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Grace Notes
The award-winning Grace Notes is a compact and altogether masterful portrait of a woman composer and the complex interplay between her life and her art. With superb artistry and startling intimacy, it brings us into the life of Catherine McKenna � estranged daughter, vexed lover, new mother, and musician making her mark in a male-dominated field. It is a book that the Virginia Woolf of A Room of One's Own would instantly understand.
284 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1997
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About the author
Bernard MacLaverty
52books186followersBernard MacLaverty was born in Belfast in 1942 and lived there until 1975 when he moved to Scotland with his wife, Madeline, and four children. He has been a Medical Laboratory Technician, a mature student, a teacher of English and, for two years in the mid eighties, Writer-in-Residence at the University of Aberdeen.
After living for a time in Edinburgh and the Isle of Islay he now lives in Glasgow. He is a member of Aosdana in Ireland and is Visiting Writer/Professor at the University of Strathclyde.
Currently he is employed as a teacher of creative writing on a postgraduate course in prose fiction run by the Research Institute of Irish and Scottish Studies at the University of Aberdeen.
He has published five collections of short stories and four novels. He has written versions of his fiction for other media - radio plays, television plays, screenplays. Recently he wrote and directed a short film 'Bye-Child'
After living for a time in Edinburgh and the Isle of Islay he now lives in Glasgow. He is a member of Aosdana in Ireland and is Visiting Writer/Professor at the University of Strathclyde.
Currently he is employed as a teacher of creative writing on a postgraduate course in prose fiction run by the Research Institute of Irish and Scottish Studies at the University of Aberdeen.
He has published five collections of short stories and four novels. He has written versions of his fiction for other media - radio plays, television plays, screenplays. Recently he wrote and directed a short film 'Bye-Child'
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 158 reviews
September 22, 2022
The best way to describe this novel is to declare it an unfinished symphony.
Two movements, with differentiated themes and moods, the first one meditative, personal and slow moving. The second contrasting the first one, full of sound and dance in vivid motion; angst and inner rage ending in a grand finale that is blazing and fast paced, a triumph of the human will over tragedy and depression.
It’s unfinished because the final explosion of sound and passion ends abruptly and the silence leaves infinite outcomes to consider.
Catherine McKenna is a young Irish composer who is forced to face the baggage she’s been carrying with her since she was a child in an overly oppressive religious environment. Her father has just died of a heart attack and she is called back home at a convulse moment in her life. Secrets that weight down her soul, secrets she can’t speak of undermine her confidence, and her innate talent for music is in danger of running dry.
This is a story of a female musician in a male dominated world. A story of resilience and grace. A story of mothers and daughters. Of fierce love and sacrifice. A symphonic piece that equals the grandeur and the passion of the musical creations by the greatest masters. If you love music, try to open this book and not be carried away by its melodic sounds, the restoring breeze of open seas blowing away fear, the touch of silky sand on cold feet, the warmth of a small body pressed against yours, dependent, needy, but ultimately the reason that keeps you breathing, and the source of inspiration that keeps refilling the well of life.
On a better thought, this might an Eroica, a story about love triumphing over fear, and how music might be the best form to transmit such emotion. Music and words, what a winning combination, love in its purest form.
Two movements, with differentiated themes and moods, the first one meditative, personal and slow moving. The second contrasting the first one, full of sound and dance in vivid motion; angst and inner rage ending in a grand finale that is blazing and fast paced, a triumph of the human will over tragedy and depression.
It’s unfinished because the final explosion of sound and passion ends abruptly and the silence leaves infinite outcomes to consider.
Catherine McKenna is a young Irish composer who is forced to face the baggage she’s been carrying with her since she was a child in an overly oppressive religious environment. Her father has just died of a heart attack and she is called back home at a convulse moment in her life. Secrets that weight down her soul, secrets she can’t speak of undermine her confidence, and her innate talent for music is in danger of running dry.
This is a story of a female musician in a male dominated world. A story of resilience and grace. A story of mothers and daughters. Of fierce love and sacrifice. A symphonic piece that equals the grandeur and the passion of the musical creations by the greatest masters. If you love music, try to open this book and not be carried away by its melodic sounds, the restoring breeze of open seas blowing away fear, the touch of silky sand on cold feet, the warmth of a small body pressed against yours, dependent, needy, but ultimately the reason that keeps you breathing, and the source of inspiration that keeps refilling the well of life.
On a better thought, this might an Eroica, a story about love triumphing over fear, and how music might be the best form to transmit such emotion. Music and words, what a winning combination, love in its purest form.
December 12, 2018
Random thoughts (very random thoughts):
I once remarked to a woman I know that I couldn't multitask.
Her response: "That's because you've never had a period."
My first thought was, yes that's true. Then I thought about the truth in what she said and further realized that if I had to deal with continual periods, I wouldn't have fared very well.
Catherine McKenna's, the protagonist of this novel, periods are mentioned once or twice during the course of the narrative. In my experience, that's somewhat unusual in fiction by a male writer writing about a female character.
A couple of years ago, I was talking with a young woman who was going to college at a school near the N.Y./Canadian border. She remarked at one point that the winters were cold enough that her nose hairs froze. I hadn't realized that women had nose hairs until then.
On page 61 of Grace Notes: " The coldest she had ever been was in Kiev. The hairs in her nose had frozen when she breathed in."
Mr. MacLaverty knew something about women that I didn't.
I had never encountered the word "thran" before reading this novel, and had no idea what it meant.
From what I can find online, it means stubborn or hard.
Catherine McKenna is a composer, and music plays a major role in the book. Messiaen is mentioned several times. The only Messiaen I have in my collection is a recording of "Quatuor pour la fin du temps" ("Quartet for the End of Time"). I'd never been able to connect with that piece (I'd even read a book about its creation and initial performance in a prisoner of war camp before I ever heard it), even though I'd listened to it several times. Reading Grace Notes, along with receiving a recent email from a good friend who recounted hearing the Messiaen piece playing in a hair salon (!) in his neighborhood, got me to listen again. This time, I was able to hear the music and connect with it. I've since listened to it twice and it will no doubt be a part of my future listening. A tip of the cap to Mr. MacLaverty and to my friend for opening up my ears.
On page 97: "A curtained door into the Madden's living room gave a swish. Emily's grey head appeared the way a priest's would in confession.
This short passage caught my eye. I felt that it was good writing and still do.
As I wrote when I began this, it's a series of very random thoughts and impressions, as opposed to a review. Others have reviewed the book and can no doubt write better reviews than I can. I'm a reader - admittedly sometimes a not very good one - rather than a reviewer.
I once remarked to a woman I know that I couldn't multitask.
Her response: "That's because you've never had a period."
My first thought was, yes that's true. Then I thought about the truth in what she said and further realized that if I had to deal with continual periods, I wouldn't have fared very well.
Catherine McKenna's, the protagonist of this novel, periods are mentioned once or twice during the course of the narrative. In my experience, that's somewhat unusual in fiction by a male writer writing about a female character.
A couple of years ago, I was talking with a young woman who was going to college at a school near the N.Y./Canadian border. She remarked at one point that the winters were cold enough that her nose hairs froze. I hadn't realized that women had nose hairs until then.
On page 61 of Grace Notes: " The coldest she had ever been was in Kiev. The hairs in her nose had frozen when she breathed in."
Mr. MacLaverty knew something about women that I didn't.
I had never encountered the word "thran" before reading this novel, and had no idea what it meant.
From what I can find online, it means stubborn or hard.
Catherine McKenna is a composer, and music plays a major role in the book. Messiaen is mentioned several times. The only Messiaen I have in my collection is a recording of "Quatuor pour la fin du temps" ("Quartet for the End of Time"). I'd never been able to connect with that piece (I'd even read a book about its creation and initial performance in a prisoner of war camp before I ever heard it), even though I'd listened to it several times. Reading Grace Notes, along with receiving a recent email from a good friend who recounted hearing the Messiaen piece playing in a hair salon (!) in his neighborhood, got me to listen again. This time, I was able to hear the music and connect with it. I've since listened to it twice and it will no doubt be a part of my future listening. A tip of the cap to Mr. MacLaverty and to my friend for opening up my ears.
On page 97: "A curtained door into the Madden's living room gave a swish. Emily's grey head appeared the way a priest's would in confession.
This short passage caught my eye. I felt that it was good writing and still do.
As I wrote when I began this, it's a series of very random thoughts and impressions, as opposed to a review. Others have reviewed the book and can no doubt write better reviews than I can. I'm a reader - admittedly sometimes a not very good one - rather than a reviewer.
June 15, 2020
Shortlisted for the Booker Prize 1997
I first read this book many years ago, and remember liking it a lot at the time, but I wouldn't have recalled enough to write more than a cursory review. It is the final book that I am reading or re-reading as part of the Mookse and the Gripes project to revisit the 1997 Booker shortlist, and I was a little apprehensive about rereading it because others have been rather critical of it. For me, it still works very well, though it is rather slow moving and the plot is minimal.
The book is divided into two parts, and both are told chronologically, though both parts dwell quite heavily on earlier events, and it is a little unusual in that the first part describes what happened after the second part.
MacLaverty's heroine Catherine Ann McKenna is a young pianist and composer from a Catholic family in Northern Ireland, and the first part describes her rather awkward homecoming for her father's funeral after a number of years in which she has not communicated with her family after an argument with her father. The action in this part takes place over a few days.
The second half spans several years, initially on the Scottish island of Islay where she took a job as a music teacher and then with a friend in Glasgow after she has fled the drunken and violent father of her infant daughter.
For me the book's greatest strength is the writing about classical/serious music, and I loved the way the book ended on a triumphant note with a description of the first performance of her biggest work yet, her first return to writing after motherhood and post-natal depression. The idea of a Catholic composer integrating the Lambeg drums of Orange marchers into a piece may seem a little fanciful, particularly for a book written before the Good Friday agreement, but it is a nice idea.
I also related to Catherine's problems as an atheist dealing with dogmatically religious parents, and liked the way she found relief from her problems with her mother by visiting her old music teacher.
I can see that this is not a book with universal appeal, but for me it was well worth revisiting.
I first read this book many years ago, and remember liking it a lot at the time, but I wouldn't have recalled enough to write more than a cursory review. It is the final book that I am reading or re-reading as part of the Mookse and the Gripes project to revisit the 1997 Booker shortlist, and I was a little apprehensive about rereading it because others have been rather critical of it. For me, it still works very well, though it is rather slow moving and the plot is minimal.
The book is divided into two parts, and both are told chronologically, though both parts dwell quite heavily on earlier events, and it is a little unusual in that the first part describes what happened after the second part.
MacLaverty's heroine Catherine Ann McKenna is a young pianist and composer from a Catholic family in Northern Ireland, and the first part describes her rather awkward homecoming for her father's funeral after a number of years in which she has not communicated with her family after an argument with her father. The action in this part takes place over a few days.
The second half spans several years, initially on the Scottish island of Islay where she took a job as a music teacher and then with a friend in Glasgow after she has fled the drunken and violent father of her infant daughter.
For me the book's greatest strength is the writing about classical/serious music, and I loved the way the book ended on a triumphant note with a description of the first performance of her biggest work yet, her first return to writing after motherhood and post-natal depression. The idea of a Catholic composer integrating the Lambeg drums of Orange marchers into a piece may seem a little fanciful, particularly for a book written before the Good Friday agreement, but it is a nice idea.
I also related to Catherine's problems as an atheist dealing with dogmatically religious parents, and liked the way she found relief from her problems with her mother by visiting her old music teacher.
I can see that this is not a book with universal appeal, but for me it was well worth revisiting.
August 23, 2020
I read this book after joining a ŷ group re-reading the 1997 Booker shortlist.
Apparently, Martyn Goff the administrator of the prize (and a serial leaker and mischief maker) told journalists that Grace Notes was passed over as winner because it wasn't a novel - the judges felt (in his words) the author was "a wonderful short-story writer and that Grace Notes was three short stories strung together.
The reference to this being 3 short stories strung together is I think not a structural criticism (this is clearly a novel) but a stylistic one: that there are three basic ideas here (I assume: composition/musical career � and the Grace Notes of the title, culminating in the Radio performance of a symphony; returning from exile after the death of a father with who you had a troubled relationship; motherhood and a troubled relationship with an alcoholic partner) and that the author has tried to do all three with the same character and woven them into a single non-linear narrative novel, rather than writing three completely different short stories perhaps with different characters.
As always with MacLaverty we have deep and fully fleshed characters - no Lowry style pictures of matchstick men here. And the title - Grace Notes - the "notes between the notes" captures his own subtle writing.
Our narrator is Catherine (not Caroline) � a composer but not of pop music and some mystery song, but actually a complex classical symphony, one inspired by some Orangeman drummers she saw as a child, and a piece whose radio broadcast ends the book.
The book opens with her catching a bus for a plane (a real one not a paper one) for a journey back to her native Belfast (“the window was covered with shuddering droplets of rain�) for the funeral of her father. Rolling home for the first time since she left at age 18, on her return she is seen as something of the wanderer returning to her native land. There she suffers from insomnia (again and again, she rolls over in bed, after she lays down) � not just mourning her father but also thinking how she will tell her mother than she is in fact a grandmother.
She recalls past lies she told her parents - her first at 13 when she and a friend spent an afternoon with some slightly older boys (Catholics like her, and not Protestants who might be in the army now) . Although its clear that, other than her musical snobbery, she not really been a mean girl and had not gone out of her way to break the rules or to live the wild side of life). Her father had run a pub � a real Belfast drinkers pub, of whisky and Guinness (not exactly Marguerita time at cocktail hour).
Over time we learn more of her life in Scotland. Initially living on an island (Islay) before settling in Glasgow (somewhat like MacLaverty and his family), at times its hard to see that she regards motherhood as anything other an impediment to composition, but there is clearly something about her baby she likes. She suffers from anxiety, sinking down, down into depression, as she realises life is a compromise and you cannot just have whatever you want.
This contemporary review, not subject to the same Oulipian constraints as my own nicely, sums up my issues with the book, which are added to my preference for three chord rock over avant garde classical music.
Apparently, Martyn Goff the administrator of the prize (and a serial leaker and mischief maker) told journalists that Grace Notes was passed over as winner because it wasn't a novel - the judges felt (in his words) the author was "a wonderful short-story writer and that Grace Notes was three short stories strung together.
The reference to this being 3 short stories strung together is I think not a structural criticism (this is clearly a novel) but a stylistic one: that there are three basic ideas here (I assume: composition/musical career � and the Grace Notes of the title, culminating in the Radio performance of a symphony; returning from exile after the death of a father with who you had a troubled relationship; motherhood and a troubled relationship with an alcoholic partner) and that the author has tried to do all three with the same character and woven them into a single non-linear narrative novel, rather than writing three completely different short stories perhaps with different characters.
As always with MacLaverty we have deep and fully fleshed characters - no Lowry style pictures of matchstick men here. And the title - Grace Notes - the "notes between the notes" captures his own subtle writing.
“Her father was strict about her musical education. He thought pop music a kind of noise pollution. When the other girls in school talked about groups and lead singers she pretended to be doing something else. They laughed at her one day when she referred to Stat-us Quo and they all pronounced it “State-us Quo�
Our narrator is Catherine (not Caroline) � a composer but not of pop music and some mystery song, but actually a complex classical symphony, one inspired by some Orangeman drummers she saw as a child, and a piece whose radio broadcast ends the book.
The book opens with her catching a bus for a plane (a real one not a paper one) for a journey back to her native Belfast (“the window was covered with shuddering droplets of rain�) for the funeral of her father. Rolling home for the first time since she left at age 18, on her return she is seen as something of the wanderer returning to her native land. There she suffers from insomnia (again and again, she rolls over in bed, after she lays down) � not just mourning her father but also thinking how she will tell her mother than she is in fact a grandmother.
She recalls past lies she told her parents - her first at 13 when she and a friend spent an afternoon with some slightly older boys (Catholics like her, and not Protestants who might be in the army now) . Although its clear that, other than her musical snobbery, she not really been a mean girl and had not gone out of her way to break the rules or to live the wild side of life). Her father had run a pub � a real Belfast drinkers pub, of whisky and Guinness (not exactly Marguerita time at cocktail hour).
Over time we learn more of her life in Scotland. Initially living on an island (Islay) before settling in Glasgow (somewhat like MacLaverty and his family), at times its hard to see that she regards motherhood as anything other an impediment to composition, but there is clearly something about her baby she likes. She suffers from anxiety, sinking down, down into depression, as she realises life is a compromise and you cannot just have whatever you want.
This contemporary review, not subject to the same Oulipian constraints as my own nicely, sums up my issues with the book, which are added to my preference for three chord rock over avant garde classical music.
February 6, 2017
The author Bernard MacLaverty was born in Belfast, and lived there until 1975, when he moved to Scotland with his wife and children. This book was shortlisted for the 1997 Booker Prize. I reread this novel as part of a 2017 reread challenge some of my GR friends are doing (or at least talking about). The novel opens with Catherine McKenna returning to Northern Ireland for her father's funeral. She comes from a small unnamed town about 40 miles from Belfast, somewhere near Cookstown. She is the only child of a Catholic pub-owner, Brendan McKenna and his wife, who is referred to in the novel as "mother" by Catherine. Catherine has been away for 5 years, living in Glasgow and on the island of Islay. When asked about Glasgow, she says "It's like Belfast, but without the killing". Although the time frame is not indicated, the book was published in the mid-1990's, and the Troubles are still going strong in the story.
Catherine, who attended a convent school, was noticed to be a musically gifted child. Her parents sent her for piano lessons to Miss Bingham, who fortunately nourished her talents. Catherine later goes to Queens University studying composition, and after graduation to Glasgow for further studies. It is after this that she drifts away from Northern Ireland and her parents.
The novel has several themes - Catherine's dysfunctional relationship with her parents, her inner life as a composer, and struggles in her personal life. She suffers from depression, and though at times she is highly creative in her musical accomplishments, it does not seems to be a bipolar disorder. My favorite sections of the book described her work in Kiev with a Russian composer and the end of the novel . The sources for her creative inspirations are varied and at times surprising. The Russian composer Shostakovich's 13th symphony Babi Yar is about a massacre of Russian Jews. This leads to this : " Catherine thought of the geography of places of death in her own country ...Cornmarket, Claudy, Teebane Crossroads, Six Mile Water, the Bogside, Greysteel, the Shankill Road, Long Kesh, Dublin, Darkley, Enniskillen, Loughinisland, Armagh, Monaghan Town". A number of these places were unfamiliar - Teebane Crossroads, Claudy, Greysteel - but all were sites of killings during the Troubles. As Catherine later refers to Ireland, it is the "Land of Saints and Scholars and Murderers". It is perhaps understandable why Catherine experiences depression - her family, her country, her personal life, and her artistic struggles.
The novel is filled with a great amount of description and detail. Some sections of the book included details that helped illuminate the time and place and the people such as the wake of Catherine's father in their home, the old customs when a family member dies were still part of life in Northern Ireland at the time. There were other sections with too much detail (I don't want spoilers so enough said) that seemed unnecessarily detailed for me. This is the reason for my 4.5 rather than 5 star rating.
MacLaverty surprised me with his insights into a woman's mind and spirit. His descriptions of the artistic process and musical composition captivated me, although I cannot judge how true they are to the process. The title itself Grace Notes refers to a musical embellishment that is essential to Catherine's view of the composing process. I have other MacLaverty books on my shelf which I have yet to read, and some I will reread.
I edited out the spoilers because I discovered the whole review was hidden. This makes no sense as the spoilers included are not revealed until the reader clicks on the link.
Catherine, who attended a convent school, was noticed to be a musically gifted child. Her parents sent her for piano lessons to Miss Bingham, who fortunately nourished her talents. Catherine later goes to Queens University studying composition, and after graduation to Glasgow for further studies. It is after this that she drifts away from Northern Ireland and her parents.
The novel has several themes - Catherine's dysfunctional relationship with her parents, her inner life as a composer, and struggles in her personal life. She suffers from depression, and though at times she is highly creative in her musical accomplishments, it does not seems to be a bipolar disorder. My favorite sections of the book described her work in Kiev with a Russian composer and the end of the novel . The sources for her creative inspirations are varied and at times surprising. The Russian composer Shostakovich's 13th symphony Babi Yar is about a massacre of Russian Jews. This leads to this : " Catherine thought of the geography of places of death in her own country ...Cornmarket, Claudy, Teebane Crossroads, Six Mile Water, the Bogside, Greysteel, the Shankill Road, Long Kesh, Dublin, Darkley, Enniskillen, Loughinisland, Armagh, Monaghan Town". A number of these places were unfamiliar - Teebane Crossroads, Claudy, Greysteel - but all were sites of killings during the Troubles. As Catherine later refers to Ireland, it is the "Land of Saints and Scholars and Murderers". It is perhaps understandable why Catherine experiences depression - her family, her country, her personal life, and her artistic struggles.
The novel is filled with a great amount of description and detail. Some sections of the book included details that helped illuminate the time and place and the people such as the wake of Catherine's father in their home, the old customs when a family member dies were still part of life in Northern Ireland at the time. There were other sections with too much detail (I don't want spoilers so enough said) that seemed unnecessarily detailed for me. This is the reason for my 4.5 rather than 5 star rating.
MacLaverty surprised me with his insights into a woman's mind and spirit. His descriptions of the artistic process and musical composition captivated me, although I cannot judge how true they are to the process. The title itself Grace Notes refers to a musical embellishment that is essential to Catherine's view of the composing process. I have other MacLaverty books on my shelf which I have yet to read, and some I will reread.
I edited out the spoilers because I discovered the whole review was hidden. This makes no sense as the spoilers included are not revealed until the reader clicks on the link.
June 21, 2020
I read this in a reading of the 1997 Booker shortlist. MacLaverty writes a successful and daring character study in interior monologue of a contemporary, professional, female composer. I call it daring for the risks MacLaverty takes by imagining the woman's thoughts during particularly sensitive moments a less bold writer would avoid in fear of getting it wrong or being accused of appropriation of something better discussed by females. It passed my threshold of believability and would be of interest to readers that like to study character writing.
January 17, 2022
I read this hard on the heels of Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus , a novel which has extensive elements of musical theory (Schonberg’s twelve-tone or row system). The title of this MacLaverty book is itself a musical term, and the nature of musical composition is central to the story and to the themes. How I wish I had more than the most rudimentary knowledge of the great composers and the subtleties of their work. I do not, and consequently this book was a struggle.
The musical undercurrent even extended to the length of the book. It is divided into two halves, and each half has exactly the same (138) number of pages. In musical terms I believe this is what is known as polyphonic
I did enjoy parts of the book, though I never felt as though the whole hung together particularly well. It’s also a book whose subject matter, and its tropes, are just a wee bit too stereotypical, and it lacked surprises or new insights. A funeral with regrets and recriminations amongst the gathered, single parenthood brought about by a wayward father, alcoholism, and religious sectarianism. I thought it was a stretch to pull this lot together in a coherent whole and I’m not sure the author achieved this.
Some individual elements of the book were excellent and made this a worthwhile read overall.
� MacLaverty has some nice phrases. Brendan “Like the man who hangs his smile on the back of the door when he comes in� (61)
� In my book club discussion it was fascinating to hear from some Irish members of the group that MacLaverty’s assertion early in the book that ”Women rarely whistled� was absolutely their own experience. Its not a technical contrast between the sexes; women smiling was/is frowned upon in the community.
� I always take note of character names in novels, and some writers add great value to the story in those names. In Grace Notes a male character is called “Dave�. The name sounds nondescript and bland, and in the context of the book it is a name that conveys the ultimate insignificance of the character and conveys to the reader that he is a person who is not worthy of any great examination.
If you were going to read just one MacLaverty book I would recommend his most recent novel, Midwinter Break but Grace Notes is still a worthwhile introduction to a well respected writer.
The musical undercurrent even extended to the length of the book. It is divided into two halves, and each half has exactly the same (138) number of pages. In musical terms I believe this is what is known as polyphonic
I did enjoy parts of the book, though I never felt as though the whole hung together particularly well. It’s also a book whose subject matter, and its tropes, are just a wee bit too stereotypical, and it lacked surprises or new insights. A funeral with regrets and recriminations amongst the gathered, single parenthood brought about by a wayward father, alcoholism, and religious sectarianism. I thought it was a stretch to pull this lot together in a coherent whole and I’m not sure the author achieved this.
Some individual elements of the book were excellent and made this a worthwhile read overall.
� MacLaverty has some nice phrases. Brendan “Like the man who hangs his smile on the back of the door when he comes in� (61)
� In my book club discussion it was fascinating to hear from some Irish members of the group that MacLaverty’s assertion early in the book that ”Women rarely whistled� was absolutely their own experience. Its not a technical contrast between the sexes; women smiling was/is frowned upon in the community.
� I always take note of character names in novels, and some writers add great value to the story in those names. In Grace Notes a male character is called “Dave�. The name sounds nondescript and bland, and in the context of the book it is a name that conveys the ultimate insignificance of the character and conveys to the reader that he is a person who is not worthy of any great examination.
If you were going to read just one MacLaverty book I would recommend his most recent novel, Midwinter Break but Grace Notes is still a worthwhile introduction to a well respected writer.
June 5, 2010
Catherine is an Irish woman who is musical. Her parents notice her talent when she’s young and find her a wonderful teacher. She becomes a pianist and a composer. Unfortunately Catherine’s parents also share their conflicted relationship and throw in some Catholic angst. MacLaverty got the musical bits exactly right in my opinion. Music is hard to describe in words yet he did so with excellence. There were several pieces I’d never heard of before and based on his descriptions I’m going to search them out notably Janacek’s �1905�.
I don’t want to give spoilers so I’ll just say there’s a mystery relationship that’s referred to throughout the first third of the book. It’s a pivotal plot element. MacLaverty unfolds this wonderfully well, enough to keep you interested but not so much that you want to throw the book across the room. This is the first of his books I’ve read and I can see why he was shortlisted to win the Booker. He writes well, so well that I was surprised when I happened upon a disjoint. These disjoints clashed with the seamlessness of most of the book. I’m sure sometimes he meant to do this but other times it was such an unnecessary blip that I felt it had to be an editing problem. Last there was a psychological condition that just didn’t ring true to me; not that the condition doesn’t exist but not in the way he wrote about it for this character. Overall this was an enjoyable book especially if you enjoy classical music. Here’s one of my favorite quotes from “Grace Notes�, “Violas sound like violins with a cold�.
I don’t want to give spoilers so I’ll just say there’s a mystery relationship that’s referred to throughout the first third of the book. It’s a pivotal plot element. MacLaverty unfolds this wonderfully well, enough to keep you interested but not so much that you want to throw the book across the room. This is the first of his books I’ve read and I can see why he was shortlisted to win the Booker. He writes well, so well that I was surprised when I happened upon a disjoint. These disjoints clashed with the seamlessness of most of the book. I’m sure sometimes he meant to do this but other times it was such an unnecessary blip that I felt it had to be an editing problem. Last there was a psychological condition that just didn’t ring true to me; not that the condition doesn’t exist but not in the way he wrote about it for this character. Overall this was an enjoyable book especially if you enjoy classical music. Here’s one of my favorite quotes from “Grace Notes�, “Violas sound like violins with a cold�.
November 26, 2008
Ever wonder how a musician composes? From whence the inspiration comes? This novel offers a glimpse, even as it also narrates the professional and personal challenges of being a (post)modern woman. A lovely, honest, intensely real portrait that ponders questions of life, religion, and art -- particularly the question of where redemption is found... or perhaps created.
August 23, 2020
This is still MacLaverty’s best novel, although his recent work Midwinter Break comes close. Recommend the short stories and Cal too.
June 27, 2017
I finished reading this deeply moving novel three days ago and since then have been trying to organize my thoughts and reactions into a sort of review.
What does the title mean? Catherine, the protagonist, is a musician. Grace notes in music are notes that embellish, but do not affect, the melody line. Having a musical background, and having read this book and thought about it, I am not sure what there is anything that embellishes, but does not affect the story line.
Another definition of grace is: simple elegance or refinement, and I think it is more appropriate.
Notes is an equally ambiguous word : musical signs, to observe with care, to put into writing, or to remark or take special mention.
Catherine grew up in a loving, conservative, Catholic family in a town in Northern Ireland. Musically gifted, she leaves home to study in Glasgow, where she finishes with honors. Breaking out of what she sees as the narrowness of her upbringing, she becomes estranged from her parents.
She takes a job teaching music at a school on the island of Islay, Scotland, where she hopes she can devote herself to musical composition. But in her isolation and loneliness, she takes up with a man completely beneath her, and falls pregnant.
The book can be described as two complementary novellas, a novel containing two ending.
In the first, Catherine returns to her parents� home to attend the funeral of her father. The tension between daughter and mother is palpable, especially when her mother learns for the first time that she has a granddaughter over a year old and still unbaptized. The priest asks Catherine to play the church organ at her father’s funeral service, which on the one hand, relieves her of having to participate in a ceremony of a faith she no longer believes, but yet, on the other, denies her the opportunity to grieve with family and community, regardless how strained their personal relationships are.
The only potentially bright moment while home is visiting her first piano teacher, who is clearly dying.
The first novella ends on a rather bleak note � that one cannot return to one’s childhood home.
The second novella succinctly covers Catherine’s pregnancy and the birth of Anna. and Catherine’s subsequent postpartum depression. Dave, Anna’s alcoholic father, becomes increasingly abusive and violent, such that Catherine steals away with Anna to Glasgow, where they exist in marginal poverty while Catherine devotes herself to composing a piece commissioned by the BBC for a radio program of new artists and “local� music.
The second novella contains a magnificent crescendo, as she composes her piece, revises it with the conductor, sees it through rehearsal, and finally, finally. experiences the exhilaration of the composition’s crowning success.
I did not find found anything extraneous to the melody of the plot, but well-modulated elegance and refinement noted every step of the way.
December 6, 2018
Catherine McKenna returns home for a visit to her family in Belfast following the death of her father. The usual tensions still remain in the Provence a closed people at war with eachother the petty minded hatred of one religious side against the other. Against this background we learn of Catherine's career as composer and her rise to fame and adoration that she now receives from an adoring public. A pleasant read but not my favourite by Bernard MacLaverty.
May 29, 2018
Decent writing, easy reading, but not my kind of story.
March 20, 2021
Cathy is hosting #ReadingIrelandMonth at 746 Books, so I hunted through the TBR and found Grace Notes, by Bernard MacLaverty (which had been lurking there since 2010). MacLaverty was born in Belfast, but moved to Glasgow in 1975, and although Wikipedia summarises Grace Notes as a conflict between a desire for creativity and motherhood, I think it’s about more than that. I think it’s also about a desire to escape an intractable conflict which soured every aspect of life in Northern Ireland.
The novel begins with Catherine’s return to Belfast for her father’s funeral after an estrangement of some years. The novel predates the Good Friday Agreement (1998) and though on the bus home she watched the familiar landmarks she used as a child pass one by one, things are not the same in the town.
Catherine has been living in Glasgow since winning a scholarship and deciding not to come home after graduating. She has been living in safety while her family’s neighbourhood was bombed all around them, and she didn’t even know about it. A vast gulf now separates her from her mother, who, not knowing anything about Catherine’s new life, achievements and responsibilities, is still entertaining hopes that her only child will stay home now. But paradoxically, since it could be bombed at any time, ‘home� is stasis, predictable, judgemental, rigid and under siege. She grieves for her father despite his flaws; she wishes she could get on better with her mother but she no longer shares her faith nor her values.
In a tense and claustrophobic atmosphere, Part One of the novel traces the brief couple of days of mourning and the funeral, with Catherine trying hard not to react to irritations from her nagging mother, and trying also to work out when and how to tell her mother a piece of news she isn’t going to want to hear.
To read the rest of my review please visit
The novel begins with Catherine’s return to Belfast for her father’s funeral after an estrangement of some years. The novel predates the Good Friday Agreement (1998) and though on the bus home she watched the familiar landmarks she used as a child pass one by one, things are not the same in the town.
In the town itself she was surprised to see a Chinese restaurant and a new grey fortress of a police barracks. She stood, ready to get off at her stop. There was something odd about the street. She bent at the knees, crouched to look out at where she used to live. It was hardly recognisable. Shop-fronts were covered in hardboard, the Orange Hall and other buildings bristled with scaffolding. Some roofs were covered in green tarpaulins, others were protected by lath and sheets of polythene.
‘What happened here?� she asked the bus driver.
‘It got blew up. A bomb in October.�
‘Was anybody hurt?�
‘They gave a warning. The whole place is nothing but a shell.�
She stepped down onto the pavement and felt her knees shake. A place of devastation. (pp.9-10)
Catherine has been living in Glasgow since winning a scholarship and deciding not to come home after graduating. She has been living in safety while her family’s neighbourhood was bombed all around them, and she didn’t even know about it. A vast gulf now separates her from her mother, who, not knowing anything about Catherine’s new life, achievements and responsibilities, is still entertaining hopes that her only child will stay home now. But paradoxically, since it could be bombed at any time, ‘home� is stasis, predictable, judgemental, rigid and under siege. She grieves for her father despite his flaws; she wishes she could get on better with her mother but she no longer shares her faith nor her values.
In a tense and claustrophobic atmosphere, Part One of the novel traces the brief couple of days of mourning and the funeral, with Catherine trying hard not to react to irritations from her nagging mother, and trying also to work out when and how to tell her mother a piece of news she isn’t going to want to hear.
To read the rest of my review please visit
June 12, 2020
As the novel opens, Catherine is returning to Northern Ireland for her father’s funeral. We quickly learn that she has been estranged from her family and there are things she has not told her mother. She has been living on Islay, an island off the west coast of Scotland where she has been teaching and composing. Because Catherine is a musician. The first part of the book concentrates on the funeral and Catherine’s confrontation with her mother over the thing she has not told her. In the second part, we head back in time to learn about life on Islay and the events that lead up to thing Catherine has not told her mother.
Let’s just pause here for a moment because the words Ireland, island and Islay all sound very similar to one another and the book makes several plays on the idea of homophones. Last year I holidayed on Islay, my second visit to the island, and I took this picture which I call “Ireland from the island of Islay� (because you can see Ireland from Islay and this was my own homophonic play on words):
In fact my own personal disappointment with this book is the lack of detail about Islay. There is one description of turning into what I imagine is Bowmore, but other than that the island is featureless and could be anywhere. I don’t know whether it is actually necessary for the book, but I would have liked more detail to bring the island to life a bit. But that is only because it is a place I love. It could be anywhere, but I wonder if it is Islay for the homophone.
This is a book of big themes. And it never lets you forget that. Northern Ireland, religion, feminism, motherhood, music, postpartum depression, alcoholism - all these are addressed in the book. The most interesting writing, for me, in the book is when Catherine explores her music: what inspires her, the way she composes, what it is about rhythm, tone and texture that makes us respond to music, how she herself responds when she hears her own music brought to life by an orchestra. And the parts of the book where she tries to balance raising a young child with writing music without going mad are very well written. Also very well written is a birth scene where it becomes very difficult to remember that the book is written by a man.
But I couldn’t make a lot of the rest of the book work for me. I couldn’t quite work out how to say why until I read this at lrb.co.uk. It’s a bit long, but it expresses what I wanted to say but couldn’t:
The title itself hints at random jottings of words as against the specifics of the stave, the notes. A grace note is one that is melodically and harmonically inessential. But instead of looking at the theoretical dilemmas of representation, the speechless quality of music against the spoken grotesquerie of words, Mac Laverty goes for emotional overload, labouring the musical metaphor through every page. Instead of giving his novel form and frisson by opposing the ineptitude of words to the score, each sentence is bloated with ‘musical� significance, full of import. Symbolism has to be unexpected if it is to be effective, offering a surprising synchronicity, a hint of order amid chaos. InCal, every time a knee is mentioned, in the kneeling at Mass or the knee-capping of a joy-rider, we are reminded of the ‘genuflection� of the dying man, falling on his doorstep, calling for his wife. But if symbolism hits the reader in every phrase, and every metaphor is musical, the result is cloying; the conceit conceited. InGrace Notes‘the curtains hung silvery-grey columns, like organ pipes� is a typical simile; childbirth is ‘a bit like composing music, really, parading the personal as they all stood at the bottom looking at the pain which was now cracking her open�; pregnancy is like being ‘fitted with a Lambeg drum�. The result is a tasteless sandwich with, lurking between the white-slice prose, the spam of the ever-portentous piano: Catherine is writing a series of haiku for piano, bizarrely based on Vermeer’s paintings of interiors, or ‘maybe more about the women in the rooms�.
And a review in the Washington Post comments that Catherine is cloyingly pure.
I did enjoy the way that the author tries to replicate in text the unique ability of music to say two or more things at once by running several different events in parallel in the text as a character looks at something happening around them whilst reminiscing about one or more historical events. This simultaneity in music that is difficult in words is something I have heard Ali Smith talk about and something that she also tries to do.
Overall, there’s a real mixture here of things that I liked and things that just didn’t work for me.
Let’s just pause here for a moment because the words Ireland, island and Islay all sound very similar to one another and the book makes several plays on the idea of homophones. Last year I holidayed on Islay, my second visit to the island, and I took this picture which I call “Ireland from the island of Islay� (because you can see Ireland from Islay and this was my own homophonic play on words):
In fact my own personal disappointment with this book is the lack of detail about Islay. There is one description of turning into what I imagine is Bowmore, but other than that the island is featureless and could be anywhere. I don’t know whether it is actually necessary for the book, but I would have liked more detail to bring the island to life a bit. But that is only because it is a place I love. It could be anywhere, but I wonder if it is Islay for the homophone.
This is a book of big themes. And it never lets you forget that. Northern Ireland, religion, feminism, motherhood, music, postpartum depression, alcoholism - all these are addressed in the book. The most interesting writing, for me, in the book is when Catherine explores her music: what inspires her, the way she composes, what it is about rhythm, tone and texture that makes us respond to music, how she herself responds when she hears her own music brought to life by an orchestra. And the parts of the book where she tries to balance raising a young child with writing music without going mad are very well written. Also very well written is a birth scene where it becomes very difficult to remember that the book is written by a man.
But I couldn’t make a lot of the rest of the book work for me. I couldn’t quite work out how to say why until I read this at lrb.co.uk. It’s a bit long, but it expresses what I wanted to say but couldn’t:
The title itself hints at random jottings of words as against the specifics of the stave, the notes. A grace note is one that is melodically and harmonically inessential. But instead of looking at the theoretical dilemmas of representation, the speechless quality of music against the spoken grotesquerie of words, Mac Laverty goes for emotional overload, labouring the musical metaphor through every page. Instead of giving his novel form and frisson by opposing the ineptitude of words to the score, each sentence is bloated with ‘musical� significance, full of import. Symbolism has to be unexpected if it is to be effective, offering a surprising synchronicity, a hint of order amid chaos. InCal, every time a knee is mentioned, in the kneeling at Mass or the knee-capping of a joy-rider, we are reminded of the ‘genuflection� of the dying man, falling on his doorstep, calling for his wife. But if symbolism hits the reader in every phrase, and every metaphor is musical, the result is cloying; the conceit conceited. InGrace Notes‘the curtains hung silvery-grey columns, like organ pipes� is a typical simile; childbirth is ‘a bit like composing music, really, parading the personal as they all stood at the bottom looking at the pain which was now cracking her open�; pregnancy is like being ‘fitted with a Lambeg drum�. The result is a tasteless sandwich with, lurking between the white-slice prose, the spam of the ever-portentous piano: Catherine is writing a series of haiku for piano, bizarrely based on Vermeer’s paintings of interiors, or ‘maybe more about the women in the rooms�.
And a review in the Washington Post comments that Catherine is cloyingly pure.
I did enjoy the way that the author tries to replicate in text the unique ability of music to say two or more things at once by running several different events in parallel in the text as a character looks at something happening around them whilst reminiscing about one or more historical events. This simultaneity in music that is difficult in words is something I have heard Ali Smith talk about and something that she also tries to do.
Overall, there’s a real mixture here of things that I liked and things that just didn’t work for me.
March 15, 2019
This is a very important work and I'm quite surprised (and yet not really) that it's not as popular as it should be. Why? It's amazing how Bernard MacLaverty, a man, writes so beautifully about being a woman. A woman composer who thinks in music and despair. A mother. A woman with strictly religious parents. A woman who comes across with dignity in her madness.
We have Catherine who is all this and more. Trying to make a dent in the music world, she notices how male dominated it all is. And without really asking for concession for being a woman and being heard, she puts across her music in its own merit. It's a beautiful piece of work which I'd have enjoyed more if I was any musical.
Do read.
We have Catherine who is all this and more. Trying to make a dent in the music world, she notices how male dominated it all is. And without really asking for concession for being a woman and being heard, she puts across her music in its own merit. It's a beautiful piece of work which I'd have enjoyed more if I was any musical.
Do read.
January 28, 2018
This was a truly beautiful novel. I am always a bit skeptic about male authors writing delicate experiences such as depression from a woman's point of view (especially if it's postpartum depression) but MacLaverty did a wonderful job telling the story of Catherine.
It is very difficult to portray the ups and downs of a mental illness such as depression and the stigma that comes with it, especially as a woman but the way he weaves Catherine's trauma and feelings with her love for music as a healing tool is incredible. I cannot recommend it enough.
It is very difficult to portray the ups and downs of a mental illness such as depression and the stigma that comes with it, especially as a woman but the way he weaves Catherine's trauma and feelings with her love for music as a healing tool is incredible. I cannot recommend it enough.
October 25, 2014
Another of the books voted for by members in our local library's Perfect Library List. Such a joy to find so many great books on hand in this display. And this is one. Great storytelling with authoritative insight into both characters and the underlying musicality
May 7, 2021
Exquisite
October 3, 2023
Very impressive in MacLaverty's ability to convince in the voice of a woman, and also to maintain my interest with a fairly quiet story of family dynamics, postnatal depression, self doubt and the mind of a musician and composer. Like 'Midwinter Break' the focus was more on the thoughts of, the pasts of, the characters natures.. but this was somehow better than that - more convincing and more compelling. Perhaps I found what the central character was saying here to be of more importance, hence the domestic aspects and minutiae felt more formative than formulaic.
November 26, 2018
MacLaverty's mastery is awesome! The story reads like a piece of well-crafted music. Love that the many human failings are wrapped up into a concert performance. Well done!
October 14, 2014
I'm cheating slightly with this review as I actually read GRACE NOTES a long time ago - nearly seventeen years, in fact.
However, I do remember precisely when and where I read it, and why it was so important to me. GRACE NOTES was the first serious novel I was able to read after having given birth to my second child. I read it on Calgary Beach during a summer vacation on the Isle of Mull. The title itself was significant, as was the content. The heroine of the story has post-natal depression, and is a very creative young woman who composes her own music. The sounds she hears around her, and her memories of her childhood in Northern Ireland, all inform her creative output.
Like many young mothers, after the birth of my second child I simply could not bear to read anything too heavy or distressing at the time - I even had to avoid watching news items on the TV - and as I had always been such an avid reader of literature, I missed being able to read 'proper stuff'. The town where I lived had recently suffered a terrible tragedy involving the deaths of very young children, in such a way that I felt unable to read about anything sad which might trigger those thoughts. After a year, I came across Grace Notes, read the blurb, and realised this was probably going to be the book that would ease me back into 'serious and challenging literature'.
I read it sitting on the white sand of a remote Hebridean island, with a blue sky above and a sharp wind chill factor in the air. (It was Scotland, after all). It had been a difficult year - one I won't ever forget - but GRACE NOTES was a beginning.
Thank you, Bernard MacLaverty!
However, I do remember precisely when and where I read it, and why it was so important to me. GRACE NOTES was the first serious novel I was able to read after having given birth to my second child. I read it on Calgary Beach during a summer vacation on the Isle of Mull. The title itself was significant, as was the content. The heroine of the story has post-natal depression, and is a very creative young woman who composes her own music. The sounds she hears around her, and her memories of her childhood in Northern Ireland, all inform her creative output.
Like many young mothers, after the birth of my second child I simply could not bear to read anything too heavy or distressing at the time - I even had to avoid watching news items on the TV - and as I had always been such an avid reader of literature, I missed being able to read 'proper stuff'. The town where I lived had recently suffered a terrible tragedy involving the deaths of very young children, in such a way that I felt unable to read about anything sad which might trigger those thoughts. After a year, I came across Grace Notes, read the blurb, and realised this was probably going to be the book that would ease me back into 'serious and challenging literature'.
I read it sitting on the white sand of a remote Hebridean island, with a blue sky above and a sharp wind chill factor in the air. (It was Scotland, after all). It had been a difficult year - one I won't ever forget - but GRACE NOTES was a beginning.
Thank you, Bernard MacLaverty!
December 27, 2009
I am always skeptical when a male author has a woman protagonist -- and in this case, a woman protagonist who goes through childbirth. But darn if MacLaverty didn't pull it off so well that I had to go back and check that the author really was a man. He captures the relationship between Ireland and Scotland so well, and between the Scottish isles and the mainland cities. I only wished I knew more about musical composition, so I could have followed the protagonist's musical work (composing and playing) more closely. It still works, but given his fluency in describing everything else from internal post-partum angst to the fishing life in the Scottish isles, I'm sure I would have been treated to a very insightful view of composing as well.
December 4, 2018
I Want to Hear the Music
Breathtaking. When I realized that the story was actually the music I was entranced. A must read for music lovers. And lovers of powerful stories. Amazing.
Breathtaking. When I realized that the story was actually the music I was entranced. A must read for music lovers. And lovers of powerful stories. Amazing.
July 29, 2014
Grace Notes was a good book but it jumped around in time a lot, in ways that I did not always enjoy. It turned out to be about postpartum depression as well as musical genius, which was very interesting. I'm glad I stuck it out to the end, which was very interesting, but it was hard for a while.
May 27, 2018
The author weaves together a fine contrapuntal story of musical composition, loss of a parent, young motherhood, relationship angst, and postpartum depression. The story itself is depressing at times, but eventually also life-affirming. He manages to speak from a feminine POV very convincingly, and knows quite a bit about musical trends of the time.
July 9, 2009
One of those books where you keep saying, "This was written by a MAN?" The portrait of Catherine McKenna, composer, shows the ways her art intersects with the rest of her life. The author knows a lot about post-partum depression and music.
June 30, 2010
Stunning so far.
This book, about a young, Irish composer who mainly lives on an island off Scotland, is absolutely pitch-perfect. I kept having to remind myself that the female narrator was written by a man.
This book, about a young, Irish composer who mainly lives on an island off Scotland, is absolutely pitch-perfect. I kept having to remind myself that the female narrator was written by a man.
November 19, 2018
Absolutely exquisite. I know I read this beautiful novel too quickly, but I couldn't help myself. Everything about it was extraordinary. It was poetry, music and history combined -- deeply human, both emotionally and intellectually. Left me feeling, quite simply, alive and grateful.
June 10, 2019
Wow. How did I miss this Irish talent before now?
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