Ah, this is Macalaurë at his most Byronic. He should definitely work more in ensembles to get over his little stage fright problem. And his harp teacher really should teach him how to practice efficiently, so that he doesn't tear up his fingers. That's what a teacher is for.
Speaking of tearing up fingers, I wonder what his harp strings are made of. Metal strings will definitely do a number on one's fingers, but I wonder if gut strings might not be softer, both in tone and for the player.
Nelyo's letter seems oddly formal, considering he's writing to the person he loves most in all the world. It seems that he's still trying to hide how he's feeling, and he's under the delusion that Macalaurë can't tell that he's hurting over Annawendë. Nelyo is rapidly acquiring skills at lying to himself, I think. I suppose that's how he'll be able to survive the crimes he'll commit later on in life.
Do all scholars recite before Manwë? You'd think that Manwë would have better things to do with his time than proctor exams, but hey.
Your writing about Macalaurë's performance (and, indeed, much of the writing in this section) reminds me of the film Thirty-Two Short Films About Glen Gould. Glen Gould was one of the most famous pianists of the twentieth century, yet the actor playing him couldn't play the piano at all. So the director made a movie in which he employed numerous clever devices to indicate that Gould was playing, although you never actually saw the actor put his hands to the piano. One can see that you're not entirely familiar with the routine and the mindset of professional music students, but you cover it up nicely with Macalaurë's flowery, romantic dreams about the music that he's playing. This shows up particularly during the concert with Vingarië. It's lovely writing, though it's very general.
Will we see more of the conservatory? I'd love to take a look at Macalaurë's voice lessons.
no subject
Speaking of tearing up fingers, I wonder what his harp strings are made of. Metal strings will definitely do a number on one's fingers, but I wonder if gut strings might not be softer, both in tone and for the player.
Nelyo's letter seems oddly formal, considering he's writing to the person he loves most in all the world. It seems that he's still trying to hide how he's feeling, and he's under the delusion that Macalaurë can't tell that he's hurting over Annawendë. Nelyo is rapidly acquiring skills at lying to himself, I think. I suppose that's how he'll be able to survive the crimes he'll commit later on in life.
Do all scholars recite before Manwë? You'd think that Manwë would have better things to do with his time than proctor exams, but hey.
Your writing about Macalaurë's performance (and, indeed, much of the writing in this section) reminds me of the film Thirty-Two Short Films About Glen Gould. Glen Gould was one of the most famous pianists of the twentieth century, yet the actor playing him couldn't play the piano at all. So the director made a movie in which he employed numerous clever devices to indicate that Gould was playing, although you never actually saw the actor put his hands to the piano. One can see that you're not entirely familiar with the routine and the mindset of professional music students, but you cover it up nicely with Macalaurë's flowery, romantic dreams about the music that he's playing. This shows up particularly during the concert with Vingarië. It's lovely writing, though it's very general.
Will we see more of the conservatory? I'd love to take a look at Macalaurë's voice lessons.