Название: Lost Children Archive
Автор: Valeria Luiselli
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780008290030
isbn:
COPULA & COPULATION
My husband wants us to listen to Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring while we drive up and down this meandering road through the Cherokee National Forest, toward Asheville, North Carolina. It will be instructive, he says. So I roll down the window, breathe in the thin mountain air, and agree to search for the piece on my phone. When I finally catch some signal, I find a 1945 recording—apparently the original—and press Play.
For miles, as we make our way up to the very cusp of the mountain range and across the skyline drive, we hear Appalachian Spring over and over, and then once more. Making me pause, play, and pause again, my husband explains each element of the piece to the children: the tempo, the tonal links between movements, the overall structure of the composition. He tells them it’s a programmatic piece, and says it’s about white-eyes marrying, reproducing, conquering new land, and then driving Indians out of that land. He explains what a programmatic composition is, how it tells a story, how each section of instruments in the orchestra—woodwinds, strings, brass, percussion—represents a specific character, and how the instruments interact just like people talking, falling in love, fighting, and making up again.
So the wind instruments are the Indians, and the violins are the bad guys? asks the girl.
My husband confirms this, nodding.
But what are the bad guys, Pa, really? she asks him, demanding more details to put all this information together in her little head.
What do you mean?
I mean are they beasts, or cowboys, or monsters, or bears?
Republican cowboys and cowgirls, my husband tells her.
She thinks for a moment as the violins strike a higher pitch, and finally concludes:
Well, I am a cowgirl sometimes, but I’m not ever a Republic.
So, Pa—the boy wants to confirm—this song takes place in these same mountains we are driving through right now, yes?
That’s right, his father says.
But then, instead of helping the children understand things in more subtle historical detail, he adds a pedantic coda:
Except it’s not called a song. It’s just called a piece, or in fact a suite.
And while he explains the exact differences between those three things—song, piece, suite—I stop listening to him and focus on the very cracked screen of my irritating little telephone, where I type in “Copland Appalachian,” and find an official-enough-looking page that contradicts my husband’s whole story, or at least half of it. Yes, this Copland piece is about people getting married, reproducing, and so on. But it’s not at all a political piece about Indians and white-eyes, and the violins in the orchestra are certainly not Republicans. Copland’s Appalachian Spring
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