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The Music Room
William Fiennes spent his childhood growing up in awe of his brother Richard. 11 years older and a magnetic presence, Richard suffers from severe epilepsy. His energy influences the rhythms of the family and the house's internal life, and his story inspires a journey, interwoven with loving recollection, towards an understanding of the mind.
215 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
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About the author
William Fiennes
12 books17 followersWilliam Fiennes’s first book, The Snow Geese, was a winner of the Somerset Maugham Award, the Hawthornden Prize, and was shortlisted for the Samuel Johnson Prize. He lives in England.
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September 17, 2013
This is an unusual memoir with three distinct threads which are intermittently woven throughout the narrative. The first is a description and a remembrance of the home where the author grew up. The second is a haunting story of a boy’s love for his brother who had a severe form of epilepsy. And finally there is a history of our understanding of that disease.
William Fiennes has an interesting heritage. He is the youngest son of Lord and Lady Saye and Sele, whose family name is Fiennes. Nathaniel Fiennes, William’s father, is the the 21st Baron Saye and Sale. William is also the second cousin of explorer Sir Ranulph Fiennes and the third cousin of actors Ralph and Joseph Fiennes.
William grew up with his older brother Richard and a set of twins (another brother Thomas died at a young age) in Broughton, a huge castle which dates back to the 1500s. The castle, located near Banbury Oxfordshire, was passed down through the family over the years and despite many different incarnations, some of it spent in grandeur and others in devastation, it has survived and become a living monument to the past.
Most of the castle and its surrounding gardens, the huge moat, the chapel, barracks, working dairy and other buildings are open to the public, although there are a few private spaces for the family. The castle is available to be rented out for films, plays, operas, fairs, tours and events of every kind, and fees from these ventures help fund the upkeep of the huge estate.
So William has had an interesting and very different life growing up in this large place surrounded by turrets, stone staircases, shelves of leather bound books, ancient china, tapestries, swords, Spanish armour and hundreds of huge paintings. As a little boy he loved exploring the nooks and crannies of the buildings and rifling through all the historical paraphernalia. But unlike other young boys, he also grew up living in a place where the public was welcomed and always present. William lovingly describes the wonder of a child living in a home exposed to all kinds of activity. Actors and singers were often on the front lawn reciting lines, practicing sword fights or singing arias. Film crews were putting up sets with cables, camera trolleys, and hydraulic platforms, talking to one another through walkie-talkies. William remembers the time he sold Ian McKellan a postcard from the gift shop in the stables and the time he saw Jane Seymour in the Ladies Garden bend to kiss a rose. He sat in awe as he saw Oliver Cromwell’s warts as Rice Krispies, painted brown and glued on an actor’s face and nose. All this brought William the allure of make believe and the delight of gadgets and hardware.
The work of caring for and maintaining all the artifacts and the castle itself was a major enterprise. William describes his mother painting the fading butterflies and flowers on wallpaper in the King’s Bedroom, using WD-40 to condition suits of amour and visored helmets, and rubbing beeswax polish unto the oak shoulders of blunderbusses and muskets. His Dad roamed the estate at all times, haunting film sets like a home’s guardian spirit, vigilant for theft, carelessness, and damage to the property. Both his Mum and Dad spent hours working in their offices organizing schedules, ensuring there were proper guides for tours and producing information pamphlets.
One of William’s favorite rooms was the Music Room where his mother practiced the viola, endlessly repeating scales. She liked this time she had to herself, a private time away from all the activity. William loved the music, but even more he loved all the gadgets such as the tuning fork and particularly the metronome. He often gravitated to this room as he wandered the vast halls of the estate .
Throughout this memoir, William speaks fondly of his brother Richard who was 11 years older. As a young child, Richard had suffered an ear infection and subsequently had a high fever and his first experience with seizures. Over the years these seizures became worse despite the use of anticonvulsant medication. Attacks came without warning and by the age of three, Richard experienced tonic-clonic seizures. Gradually as the number, length and severity of the seizures increased, the damage to his brain became severe and he began attending an institution, coming home on holidays and vacations. Often his home visits were difficult, with angry outbursts, violent behavior and sudden mood changes. The anti-epileptic drugs left Richard sluggish, listless and with labored speech, taxing his family even further. Over the years as his condition deteriorated and the brain damage increased, Richard attacked his own family, challenged his parents, used poor language and was generally disruptive. However, despite his lack of self-control, his erratic behavior and his frightening violence, his family surrounded him with love and patience. William came to realize that Richard’s mood swings, his violence and his bloody mindedness were not intentional. They were not who Richard was, but were a result of the scarring on his frontal lobes from his epilepsy. And so, as a family they managed. Richard died quite suddenly and unexpectedly when he stopped breathing during a severe seizure one night when he was forty-one years old. His death left his family bereft.
The third thread in this narrative details the various scientific discoveries about seizures. It begins with the discovery of speech and motor control in the brain and continues through to the discovery of neurons with their axons and dendrites, the transmission of electrical impulses through these pathways and the creation of the electroencephalogram.
The portrait of William and Richard’s parents is one of utter and almost unbelievable patience. They are loving, stoical and quite simply heroic. Despite their son’s behavior which perplexed and frightened them, they rarely allowed their pain, bewilderment or frustration to show through, caring for their son until his death. Only once does William see his Dad falter. He finds him out by the house one afternoon, his arm stretched out, his palm pressed flat against a buttress, and his head dropped. He was very still. William asks his father what he is doing. His father says he is asking the house for some of its strength.
This is a moving, poignant and powerful story of an unusual childhood and life and the love between two brothers. Beautifully written.
William Fiennes has an interesting heritage. He is the youngest son of Lord and Lady Saye and Sele, whose family name is Fiennes. Nathaniel Fiennes, William’s father, is the the 21st Baron Saye and Sale. William is also the second cousin of explorer Sir Ranulph Fiennes and the third cousin of actors Ralph and Joseph Fiennes.
William grew up with his older brother Richard and a set of twins (another brother Thomas died at a young age) in Broughton, a huge castle which dates back to the 1500s. The castle, located near Banbury Oxfordshire, was passed down through the family over the years and despite many different incarnations, some of it spent in grandeur and others in devastation, it has survived and become a living monument to the past.
Most of the castle and its surrounding gardens, the huge moat, the chapel, barracks, working dairy and other buildings are open to the public, although there are a few private spaces for the family. The castle is available to be rented out for films, plays, operas, fairs, tours and events of every kind, and fees from these ventures help fund the upkeep of the huge estate.
So William has had an interesting and very different life growing up in this large place surrounded by turrets, stone staircases, shelves of leather bound books, ancient china, tapestries, swords, Spanish armour and hundreds of huge paintings. As a little boy he loved exploring the nooks and crannies of the buildings and rifling through all the historical paraphernalia. But unlike other young boys, he also grew up living in a place where the public was welcomed and always present. William lovingly describes the wonder of a child living in a home exposed to all kinds of activity. Actors and singers were often on the front lawn reciting lines, practicing sword fights or singing arias. Film crews were putting up sets with cables, camera trolleys, and hydraulic platforms, talking to one another through walkie-talkies. William remembers the time he sold Ian McKellan a postcard from the gift shop in the stables and the time he saw Jane Seymour in the Ladies Garden bend to kiss a rose. He sat in awe as he saw Oliver Cromwell’s warts as Rice Krispies, painted brown and glued on an actor’s face and nose. All this brought William the allure of make believe and the delight of gadgets and hardware.
The work of caring for and maintaining all the artifacts and the castle itself was a major enterprise. William describes his mother painting the fading butterflies and flowers on wallpaper in the King’s Bedroom, using WD-40 to condition suits of amour and visored helmets, and rubbing beeswax polish unto the oak shoulders of blunderbusses and muskets. His Dad roamed the estate at all times, haunting film sets like a home’s guardian spirit, vigilant for theft, carelessness, and damage to the property. Both his Mum and Dad spent hours working in their offices organizing schedules, ensuring there were proper guides for tours and producing information pamphlets.
One of William’s favorite rooms was the Music Room where his mother practiced the viola, endlessly repeating scales. She liked this time she had to herself, a private time away from all the activity. William loved the music, but even more he loved all the gadgets such as the tuning fork and particularly the metronome. He often gravitated to this room as he wandered the vast halls of the estate .
Throughout this memoir, William speaks fondly of his brother Richard who was 11 years older. As a young child, Richard had suffered an ear infection and subsequently had a high fever and his first experience with seizures. Over the years these seizures became worse despite the use of anticonvulsant medication. Attacks came without warning and by the age of three, Richard experienced tonic-clonic seizures. Gradually as the number, length and severity of the seizures increased, the damage to his brain became severe and he began attending an institution, coming home on holidays and vacations. Often his home visits were difficult, with angry outbursts, violent behavior and sudden mood changes. The anti-epileptic drugs left Richard sluggish, listless and with labored speech, taxing his family even further. Over the years as his condition deteriorated and the brain damage increased, Richard attacked his own family, challenged his parents, used poor language and was generally disruptive. However, despite his lack of self-control, his erratic behavior and his frightening violence, his family surrounded him with love and patience. William came to realize that Richard’s mood swings, his violence and his bloody mindedness were not intentional. They were not who Richard was, but were a result of the scarring on his frontal lobes from his epilepsy. And so, as a family they managed. Richard died quite suddenly and unexpectedly when he stopped breathing during a severe seizure one night when he was forty-one years old. His death left his family bereft.
The third thread in this narrative details the various scientific discoveries about seizures. It begins with the discovery of speech and motor control in the brain and continues through to the discovery of neurons with their axons and dendrites, the transmission of electrical impulses through these pathways and the creation of the electroencephalogram.
The portrait of William and Richard’s parents is one of utter and almost unbelievable patience. They are loving, stoical and quite simply heroic. Despite their son’s behavior which perplexed and frightened them, they rarely allowed their pain, bewilderment or frustration to show through, caring for their son until his death. Only once does William see his Dad falter. He finds him out by the house one afternoon, his arm stretched out, his palm pressed flat against a buttress, and his head dropped. He was very still. William asks his father what he is doing. His father says he is asking the house for some of its strength.
This is a moving, poignant and powerful story of an unusual childhood and life and the love between two brothers. Beautifully written.
June 16, 2013
The author does an incredible job of telling the story of a dysfunctional family. In speaking the story through the alcohol blurred mind of Marty, the events unfold, fold and refold in and around each other in such a way that the waves of emotion can almost be felt by the reader. To say that this family drinks too much is a gross understatement. I kept wanting to beg Marty to stop drinking. The struggle to understand his brother's despair and death was so inhibited by his constant inebriated state. But as the story unwinds, all of the pieces, including the root cause of Marty's feelings of failure and rejection make sense. Although deep and dark, I couldn't put this book down.
June 24, 2017
When you read stories of people's childhood in the first person it's difficult not to feel echoes of your own. I think that's one of the things that gives this book such a magical quality. William writes beautifully about his enchanted childhood growing up at Broughton Castle where his ancestors have lived since 1447. William had an elder brother, Rich, who suffered from epilepsy and brain damage which made him emotionally volatile - both warm and generous and then threatening and difficult. One of the wonders of this book is his demonstration of how his family loved Rich.
At one point William writes,
'I couldn't think of his character as a manifestation of disease. That would have implied the existence of an ideal healthy Richard my brother was an imperfection of, a dream-Richard this actual person couldn't measure up against. But there wasn't any other Richard.'
This sentence struck me as I thought, at first, that this wasn't true and that this book was an expression of longing not for the brother he had - but for the brother that he could have had. Of all the kindness without all the difficulty and the threat of violence.
But as the book progressed I saw that this was not so. As children we take things as they are - we don't know any other reality than the one we have and so we are accepting of it. And, if we are lucky, we know the miracle even then. So as the book progressed I realised that I had been wrong. This really was an offering to the brother that he had known -with all the problems - an offering of love to that man. And I admired William all the more for that. In reality he had a double loss - a loss of the brother he could have had and a loss of the brother that he did have.
But he was also greatly blessed and he knew that too. I remember clearly when I was 16 years old, coming across the words of Wordsworth (written as an old man) 'Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive but to be young was very heaven.' And they showed me what I had. I wrote out in a journal, 'Bliss is it in this dawn to be alive and to be young is very heaven.'
William's blessing was that he also saw this. The presence of the dead ancestors whispered it to him - and he heard them.
A Paenan of love to his brother and his parents. Sad and beautiful all at once. 5*s.
At one point William writes,
'I couldn't think of his character as a manifestation of disease. That would have implied the existence of an ideal healthy Richard my brother was an imperfection of, a dream-Richard this actual person couldn't measure up against. But there wasn't any other Richard.'
This sentence struck me as I thought, at first, that this wasn't true and that this book was an expression of longing not for the brother he had - but for the brother that he could have had. Of all the kindness without all the difficulty and the threat of violence.
But as the book progressed I saw that this was not so. As children we take things as they are - we don't know any other reality than the one we have and so we are accepting of it. And, if we are lucky, we know the miracle even then. So as the book progressed I realised that I had been wrong. This really was an offering to the brother that he had known -with all the problems - an offering of love to that man. And I admired William all the more for that. In reality he had a double loss - a loss of the brother he could have had and a loss of the brother that he did have.
But he was also greatly blessed and he knew that too. I remember clearly when I was 16 years old, coming across the words of Wordsworth (written as an old man) 'Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive but to be young was very heaven.' And they showed me what I had. I wrote out in a journal, 'Bliss is it in this dawn to be alive and to be young is very heaven.'
William's blessing was that he also saw this. The presence of the dead ancestors whispered it to him - and he heard them.
A Paenan of love to his brother and his parents. Sad and beautiful all at once. 5*s.
September 12, 2008
This is a beautifully written book with extraordinary emotional power. I can compare it's overwhelming ability to move me only with that of the consuming power of a great piece of music. Like a powerful piece of music, The Music Room induces feelings of such depth without a specific, identifiable source. McFarland's ability to express the layers of human emotion is remarkable and makes The Music Room one of those exceptional books in which you can truly become engrossed.
November 1, 2010
Thi is not a “misery memoir”; with the current fashion for these, you can imagine someone with an epileptic, brain-damaged brother prone to fits of violence writing an “Oh, woe is me” account of how hard life was for his family. But instead, what overwhelmingly comes across here is the patient and generous spirit of his parents, calmly accepting the threats and abuse that they know Richard is powerless to control, taking pleasure in his moments of calm and happiness, doing their best to provide an environment where he can thrive and join in family activities.
William does not feel fear of his brother, even when as a boy of eleven or so, he witnesses Richard threatening his parents with an iron bar. He is sure that his beloved brother will never hurt him. But only gradually does he come to understand that Richard's attacks are not wilful – they are the disease, not the person. At the same time, “I coudn't think of Richard's personality as a set of symptoms; I couldn't think of his character as a manifestation of disease. That would have implied the existence of an ideal healthy Richard my brother was an imperfection of, a dream-Richard this actual person couldn't measure up against.”
The other subject of this memoir is William's childhood home, a medieval castle in Oxfordshire with battlements and a moat. He's already shown in The Snow Geese how evocatively he can describe his environment and the natural world, and here the tone is lyrical. A lonely child, because his siblings were much older than he, he spent his days wandering the castle and its grounds while the staff cleaned and dusted, his mother polished suits of armour with WD-40 or played the viola, the gardner mowed the lawns, occasionally skidding into the moat, and his father planted trees for future generations. Local theatre groups performed plays on the lawn, groups of visitors toured the house, film companies spent days filming. All this made for a strange childhood, but William took it all completely for granted, never having known anything else. Sent to boarding school, he was pleased because it meant he got to spend time with other boys his own age and visit their small, warm houses. Again, no misery memoir of ill-treatment here.
You could argue that the secret, rather frightening haunted rooms of the castle mirror the unknown compartments of the brain, but I don't think that's really the point here. Rather like William Blacker's Along the Enchanted Way, it's an elegy to an outdated mode of life. It's so magical I couldn't help being reminded of the castle in I Capture the Castle.
The one thing that didn't quite work was the interludes describing the history of research into the working of the brain, and epilepsy in particular. I understood why they were there, and they did help the reader to understand Richard's behaviour a little better. But they never quite gelled with the story. It's the kind of thing that Oliver Sacks does better.
William does not feel fear of his brother, even when as a boy of eleven or so, he witnesses Richard threatening his parents with an iron bar. He is sure that his beloved brother will never hurt him. But only gradually does he come to understand that Richard's attacks are not wilful – they are the disease, not the person. At the same time, “I coudn't think of Richard's personality as a set of symptoms; I couldn't think of his character as a manifestation of disease. That would have implied the existence of an ideal healthy Richard my brother was an imperfection of, a dream-Richard this actual person couldn't measure up against.”
The other subject of this memoir is William's childhood home, a medieval castle in Oxfordshire with battlements and a moat. He's already shown in The Snow Geese how evocatively he can describe his environment and the natural world, and here the tone is lyrical. A lonely child, because his siblings were much older than he, he spent his days wandering the castle and its grounds while the staff cleaned and dusted, his mother polished suits of armour with WD-40 or played the viola, the gardner mowed the lawns, occasionally skidding into the moat, and his father planted trees for future generations. Local theatre groups performed plays on the lawn, groups of visitors toured the house, film companies spent days filming. All this made for a strange childhood, but William took it all completely for granted, never having known anything else. Sent to boarding school, he was pleased because it meant he got to spend time with other boys his own age and visit their small, warm houses. Again, no misery memoir of ill-treatment here.
You could argue that the secret, rather frightening haunted rooms of the castle mirror the unknown compartments of the brain, but I don't think that's really the point here. Rather like William Blacker's Along the Enchanted Way, it's an elegy to an outdated mode of life. It's so magical I couldn't help being reminded of the castle in I Capture the Castle.
The one thing that didn't quite work was the interludes describing the history of research into the working of the brain, and epilepsy in particular. I understood why they were there, and they did help the reader to understand Richard's behaviour a little better. But they never quite gelled with the story. It's the kind of thing that Oliver Sacks does better.
January 27, 2015
“She nodded, then said, ‘No note. Boy, is that ever like him. You know, I think I’ll write the story of your brother’s life and call it ‘No Note’’” (45).
“We would never have survived a public school, sheltered as we are by the roomy sanctuary of extreme privilege” (69).
“...her voice of midnight blue (my favorite crayon as a boy” (125).
“Gasser, elderly, bald, a prolific prescription writer of dubious medical skills...” (136-137).
“The bartender's simple question 'Lime?' seemed loaded with implication. What would it mean about me if I said yes?” (142).
“I have said that with Father's passing, so passed his spirit. Ironically, sadly, it was the impact of his death, not of his life, that endured. His death had fallen on us like a moon falling into the sea whose tides it used to govern—displacing us, setting us loose, sending us thousands of miles apart. And, more or less, we stayed that way” (173).
“I seemed to have found a target for the poison spear of my anger” (182).
“The portions of the liturgy in plainsong were so ardently sung as to seem almost untamed, on the brink” (188).
"Though I suppose I must have been happy to have been allowed to enter the building, as I rode an elevator to the fourth floor it seemed insulting to have been so quickly judged harmless by the security guard" (200).
“I'd been asked to wait—which I did indignantly, next to a planter of dusty plastic delphiniums in a the orange-carpeted lobby...” (206).
“Wasn't my behavior of the last few hours only the culmination of a lifetime of misguided stupidity? Wasn't I doomed to bungle things?” (209).
“I don't know how much I drank, but I did it earnestly, with so grim a sense of purpose that it felt like a punishment” (210).
“Today he plays Beethoven. I will soon turn six, and I know Ludwig von Beethoven, both the music and the man, the deaf composer, though when I was a bit younger I occasionally confused him with the inventor of the light bulb, Thomas Edison, who lost his hearing as a boy when he was pulled by the ears onto the back of a moving train. This did not happen to Beethoven—it happened only to Thomas Edison—but I still have to remind myself of that now and then. I have a child's artistic impulse to marry the two events, the composition and the moving train. And I am very fond of imagining deafness” (223).
"He'd been telephoning Mother to ask if she knew where to find me, and he hadn't expected em to answer the phone. Caught off guard, he couldn't quite correct his tone of repugnance" (234).
"He said, Where the hell are you? I said he should know the answer to that question, considering that he'd just dialed my home in Norfolk" (234).
"...I am filled with the faith and quiet confidence that belongs to those who were given the heart and willingness to survive, to those given the great fortune to have continued" (262).
“We would never have survived a public school, sheltered as we are by the roomy sanctuary of extreme privilege” (69).
“...her voice of midnight blue (my favorite crayon as a boy” (125).
“Gasser, elderly, bald, a prolific prescription writer of dubious medical skills...” (136-137).
“The bartender's simple question 'Lime?' seemed loaded with implication. What would it mean about me if I said yes?” (142).
“I have said that with Father's passing, so passed his spirit. Ironically, sadly, it was the impact of his death, not of his life, that endured. His death had fallen on us like a moon falling into the sea whose tides it used to govern—displacing us, setting us loose, sending us thousands of miles apart. And, more or less, we stayed that way” (173).
“I seemed to have found a target for the poison spear of my anger” (182).
“The portions of the liturgy in plainsong were so ardently sung as to seem almost untamed, on the brink” (188).
"Though I suppose I must have been happy to have been allowed to enter the building, as I rode an elevator to the fourth floor it seemed insulting to have been so quickly judged harmless by the security guard" (200).
“I'd been asked to wait—which I did indignantly, next to a planter of dusty plastic delphiniums in a the orange-carpeted lobby...” (206).
“Wasn't my behavior of the last few hours only the culmination of a lifetime of misguided stupidity? Wasn't I doomed to bungle things?” (209).
“I don't know how much I drank, but I did it earnestly, with so grim a sense of purpose that it felt like a punishment” (210).
“Today he plays Beethoven. I will soon turn six, and I know Ludwig von Beethoven, both the music and the man, the deaf composer, though when I was a bit younger I occasionally confused him with the inventor of the light bulb, Thomas Edison, who lost his hearing as a boy when he was pulled by the ears onto the back of a moving train. This did not happen to Beethoven—it happened only to Thomas Edison—but I still have to remind myself of that now and then. I have a child's artistic impulse to marry the two events, the composition and the moving train. And I am very fond of imagining deafness” (223).
"He'd been telephoning Mother to ask if she knew where to find me, and he hadn't expected em to answer the phone. Caught off guard, he couldn't quite correct his tone of repugnance" (234).
"He said, Where the hell are you? I said he should know the answer to that question, considering that he'd just dialed my home in Norfolk" (234).
"...I am filled with the faith and quiet confidence that belongs to those who were given the heart and willingness to survive, to those given the great fortune to have continued" (262).
May 15, 2022
1.5 stars rounded to 2 stars. I read this book because it was one of the books in display in my local library that had been put together for National Music Week. It was the first book by Dennis McFarland and based on my opinion of this particular book, I doubt I will look for other books by him.
It starts out with Martin finding out his younger brother had committed suicide by jumping out of the window of a hotel. Martin who is living in California at this time flies to New York to deal with Perry's death and to try to find out answers to his question of why Perry committed this act. From there on, the book shifts back and forth as Martin brings up memories of his past. I found the shifts confusing at times and the the plot very depressing. It is obvious that both parents of Martin and Perry were alcoholics---and in this mother's case, still struggling with alcoholism. It is also obvious that Perry himself drinks a lot. I got so tired of reading about the alcoholism prevalent in his memories of the past and about how many drinks he himself indulges in in the present day.
Only near the end of the book did I start to like Martin's character after he has come to some important realizations about himself and stopped participating in self-destructive patterns hurting not only himself but others around him, including his brother Perry's former lover.
I understand that many people might enjoy McFarland's writing style but it is not one I enjoy in spite of the literary quality of it. Only at the end did I finally feel good enough about the novel to elevate it from 1 star to 2 stars.
It starts out with Martin finding out his younger brother had committed suicide by jumping out of the window of a hotel. Martin who is living in California at this time flies to New York to deal with Perry's death and to try to find out answers to his question of why Perry committed this act. From there on, the book shifts back and forth as Martin brings up memories of his past. I found the shifts confusing at times and the the plot very depressing. It is obvious that both parents of Martin and Perry were alcoholics---and in this mother's case, still struggling with alcoholism. It is also obvious that Perry himself drinks a lot. I got so tired of reading about the alcoholism prevalent in his memories of the past and about how many drinks he himself indulges in in the present day.
Only near the end of the book did I start to like Martin's character after he has come to some important realizations about himself and stopped participating in self-destructive patterns hurting not only himself but others around him, including his brother Perry's former lover.
I understand that many people might enjoy McFarland's writing style but it is not one I enjoy in spite of the literary quality of it. Only at the end did I finally feel good enough about the novel to elevate it from 1 star to 2 stars.
February 21, 2014
Sometimes I pick up a book and, in spite of it and my best intentions, we don't click. I thought The Music Room was off to a running start when I began to read the story of a man who had just learned that his brother took his own life - I mean, that's a hard-hitting entrance to a story, right? Unfortunately (and this is not a morbid joke), everything went down from that high moment. I struggled with The Music Room , folks. This one slowed me down, big time, and honestly - for a while, it made me regret even trying to carve out time to read.
Read the rest of this review at The Lost Entwife on Feb. 22, 2014.
Read the rest of this review at The Lost Entwife on Feb. 22, 2014.
December 21, 2021
A fine description of family love within demanding circumstances. Beautifully written and I could hardly put it down
September 23, 2020
A touching, beautifully written memoir that I couldn't put down. Historical references to the evolution of epilepsy research interspersed with the author's own experience of growing up with an older brother marred by this incurable condition. So gentle, so tender is his phraseology, I was mesmerised.
April 4, 2017
Awesome!
November 16, 2015
Fiennes, William. The Music Room
William Fiennes’ account of his childhood in a moated castle is more than a memoir but rather a tribute to the enduring quality of a rural idyll and a celebration of the life of his epileptic brother Richard, who died at the age of 41. So refined and detailed is the account of bird life and aquatic life in the estate of Broughton Castle, the 700 year-old house where he grew up, that the reader has an impulse to draw a map of the place - its many rooms, some untouched for years, the extensive grounds comprising moat, streams and rivers teeming with pike, perch, roach and tench, and constantly watched over by a solitary heron and from a height by swarms of croaking rooks. And striding through this rustic paradise we find his elder brother Richard, pipe in hand with his Leeds United T-shirt and his wildly unpredictable behaviour. Richard is the fulcrum of our attention and our fears, a lovable demon who could not have been invented.
Fiennes’ writing has an exquisite lingering quality, as if he is reluctant to move on before he has extracted the last detail from a scene. Thus he describes going to wake his brother for lunch: ‘I carried the task within me like an executive power. I climbed the narrow stone stairs to the door decorated with Paninero stickers of Leeds United players and a plaque on which the words ‘Richard’s Room’ were printed beside a Leeds United crest. The handle was blue-green and moulded in the shape of a heron’s head and bill, and when you pressed down on the bill to open the door the heron seemed to nod in agreement that you should proceed inside.’ He would go exploring while his brother was at the epilepsy centre: ‘His room had high windows, a chest of drawers between them with a reproduction Leeds United trophy on top, a metal ring hanging from the wall, threaded with ties: wool, silk, polyester, spotted, striped, paisley, Leeds blue and gold, clip-on bows for church at Easter and Christmas, a many-stranded thickness sprouting like a horse’s tail from the ironstone.’
The author’s love of detail at times can become overwhelming, especially when he gives biographies of seventeenth and eighteenth century brain specialists in epilepsy. For those interested Fiennes gives a full bibliography, apart from his own account of sundry electrotherapists’ brain operations. He knows about epilepsy; his brother about Leeds Utd.
February 13, 2014
The Music Room by Dennis McFarland is a recommended novel that focuses on a dysfunctional family of alcoholics.
Marty Lambert's life is already in shambles when he receives the call informing him that his brother, Perry has committed suicide in NYC. Marty, a record producer in San Francisco, and his wife are divorcing and he has already started to reduce his possessions down to 2 suitcases when he recieves the phone call that sends him to NYC to try and figure what lead his younger brother to apparently commit suicide. When he arrives in NYC, Marty finds no easy answers explaining the reason for Perry suicide. He does meet Perry's girlfriend, Jane Owlcaster, and inherits his dog.
Perry's death leaves Marty with a mystery that he is determined to solve, although he goes about it in a befuddled, self-examination kind of trance rather than face his need for mourning. As Marty seeks answers, along the way he also reminisces about the past and recalls the neglectful, turbulent upbringing he and Perry experienced in a family of alcoholics. As can often be the case some of the answers may be found in the past. Or maybe there are no real answers to be found. Marty must also face his own inherited legacy of alcoholism.
McFarland's beautifully expressive prose carries the novel while the narrative itself can be trying. Reading about a family of wealthy, self-centered alcoholics doesn't usually guarantee any great connection with the characters for me. Although I certainly felt empathy for Marty, I grew weary of him wallowing in his unhappiness as he explored his emotions. That said, there are some very poignant scenes with a keen insight into these deeply flawed characters.
Disclosure: My Kindle edition was courtesy of Open Road Media via Netgalley for review purposes.
Marty Lambert's life is already in shambles when he receives the call informing him that his brother, Perry has committed suicide in NYC. Marty, a record producer in San Francisco, and his wife are divorcing and he has already started to reduce his possessions down to 2 suitcases when he recieves the phone call that sends him to NYC to try and figure what lead his younger brother to apparently commit suicide. When he arrives in NYC, Marty finds no easy answers explaining the reason for Perry suicide. He does meet Perry's girlfriend, Jane Owlcaster, and inherits his dog.
Perry's death leaves Marty with a mystery that he is determined to solve, although he goes about it in a befuddled, self-examination kind of trance rather than face his need for mourning. As Marty seeks answers, along the way he also reminisces about the past and recalls the neglectful, turbulent upbringing he and Perry experienced in a family of alcoholics. As can often be the case some of the answers may be found in the past. Or maybe there are no real answers to be found. Marty must also face his own inherited legacy of alcoholism.
McFarland's beautifully expressive prose carries the novel while the narrative itself can be trying. Reading about a family of wealthy, self-centered alcoholics doesn't usually guarantee any great connection with the characters for me. Although I certainly felt empathy for Marty, I grew weary of him wallowing in his unhappiness as he explored his emotions. That said, there are some very poignant scenes with a keen insight into these deeply flawed characters.
Disclosure: My Kindle edition was courtesy of Open Road Media via Netgalley for review purposes.
October 27, 2010
This is a moving book. It is beautiful not because the author grew up in a castle and writes about life in it. It is beautiful because it is a memorial to family love --- to the particular tenderness and endless patience of parents who, for 41 years, carry the heavy burden of a "special" son and must witness, with heartbreak no doubt, his grieving and suffering. It is also a memorial to the real personhood of that "special" son and to his relative victories and sad defeats. What the author writes is so true, so filled with a kind of painful love and loving pity. As I said to my wife after finishing some passage of this book: "You will love these people."
(I am privileged to have seen Broughton Castle. My wife and children and I were taking a walk over from the village of Shutford when, by pure happenstance, we stumbled upon the castle in its park. Believe me, I will never forget my first view of it with its flag flying above the gatehouse in the quiet.)
(I am privileged to have seen Broughton Castle. My wife and children and I were taking a walk over from the village of Shutford when, by pure happenstance, we stumbled upon the castle in its park. Believe me, I will never forget my first view of it with its flag flying above the gatehouse in the quiet.)
March 10, 2013
I've just finished this book and what can I say - it's absolutely brilliant!!
The story of William Fiennes life, growing up in a old castle interwoven with both his brothers epilepsy and associated brain disorder plus the various escapes of a young boy living in a rather normal caring family in a rural setting.
It's very well written and describes clearly the emotional aspects of a family dealing with a child who has semi-special needs, plus fitting in nicely between the story there are historical notes of how epilepsy was diagnosed/understood and treated through time.
My only complaint (if it can be said of such), was that the ending was quite quick - his brother just seemed to die, with no preamble or much afterwards. I wasn't sure what I expected but just a bit more about how it affected him and what his life had been like in Brazil, but these are quite small complaints and the book overall is very god and I'd highly recommend it.
The story of William Fiennes life, growing up in a old castle interwoven with both his brothers epilepsy and associated brain disorder plus the various escapes of a young boy living in a rather normal caring family in a rural setting.
It's very well written and describes clearly the emotional aspects of a family dealing with a child who has semi-special needs, plus fitting in nicely between the story there are historical notes of how epilepsy was diagnosed/understood and treated through time.
My only complaint (if it can be said of such), was that the ending was quite quick - his brother just seemed to die, with no preamble or much afterwards. I wasn't sure what I expected but just a bit more about how it affected him and what his life had been like in Brazil, but these are quite small complaints and the book overall is very god and I'd highly recommend it.
March 16, 2014
After his brother's suicide, Marty Lambert is set adrift, lost and lonely and desperately seeking some sort of closure. He backtracks through his brother Perry's life as well as his own while trying to figure out his future. Dennis McFarland presents a trouble cast of characters: Marty's parents are wealthy, depressed alcoholics, Jane Owlcaster is Perry's girlfriend who has fallen for Marty, and Marty is left to pick up the pieces when it all crashes.
Dennis McFarland's prose is beautiful and haunting. While the story was a little too melancholy for me, it's a wonderful look into a dysfunctional family and how the past has lead to each character's internal struggle and guilt with regards to Perry's sad demise.
** I received an ARC from NetGalley.
Dennis McFarland's prose is beautiful and haunting. While the story was a little too melancholy for me, it's a wonderful look into a dysfunctional family and how the past has lead to each character's internal struggle and guilt with regards to Perry's sad demise.
** I received an ARC from NetGalley.
March 28, 2013
Wonderful book...living nearby in Banbury I can appreciate his descriptions of Broughton...he does it in a beautifully poetic way. I have been in the 'castle' - he sums it up to a tee. I loved his short paragraph on the couple 'cavorting' in the copse - fantastically detatched observation. His descriptions of his brother's epilepsy are lovingly and accurately recorded..you can feel the violence waiting to emerge. If ever I moved away from the area I would use this book to transport me back to one of the most georgeous places I know instantly.
One thing...his brother's Leeds United stickers were made by Pannini - not Pannera(?)
One thing...his brother's Leeds United stickers were made by Pannini - not Pannera(?)
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April 17, 2013A devastating story of the firewalk of grief, what it does to memories, what it does to identity, and the desperate reach for light at the end of the tunnel. As Martin learns that his only sibling has jumped off a building in NYC, he begins his journey of remembrance thru a horribly dysfunctional childhood, with two raging alcoholic parents , and must face a misunderstanding that has colored his life. Moments of pathos and moments of beauty, this is a skillfully written, and ultimately hopeful narrative.
May 5, 2013
More than once during this reading I thought about quitting. Who needs to read a book about a family of rich alcoholics? But the writing was so good I kept plugging away, and now I'm glad I did, for the ending is excellent. Hard to believe this was the author's first book, and not autobiographical. By the end of the book you feel as though, not that you know the characters, but that you have actually lived with them! Actually an interesting book.
October 12, 2013
Had to give this book five stars..McFarland is a brilliant writer. Hard to believe this was his first book (1990). His writings come from the dark side of human nature. Sad but so well crafted you have to keep reading. Or at least I did. I love his style... This story centers around a very strange family wondering the whys of a suicide and of a brother who is lost with his own demons but finds his way to redemption....
December 3, 2013
This book kept my attention from the beginning, which, considering the depressing main character, was quite commendable on the part of the author. I guess the main theme is dealing with devastating grief. This book also touched on how misinterpretations of things we witnessed as children can scar us well into our adult years if they are never spoken of and resolved. I was glad for the up lifting ending for sure!
November 30, 2009
As a collection of descriptive pictures, it is full of many lovingly crafted phrases and images; as a memoir, it was so episodic it left me wishing for a much clearer picture of this family. It became harder for me to concentrate on the detailed descriptions, however lovely, when I had so many unanswered questions.
December 19, 2011
Strange childhood, beautiful writing, utterly unforgettable character in Fiennes's mentally handicapped brother. He's stand-out and scary, a tender monster who no one can quite cope with. The book seems a little inconclusive and lacks a narrative drive, but Fiennes's brother haunts long after the pages are closed.
August 22, 2015
I kept forgetting how young this character actually WAS in the book (only 29) , I guess because he seemed so worn out by his life. It was a realistic depiction of how despair can descend upon you , and how hard it is to work through what got you there, especially at that age. What a bunch of tragic messed up people he had in his life! It left me feeling sad, but hopeful.
May 7, 2017
"The Music Room", a dramatic, compulsive read.
A profound look into childhood and memories that are stored, distorted, imagined, and untrue. A hard look at flawed parenting, alcoholism and its inherent history. A recognition that the human psyche: fragile and sensitive, struggles constantly for power and dominance.
A profound look into childhood and memories that are stored, distorted, imagined, and untrue. A hard look at flawed parenting, alcoholism and its inherent history. A recognition that the human psyche: fragile and sensitive, struggles constantly for power and dominance.
February 18, 2019
A multi-generational story of a wealthy family with lives ruined by alcoholism. Some Southern gothic touches. The main protagonist is not particularly likeable, self-absorbed and self-pitying. Overall, the novel seems to be reaching for important messages, but falls short. The uplifting ending seems contrived. I would rate it a two-star, but it is well-written.
July 20, 2007
in mood and essence the music room reminds me of herman hesse, oddly enough. It's like a surreal dream mixed with a bag of candy you can't stop eating. I loved it. And when I met Dennis McFarland at the JRW festival last year, he was super nice. I bought one of his newer books but haven't read it.
November 26, 2011
A beautifully written book with a wonderful ending. It is hard to believe that this is McFarland's first book. The good news is that he has written more. I will definitely be adding some of his other titles to my to-read list.
March 1, 2014
Because I thoroughly enjoyed a couple of McFarland's books (Letter From Point Clear and Prince Edward), I thought I'd try McFarland's debut novel, published in 1990. MdFarland's writing is lovely from the get-go, but I was not thrilled with this book.
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