« Scott était stupéfiant – aussi beau à entendre qu’à voir. Bill, d’un autre côté, eh bien, on l’entendait avancer à tâtons. On voyait, en tout cas, la façon dont cela le troublait, la façon dont il se courbait en deux sur le piano, sa tête touchant presque les notes, ses doigts semblables à des tiges de saule se laissant traîner dans le courant. »
Bill, jeune pianiste dont la célébrité commence à dépasser la scène new-yorkaise, est dévasté par la mort de son bassiste, Scott. Ses pas l’entraînent la nuit vers Harlem et ses tentations. Son frère, ses parents tentent de le protéger de cette dérive. Mais c’est comme s’il ne voulait plus qu’on l’aide. Il ne leur reste qu’à veiller sur lui.
Inspiré de la vie de Bill Evans (1929-1980), Intermède bouleverse par sa vision romanesque d’une rare intensité. Owen Martell s’y impose avec une force littéraire exceptionnelle.
This was very hard for me to get into. I didn’t know much about Bill Evans and had to look him up to really get the background. But the book was really more about grief and familial relationships. A very internal book where not much at all happens except in the minds of the characters. The end picked up a bit but definitely not really my cup of tea. Lovely but sloooow.
I'm happy to report that this is a beautiful piece of work but it didn't quite deliver the music I was hoping for.
The prose are evocative enough to keep the reader interested and at times, even a little hypnotic but with such beautiful, lyrical writing, I was waiting for Martell to conjure up the dark, smoky, world of the 1960's jazz scene but it never came.
So this one was hard to get into. From the off I didn’t really take in what I was reading and had to re-read whole pages. At one point I went back to t beginning to start again. It was a bit foggy. I’m glad I persisted because there are moments of brilliance in this. Ultimately, I felt it was a book about love. Familial love. Not over the top, all singing all dancing, but the subtle and small things, like you Mam sending you home with sandwiches after a visit. Small deeds. At least, that’s what I took from it. I’m glad I read it, but I don’t think I fully ‘got it’.
Lovely study of grief on the part of the jazz pianist Bill Evan’s following the death of his bassist in his twenties. Not as “jazz forward” as I’d hoped for. Really a story about growing up and family and until the end Bill might have been a hairdresser or plumber. That said some lovely writing and an affecting exploration of a sensitive soul, just might have explored the world of jazz in the sixties a little more and put us more into Bill’s mind more rather than viewing him from outside always. Lovely work though and I think soon to be a film, which is how it came to my notice.
perfect for reading on the bus in the rain tasks and events that should be mundane but things that make us human. pause (an intermission if you will), from exciting events- just being at home. being a mother and a father and a brother and son. really liked it
There is a line in Alan Bennett's play ''The History Boys'' that I love. It talks about ''subjunctive history'', imagining things that might have happened. In ''Intermission'', his first book in English as opposed to Welsh, Owen Martell borrows this idea, taking an event a surmising what may have happened afterwards.
The event in this case is the death of Scott LaFaro, bass player for jazz group The Bill Evans Trio, who was killed in a car crash shortly after a series of concerts in New York in June 1961. History records that band leader Bill Evans went on hiatus for a spell after LaFaro's death and ''Intermission'' suggests what may have been going on in his life during this period.
Bill's story is told in four parts from the perspective of those closest to him; his brother Harry, his parents Mary and Harry Senior and, finally, Bill himself. It charts the time Bill spends with his family as he takes some time and space to deal with the tragedy, firstly with Harry and his family in New York and then with Mary and Harry senior in Florida. We get to see how various members of the family relate to each other and the distances, both emotional and physical, that time has put between them.
The story is very well written and the four parts have their distinctive voices and their differing themes. Harry's is told in the dull voice of someone who has watched their younger brother overtake them and you sense his jealousy as Bill's relationship with Harry's daughter Debby threatens to overtake his own. Whereas his story frequently looks backwards, Mary's and Harry Senior's are mostly concerned with the present, wanting to do what they can to help their son. Mary tries to do this by treating him like her little boy, Bill by treating him like a man. Bill's section, as he returns to his old life, is the only one that shows much glimpse of a future and this section is brighter in tone and a little flightier, reflecting the jazz musician that Bill is.
The quality of the writing was what kept me reading more than anything else. Harry's opening section had a slightly noir feel to it, reflecting more the times of Raymond Chandler than the 1960s setting of the book. The sections written from the perspectives of Bill's parents had the slower nature of a couple still trying to find ways to spend their time now their children are grown and the only work to be done is on a garden slowly wilting under the high Florida temperatures. Bill's section had all the feel of a musician returning to life and gave a real sense of recovery and rebirth, like he was a butterfly escaping his cocoon of grief and finding out what his wings are for.
The only issue I found with the story was that, as it was snapshots of life, it didn't go anywhere much. With a main character being a jazz musician in the 1960s, I expected a little more life than I found. The whole story, up until the very end, takes on a downbeat cast that is more dirge than jazz. Although the writing reflects well on the downbeat nature of the story as a whole, there was nothing in the story I found particularly gripping.
That said, for readers who revel in the beauty of great writing, there is much here to enjoy and this is made only more admirable by it being Martell's first novel in the language. For those like me who prefer to read for escapism and entertainment, there may be something a little lacking until the latter stages. There is, however, more than enough here to suggest than Martell's name will grow in time and whilst it may not be spoken with in quite the same reverence Bill Evans is held in jazz circles, there may well be acclaim beyond the Wales Book of the Year award one of his earlier novels has already won.
Having an interest in jazz/swing music I was pleased to receive this book, (a UPC copy courtesy of reading groups.org) as my reading group's book for January. I needed to do some research before starting the book as I knew nothing of Scott La Faro who was the pivotal character of this book. Scott was the double bassist with the Bill Evans Trio and died in 1961 as the result of a road accident. Bill Evans disappeared, within himself, for some months after La Faro's death and never fully recovered from his colleague's demise.
In this novel by Welsh writer Owen Martell - this is his first English language novel - he tells the imagined story of what happens during this intermission in Bill's life from the perspective of 4 people, Bill Evan's brother, Harry, his Russian born Mother, Welsh Father and Bill, in that order. The book is short at 167 pages but that doesn't make it a quick read as it is intense and with the absence of a plot rather slow moving. Dealing with the effect of La Faro's death Bill's family try to help him to come through this dark period of his life, each in their own way.
I did find Martell's use of some obscure words a little off putting but in general I enjoyed his writing style. The characters evoked some sympathy in me but I couldn't really say that I felt any great connection to either one of them. A sad tale with an even sadder update on their lives at the end, this is not a book that I could say I enjoyed but in a strange way I liked it.
Cuando el procedimiento es trabajar sobre esta idea de que no importa la nota sino lo que no se toca, el silencio, lo no dicho es difícil hacer que pase algo. El espacio entre las notas que construyen un Intervalo. Bill Evans es adicto a la heroína y está deprimido. Si bajista murió. Se va a vivir con su hermano Harry unos días, durmiendo en un sillón. Está apagado y solo habla con Debby la más chica. Harry también era músico pero no triunfó. Recuerda momentos de la niñez cuando era joven y primero y ahora no sabe bien qué pensar de su hermano ni que de él mismo. Una tarde van a la playa. Un día Bill aparece dormido en la habitación de su hija. Después se va a vivir con sus padres. Durante una noche Mary, rusa, lo mira y recuerda cuando se quebró la muñeca y como tocaban el piano y se siente culpable de cómo los crió y de la vida a la que estuvo atada con su marido que nunca estaba en casa. Harry padre lo lleva a jugar al golf y a un bar. Quiere cantar para demostrarle algo a Bill pero no puede y es patético. Se siente viejo e inseguro. Es alcoholico. Y una noche en pedo le dice que hizo sufrir mucho a su mujer. La cosa mejora, en apariencia. Bill vuelve a Nueva York, a la carretera y tocar. Esa es la novela. Hay una construcción poética, un ritmo de estilo pero es una novela tan lenta y aburrida que fastidia. Si no fuera Bill Evans sería una novela costumbrista sobre personajes estáticos que no dicen nada, piensan mucho y se dejan estar.
'Intermission' is a flight of fancy, based on legendary jazz pianist Bill Evans' lost months following the death, in a car crash, of his young bassist Scott LaFaro in June 1961. Martell imagines Evans staying with his brother Harry in New York, and then with his parents Harry Sr and Mary.
Each of Bill's family in turn watches him and thinks about him and reflects on their own lives. Little is said. Eventually Bill returns to New York to resume his career. And that's about it.
There's some excellent prose here, but there's no real substance. I lost a brother in a very similar way at a very similar age, and yet nothing in this book spoke to me on an emotional level. Evans' silence implies a deep grief, but Martell barely scratches the surface of it, concentrating instead on more mundane introspection of his family members. All three of them react similarly, and despite their different personal histories they think and express themselves in exactly the same ways. This can only be a failure of the novelist's craft.
There are no deep revelations about the human condition and no resolution of anything. The character arcs are almost completely flat. The real-life Evans sounds like a fascinating character, but there's no hint of that here.
This short book seems less like a novel and more like an exercise in novel-writing. One wonders why Martell bothered to write it at all.
Despre scriitura lui Martell aș spune că este foarte curată, fără excese stilistice sau prea mare dărnicie a figurilor de stil, lucru care mi-a plăcut și care mi-a amplificat senzația aceea de pauză dintre două mari evenimente din viața unor personaje. Dacă miza a fost s�� redea exact senzația asta de nemișcare cadențată, de inerție în mijlocul unui vârtej care se tot apropie de personaj, care-i schimbă contextul lumii din jur și-l lasă pe el ca pe un spectator înghețat de neputință și lipsa voinței, atunci i-a reușit din plin și poate că merită chiar o recitire acum, că știu faptele din 1961 care au afectat trio-ul lui Bill Evans, astfel încât aș putea fi chiar mai atentă la tot ce a construit autorul în jurul detaliilor obiective.
Beautifully detailed, multi layered, poetic writing, but the language is pretty much all there is. The plot is slight, barely existent; the characters are poorly developed and interchangeable. Even a highly literary novel such as this needs basic characters and at least the bones of a story to hang the poetry on. In Intermission, the language seems to wrap itself around the narrative like ivy; it strangles it: you cannot see the woods for the trees. After a while, the intense concentration required to follow the semblance of a plot becomes trying. I got rather tired. There is real loveliness here, but I felt I had to work a bit too hard for it.