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Authors: Genesis Quest
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universe in the Robertsbridge Codex, our only example of primitive organ music. But the point is that the universe was realized by Bach. In the same way, your pet eastern scales and rhythms are already in our mainstream as exotic elements. No, my young friend, our cultural center in music will always hover around Bach and Beethoven, just as in language it will always hover around Shakespeare. That’s why we do have so many samples of them. ”
Mim, who had been listening with growing absorption, broke in. “And there’s so much that’s missing, even there! We have only eight Beethoven sonatas! We know there were at least thirty-two. We’ve got twelve preludes and fugues from The Well-Tempered Clavier. We know there were forty-eight. We—” She broke off as she saw all the eyes looking at her.
“No, go on, Mimsy,” Olan said. He helped her out. “We have only one Beethoven symphony because it takes more data bits to transmit an orchestral score than a piano piece or a string quartet. That’s why I’ve orchestrated all the sonatas.”
Mim might have been a little flustered by the glittering, older company, but she was not shy. Bram felt a thrill of admiration as she held her own.
“I was just thinking,” she said sadly, “of all the treasures we’ll never know.”
“We’ll make new treasures of our own, Mimsy,” Olan said. Bram did not care for the way he smiled at her.
“You musicians think you have reason to feel sorry for yourselves?” The speaker was a weedy red-haired individual who evidently had spent some time around the punch bowl. “How would you like to be a painter? We have nothing to go on except cartoons—about two thousand digital excuses for line drawings to represent fifteen thousand years of art, from the cave paintings on! That comes to about thirteen per century. With digital codes for approximate masses of color, very helpfully keyed to wavelengths of light—never mind what kind of a sun we’re living under! And then, just to break our hearts, the Big Twelve in full color transmission! One Giotto, one Rembrandt, one van Gogh, one Picasso, and so forth. All chosen by committee and guaranteed to be Great! In all the marvelous wealth of detail that a couple of thousand scanning lines can achieve. If you don’t care about small details like brush strokes, that is.”
He touched off another argument. A partisan of Homer started to complain about the fact that the Odyssey had been transmitted only in Inglex translation, though it was possible to read The Divine Comedy, Faust, and Don Quixote in their original languages. “Surely Homer is one of the great engines of our culture, just as Dante, Goethe, and Cervantes are!” he appealed.
Mim took the opportunity to pull Bram closer to Olan Byr. “Olan,” she said, “this is my friend Brambram.”
Olan was gracious. “How do you do, Bram. You’re not a music student. I’m sure I’d know you. What’s your field of interest? You’re not interning in lit, are you?”
“Well, I haven’t exactly settled on anything yet,” Bram said self-consciously.
Olan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, there’s no hurry, of course. Our music students seem to find themselves rather early in life, but Dal Terson, just to take one example, knocked around for years before he decided that he wanted to be a playcrafter.”
“I’m—I’m sort of interested in astronomy,” Bram said with a sidelong glance at Mim.
Olan’s face lost some of its geniality and became merely polite. “Oh, science,” he said. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. The science devotees have made any number of valuable contributions to the human family. The tomato, for instance.”
“Yes, everybody’s talking about those,” Mim said helpfully.
“Just so. If you are interested in science,” Olan said kindly, “why don’t you go in for bioengineering? Astronomy is so … so abstract. You could apply for an internship in Willum’s shop.
Mim, who had been listening with growing absorption, broke in. “And there’s so much that’s missing, even there! We have only eight Beethoven sonatas! We know there were at least thirty-two. We’ve got twelve preludes and fugues from The Well-Tempered Clavier. We know there were forty-eight. We—” She broke off as she saw all the eyes looking at her.
“No, go on, Mimsy,” Olan said. He helped her out. “We have only one Beethoven symphony because it takes more data bits to transmit an orchestral score than a piano piece or a string quartet. That’s why I’ve orchestrated all the sonatas.”
Mim might have been a little flustered by the glittering, older company, but she was not shy. Bram felt a thrill of admiration as she held her own.
“I was just thinking,” she said sadly, “of all the treasures we’ll never know.”
“We’ll make new treasures of our own, Mimsy,” Olan said. Bram did not care for the way he smiled at her.
“You musicians think you have reason to feel sorry for yourselves?” The speaker was a weedy red-haired individual who evidently had spent some time around the punch bowl. “How would you like to be a painter? We have nothing to go on except cartoons—about two thousand digital excuses for line drawings to represent fifteen thousand years of art, from the cave paintings on! That comes to about thirteen per century. With digital codes for approximate masses of color, very helpfully keyed to wavelengths of light—never mind what kind of a sun we’re living under! And then, just to break our hearts, the Big Twelve in full color transmission! One Giotto, one Rembrandt, one van Gogh, one Picasso, and so forth. All chosen by committee and guaranteed to be Great! In all the marvelous wealth of detail that a couple of thousand scanning lines can achieve. If you don’t care about small details like brush strokes, that is.”
He touched off another argument. A partisan of Homer started to complain about the fact that the Odyssey had been transmitted only in Inglex translation, though it was possible to read The Divine Comedy, Faust, and Don Quixote in their original languages. “Surely Homer is one of the great engines of our culture, just as Dante, Goethe, and Cervantes are!” he appealed.
Mim took the opportunity to pull Bram closer to Olan Byr. “Olan,” she said, “this is my friend Brambram.”
Olan was gracious. “How do you do, Bram. You’re not a music student. I’m sure I’d know you. What’s your field of interest? You’re not interning in lit, are you?”
“Well, I haven’t exactly settled on anything yet,” Bram said self-consciously.
Olan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, there’s no hurry, of course. Our music students seem to find themselves rather early in life, but Dal Terson, just to take one example, knocked around for years before he decided that he wanted to be a playcrafter.”
“I’m—I’m sort of interested in astronomy,” Bram said with a sidelong glance at Mim.
Olan’s face lost some of its geniality and became merely polite. “Oh, science,” he said. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. The science devotees have made any number of valuable contributions to the human family. The tomato, for instance.”
“Yes, everybody’s talking about those,” Mim said helpfully.
“Just so. If you are interested in science,” Olan said kindly, “why don’t you go in for bioengineering? Astronomy is so … so abstract. You could apply for an internship in Willum’s shop.
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