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David Milofsky - Playing from Memory

Here you can read online David Milofsky - Playing from Memory full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. year: 1999, publisher: University Press of Colorado, genre: Detective and thriller. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

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Playing From Memory is a deeply moving, compassionate novel about the power of marriage to survive under stress, a love story that tells of a musicians courageous battle against a degenerative illness and his wifes struggle to face the end of their life together. Ben Seidler, an intense, passionately committed violist, is at the height of his career as a member of the Casa Bella Quartet, one of the foremost string quartets in the nation. His gifts as a concert artist had always been intuitive, but love did not come so easily. It took determination to win the hand of his wife, Dory, who was reluctant to set aside her ambitions of becoming an artist. Their marriage is at once complex and ordinary, balancing the rigors of long rehearsal sessions against the daily round of family life with their two sons. Then suddenly the rhythm of their lives is shattered when Ben falls victim to multiple sclerosis. Stubbornly independent, Ben refuses to rely on others until necessity forces him to see that there are things beyond his control. Through a new closeness with his aging father, his older son, and, most importantly, Dory, he learns to accept help and to appreciate human frailty and affection. As Bens health declines, Dory is forced to resume her career and compete in a world dominated by men, and to re-examine her feelings and commitment to her husband. As their lives change, so does their marriage, and Ben and Dory forge a new kind of love, a fierce love that sustains them through everything. Playing From Memory is a rich and touching story, a novel that charts the landscape of despair but ultimately celebrates the triumph of the human heart. David Milofsky has written a powerful novel that carries all the weight and authority of lives truly lived. It is as much about loving as about dying, leading us back to our deepest selves.

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title Playing From Memory A Novel author Milofsky David - photo 1

title:Playing From Memory : A Novel
author:Milofsky, David.
publisher:University Press of Colorado
isbn10 | asin:0870815261
print isbn13:9780870815263
ebook isbn13:9780585098876
language:English
subjectAmerican fiction.
publication date:1999
lcc:PS3563.I444P5 1999eb
ddc:813/.54
subject:American fiction.
Page 1
Playing From Memory
A novel by
David Milofsky
UNIVERSITY PRESS OF COLORADO
Page 2
Copyright 1980, 1981, 1999 by David Milofsky
International Standard Book Number 0-87081-526-1
Published by the University Press of Colorado
P.O. Box 849
Niwot, Colorado 80544
All rights reserved. First edition 1980
Paperback edition 1999
Printed in the United States of America.
The University Press of Colorado is a cooperative publishing enterprise supported, in part, by Adams State College, Colorado State University, Fort Lewis College, Mesa State College, Metropolitan State College of Denver, University of Colorado, University of Northern Colorado, University of Southern Colorado, and Western State College of Colorado.
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials. ANSI Z39.48-1984
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Milofsky, David.
Playing from memory : a novel / by David Milofsky.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-87081-526-1 (pbk. : alk. paper)
I. Title.
PS3563.I444P5 1999
813'.54dc21Picture 2Picture 3Picture 4Picture 599-11759
Picture 6Picture 7Picture 8Picture 9Picture 10CIP
I would like to acknowledge the contribution of my father, Bernard Milofsky. Some of the musical scenes in this book are based on his unpublished novel The Fiddlers Four. I am grateful to him for his advice and support.
08 07 06 05 04 03 02 01 00 99 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Page 3
To Jaqueline,
and to my mother and father
Page 5
Part One
Page 7
1
The applause was thunderous. It rolled out of the tiered seats, enveloping the musicians, resonating through the huge, vaulted hall, until finally it crested and began to subside. Heinz Ober consented to an encore. Schumann, Ben would remember later. Again the auditorium was flooded with noise. A man in the front row stood and shouted, "Bravo, bravo, maestro, more!" But Ober would never play a second encore. He stood and bowed stiffly from the waist. Then he indicated his colleagues with a broad sweeping motion. When the audience tired of clapping, Ober pointed at Antoine Beaulieu, who led the quartet offstage. As the junior member, Ben always exited last. He counted a beat, two beats, then followed Ober. He was ten feet from the wings, his mind blank, his eyes on Ober's polished heel, when abruptly he felt his feet go out from under and saw the stage coming up at him.
He was flying, now soaring, arms outstretched, reaching for the receding tails of Ober's tuxedo. It seemed to take ages to hit the floor; he floated, weightless, outside himself, not believing what was happening to him. Then he was on the stage, shoulder tucked instinctively to blunt the impact of his fall. Ben smelled sawdust as he rolled into the accompanist's stand. But even the sharp pain in his side seemed imaginary. The whole thing was too absurd to be true.
Perhaps his fall would go unnoticed. People were in a hurry to get home, they were reaching for their coats and purses. He would crawl like an
Page 8
Indian scout into the wings on his hands and knees. Who would see; who cared anyway? But to his dismay, nothing worked. Arms, legs, nothing. He lay as if paralyzed, his vision blurred, his limbs useless. He saw his right leg jerk convulsively, and then, feeling the flood of sensation return to his body, he swept his left hand in a wide arc, looking for his glasses.
He replaced the wire-rimmed spectacles and the world snapped into focus. There was a short, gray woman facing him in front, eyes wide in horror. Ben smiled weakly. It's okay, he wanted to say; a minor miscalculation, nothing more, nothing broken, go home now. Everything's fine. But having made eye contact, the woman became hysterical, pointed at him. "Help! He fell down! Look, help!"
Nervous whispers rose in the hall. Those who had been hurrying to leave turned now to look. Ben felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Get up," someone hissed from offstage.
He felt a hand under his arm, and he pushed unsteadily to his feet. The woman who had cried out was still standing in front of him, staring. A group of elegant matrons with frosted hair approached. Ben raised his right hand to hold them off, and was surprised to see his fiddle secure in it. Through it all, he had managed to protect his instrument. There was comfort in that.
He considered making a little speech; perhaps he could imply it was all part of the concert; something light to leaven Ober's rather predictable program. But then, sadly, he realized there was nothing he wanted to say. He made a deep bow and walked offstage.
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