I wanted to be fair to the author, so, before publishing a 1 star review, I climbed my way up to the very top of this gargantuan rock of a book, to see if — in any minuscule crevices of the mountain — I could find a blade of grass, a tiny tuft of moss or even any lichens.
Nothing. Not even the bones of previous climbers to give the faint and remote idea of vital signs. Everything on this mountain is lifeless.
If I wasn’t so disappointed, I’d simply say this work is as dry as a phone book (like many other readers said), but, for crying out loud, this is a book about one of greatest musical geniuses in history! Music! As in “the heavenly vibrations that make our soul sing”. Have you ever heard it? It's astonishing music!
Nothing. All that Wolff cares about is to get as many dates, names and facts as accurate as possible, with the obsessive pettiness of an autistic librarian. Page after page, chapter after chapter, the reader can’t help but feel like a barely standing Rocky Balboa, under the violent barrage of facts that Ivan Drago / Christoph Wolff relentlessly punches him with: KA-POW! KA-POW!
[fictional sentence] “There should be little doubt that Bach visited the famous organist Wilhelm Pinkerpergerstoffen on April 12th of 1708 at 2.13 pm, and not on May 27th or May 28th as it’s sometimes reported, because if we subtract the number of days that it took him to cross the distance between Karschwatz and Sontranch-Grabfeld that subsequent summer from the age of his 13th child, divide that by the number of notes in his first prelude in C sharp, as it’s recorded in a letter found in the Geseimhauptstadtpepperpimpenvehllernen museum archives in 1897, and then multiply that result by the times Bach paid his real estate taxes in 1709, it’s simply impossible that the visit could have taken place any later than mid-April. Also, as we all remember, 1708 was a leap year.”
I’m. Not. Joking.
This is how the book goes. On and on and on.
To the point that I’m flabbergasted by the 5 stars reviews, and even skeptical: have those reviewers actually read the book? Or just skimmed through it? Because no one who is not insane can “love” this arid chain of facts, this monochromatic nightmare, this avalanche of saharan sand that, for its inspirational value, could only be compared to the “Proterozoic geology of Western North America and Siberia” by Paul K. Link.
Look, I get it, ok? I see that, from a historiography point of view, this might be an important book, because it’s the most comprehensive biography of Bach by the man known for being “the foremost expert on Bach in the galaxy”.
But …. who the heck is this book written for? It’s crystal clear that it’s not for a regular person who happens to love Bach, “regular” being the key word here.
You could be forgiven if you wrote a biography in this robotic style if the subject matter was such an intense rollercoaster per se, that you could not take away any soul from it even if you tried. Example: Martin Luther King’s life. David Garrow did that with his “Bearing the cross”, in which the data-dump style is compensated by the adventurous nature of MLK’s time on this Earth.
But here we’re talking about a pious German composer of the 18th century who, though a towering and indisputable genius, did almost NOTHING in his life aside from studying, reading, composing and teaching music. So, dumping cold data onto the page as if it was fresh concrete is absolutely not the way to handle this material, unless you do it as an academic work for people who have no real interest in Bach’s music, and all they care about is to compete on “who gets that detail right” (which is exactly what this book sounds like).
I don’t even know how I managed to read through this to the end.
Should it not be clear yet, I do not recommend this book, unless you are the google algorithm, or an AI engine.
Read the John Gardiner biography instead, it’s a hundred times better, and at least it’s got some soul.
Or, for another suggestion, recently I was very lucky to find “The Cello suites” by Eric Siblin, a book not only full of soul, but also generous enough to condensate the Wolff biography in a very readable and concise manner.
P.S. Or, even better, the historic fiction “The Great Passion”: great book.