The Violin Maker
A Search for the Secrets of Craftsmanship, Sound, and Stradivari
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- 115,00 kr
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- 115,00 kr
Publisher Description
“[A] magical, profound, and elegant look at the continued need for high quality in our throw away society.” —Douglas Brinkley, Historian
This intensely human story, which moves from an ageless workshop in Brooklyn to the rehearsal rooms of Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center, and across the globe to Cremona, the birthplace of Stradivari, opens up for the reader the insular and fascinating realm of music, musicians, and the craftsmanship that is essential to that world.
How does a simple piece of wood become the king of instruments?
On a quest to learn about what many consider the world’s most perfect instrument, author and musician John Marchese befriends Sam Zygmuntowicz, an old-world craftsman in Brooklyn, New York, along with the man who is waiting for Sam’s next violin, Eugene Drucker of the world famous Emerson String Quartet.
The violin does something remarkable, magical, and evocative. It is capable of bringing to life the mathematical marvels of Bach, the moan of a Gypsy melody, the wounded dignity of Beethoven's Concerto in D Major. No other instrument is steeped in such a rich brew of myth and lore—and yet the making of a violin starts with a simple block of wood. The Violin Maker takes the reader on a journey as that block of wood, in the hands of a master craftsman, becomes an instrument to rival one made by the greatest master of all time.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Celebrated Brooklyn violin-maker Sam Zygmuntowicz recently accepted a challenging commission from violinist Eugene Drucker of the Emerson String Quartet: to make a new violin that would equal Drucker's beloved Stradivarius. Marchese (Renovations: A Father and Son Rebuild a House) documents their collaboration. He follows Zygmuntowicz through the exacting, scrape-by-scrape process of trying to transform a block of wood into an exquisitely wrought vibrating box that somehow captures the inexpressible sonic essence the finicky Drucker longs to hear. Along the way, Marchese goes on a pilgrimage to Stradivarius's hometown of Cremona and delves into the secrets behind the maestro's incomparable sound. Was it the wood? The varnish? The nap-time transmigration of his spirit into the violin under construction? Zygmuntowicz's example, Marchese finds, suggests a more prosaic, if no less marvelous, possibility that the genius of craftsmanship resides not in magic ingredients or arcane techniques, but simply in taking infinite, exhausting pains with the work, in "caring more and more about less and less." He also broaches a more inflammatory corollary: that modern violins actually sound just as good as Strads. The result is a beguiling journalistic meditation on the links and tensions between art, craft and connoisseurship.
