James Funfer

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvFH_6DNRCY

Clair de Lune

By: Claude Debussy

There are plenty of nocturnes and songs to the moon out there, but the top two contenders in terms of popularity have got to be Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and Debussy’s Clair de Lune. While I love both pieces, Clair de Lune will always hold a special place in my heart.

It was the winter of 2010, near the end of January. I was working on the tail end of a fifty-thousand word manuscript for a novel writing contest that would eventually become Crystal Promise. The manuscript was written on the heels of a bad breakup, from a lonely basement suite without a kitchen that was hastily moved into (and out of). I was a sad bachelor then: typing away in my old housecoat, dishware stacked on the extra shelving units around my computer (again, no kitchen), a big empty space behind my chair that should have been filled with pets, furniture, a television, something. Usually I left only to work or to pick up bachelor chow from the 7-11 – there was a deal on two hot dogs, and the nacho cheese was free. When I was hungry from a long day of working and writing, I’d pop by for a couple of those and at least one bottle of coca-cola before descending back into my dungeon to type away in my underwear.

I was truly a study in tragicomedy.

The day before the contest was over, I was fifteen thousand words short of my goal. I was lucky enough to be off work that day, but I was scheduled to be in on the last day of the contest, so I knew that I had to make the 30th of January count. I awoke at 6 A.M. and began to write. I left the house twice on hot dog runs, but other than that I stuck myself in front of my computer and coaxed out words. I was amazed to discover that there is a sort of second wind in writing. When you know how far off your destination is and you have nothing to do but go forward (or give up), feats of mental endurance are possible. Perhaps to some career writers fifteen thousand words is all in a day’s work, but to the struggling hopeful it seems like a mountain.

When I got struck by writer’s block, I was just shy of the peak. There was a berth of about eight thousand words between me and the end of the novel, and I didn’t know how to finish it. The time was approaching midnight and I had to work the next day.

Mentally drained, I shrugged into my parka, stepped out into the frigid January night and lit up a smoke. I set the iPod to shuffle. Clair de Lune began to play as I stared up at the full moon and contemplated the past few months, my future, and the ending of the story.

There is a compelling draw to a bright, round moon. I don’t necessarily subscribe to the theory that people act crazier during a full moon, but humanity has been following its course through the night sky for potentially millions of years…for as long as we’ve had the ability to tilt our heads up and wonder, at any rate. Debussy must have channeled that somewhat. After all, he wasn’t the first composer to create a ‘nocturne’, but in the wistful lilt of his uniquely impressionist style, something unfolds that we can all relate to. Clair de Lune speaks of melancholy, loneliness and beauty – of contemplation and desires unfulfilled. The tremulous rise and fall of the notes are like aching highs and lows – an unrequited love or a struggle for greatness. Periodically the melody will return to a place of quiet reflection…one stares at the moon and begs the uncaring, watchful orb to give reason to the follies of the night.

Yet the yearning never ends. Even the last chord of the song seems to be reaching for another note, one that we never hear. But in that reaching, I found an ending to my own story.

The most important thing about classical music is that it is a discipline of moods and interpretation. Without words, there is no absolute – there is only melody and accompaniment, and whatever the listener decides to contemplate as they enjoy the composition. Perhaps a title like Clair de Lune has influenced the way in which many people listen to the music, but I am certain the epiphanies achieved while listening to this masterpiece are as innumerable as the stars.

…okay, maybe not literally. There are a lot of stars out there. But there is only one moon, and I believe that most of us have gazed upon in it a contemplative fugue at one point or another.