Countermelodies
Ernestine Whitman
She Writes Press (2024)
ISBN: 978-1647427320
Reviewed by Anna Spreck for Reader Views (01/2025)
For her whole childhood and into her teenage years, Whitman struggled in Melinda’s shadow, leaving her with a lifelong craving for praise and validation. She was constantly compared to Melinda by her teachers, but the comparisons cut the deepest when they came from her father’s mouth. He made it clear that she would never be as good as her older sister, and she would hear criticisms and comparisons more often than she would hear him say he loved her. She grew up believing a fundamental truth about herself: she would never be good enough.
When Whitman chose to play the flute in a band at age eleven, she found the one thing that she could be better than Melinda at. The pleasure of having a skill all her own, one which would not be plagued by comparisons, eventually gave way to a genuine passion and love for the instrument. She began taking private lessons from the band teacher, Mr. Little, who was the principal flutist of the Atlanta Symphony. In Mr. Little, Whitman not only found a teacher but also the answer to her craving: support from an older male figure which she never experienced from her father.
As Whitman graduated from junior high band to second flutist of the Atlanta Symphony to professor at Lawrence University in Wisconsin, she continued to seek the support and praise of her male teachers and conductors, a pattern she did not recognize until many years later. With intelligence and care, Whitman details the harmful effects of this pattern. Beginning first with Mr. Little’s sudden and constant denigration upon becoming colleagues in the Atlanta Symphony and progressing through several manipulative relationships, Whitman’s confidence in herself and her playing crumbled.
As a musician, I found myself relating to many moments, especially her childhood fear of recitals. But even those who do not play an instrument will be, for the length of the memoir, fully transported to the world of professional music. Her writing is concise, yet vivid; she picks out the perfect details to make the scene come alive. I found myself, at several moments, delighted when she precisely described feelings I hadn’t been able to put into words. In fact, her writing is so deft that I found myself feeling that spark of recognition even for things I had no experience with.
For Whitman, the details matter. The exact sound she wants to achieve on the flute, the minutest difference the positioning of her lips or the quality of her breath will make: so important that she moves across states to pursue it. The subtlest flash of Mr. Little’s eyes after each of her solos. Her meticulous eye and critical mind when applied to writing create cinematic scenes, immersive in their clarity and soundtrack.
The way Whitman writes about music is an absolute delight. She writes so expressively; the reader can almost hear the piece floating up from the page; even someone who doesn’t care for classical music will be able to appreciate the emotions each piece conveys through Whitman’s lush and passionate descriptions.
The larger structure of the narrative is another strong feature of the memoir. The memoir follows the form of a sonata, with a clear exposition composed of two themes, the development of each theme, and the recapitulation. Choosing to structure the memoir after the sonata form not only keeps the narrative moving forward along a clear throughline but also shows how tightly music is woven into her life. Just as it guides the form of the memoir, music guided Whitman through her whole life, from her joys to her despair.
However, what makes her writing really come alive is its inner essence. It is surprisingly difficult to articulate one’s inner thoughts and feelings. So, Whitman’s ability to write succinctly and evocatively about her mental state not only opens her up to the reader but also makes this memoir shine.
She unabashedly examines how her strained relationship with her father and her subsequent need for validation play out across the destructive relationships she formed as she got older. Through her clear voice and commitment to her story, the reader completely understands Whitman both as a character and a narrator.
Whitman does an excellent job of portraying the harm of relationships dominated by power imbalances and manipulation. With emotional depth and a clear eye, Whitman renders her own state of vulnerability and need with aching intensity. At the same time, she weaves in brief commentary on these events, which allows her to both fully capture her young self’s visceral, damaging experiences and lay out how she came to be locked in the same abusive cycles.
Although Whitman as the writer can recognize the patterns and pinpoint where it all began, her younger self could not. This duality shows the extent to which these relationships blinded her and impacted her while allowing the reader to clearly understand how the cycle was created and perpetuated. While some may find it frustrating how often Whitman seems to repeat the same mistakes, her careful handling of the matter will resonate with those who have been in similar situations.
Ernestine Whitman’s “Countermelodies” is a lyrical and layered examination of the ways in which childhood hurt can echo across decades. Pursued by self-doubt for most of her childhood and professional life, Whitman had to learn how to overcome years of conditioned thinking reinforced by unhealthy relationships. At once a compelling exploration of trauma and a celebration of the impact music has made on her life, this memoir is an unforgettable glimpse into the world of professional orchestra and one woman’s healing scars.