his younger contemporary Vivaldi became active. The earliest concertos were in fact written in north Italy shortly before 1700, in an area that was the European center for the manufacture and playing of stringed instruments. The custom arose of using a principal violin distinct from the ordinary orchestral first violins and this led to the creation of the first true violin concertos. Alternative instruments extraneous to the string ensemble also followed in the solo position, and  so in the second decade of the 18th c. the oboe concerto was born. As wind instruments were more popular in Germany, it was the emigration of German wind players to the south that helped this development. What Albinoni is rightly famous for is being the composer of the first published oboe concertos: his Op. 7 of 1715 contains 8 concertos for single oboe, and 8 for two oboes. In Albinoni's oboe concertos the wind instrument functions, in its relationship to the strings, almost as a singer. At the same time they are concertos "with" rather than "for" oboes, in other words, the violin parts are also very important.

Generally speaking, the characteristics of Albinoni's concertos are: the fixed three movement plan of fast - slow - fast, which he helped establish; a strong influence from operatic music; a highly variable, unpredictable writing for the solo violin; transparent movement designs; a cool emotional climate punctuated by passionate interruptions; and a liking for counterpoint. All his works possess a great clarity.

Recommendations (all on period instruments):

• Trio Sonatas Op. 1 by Parnassi Musici on CPO. The year 1694, when he turned 23, was an important year for Albinoni for it saw not only the performance of his first opera, but also the publication of his twelve trio sonatas Opus 1, which while formally under the influence of Corelli, show a firm command of form and technique, but above all, an own, unique style.
• 12 Concerti a Cinque Op. 5 by the Collegium Musicum 90, conductor Simon Standage, on Chandos. Albinoni at his most natural and vital, in perfectly proportioned concertos for string orchestra in five parts (the first violins divided into two groups). In his later concertos, he would be more expansive and varied, but never as fresh as here.
• Complete Oboe Concertos (the single oboe concertos from Op 7 and Op 9) by the Collegium Musicum 90, conductor Simon Standage, on Chandos (with Anthony Robson, oboe). Albinoni had a great skill in writing charming and fascinating melodies, and in weaving complicated patterns, but he also shows a marked feel for proportion and a wealth of imagination. Op 7 has a greater - almost Vivaldian - brevity, while the concertos in Op 9 are more richly elaborated. The jewel of the slow movements is Op 9 No 2, a long-breathed cantilena of the oboe set against an unchanging background of undulating violin semiquavers.
• Double Oboe Concertos and String Concertos Vol I and II (from Op 7 and Op 9) by the Collegium Musicum 90, conductor Simon Standage on Chandos, (with Anthony Robson and Catherine Latham, oboe). The other concertos from Op. 7 and 9. In the double concertos, the two oboes tend to stick closely together, often playing in unison or chains of thirds. In Op 7 they also frequently imitate the sound of the natural trumpet. There are also four string concertos of which Op 7.1 is in the style of an operatic overture. In contrast, the first work of Op 9 is a true violin concerto.
  

Bach Cantatas (49): Trinity XVI

The Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity introduces the story of the raising of the dead from Luke, which in Bach's time was understood symbolically to represent man's resurrection to eternal life - and, in order to be soon resurrected, the wish to die and be free from the "sinful world."　Not coincidentally, all cantatas for this day are permeated with the sounds of tolling bells.

There are four cantatas for this Sunday.

Readings:
Ephesians 3:13–21, "Paul praying for the strengthening of faith in the congregation of Ephesus."
Luke 7:11–17, "Raising of the young man from Nain."

References:
BCW, BDE, CN, LSG, JN, LVH, WP, Text

Cantatas:

• Komm, du süße Todesstunde, BWV 161, 6 October 1715
  
  Aria (alto, recorders, strings): Komm, du süße Todesstunde
  Recitativo (tenor): Welt, deine Lust ist Last
  Aria (tenor, strings): Mein Verlangen ist, den Heiland zu umfangen
  Recitativo (alto, recorders, strings): Der Schluß ist schon gemacht
  Aria (choir, recorders, strings): Wenn es meines Gottes Wille
  Chorale (recorders): Der Leib zwar in der Erden
  
  ("Come, o sweet hour of death") Often called the best cantata Bach wrote in his period in Weimar. The text is by Salomo Franck. In line with the readings for this Sunday, the cantata is steeped in the longing for death, typical of Lutheranism. In the opening aria death is metaphorically represented as honey in the mouth of the lion, the sweetness behind terror - an allusion to the story of Samson's marriage in which the carcass of a lion provides food for Samson and his parents (Judg. 14). This sweetness is given voice by the recorders, quiet instruments often used in works with texts about death. During the aria, the organ now and then intones the passion chorale ("Herzlich tut mich verlangen," by Hassler) to remind listeners that Jesus has gone on the same journey. This plea for death is far from modern sensibilities, but it should not be understood as a morbid "death wish, " because it is based on the ideology of the afterlife, making it possible to pass from life to death to afterlife in Heaven. The next two movements make further clear that the believer's desire is not for death itself, but for the glory of being with Christ. The following tenor recitative portrays the world as a place of deception: its pleasure ("Lust") turns into trouble ("Last"); its sugar is poison, its roses bring forth thorns. The agony eventually turns into a beautiful arioso "I desire to pasture soon with Christ. I desire to depart from this world." The "longing" of the tenor aria is hypnotically symbolized by the magical and even ecstatic strings, which literally "sigh" on the word "desire" ("Verlangen"). The alto recitative is accompanied by all instruments, mimicking sleep (in a downward movement) - almost becoming a lullaby - , the waking up (a fast movement upwards), and at the end of the aria, funeral bells in the recorders and pizzicato of the strings to symbolize the passage through death to eternal life. The fifth movement is a cheerful, childlike song set for four part chorus - note the gorgeously warbling recorders. The emphasis is on heavenly joy, the body is regarded as a weight ("Last") which is gladly discarded and the spirit as a guest which only temporarily was housed in the body and now is free to live eternally in heaven. In the closing chorale - a version of the passion chorale - these same recorders float hauntingly above the chorus, as if to give expression to the idea of the new, transfigured Self.  This indeed was material that gave Bach inspiration.
  
  
• Christus, der ist mein Leben, BWV 95, 12 September 1723
  
  Chorale e recitativo (tenor): Christus, der ist mein Leben / Mit Freuden, ja mit Herzenslust / Mit Fried und Freud ich fahr dahin
  Recitativo (soprano): Nun, falsche Welt
  Chorale (soprano): Valet will ich dir geben
  Recitativo (tenor): Ach könnte mir doch bald so wohl geschehn.
  Aria (tenor): Ach, schlage doch bald, selge Stunde
  Recitativo (bass): Denn ich weiß dies
  Chorale: Weil du vom Tod erstanden bist
  
  ("Christ, he is my life") A sort of experimental cantata that contains four chorales, each with their associated melody, ingeniously sewn together. The theme is again death as welcome release from the travails of this life. The first two chorales are incorporated in the first chorus, beginning - after an instrumental introduction - with a setting of the chorale “ Christus, der ist mein Leben” (1609, by Melchior Vulpius) for two oboes d'amore, strings and chorus. The choral melody is sustained in the soprano line and the whole seems like a small concerto. Note the slowdown in tempo on the line "Sterben ist mein Gewinn" ("Death is my reward"). This semi-concerto is suddenly broken up by a declamatory recitative, which leads into the next chorale "Mit Fried und Freud ich fahr dahin" (1524, a paraphrase of the "Nunc dimittis" by Luther), a sturdy hymn that finishes this superbly constructed movement, full of modulations. A simple soprano recitative bids farewell to the transient pleasures of this world, leading directly into the third choral "Valet will ich dir geben" (1613, by Valerius Herberger), again for soprano accompanied by two playful oboes d'amore. Here the music has a certain dance-like quality. The next two movements are for tenor, voicing man's longing for death on earth and eternal life instead. A tenor recitative leads into the only aria in the cantata, also for tenor and dominated by the accompanying oboes. It is a piece of outstanding beauty, in which the pictorial imagery of the tolling funeral bells plays a prominent role. As is usual, these bells are heard in the pizzicato in the strings. The high tenor line is urgent and declamatory and also addresses these bells, urging them to strike quickly "the very last bell-stroke." A bass recitative underlines faith in eternal life, after which the cantata ends with a further chorale setting, "Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden ist," (1560, by Nikolaus Herman), enriched by a soaring additional violin part to symbolize the risen Christ.
  
  
• Liebster Gott, wenn werd ich sterben? BWV 8, 24 September 1724
  
  Chorus: "Liebster Gott, wenn werd ich sterben?"
  Aria: "Was willst du dich, mein Geist, entsetzen"
  Recitative: "Zwar fühlt mein schwaches Herz"
  Aria: "Doch weichet, ihr tollen, vergeblichen Sorgen!"
  Recitative: "Behalte nur, o Welt, das Meine!"
  Chorale: "Herrscher über Tod und Leben" 
  
  ("Dearest God, when will I die?") Based on a new chorale by Casper Neumann (1697), a sort of "popular" music of Bach's time, which is paraphrased in an impressionistic way. The opening chorus with its plucked strings for the sounding of the death knell is a surprisingly warm and affectionate piece of music, with twittering birds in the flute. It has been aptly described as a "church-yard full of flowers in the springtime." The alto, tenor, and bass voices sing in free counterpoint, while the sopranos answer with the chorale in long notes. The theme is a common one in the cantatas: when shall we take leave of the sufferings of mortal life and achieve eternal life in heaven? The bells continue tolling in the tenor aria where the oboe d'amore has a beautiful line. The mood is of a mildly melancholy and yearning. After a recitative by the alto, which for a moment reminds us of the terror of death, the transition to heaven is achieved in an almost "jolly" bass aria, again with flute accompaniment. It almost seems a movement from a lost flute concerto, a wonderful, optimistic piece in the tempo of a gigue. After another recitative, by piping soprano, the cantata closes with a chorale setting, which prolongs the friendly atmosphere of this entire cantata.
  
  
• Wer weiß, wie nahe mir mein Ende? BWV 27, 6 October 1726
  
  Chorale e recitativo (soprano, alto, tenor): Wer weiß, wie nahe mir mein Ende?
  Recitativo (tenor): Mein Leben hat kein ander Ziel
  Aria (alto): Willkommen! will ich sagen
  Recitativo (soprano): Ach, wer doch schon im Himmel wär
  Aria (bass): Gute Nacht, du Weltgetümmel
  Chorale: Welt, ade! ich bin dein müde
  
  ("Who knows how near is my end?") An late cantata in almost experimental vein. The cantata opens with a melancholic, limping chorale sung block style by the chorus but interspersed with recitative. After a tenor recitative, the alto sings a compelling aria with sparkling accompaniment by English horn and organ ("Welcome! I will say, when Death steps to my bed"). This movement may have been adapted from a lost concerto (for viola da gamba?). The soprano recitative that follows is operatic in character with the strings illustrating the wings to fly to heaven. The bass aria is accompanied by strings and continuo and alternates between a lyrical sighing line tinged with regret (to the words "Gute Nacht") and an agitated militaristic string figure (to the words "du Weltgetümmel"), illustrating the conflict between heaven and the chaotic world. The chorale, a five-part setting ("Welt, ade! ich bin dein müde"), is the only chorale harmonization in all the cantatas not by Bach: he takes over a 1682 harmonization by Johannes Rosenmüller, with a slightly archaic harmony, and that proves to be a perfect close to this cantata.
  

The Best Cello Concertos

Many lovers of classical music feel that the violoncello with its warm, deep tone is the most beautiful instrument in the family of the strings. The number of concertos written for it is much smaller than those for the violin or the piano, but regrets are unnecessary: after all, many piano and violin concertos are empty virtuoso stuff, while in the case of the contemplative cello, there is a larger percentage of serious music.

The cello was invented in Italy around 1660, where Vivaldi was the first composer to create a large oeuvre for the instrument. It took time to conquer Northern Germany, however, where the viola da gamba ruled supreme (viz. the viola da gamba concertos by Telemann) – the six Bach Suites for Solo Cello are the exception rather than the rule – in the 6th Brandenburg Concerto Bach used at the same time both the modern cello and older viola da gambas as well as violones, demonstrating that these instruments still peacefully coexisted.

The middle of the 18th c. saw several composers of cello music, especially in southern Europe (a host of almost unknown composers, such as Giovanni Battista Cirri or Leonardo Leo), but also in the German lands, such as C.P.E. Bach. A great cello promoter in the 2nd half of the 18th c. was the Italian Luigi Boccherini, who worked at the Spanish court. In Austria at that time, Haydn, Stamitz, Hofmann and Pleyel were active. The instrument was constantly used in chamber music, especially in the string quartet that had been established by Haydn, and also became a fixture of the classical orchestra.

But the first half of the 19th c. saw a tailing off of the repertoire. This was the age of the great virtuoso players, starting on the piano with Beethoven and　Liszt, and Paganini on the violin. On the cello, that sort of virtuoso music was not (yet) possible – see the lyrical and deliciously unheroic concerto by Schumann from around the middle of the century. In the second half of the 19th c. the fate of the cello as a solo instrument became brighter, with the famous Dvorak concerto, the activities of cellist/composers like David Popper, music by Brahms and Tchaikovsky, etc. The cello by this time had also been redesigned, to produce a wider range and brighter tone. But the great age of the cello would be the 20th c., when the instrument was promoted by cellist/composers like Klengel, and when great virtuosi as Casals, Rostropovitch, Piatogorsky, Starker and many others were active - and through their flawless technique and championing of repertoire inspired composers to write for their instrument. Cello concertos and sonatas became standard in every composer's work. The recent interest in authentic music has also led to a revival of the baroque cello, with players such as Anner Bylsma.

The list below is a personal assessment - and I have to confess I am not so fond of the all-too popular Dvorak, Haydn, Saint-Saens and Elgar concertos, probably due to over-exposure (on top of that, there are authenticity problems with the Haydn concertos).

Here is my list of favorite cello concertos:

1. Vivaldi (1678-1741), Concerto per due celli in sol minore RV 531.
   Not one but two cellos, a true and awesome double concerto, leading to interesting timbres on this prodigious instrument – starting with an impressive low rumbling, a long fantasia-like introduction over a continuo pedal note. Vivaldi wrote more than 25 cello concertos but this is the one to single out. The concerto exemplifies Vivaldi's liking for homo-tonality – the casting for each movement is in the same key, g minor. The retention of this key for the slow movement enhances the brooding, sombre mood of the work. Also note the typically Vivaldian canonic exchanges in this movement, scored only for the two cellos with continuo. Recommended recording: The Academy of Ancient Music directed by Christopher Hogwood on L'Oiseu-Lyre; or Europa Galante conducted by Fabio Biondi on Opus 111; or The King's Consort directed by Robert King on Hyperion. Do yourself the favor of listening to a performance on period instruments!
2. Carl Philip Emanuel Bach (1714-1788), Cello Concerto in A major Wq. 172/H439. The eldest surviving son of the great Johann Sebastian Bach and the best known of all Bach's offspring for his musical prowess. Received his musical education from his father. C.P.E. Bach was a creative composer who wrote in an original and personal style. Among the 50 concertos he composed are three cello concertos, usually thought to have been written around 1750. This was not only the time of his father's death, but also a period which marked the end of the late-baroque era and the start of the classical period in music. C.P.E. Bach's forward-looking music provides a link between those two styles - it is elegant yet expressive and emotional and at times even sounds quirky! My favorite among the three cello concertos is the one in A major because of its melancholic, dark timbred Largo - one of the best examples of the "Empfindsamkeit in music." Recommended recording: Anner Bylsma with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, dir. Gustav Leonhardt, on Virgin Classics.
3. Luigi Boccherini (1743-1805), Cello Concerto No. 7 in G major (G 480). Luigi Boccherini was another great cello master – the instrument features prominently in all his music. His most famous concerto is one he never wrote – a pot-pourri from his G480 and G482 concertos concocted by a late 19th century German cellist – a hoax that unfortunately is still being performed (always by orchestras with modern instruments – two of these shamefully romanticized versions still around are by Jacqueline du Pre and Yo-yo Ma) but should be forgotten as soon as possible. So go for the real Boccherini in a performance on period instruments and in authentic style. Twelve concertos are known, besides 34 cello sonatas and many quintets with double cello parts. Boccherini has a great gift for lyricism and that is especially evident in the adagio of the present concerto, where the singing cello playing in its high register - a novelty at that time - is only accompanied by wavering strings. Recommended recording: Anner Bylsma with the Concerto Amsterdam, dir. Jaap Schroder, on Teldec.
4. Robert Schumann (1810-1856), Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 129. Schumann called the concerto "Concert piece for cello with orchestral accompaniment," which explains the perfect balance between soloist and orchestra. The cello part displays little in the way of virtuoso writing and the concert has an introspective quality which prevents it from revealing its treasures easily. But after a few hearings, Schumann's vein of lyricism becomes irresistible. Composed just before the Third Symphony in an astonishingly brief two-week period shortly after Schumann’s move to Düsseldorf in 1850, a time of optimism and creativity inspired by his new surroundings. The concerto is composed in three interconnected movements performed without a break. The beginning of the cello's opening theme in the dark first movement returns in the woodwind toward the end of the second movement. In that slow movement the cello sings in great lied-like melodies. The cadenza of the third movement is fully written out and accompanied by the orchestra. This final movement is full of youthful enthusiasm and ardour and allows the concerto to take wing. A neglected masterpiece. Recommended recording: Mischa Maisky and the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra on Deutsche Grammophon; or Natalia Gutman and the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, dir. Claudio Abbado, also on Deutsche Grammophon
5. Eugen D'Albert (1864-1932), Concert for Violoncello and Orchestra in C major, Op. 20. Eugen D'Albert was born in Glasgow as the son of a German ballet composer of French and Italian parentage and an English mother. A child prodigy on the piano, he became Franz Liszt's favorite disciple and regarded Germany and especially Berlin as his true home. He led an unsettled and hectic life as a travelling performer, but gradually found more time for composition, not only for his own instrument but in various genres, including opera. In spite of its technical prowess, Eugen D’Albert’s cello concerto from 1899 favors the anti-heroic style and possesses an almost classical noblesse, so it can be said to have the Schumann concerto in its background rather than, for example, the boisterous Dvorak piece. The lack of effect-seeking may also have been influenced by the cellist to whom it was dedicated: Hugo Becker, a renowned chamber musician and university lecturer, who eschewed idle brilliance. The concerto – its several movements fused into one in the Lisztian style - is notable for the quiescent, almost speculative nature of the solo line, and the heights to which the singing tone of the cello rises. The slow movement features lively wind writing, after which the finale blazes away with tuneful material. A happy and entertaining concerto. Recommended recording: Alban Gerhardt with the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra dir. Carlos Kalmar on Hyperion.
6. Julius Klengel (1859-1933), Concerto for Violoncello and Orchestra No. 4 Op. 37 in B minor (1904). Julius Klengel (1859-1933) was one of the most important figures in the history of the cello - he can even be called an “institution.” He studied composition in his native Leipzig and made his solo début at 15 while a member of the Leipzig Gewandhaus, whose ranks he had joined two years earlier. His pupils at the Leipzig Conservatoire included some of the most prominent players of the twentieth century. He composed quite widely. Reger was a particularly good friend and colleague, but Klengel was also on excellent terms with Brahms and Taneyev. His most important work is the Concerto in B minor, a piece saturated with temperament and melodiousness, not only virtuoso music but also an extraordinary fine piece of work. The first movement has a supple melodic construction, full of flowing song-like passages – the recapitulation of the first subject has been omitted. The second movement is a romantic, pastoral intermezzo with a spooky scherzo at its heart, and the finale is animated and full of exuberance. A hugely likeable piece that is almost unknown. Recommended recording: Xenia Jankovich with the Radio-Philharmonie Hannover des NDR dir. Bjarte Engeset on CPO. 
7. Frederick Delius (1862-1934), Cello Concerto (1915). Those looking for grandiose concertos with mighty perorations should look elsewhere - this concerto, too, is for listeners happy to indulge in less demonstrative beauty. The lyrical music invites you to step into Delius’s garden of delights on an imaginary warm sultry afternoon, to doze and dream. The cello concerto was Delius's own favourite of his four concertos, due mainly to its melodic invention. Written in 1921 it was the last work that Delius was able to compose in his own hand before illness crippled him. Dedicated to Beatrice Harrison. The concerto is a predominantly pastoral and dreamy work, but certainly not lacking in invention. Its broad melodies suggest "the after-glow of the sun sinking.." Recommended recording: Paul Watkins with the BBC Symphony Orchestra, dir. Andrew Davis on Chandos.
8. Arthur Honegger (1892-1955), Cello Concerto (1929). Arthur Honegger was born in Le Havre, France yet maintained Swiss citizenship. A member of the group Les Six, he wrote the present concerto in 1929, at a time when he was strongly focused on writing scores for the theater. A concise concerto in a classical style, in the form of a divertimento. The concerto starts with an engaging moment, a brief cello melody against muted strings, lyrical and languorous. This is soon interrupted by humorous interventions, after which the cello adopts a swinging, jazzy persona. In the lento the cello plays a lament against a soft and gentle background, but the mood collapses into loud chaos. The finale blasts away with brisk and rocking music. A varied and fascinating concerto with a colorful atmosphere. Recommended recording: Julian Lloyd Webber with the English Chamber Orchestra dir. Yan Pascal Tortelier on Philips.
9. Alan Hovhaness (1911-2000), Concerto for Cello and Orchestra (1936). Early Hovhaness that miraculously survived the destruction of his pre-war years work by the composer himself. Rightfully so: this is already vintage Hovhaness, with luscious Oriental melodies. The composer’s signature is clearly audible in the sequences of rich, sonorous chords and the evocative use of old modes. The fusing of musical elements from different cultures and different times, including non-Western ones, is typical of Hovhaness. Where it differs from his later music, is the comparative lack of contrapuntal thinking. The work was written in 1936, but first performed in 1970. It is laid out in three movements, as usually with Hovhaness in the slow-fast-slow mold. Much of the music is serenely liturgical in character and there are also instances where birdsong is evoked. A wonderful discovery. Recommended recording: Janos Starker with the Seattle Symphony dir. Dennis Russell Davis on Naxos (world première recording).
10. Nikolay Myaskovsky (1881-1950), Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in C minor, Op. 66 (1944). Autumnal is the word, not as the season of storms, but of forests full of red and yellow foliage, burnished by the low sun... The piece is among the late works of the composer and its themes contain various folk songs. The concerto is in two movements: Lento ma non troppo and Allegro vivace - the arc of the work is essentially slow-fast-slow. Myaskovsky's scoring in the first movement is inventive and often magical, while the cello is full of elegiac strain. The movement starts with a melancholy introduction. In the more propulsive middle section the movement is largely carried by the orchestra. A profound and sensitive work. Recommended recording: Alexander Ivashkin with the Russian State Symphony Orchestra dir. Valeri Polyansky on Chandos. 
11. Samuel Barber (1910-1981), Cello Concerto in A minor, Op. 22 (1945). A concerto without big tunes, but with an overall gentle atmosphere. Barber was commissioned to write his concerto for Raya Garbousova, a Russian cellist, by Koussevitzky and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The first movement makes the impression of a scherzo where juggling is going on with parts of melodies until a lovingly shaped chanting theme arises. The andante is dreamily and rhapsodic, and the finale is playful and light. The concerto makes considerable play of the higher registers of the instrument. Despite initial success, and the receipt of the Fifth Annual Award of the Music Critics Circle of New York, the concerto has established itself only at the margins of the repertoire, for one reason because of the high technical demands. Recommended recording: Wendy warner with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, dir. Martin Alsop on Naxos.
12. Mieczysław Weinberg (also Moisey or Moishe Vainberg; 1919-1996), Concerto for Violoncello and Orchestra in C minor, Op. 42 (1948). Besides this concert, the Russian composer of Polish-Jewish origin also wrote 24 preludes for cello and 6 cello sonatas. Previously almost unknown, he now is regarded as the third great Soviet composer after Shostakovich and Prokofiev. He was the friend and protégée of Shostakovich. This concerto has a Jewish folk character especially in the second movement with its imitation of a "klezmer" band. It is a concerto that unabashedly exposes its heart, going full circle from beginning to end. Recommended recording: Claes Gunnarsson with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra dir. Thord Svetlund on Chandos.
13. Heitor Villa-Lobos, Concerto para Violonchelo y Orchestra No. 2 (1953). The most significant South-American composer of art music of the 20th century, known for his fusion of classical music with folk elements, in such novel compositions as the Choros and Bachianes Brasileiras. This concerto was written for and first performed by Aldo Parisot. This is a four-movement work, compact and well structured from the songful and heartfelt Allegro onwards. The work opens with a kind of ruminative quasi-cadenza for the cellist. The second movement evokes Bachianas Brasileiras No. 5. The Scherzo has an engagingly brash folkloric lilt and the vibrant and rhythmic finale is highly enjoyable. Recommended recording: Antonio Meneses with the Orquestra Sinfonica de Galicia dir. Victor Pablo Perez on Auvidis.
14. William Walton (1902-1983), Cello Concerto (1956). Often called a "gem," and considered as the best British cello concerto, above Bax, Bliss, Finzi, Moeran and even Elgar. Written in response to a commission from Gregor Piatigorsky. The first movement is lyrical, it even starts hauntingly mysteriously, the cello playing a long-spun theme over the plucked notes of the strings. The following second movement is a Scherzo, Allegro appassionato, centered on a lyrical trio. Even in this movement Walton refrains from using the tutti. The concerto ends with a theme and four improvisations, two for cello alone and two for the orchestra. The main impression of this movement, slow for a finale, is again lyrical, although a wide mood is covered before returning to the opening idea of the first movement. A concerto with distinctive melodies and full of subtle syncopation and emphasis - typically Walton. Recommended recording: Tim Hugh with the English Northern Philharmonia dir. Paul Daniel on Naxos.
15. Dimitri Shostakovich (1906-1975), Concerto for Violoncello and Orchestra, No. 1, Op. 107 (1959). The greatest cello concerto ever. Period. Dmitri Shostakovich wrote his popular First Cello Concerto for Rostropovich in 1959. The soloist occupies centre stage and is accompanied by a relatively small orchestra with double woodwind and no brass except for one horn - very active in the first movement. The opening movement is harsh and restless. Shostakovich suggested that it was a "scherzo-like march." The second, slow movement is meditative and poignant - a personal reflection. The third movement is entirely given over to the cadenza with the soloist musing intensely over material already stated while in the violent and even shattering finale everything goes down the drain in a sort of Dance Macabre / Dies Irae that reminds me of the final movement of the Symphonie Fantastique by Berlioz. This is truly sublime music. Recommended recording: Mstislav Rostropovich with the London Symphony Orchestra dir. Seiji Ozawa on Erato; or Mischa Maisky with the London Symphony Orchestra dir Michael Tilson Thomas on Deutsche Grammophon.
16. Miklos Rosza (1907-1995), Concerto for Cello and Orchestra (1968). Written after Rosza's retirement from scoring Hollywood movies and dedicated to Janos Starker. A splendidly moody piece inspired by the composer's Middle-European background. The first movement has dark-hued lyrical passages for the orchestra and virtuoso passages for the soloist, weaving a counterpoint underneath the theme played by the orchestra. The second movement features an impassioned cello set against a misterioso accompaniment, in a set of variations. The finale is a tense rondo, ending in an idyllic mood, with soft, high trills. A big, modern piece. Recommended recording: Lynn Harrell with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra dir. Yoel Levi on Telarc.
17. Henri Dutilleux (*1916), Cello Concerto "Tout un monde lointain" (1970). Dutilleux writes in a very individual style which is endlessly fascinating and strangely addictive in this concerto called "a whole distant world..." His idiom is very contemporary but also very accessible. There is always something to interest to the ear - constantly shifting, scintillating patterns, weird glissandos, pointillist colorings, etc. The cello concerto was a commission from Rostropovich, who also premiered the work. The title of the concerto, and of its five movements, are taken from Baudelaire. Tout un monde lointain is a nocturnal, mysterious work with a delicate orchestration and an eerily beautiful, yet highly virtuoso solo part. While most of the concerto is introspective and meditative, it also has occasional outbursts of violence and a frantic build-up to the ambiguous, suspended finale. The opening 'Enigme' (Enigma) is scherzo-like, 'Regard' (Gaze) is introspective, inhabiting a strange, remote soundscape. Meditative, but somewhat warmer is 'Mirroirs' (Mirrors). 'Houles' (Surges) is a seascape with the wind whipping the crests of the waves. 'Hymn' gathers together the preceding material. Wonderful music by a perfectionist who has only allowed a small number of his works to be published, and often considered as Dutilleux' best work. Recommended recording: Mstislav Rostropovitch with the Orchestre de Paris dir. Serge Baudo on EMI Classics.

Written with information from the CD booklets, Wikipedia, etc. Some of the recommended CDs may not be available anymore (or the names of the labels may have changed).