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![Brendan Nicholaus Slocumb - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B098W77NLM.jpg)
The Violin Conspiracy: A Novel
GOOD MORNING AMERICA BOOK CLUB PICK! • Ray McMillian is a Black classical musician on the rise-undeterred by the pressure and prejudice of the classical music world-when a shocking theft sends him on a desperate quest to recover his great-great-grandfather's heirloom violin on the eve of the most prestigious musical competition in the world.
"I loved The Violin Conspiracy for exactly the same reasons I loved The Queen's Gambit: a surprising, beautifully rendered underdog hero I cared about deeply and a fascinating, cutthroat world I knew nothing about-in this case, classical music." -Chris Bohjalian, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Flight Attendant and Hour of the Witch
Growing up Black in rural North Carolina, Ray McMillian's life is already mapped out. But Ray has a gift and a dream-he's determined to become a world-class professional violinist, and nothing will stand in his way. Not his mother, who wants him to stop making such a racket; not the fact that he can't afford a violin suitable to his talents; not even the racism inherent in the world of classical music.
When he discovers that his beat-up, family fiddle is actually a priceless Stradivarius, all his dreams suddenly seem within reach, and together, Ray and his violin take the world by storm. But on the eve of the renowned and cutthroat Tchaikovsky Competition-the Olympics of classical music-the violin is stolen, a ransom note for five million dollars left in its place. Without it, Ray feels like he's lost a piece of himself. As the competition approaches, Ray must not only reclaim his precious violin, but prove to himself-and the world-that no matter the outcome, there has always been a truly great musician within him.
"I loved The Violin Conspiracy for exactly the same reasons I loved The Queen's Gambit: a surprising, beautifully rendered underdog hero I cared about deeply and a fascinating, cutthroat world I knew nothing about-in this case, classical music." -Chris Bohjalian, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Flight Attendant and Hour of the Witch
Growing up Black in rural North Carolina, Ray McMillian's life is already mapped out. But Ray has a gift and a dream-he's determined to become a world-class professional violinist, and nothing will stand in his way. Not his mother, who wants him to stop making such a racket; not the fact that he can't afford a violin suitable to his talents; not even the racism inherent in the world of classical music.
When he discovers that his beat-up, family fiddle is actually a priceless Stradivarius, all his dreams suddenly seem within reach, and together, Ray and his violin take the world by storm. But on the eve of the renowned and cutthroat Tchaikovsky Competition-the Olympics of classical music-the violin is stolen, a ransom note for five million dollars left in its place. Without it, Ray feels like he's lost a piece of himself. As the competition approaches, Ray must not only reclaim his precious violin, but prove to himself-and the world-that no matter the outcome, there has always been a truly great musician within him.
Editorial Reviews
A Good Morning America GMA Book Club Pick! • ONE OF THE WASHINGTON POST'S BEST MYSTERY BOOKS OF THE YEAR • A Best Book of the Year: NPR, GOODREADS, Air Mail, Book Riot • A CrimeReads Best Mystery Book of the Year
A MOST ANTICPIATED BOOK OF THE YEAR: The Seattle Times, Goodreads, The Millions
A Medium Most Exciting Book Releases of the Year • Pop Sugar: 35 Must-Read Thrillers and Mystery Books to Keep You Chasing Clues • A Publishers Weekly Top Ten Mystery/Thriller
"Slocumb imbues his character's life with so much authenticity in the details, details that anyone who has played a stringed instrument, or played in a professional ensemble, will recognize. . . . Where Slocumb shines ... is in the passages where he shows Ray's grit. . . . [Brendan Slocumb] has plenty of brio to share with readers as well as listeners."
-NPR
"Such a page-turner . . . a musical bildungsroman cleverly contained within a literary thriller. . . . Slocumb isn't too different from his protagonist: a natural. He easily conjures the thrill of mastering a tough musical passage and the tinnitus-like torture of everyday racism."
-The New York Times
"When I opened Brendan Slocumb's debut novel, The Violin Conspiracy, I was immediately transported to a place I'd never been, surrounded by characters I'd never met. In the crowded world of fiction, that's no small accomplishment. . . . Slocumb has orchestrated an engaging and suspenseful story about an aspiring musician and his great-great-grandfather's violin. . . . The V...
A MOST ANTICPIATED BOOK OF THE YEAR: The Seattle Times, Goodreads, The Millions
A Medium Most Exciting Book Releases of the Year • Pop Sugar: 35 Must-Read Thrillers and Mystery Books to Keep You Chasing Clues • A Publishers Weekly Top Ten Mystery/Thriller
"Slocumb imbues his character's life with so much authenticity in the details, details that anyone who has played a stringed instrument, or played in a professional ensemble, will recognize. . . . Where Slocumb shines ... is in the passages where he shows Ray's grit. . . . [Brendan Slocumb] has plenty of brio to share with readers as well as listeners."
-NPR
"Such a page-turner . . . a musical bildungsroman cleverly contained within a literary thriller. . . . Slocumb isn't too different from his protagonist: a natural. He easily conjures the thrill of mastering a tough musical passage and the tinnitus-like torture of everyday racism."
-The New York Times
"When I opened Brendan Slocumb's debut novel, The Violin Conspiracy, I was immediately transported to a place I'd never been, surrounded by characters I'd never met. In the crowded world of fiction, that's no small accomplishment. . . . Slocumb has orchestrated an engaging and suspenseful story about an aspiring musician and his great-great-grandfather's violin. . . . The V...
Readers Top Reviews
LaurenKarin Griff
The first thing that struck me after I finished reading The Violin Conspiracy is that I felt like I learned a great deal about classical music, or really, the making of any genre of music at an expert level. The 2nd thing I realized is that I'd learned some things about racism that I hadn't known before. It's a well-written, always interesting read. I highly recommend this book!
eclectic readerLa
I’ve had this book in my TBR 📚since 3/22. When filling out my 2023 52 books in 52 weeks Challenge outline prompt #2 was a book featuring an inheritance. I decided that The Violin Conspiracy would be a great book for that prompt. I began reading an was mesmerized! First by the primise of the young black child so in love with the violin and its music! Wanting, yearning, needing to make glorious music from it and from his own soul. How crushed he was went his own mother chastised him for constantly making that noise! Wanting him to get a job at Popeye’s Chicken! I was totally on Ray’s pep squad from that point forward, and believe me he needed one! Of his family Ray only had his grandmother and one maiden aunt who encouraged him in his music and to stay in school. His sweet grandmother even remembered that somewhere in the attic is an old fiddle that he could have if he could find it. That fiddle become the second main character of the story. Passed into his family right at the end of the Civil War as his ancestor was freed from slavery by his owner and kept there. From there the story proceeds into the wondrous growth of Ray’s music ability and stature. Unbelievably his violin also has a grown in status. These changes lead to the mystery that overtakes the story and causes Ray to suffer much stress and heartbreak. The pace picks up to breakneck speed and I found myself reading furiously needing to know how this situation was going to right itself??? I wholeheartedly recommend this book⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
J. Blueeclectic r
I was really interested in reading this book after learning the author is scheduled to appear at the upcoming Savannah Book Festival on Saturday, February 18th, 2023. I was also intrigued because it was a thriller/mystery which features an African American musically gifted child prodigy, and this is something I have not experienced in literature. We are introduced to the main character, Ray (as an adult), at the scene of the crime - the author, cleverly takes us back through time to give us a glimpse into his young life and his development of his love of the violin. We are introduced to his dysfunctional family and follow him through his maturation process and all the life experiences that entails. The author does an excellent job of navigating us through the various stages of the violin's (fiddle) discovery, to authenticating his value, and its mysterious theft. With all the suspects, the reader is given subtle clues until the real mystery is revealed. The beauty of the book was the interjection of musical compositions, recitals and competitions. There was always something to experience in the form of an artistic experience and the real-life issues that can come with it. I even found myself "googling" the violin to learn more about the instrument and its components. Great debut novel and I look forward to reading his next offering, which was recently published.
HldesignJ. Blueec
Ray was a kid who knew from an early age what moved him and it was music. Particularly concerto’s and he learned to be true to himself. It was a real education in what it takes to succeed in a field where you have no role models and no one even your own mother to believe in you. But it only takes the love of a grandmother, her abiding belief in you and an unlikely ally in a professor who knows the ropes and recognizes talent to help you. How rare is that combination. The most disappointing thing was the down right scandalous behavior of his mother and other family members. Ray loved them in spite of their obvious distain for him. I would liked to have heard more about how or if he ever pulled away from them. A surprise ending and unlikely villain made this book a good read.
PepperHldesignJ.
I really loved this book. 'Although there us raciism there is also DRAMA and HISTORY, relating to the family and to America. Even Anderson Cooper is cited. There are many musical references. I bought the book when it first came out but did not read it until I saw the author interview by the LA Times.In it the author mentions that unlike the protagonist he was supported in his music. This is especially impoirtant for black artists who are not well-represented. My grandmother paid for my piano lessons. I did not become a musician but I majored in biology, like one of the people Ray met. But I earned enough funds to support my daughter in a musical career, including opera. I am glad everything turned out well in the end., and the villains got their just desserts.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Day 1: White Chucks, Size 101/2
On the morning of the worst, most earth-shattering day of Ray McMillian's life, he ordered room service: scrambled eggs for two, one side of regular bacon (for Nicole), one side of vegan sausage (for him), one coffee (for Nicole), one orange juice (for him).
Later, he would try to second-guess those choices and a thousand others that, in hindsight, vibrated in his memory: What if he'd ordered French toast instead of eggs? What if grapefruit juice instead of orange? What if no juice at all?
Breakfast had materialized before he'd gotten out of the shower. He'd lost track of time, caught up in the fingering of the Tchaikovsky Concerto's triple-stops, and water sluiced down for ten minutes while he gaped at the tiny bar of hotel soap.
When he'd walked naked out of the bathroom, the aroma of bacon wreathed the suite. The breakfast tray was waiting on the tiny dining table, the dishes' lids still in place. "I didn't even hear them come in," he said. If only every morning room service could magically deliver eggs and sausage.
Nicole was curled up in one of the armchairs, watching CNN. She twisted and untwisted a lock of auburn hair, the eighth-note tattoo above her wrist rhythmically flickering and disappearing. "You never hear anything." Another bombing in Jerusalem, and a hurricane bearing down on Indonesia. "I have a confession," she said, not looking away from the TV.
"What did you do this time?" She wasn't looking at him, so he took a giant step forward and blocked her view of Indonesia. Gave her something else to look at.
"I stole five bucks from your wallet to tip her. Hope that was okay." She eyed his nakedness. "You gonna eat like that?"
"Do I need clothes to eat?" He leered at her.
"This definitely works for me," she said. "I was just trying to figure out if you were going to get dressed now or if you want to eat, or-"
"We need to be out of here within an hour. You need to finish packing."
"I'm already packed," she said. "You're the snail in this race."
Ray slid on underwear and a T-shirt, grabbed a plate of food, lay back on the messed-up bed. He propped the plate on his stomach.
Afterward, he relived all the other choices of the morning: cluelessly packing his suitcase, scouring the suite one more time, pulling up his roller bag's handle. He slung the violin case over his right shoulder (should he have put it on the left?), gestured for Nicole to go first with her two roller bags. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the suite-and what remained-inside.
Down the elevator, through the Saint Jacques lobby, checking out, tipping the doorman, who flagged down a cab for each of them: Nicole's, first, to Penn Station. He hefted her suitcases into the trunk, leaving his own roller bag on the sidewalk, the violin case slung securely on his shoulder.
She turned to him, pressed her hand against his chest. Her warmth spread through his shirt, her touch like pizzicato-plucking violin strings with fingers he could feel shudder down his spine. "I meant to tell you," she said, "when you're playing the Mozart, I think you're playing the second movement too fast. Just try taking it maybe two clicks slower? Really milk it."
"You think? Because Ben Amundsen said to keep the tempo bright."
"I know, but you play so much more passionately when it's a little slower. Just a little. Try it, all right? For me?"
New York battered against them, cars zooming past, splashing last night's rain onto the curb.
"Just come to Charlotte. Find a sub," he said.
"You come to Erie," she said.
"You know I have to practice-"
"You can practice just as easily in Erie."
"I can't. There's Janice, there's my space, you know I-"
She grabbed his head with both her hands, pulled him toward her, and leaned forward, so their foreheads touched.
He closed his eyes, breathed her in. "I'll see you next week," he said.
"You've got this. Rayquan McMillian, future Tchaikovsky Competition gold medalist. Just focus. Visualize it. You can totally do this, you know that? It's going to happen."
Another breath he could feel deep in his abdomen. He tilted forward to kiss her.
A voice from the cab: "Hey, buddy, you almost done there?"
Another moment ruined by New York City's transportation system. Before he could kiss her, before he could even say "Call me when you get in," she'd jumped into the back seat and the taxi door slammed and he stood there like an idiot as the car moved off into traffic.
But already the day was hammering at him, his taxi had rolled up, trunk popping open, and he was spilling into the back seat with the violin, his anxiety l...
Day 1: White Chucks, Size 101/2
On the morning of the worst, most earth-shattering day of Ray McMillian's life, he ordered room service: scrambled eggs for two, one side of regular bacon (for Nicole), one side of vegan sausage (for him), one coffee (for Nicole), one orange juice (for him).
Later, he would try to second-guess those choices and a thousand others that, in hindsight, vibrated in his memory: What if he'd ordered French toast instead of eggs? What if grapefruit juice instead of orange? What if no juice at all?
Breakfast had materialized before he'd gotten out of the shower. He'd lost track of time, caught up in the fingering of the Tchaikovsky Concerto's triple-stops, and water sluiced down for ten minutes while he gaped at the tiny bar of hotel soap.
When he'd walked naked out of the bathroom, the aroma of bacon wreathed the suite. The breakfast tray was waiting on the tiny dining table, the dishes' lids still in place. "I didn't even hear them come in," he said. If only every morning room service could magically deliver eggs and sausage.
Nicole was curled up in one of the armchairs, watching CNN. She twisted and untwisted a lock of auburn hair, the eighth-note tattoo above her wrist rhythmically flickering and disappearing. "You never hear anything." Another bombing in Jerusalem, and a hurricane bearing down on Indonesia. "I have a confession," she said, not looking away from the TV.
"What did you do this time?" She wasn't looking at him, so he took a giant step forward and blocked her view of Indonesia. Gave her something else to look at.
"I stole five bucks from your wallet to tip her. Hope that was okay." She eyed his nakedness. "You gonna eat like that?"
"Do I need clothes to eat?" He leered at her.
"This definitely works for me," she said. "I was just trying to figure out if you were going to get dressed now or if you want to eat, or-"
"We need to be out of here within an hour. You need to finish packing."
"I'm already packed," she said. "You're the snail in this race."
Ray slid on underwear and a T-shirt, grabbed a plate of food, lay back on the messed-up bed. He propped the plate on his stomach.
Afterward, he relived all the other choices of the morning: cluelessly packing his suitcase, scouring the suite one more time, pulling up his roller bag's handle. He slung the violin case over his right shoulder (should he have put it on the left?), gestured for Nicole to go first with her two roller bags. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the suite-and what remained-inside.
Down the elevator, through the Saint Jacques lobby, checking out, tipping the doorman, who flagged down a cab for each of them: Nicole's, first, to Penn Station. He hefted her suitcases into the trunk, leaving his own roller bag on the sidewalk, the violin case slung securely on his shoulder.
She turned to him, pressed her hand against his chest. Her warmth spread through his shirt, her touch like pizzicato-plucking violin strings with fingers he could feel shudder down his spine. "I meant to tell you," she said, "when you're playing the Mozart, I think you're playing the second movement too fast. Just try taking it maybe two clicks slower? Really milk it."
"You think? Because Ben Amundsen said to keep the tempo bright."
"I know, but you play so much more passionately when it's a little slower. Just a little. Try it, all right? For me?"
New York battered against them, cars zooming past, splashing last night's rain onto the curb.
"Just come to Charlotte. Find a sub," he said.
"You come to Erie," she said.
"You know I have to practice-"
"You can practice just as easily in Erie."
"I can't. There's Janice, there's my space, you know I-"
She grabbed his head with both her hands, pulled him toward her, and leaned forward, so their foreheads touched.
He closed his eyes, breathed her in. "I'll see you next week," he said.
"You've got this. Rayquan McMillian, future Tchaikovsky Competition gold medalist. Just focus. Visualize it. You can totally do this, you know that? It's going to happen."
Another breath he could feel deep in his abdomen. He tilted forward to kiss her.
A voice from the cab: "Hey, buddy, you almost done there?"
Another moment ruined by New York City's transportation system. Before he could kiss her, before he could even say "Call me when you get in," she'd jumped into the back seat and the taxi door slammed and he stood there like an idiot as the car moved off into traffic.
But already the day was hammering at him, his taxi had rolled up, trunk popping open, and he was spilling into the back seat with the violin, his anxiety l...
