Stephen Hough

This childhood memoir, by the pianist and composer Stephen Hough, is told as a series of vignettes: jigsaw pieces of the past which fit together to form a fascinating picture. His memories are intimate ones: the complex mysteries of family life, and his difficult years as a pupil at a music school in the 1970s, which brought him close to a breakdown. He writes about his very early realisation that he was gay (‘I knew I was gay before I knew what it was’) and his gradual acceptance of himself. He also, in his fragmentary way, paints a vivid portrait of the England of the period: the bad food, embarrassing fashions, and even glam rock - the young maestro’s bedroom was adorned with posters of his heroes David Bowie and Marc Bolan.

As might be expected, he writes with particular insight about music. His description of hearing Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius for the first time, at a low point in his teenage years when he had lost his passion for the piano and spent most of his time slumped in front of the TV, is a moving example of the regenerative and life-changing power of music. It restored his faith in his vocation and ignited another one; not long afterwards he became a Catholic and seriously contemplated entering the priesthood.

Music flows through this memoir - a dance to the music of time, indeed - while always remaining only a part of it. The prose itself resonates with a disciplined musicality. You don’t have to be a classical music fan to enjoy Hough’s candid, funny and touching coming-of-age story. Enough is astonishingly self-revealing while never saying too much; just enough.… (mere)