【预订】Symphony of Secrets
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四川成都
认证卖家担保交易快速发货售后保障
作者Brendan Slocumb
出版社Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
ISBN9780593315453
出版时间2024-01
装帧平装
定价118元
货号YB-86073
上书时间2024-08-21
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A gripping page-turner from the celebrated author of book club favorite The Violin Conspiracy: Music professor Bern Hendricks discovers a shocking secret about the most famous American composer of all time—his music may have been stolen from a Black Jazz Age prodigy named Josephine Reed. Determined to uncover the truth that a powerful organization wants to keep hidden, Bern will stop at nothing to right history's wrongs and give Josephine the recognition she deserves.
“A maestro of musical mystery ... Slocumb’s writing is invigorating, and the detail in his character work makes the main characters in both time periods easy to root for. . . . Thrilling.” —The New York Times
"At once a celebration of music and also a cautionary tale about legacy, privilege, and creative genius." —Nita Prose, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Maid
Bern Hendricks has just received the call of a lifetime. As one of the world’s preeminent experts on the famed twentieth-century composer Frederick Delaney, Bern knows everything there is to know about the man behind the music. When Mallory Roberts, a board member of the distinguished Delaney Foundation and direct descendant of the man himself, asks for Bern’s help authenticating a newly discovered piece, which may be his famous lost opera, RED, he jumps at the chance. With the help of his tech-savvy acquaintance Eboni, Bern soon discovers that the truth is far more complicated than history would have them believe.
In 1920s Manhattan, Josephine Reed is living on the streets and frequenting jazz clubs when she meets the struggling musician Fred Delaney. But where young Delaney struggles, Josephine soars. She’s a natural prodigy who hears beautiful music in the sounds of the world around her. With Josephine as his silent partner, Delaney’s career takes off—but who is the real genius here?
In the present day, Bern and Eboni begin to uncover more clues that indicate Delaney may have had help in composing his most successful work. Armed with more questions than answers and caught in the crosshairs of a powerful organization who will stop at nothing to keep their secret hidden, Bern and Eboni will move heaven and earth in their dogged quest to right history’s wrongs.
读书俱乐部最受欢迎的《小提琴阴谋》的著名作者的扣人心弦的引人入胜的书：音乐教授伯恩·亨德里克斯发现了关于美国有史以来最著名的作曲家的一个令人震惊的秘密—他的音乐可能是从黑人爵士乐时代的神童约瑟芬·里德那里偷来的。伯尔尼决心揭开一个强大组织想要隐藏的真相，她将不遗余力地纠正历史的错误，并给予约瑟芬她应得的认可。
“音乐神秘大师......斯洛坎布的写作充满活力，他的人物作品中的细节使两个时期的主要人物都很容易被理解。 。 。 。惊心动魄。” —纽约时报
“这既是对音乐的庆祝，也是关于遗产、特权和创造性天才的警示故事。” —Nita Prose，《纽约时报》排名第一的畅销书《女仆》作者
Bern Hendricks 刚刚接到了一生难忘的电话。作为二十世纪著名作曲家弗雷德里克·德莱尼的世界杰出专家之一，伯尔尼了解有关音乐背后的人的一切。当著名的德莱尼基金会董事会成员、德莱尼本人的直系后裔马洛里·罗伯茨请求伯尔尼帮助鉴定一件新发现的作品（可能是他著名的失传歌剧《红色》）的真伪时，他抓住机会。在精通技术的熟人埃博尼 (Eboni) 的帮助下，伯尔尼很快发现事实远比历史让他们相信的复杂得多。
20 世纪 20 年代的曼哈顿，约瑟芬·里德 (Josephine Reed) 流落街头，经常光顾爵士俱乐部。她遇到了苦苦挣扎的音乐家弗雷德·德莱尼。但年轻的德莱尼在挣扎，约瑟芬却在翱翔。她是一个天生的神童，能从周围世界的声音中听到美妙的音乐。有了约瑟芬作为他沉默的搭档，德莱尼的事业开始腾飞——但谁才是真正的天才？
如今，伯尔尼和埃博尼开始发现更多线索，表明德莱尼可能在作曲方面得到了帮助他最成功的作品。带着比答案更多的问题，并陷入一个强大组织的十字准线，这个组织不惜一切代价隐藏他们的秘密，伯尔尼和埃博尼将在他们顽强地寻求纠正历史错误的过程中，奋力前行。
作者简介
Brendan Nicholaus Slocumb was raised in Fayetteville, North Carolina, and holds a degree in music education (with concentrations in violin and viola) from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. For more than twenty years he has been a public and private school music educator and has performed with orchestras throughout Northern Virginia, Maryland, and Washington, DC.
精彩内容
1
The Extra K
Bern
Professor Bern Hendricks was late to class when the sound of an incoming email pinged in his inbox. He’d put on his favorite blue pinstripe, short-sleeve, but nobody would notice under his jacket and, wouldn’t you know, there was a wrinkle right under the pocket. The jacket didn’t completely cover it. So he’d had to haul out the ironing board and heat up the iron, and that took longer than it should have. Now he was running a good ten minutes late. But with the Quicksilver symphony flooding his earbuds, how could he hurry? The students could wait a few more minutes.
Maybe he should just skip class altogether, he thought. The Quicksilver was the obvious excuse. Delaney’s Quicksilver—so-called because of the extraordinary melding of alto and tenor saxes layered over French horns—was one of Bern’s absolute favorites. Bizet had effectively used an alto sax in his L’Arlésienne Suite, but Delaney’s Quicksilver took it to an entirely different level. Every time Bern listened to the allegro moderato movement, it was as if a hole suddenly opened up in his chest and music cascaded in. No matter how many times he heard it, the melody rippled across his spine and he shivered under its impact. “That was double good,” he mumbled to himself.
No wonder Frederic Delaney was the hands-down best composer— not just in America, Bern would argue, but in the entire world.
So there he was, seriously considering missing a class in only his second week of teaching just to listen to a symphony he’d heard hundreds of times before—when his email chimed.
He stared at his phone, hit Pause on the music.
Even without Delaney’s music playing, it seemed as if Frederic Delaney were, right then, communicating directly with Bern from beyond the grave. The email was from the executive director of the Delaney Foundation. What were the odds that he’d get a message right when he was listening to—
He opened the email.
Dear Bern:
I hope you have been well since we last met.
I’m reaching out with a time-sensitive matter regarding Frederick Delaney.
I know that the school year has just started and you must be quite busy, but would you contact me as soon as you get this? Please call the number below, no matter the hour, from a location where you can speak freely. Someone will always be monitoring this line.
Sincerely,
Mallory Delaney Roberts
Executive Director
The Delaney Foundation
Right then he was halfway across UVA’s grounds, minutes from class. In the shadow of the ancient oak trees, the lushness of the early autumn grass glowed around him. He took a breath, and then another. Students played Frisbee on the terraces.
He wasn’t aware of any of them, even when a Frisbee sailed past his left cheek, so close that he felt its breeze.
The email was some kind of scam. It had to be. Mallory Delaney Roberts wouldn’t be writing to him. He doubted she even remembered who he was. She’d met him only a handful of times. Last month he’d seen an article in Time announcing a partnership between the Delaney Foundation and the Vatican for new musical outreach to Eastern Europe. And this woman was calling him Bern? The words glowed on the screen.
I’m reaching out with a time-sensitive matter regarding Frederick Delaney.
He’d paused right before his favorite section in the Quicksilver: the French horns’ epic battle with the trombones, when the horns fought for supremacy but the trombones would, in just a second, kick their asses. “Sorry, horns,” he mumbled as he logged out of his playlist. He googled the Foundation and clicked the link to the website, where Mallory’s thumbnail photo smiled serenely at him. A bouffant helmet of too-dark dyed hair, pearl earrings, and a pearl choker.
The most memorable and last time they’d met, she had clasped his hands with both of hers and said, “Congratulations” and “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He’d shaken her hands and said, “Thank you,” and when he’d met her eyes, he had seen the gleam of tears to match his own.
By then, a month after their adviser, Jacques Simon, had passed away, there had been just two PhD students left in the program: Julie Ertl, who was already making plans to quit academia and go into advertising, and Bern. The ceremony—the unveiling, the signing of the books, the presentation of the first printed copy to the Delaney Foundation—had seemed empty and all too silent without Jacques, who’d revered Frederic Delaney almost as much as Bern did. Almost.
He was about to be fifteen minutes late—the cutoff for how long students had to wait for a professor. They’d probably already be packing up. They might as well get a head start on the weekend, he decided. And this matter was time sensitive.
He’d explain and apologize to the kids next time.
Instead of heading up to the lecture hall, he dashed down to his office in the bowels of Old Cabell Hall. It had been built at the turn of the century, with typical Greek Revival architecture of red brick behind white columns—nothing like Columbia’s chaos of golden stone and modern glass. Here the hallways and classrooms smelled musty and of distant mice.
Bern locked the door to his tiny broom closet of an office, sat down, and dialed Mallory’s number.
The phone rang only once before a brisk woman’s voice answered. “Delaney Foundation. Hello, Professor Hendricks. Hold, please, and let me put you through.”
The phone clicked, and then another woman’s voice, smoother, slipped through the phone line. “Bern. I’m so glad you reached out as quickly as you did.”
He recognized her voice: old money, the most expensive prep schools in Connecticut or Rhode Island. “Of co
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