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annathepiper... and I can't wait to see Mr. Crowe play him. After cracking open Master and Commander, I knew I was going to like Jack Aubrey the moment I read this:
"The listener farther to the left was a man of between twenty and thirty whose big form overflowed his seat, leaving only a streak of gilt wood to be seen here and there. He was wearing his best uniform - the white-lapelled blue coat, white waistcoast, breeches and stockings of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, with the silver medal of the Nile in his buttonhole - and the deep white cuff of his gold-buttoned sleeve beat the time, while his bright blue eyes, staring from what would have been a pink-and-white face if it had not been so deeply tanned, gazed fixedly at the bow of the first violin. The high note came, the pause, the resolution; and with the resolution the sailor's fist swept firmly down upon his knee."
And this:
"The minuet set Jack's head wagging with its insistent beat, but he was wholly unconscious of it; and when he felt his hand stirring on his breeches and threatening to take to the air he thrust it under the crook of his knee. It was a witty, agreeable minuet, no more; but it was succeeded by a curiously difficult, almost harsh last movement, a piece that seemed to be on the edge of saying something of the very greatest importance. The volume of sound died away to the single whispering of a fiddle, and the steady hum of low conversation that had never stopped at the back of the room threatened to drown it: a soldier exploded in a stifled guffaw and Jack looked angrily round. Then the rest of the quartet joined the fiddle and all of them worked back to the point from which the statement might arise: it was essential to get straight back into the current, so as the 'cello came in with its predictable and necessary contribution of pom, pom-pom-pom, poom, Jack's chin sank upon his breast and in unison with the 'cello he went pom, pom-pom-pom, poom. An elbow drove into his ribs and the sound shshsh hissed in his ear. He found that his hand was high in the air, beating time; he lowered it, clenched his mouth shut and looked down at his feet until the music was over."
I just love a man who gets into his music. *LOL*
And these exchanges with Maturin had me quite giggling:
"Heaven knows I find it hard enough to pitch upon the true note, right in the middle."
"You play, sir?"
"I scrape a little, sir. I torment a fiddle from time to time."
And,
"I am happy you are pleased; and certainly the mariners seemed to ply their pieces with a wonderful dexterity; but you must allow me to insist that that note is not A."
"Ain't it?" cried Jack anxiously. "Is this better?"
Stephen nodded, tapped his foot three times, and they dashed away into Mr. Brown's Minorcan divertimento.
"Did you notice my bowing in the pump-pump-pump piece?" asked Jack.
"I did indeed. Very sprightly, very agile. I noticed you neither struck the hanging shelf nor yet the lamp. I only grazed the locker once myself."
The visuals alone are making me giggle. And oh yeah, I liked the book too. ;D
"The listener farther to the left was a man of between twenty and thirty whose big form overflowed his seat, leaving only a streak of gilt wood to be seen here and there. He was wearing his best uniform - the white-lapelled blue coat, white waistcoast, breeches and stockings of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, with the silver medal of the Nile in his buttonhole - and the deep white cuff of his gold-buttoned sleeve beat the time, while his bright blue eyes, staring from what would have been a pink-and-white face if it had not been so deeply tanned, gazed fixedly at the bow of the first violin. The high note came, the pause, the resolution; and with the resolution the sailor's fist swept firmly down upon his knee."
And this:
"The minuet set Jack's head wagging with its insistent beat, but he was wholly unconscious of it; and when he felt his hand stirring on his breeches and threatening to take to the air he thrust it under the crook of his knee. It was a witty, agreeable minuet, no more; but it was succeeded by a curiously difficult, almost harsh last movement, a piece that seemed to be on the edge of saying something of the very greatest importance. The volume of sound died away to the single whispering of a fiddle, and the steady hum of low conversation that had never stopped at the back of the room threatened to drown it: a soldier exploded in a stifled guffaw and Jack looked angrily round. Then the rest of the quartet joined the fiddle and all of them worked back to the point from which the statement might arise: it was essential to get straight back into the current, so as the 'cello came in with its predictable and necessary contribution of pom, pom-pom-pom, poom, Jack's chin sank upon his breast and in unison with the 'cello he went pom, pom-pom-pom, poom. An elbow drove into his ribs and the sound shshsh hissed in his ear. He found that his hand was high in the air, beating time; he lowered it, clenched his mouth shut and looked down at his feet until the music was over."
I just love a man who gets into his music. *LOL*
And these exchanges with Maturin had me quite giggling:
"Heaven knows I find it hard enough to pitch upon the true note, right in the middle."
"You play, sir?"
"I scrape a little, sir. I torment a fiddle from time to time."
And,
"I am happy you are pleased; and certainly the mariners seemed to ply their pieces with a wonderful dexterity; but you must allow me to insist that that note is not A."
"Ain't it?" cried Jack anxiously. "Is this better?"
Stephen nodded, tapped his foot three times, and they dashed away into Mr. Brown's Minorcan divertimento.
"Did you notice my bowing in the pump-pump-pump piece?" asked Jack.
"I did indeed. Very sprightly, very agile. I noticed you neither struck the hanging shelf nor yet the lamp. I only grazed the locker once myself."
The visuals alone are making me giggle. And oh yeah, I liked the book too. ;D
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no subject
Date: 2002-07-09 08:00 pm (UTC)Crowe doesn't match my mental image of Jack Aubrey at all.
Re:
Date: 2002-07-09 08:20 pm (UTC)However, I also freely admit that I am biased in this regard. ;)
no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 09:53 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-07-10 11:25 am (UTC)K-9
Date: 2002-07-11 11:14 am (UTC)Re: K-9
Date: 2002-07-11 11:40 am (UTC)