On the intimacy of place

When Rittenhouse Square is the epicenter of your forthcoming novel

I grew up just outside of Philadelphia. As a teenager, I often spent five days a week in Center City, as we Philadelphians call it (if you say downtown, you’re probably not from Philly). After school and on the weekends, I took a bus or a commuter train in for viola lessons, rehearsals with two different orchestras, music theory and ear training, and chamber music.

The view to the west from Rittenhouse Square.

Earlier this week I was in Philly to visit family. I spent a morning walking around Rittenhouse Square. With Curtis Institute of Music on one side, Rittenhouse Square says classical music to me.

A sign on the edge of the square.

This lovely park was a favorite of my dad’s, whose office was at 1845 Walnut Street for many years. Since much of my musical activity took place nearby, I often visited my dad at his office. A treasured memory—my dad’s hearty “Marthy!” as I opened his door, waited as he packed his briefcase and put on his coat, and walked with him to the train station to go home.

I was thrust back to teenage me this week, viola in hand, heading to my lessons at 21st and Spruce. On my way, I would occasionally see Rudolph Serkin crossing the square. Hands in his pockets, looking pensive through his gold rimmed glasses, he’d be strolling north. He was a marvelous pianist, both as a soloist and an ensemble player, his playing light and frothy, and powerful when it needed to be.

Benches awaiting the lunch crowd in Rittenhouse Square.

Nowadays when I visit, I commune with the characters in my forthcoming novel, DUET FOR ONE. Victor and Adele Pearl, the duo-piano team in my story, live on the south side of the square. They and their son Adam, a professional violinist, teach at the fictional Caldwell Institute of Music, just off the square.

Even Billy the billygoat figures in my book. Billy is a delightful bronze statue that generations of children have climbed on. The patina on his head is rubbed shiny, because it’s good luck to pat him as you go by. I was really happy to reconnect with him.

This Billy is a replica, but I loved seeing him anyway! Note the recent chalkmark on his sides, done by nearby toddlers.

When does fact become fiction, and fiction fact? What role memory in the creation of a new work of art? How to transmit the intimacies that memory holds?

I’ll have to leave these questions for another day. Suffice to say, it was a pleasure to stroll around Rittenhouse Square once again, and consider its central role in my narrative.

Love,
Martha