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FeedThe Devil’s Trill
The lights go dim. Anticipation floats in the air, mingling with the perfumes of the well-dressed audience. The conductor raises his wand, and members of the symphony orchestra respond in unison. But behind this familiar, gentrified scene, there is lust, greed and power. Utah Symphony Associate Concertmaster Gerald Elias shines a light on this fascinating world in his debut mystery novel, Devil’s Trill. It’s about the theft of a priceless violin and a renowned blind violin master who has to clear his own name.
“The book is entirely fiction, but much of what goes on in it are reflections of attitudes or events that I’ve either experienced or have heard about,” he says. “Theft of violins is nothing new. Murder, that’s maybe taking it to a real extreme. But certainly the passions involved and the cutthroat competition and the wheeling and dealing in the violin world, those are all realities.”
A sort of Da Vinci Code of the classical music realm, Devil’s Trill is the story of Daniel Jacobus, a blind, reclusive and vulgar yet lovable violin teacher in rural New England. His high ideals, and love for classical music in its purest form, lead him to delve back into the world he eschewed in search of the thief who has stolen the Piccolino Stradivarius, an exquisite $8 million violin with a sinister history. When Jacobus’s nemesis, the arrogant Victoria Jablonski, is brutally murdered, he becomes the prime suspect. Jacobus despises the ruthless Musical Arts Project, or MAP, which hosts the competition for musical prodigies from whence the Piccolino was stolen. So begins his roller-coaster journey to rid the world of MAP while eluding the authorities and proving his innocence.
Fiction, yes. A stretch? No, according to Elias. “There is that other dimension—that darker dimension—in just about all aspects of the music profession.”
The very nature of honing one’s talent in solitude and becoming good enough to play in a symphony orchestra, then trying to leave that inflated ego behind to play as a group, is a “jolt to the system,” he says.
“Let’s say someone gets very proficient, survives the competition and becomes a part of an orchestra. Everything that has fed them individually is clamped down upon,” Elias explains. “It’s the conductor telling everyone how to play. If you’re a string player, you can’t even hear yourself play anymore. You have to create outlets for your self-worth.”
A healthy sense of self doesn’t seem to be a problem for this musician, who is also a composer, violin teacher, writer and family man who enjoys hiking in the mountains. Elias at home is the antithesis of his cranky loner protagonist Jacobus. Known as “Jerry” by his family and friends, Elias is a kind man with a generous smile who takes frequent jaunts to his favorite hangout, the Salt Lake Roasting Company, to get a cup of joe. He is happily married to his wife, Cecily, a teacher. They live in the Avenues of Salt Lake City and have two grown children.
Elias’ book is at once a game of cat-and-mouse, with delicious tidbits that keep you turning the page, and a thought-provoking tale about how our culture digests music. He asks readers to wonder: In a mediascape that seems keyed to the roller-coaster, American Idol fame, is there room for slow and steady practice and the years of experience it takes to become a true artist?
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