Review: The Master’s Violin

Every year during Memorial Day weekend, the Trader’s Market appears and sets up camp just down the road from where I live. So a few weeks ago I decided to spend my holiday searching for old treasures, mainly books, in the hundreds of stands containing anything and everything, valuable and otherwise, you can imagine! I dearly love old books and my weakest point is first editions, well anyways I was looking for three books in particular they were: The Harvester, by Gene Stratton Porter; Laddie, also by Gene Stratton Porter and The Master’s Violin, by Myrtle Reed. I generally set out looking for a specific book, don’t find it and end settling for some other that just doesn’t compare, well first I found The Harvester, which I wanted the least but I was thrilled that I had found one of the books on my list! Second I stumbled upon Laddie, and I wanted this one more than The Harvester, so you can imagine my excitement! We (my mom and sisters and I) walked around for a few more hours without finding anything and just as we were about to leave I saw one more bookshelf of old and probably out of print books, I was already in debt to my companions and I didn’t have a cent to my name, at least not on me, but I decided to look anyway. The third shelf that I searched what do you think I found? The Master’s Violin in all it’s glory, wonderful condition, first edition and, one of the most beautiful things that I have ever heard, it was only one dollar! I started reading it on Tuesday morning and finished it on Wednesday afternoon and it was so good that I simply have to share about it!

The book opens on a raining night in the large old home, of a wealthy old woman and her young, adopted daughter. The old lady’s niece and grand-nephew have just arrived to live with her because her nephew, Lynn, is to take violin lessons from the Master who lives in this, the small old-fashioned town of East Lancaster. Lynn goes to the Master to ask him to make and artist of him, but by some misfortune he touches the Master’s precious Cremona, causing the Master to feel a certain seemingly uncalled for contempt for the boy. We follow the relationships of Lynn and his mother, Margaret, and the old lady and her adopted daughter, Iris, and of other characters of the village. We are shown true and tender pictures of pain and heartache, although it is closely veiled with mystery. The Master tells Lynn that he has technique but no feeling or passion, then we trail the people of East Lancaster through sorrow and trials. When Lynn falls in love with a piece of ‘human driftwood’ who doesn’t return his love, he goes to the Master longing for someone who knows his pain. Then through beautiful, heartrending language and imagery the master tells us how genius comes of pain, he then shares his own heart and the story of his Cremona. We find also of the tragedy of Margaret’s past and Iris’ present. In the end all is made right and all hearts find their balm in the beauty of ‘Mine Cremona’.

This book is truly one of the best that I have ever read, it was so beautiful that more than once I found myself in tears. It was nonsetdownable! While reading this book I fell in love with the characters and East Lancaster, I shared their pain and exulted in their healing. I do not know if this book is even in print but I would encourage you to search for it wherever you go and no matter what you must pay to get it, your difficulties will be richly and abundantly rewarded.

By Aivilo Enitnatsnoc

A Poem I Found

Hi this is Liagiba Enitnatsnoc and this is a poem that I found while researching Paul Revere and his midnight ride! I was curious to see who the other rider was and I found that it was a man by the name of William Dawes; I thought it strange that one of the riders, Paul Revere, would become so famous and even legendary over time while the other disappeared from the pages of history. So here you have one of the only tributes ever made to William Dawes, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

 

The Midnight Ride of William Dawes

I am a wandering, bitter shade,

Never of me was a hero made;

Poets have never sung my praise,

Nobody crowned my brow with bays;

And if you ask me the fatal cause,

I answer only, “My name was Dawes”

‘Tis all very well for the children to hear

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere;

Who rode as boldly and well, God wot?

Why should I ask? The reason is clear–

My name was Dawes and his Revere.

When the lights from the old North Church flashed out,

Paul Revere was waiting about,

But I was already on my way.

The shadows of night fell cold and gray

As I rode ,with never a break or a pause;

But what was the use, when my name was Dawes!

History rings with his silvery name;

Closed to me are the portals of fame.

Had he been Dawes and I Revere,

No one had heard of him, I fear.

No one has heard of me because

He was Revere and I was Dawes.

By Helen F. Moore

Discovered by Liagiba Enitnatsnoc

Hello!

Welcome to the Enitnatsnoc’s family blog! Here we will be sharing anything that strikes our fancy, and we feel we must share with the world, also we will post anything that we have written. Enitnatsnoc, in case you were wondering is our last name and their are four of us: Retloc, Aivilo, Liagiba, and Trebor. We hope to hear from all of you soon!