Principal characters
Rayquan “Ray” McMillian, the central protagonist, a professional violinist
Nicole, his girlfriend, a fellow professional musician
Janice Stevens, his violin instructor and mentor
Grandma Nora, his maternal grandmother who gifts him the violin
PopPop, his great-great-grandfather who owned the violin, Grandma Nora’s grandfather
Aunt Rochelle, his maternal aunt
Andrea Marks, the woman who claims ownership of his violin
Dante Marks, the man who claims ownership of his violin
In the opening chapter of Brendan Slocumb’s debut novel, The Violin Conspiracy (2022), Ray McMillian becomes the victim of a crime when his Stradivarius violin, valued at $10 million, is stolen from its case and exchanged with a single Converse Chuck Taylor sneaker and a ransom note for $5 million in Bitcoin. Ray is a professional violinist whose career has been skyrocketing since his family heirloom violin was authenticated as a Stradivarius less than two years prior. As a Black performer, Ray has faced an uphill climb for recognition and the instrument’s theft immediately punctures his self-esteem. He has failed as a steward of the most precious object: an instrument of enormous financial value but also an irreplaceable personal tie to his Grandma Nora, who had gifted it to him six years prior. Moreover, the timing could not be more unfortunate. Ray has just over a month left before he is scheduled to compete in the Tchaikovsky Competition at the Moscow State Tchaikovsky Conservatory, a ten-day-long event that is likened to “The Music Olympics.”
Like many details in the book, this event blends fact and fiction, placing the realities of the international music world into the narrative. The International Tchaikovsky Competition is a real-life premiere competitive venue in classical music that was first held in 1958, though many readers of the novel may not be aware of its existence. Similarly, Brendan Slocumb explains in the author’s note with which he concludes the book, that many of the race-based incidents that Ray experiences throughout the novel are drawn from Slocumb’s own struggles as a Black musician in the classical music world—a world in which incidents of racism and discrimination are quite common for musicians of color. While the more sensational fictional aspects of the story may keep the reader engrossed in the novel—the crime, the search, the tension of international competition, the historical tie to slavery and its impact over the generations—Slocumb’s authentic voice concerning the role of race in the life of a professional classical musician is certainly the novel’s greatest contribution. Slocumb emphasizes that this narrative will surely resonate with the “1.8 percent of musicians performing in classical symphonies [who] are Black,” but it also seeks to create greater empathy among White readers. As Slocumb further reflects in his author’s note, “When I share these stories with friends who don’t look like me, I get the same reaction: ‘Things like that don’t happen. It’s not really like that.’” This novel encapsulates his response: “They do. It is.”
Two plotlines run through The Violin Conspiracy. The first, already introduced, is the story of the violin’s theft and Ray’s attempt—with the help of the FBI and an insurance company investigator—to recover the instrument. The crime is the dominant plotline, as the structure of the novel is organized around it, including the framing of many of the chapters and the beginning and concluding narratives of the book. Even when the logistics of the search for the violin are not foregrounded in the story, its loss palpitates within the narrative. Ray is psychologically and professionally linked to the instrument. Although he procures a spectacular loaner instrument almost immediately, this does not keep him from the psychological and emotional trauma of the loss. With such high stakes at play, he fears being revealed as an imposter whose musical skill is only the result of a spectacular instrument. Even as it is clear to the reader, and to Ray’s colleagues and mentors, that his capacity as a musician remains undiminished by the loss of the violin, he struggles mightily to confront this deficiency. His ultimate perseverance and personal strength provide a personal story arc of heroism and achievement made possible only by the theft.
The second plotline, though subsidiary, is arguably more important. Embedded within The Violin Conspiracy are chapters that discuss the six preceding years that led up to Ray’s professional success—the years in which he began to play the violin and received the instrument from his grandmother. Ultimately, this plotline unspools to tell the deep history of Ray’s instrument, which brings the history of enslavement, abolition, racism, and reparations to the foreground of the story. While Ray’s mother is unsympathetic to his musical talent and tries to push her son to quit high school and get a low-paying job that will contribute to the household expenses, his Grandma Nora not only believes in his ability but inspires him with stories of the musical ability of her grandfather, PopPop, who was enslaved and played the fiddle. Grandma Nora’s stories of her grandfather’s music were foundational in Ray’s own childhood memories. After playing his poor-quality high school loaner violin for his grandmother, Ray realizes that “Maybe—now he couldn’t remember—he’d first gotten interested in the violin because Grandma Nora talked about it all the time.” That Christmas, his grandmother surprises him with the gift of her PopPop’s fiddle, which had been stowed away in the attic ever since his death. The instrument is in terrible shape. Given its personal significance, Ray spends all his savings to get it repaired, overcoming clear racism and hostility from the music shop technician to get the work completed.
Years later, after Grandma Nora’s death, Ray gets the violin repaired and cleaned again. His mentor believes that he has probably outgrown the capacity of his instrument, but he hopes that his violin will be sufficient if it is properly rehabilitated. His devotion pays off, as the instrument proves to be a rare and highly valuable Stradivarius violin, an identification that is quickly authenticated by a rare instrument appraiser in New York City. This astonishing find sets in motion both the best and the worst experiences of Ray’s young life. On the positive side, his career rapidly accelerates, with a speed that he realizes is not only because of his musical skill, but also from the curiosity that arises from a Black violinist who owns an ancestral Stradivarius. While touring, he meets Nicole, who quickly becomes both serious girlfriend and musical companion. But, the discovery of the violin’s heritage also leads to two extraordinary crises. His mother and most of her siblings object to Ray’s sole ownership of the violin and sue Ray in the hopes of capitalizing on what they perceive to be their inheritance. Even more sinisterly, two strangers, Andrea and Dante Marks, lay claim to the violin. They are descendants of the man who had enslaved Ray’s PopPop and have a family story of the violin and how an ancestor had imported it from Italy. The Marks assert that Ray’s family obtained the violin by theft and that they are its rightful owners. Soon enough, Ray finds himself subject to two lawsuits—one from his own family and the other from the White family with whom his ancestry would always be intertwined. Worse yet, the Marks family does not stop at legal action. They confront Ray in person on more than one occasion and, once, nearly succeed in convincing responding police officers that Ray has stolen the violin from them. Of course, the Marks’ claim to Ray’s instrument seems feeble, mean-spirited, and unlikely outside of the space of a novel, but that is beside the point. Through this plotline, Slocumb invites the reader to consider the legacy of slavery from a distinct perspective. Though Ray and his family have grown up poor and though the stories that are eventually revealed about PopPop’s enslavement are gruesome, they have somehow managed to emerge from these wounds with a clear heritage—the legacy, memory, and violin of their enslaved ancestor. Uniquely within his family, Ray understands and treasures this gift. Using his musical talent, he remembers, celebrates, and uplifts the memory of his great-great-grandfather. Conversely, of course, the harassing presence of the Marks family reminds the reader that even across multiple generations, the damage of slavery lingers—continuing to mark both enslavers and enslaved.
Some reviewers of The Violin Conspiracy noted that the novel has its weaknesses, observing that the ultimate resolution of the crime plot is neither engrossing nor particularly surprising. Further, several critics commented on the uneven writing of the book. Both of these commentaries are justified. Despite these downsides, however, the novel was received warmly for both its confrontations with racism and its evocative descriptions of classical performance. In her review for Library Journal, Jane Jorgenson wrote that “the novel brings an unflinching eye to the sometimes-cutthroat world of classical music, its very white culture, and the challenges a talented young Black violinist might face in that world.” Bethanne Patrick noted in her review for NPR that The Violin Conspiracy is rare in its successful combination of polemic and fiction, specifically highlighting its convincing exploration of the reality that “the high-toned world of classical music suffers from, and because, of racism.” Indeed, Slocumb’s infusion of first-person experience—both with the professional classical music world and as a person of color within it—is what gives the novel its greatest value. The book stands out for bringing the reader deeply into the professional realm of classical music and affirming that issues of race and violence exist in the concert hall as well as on city streets.