The Courage Consort, "possibly the seventh best-known a cappella vocal ensemble in Britain", are holed up in a rural Belgian château to rehearse the most complicated piece they've ever had to perform: Partitum Mutante. Forced to co-exist under the same roof for the first time, egos begin to clash and minds begin to fray. Relationship break down, strange allegiances form and... is that a ghost wailing in the woods?
Michel Faber's wonderfully observed satirical novella does for avant-garde classical music what Spinal Tap did for heavy rock. Although it's a short book, every sentence is a gem.
As for Dagmar, the most recent addition to the group, she'd stuck with the Courage Consort because they gave her fewer hassles than any of her many previous liaisons. After walking out on the Staatsoper because the directors seemed to think she was too sexually immoral to sing opera (her last role for them was Berg's prostitute Lulu, for God's sake!) she'd been a bit wary of these smiling English people, but it had turned out OK. They allowed her to get away with tempestuous love affairs, even illegitimate pregnancy, as long as she showed up on time, and this she had no trouble with. For nine months of ballooning belly she'd never missed a rehearsal: she'd given birth, prudently, during the lull between Ligeti's Aventures in Basle and the 'Carols Sacred and Profane' Christmas concert in Huddersfield. That was good enough for Roger Courage, who had sent her a tasteful congratulations card without enquiring after the baby's name or sex.
Extra marks for mentioning Huddersfield: we're proud of our Choral Society.
