James Rhodes has made a place in our culture as a musician uniquely talented in stripping ‘classical’ music of its dusty and monochromatic image. He has engaged new audiences by making human the composers who, for many, represent an inaccessible and elitist canon of little present-day relevance. So with headphones on and the generously prescribed soundtrack cued, I was ready to immerse myself in James Rhodes' controversial memoire. Rhodes was born into relative privilege, but it wasn't a charmed life that unfolded. Raped repeatedly over a number of years, he changed from a bright, nervous child into a disconnected teenager on ‘autopilot’. In the tumultuous world of his private boarding school, love, lust and abuse circled dangerously. In this environment, Rhodes' passionate embrace of the piano was a place of security. Self-doubt was never far, and by early adulthood the stage was set for a 10-year abandonment of the instrument. In its place appeared the empty shell of normality and material success. By the narrative's end, the birth of a child, repeated mental breakdown, intermittent psychiatric treatment, a return to the piano, divorce and the opportunity to carve an iridescent performing career bring a tentative equilibrium.

Each chapter (or ‘track’) opens with a suggested musical accompaniment and a punchy vignette that places the composition, the composer and the performance in its historical, social and biographical context. Between these musical offerings, the narrative of Rhodes' life is episodically illuminated. Each chapter represents a pivotal moment of change, be it decline or recovery. There is no shame or shying from the brutality of his abuse or the everlasting impact it has wrought. From the pain of a 5-year-old subjected to repeated rape, to the frantic attempts to piece together a deeply fractured emotional self, the thread of music keeps the hectic prose at least somewhat contained.

This book is the story of a concert pianist, psychiatric patient and self-proclaimed ‘asshole’. It is the story of a child seeking refuge in music, a man abandoning his instrument for the empty lure of financial success and the serendipitous opportunity to embrace a life of performance. It is an opinionated essay on the music industry, a pointed critique of psychiatry and a plea to a society that fails to shield its children from abuse.

I found Rhodes' constant demands that the reader reject and despise him exhausting, and they made the book frankly underwhelming as a memoire. It is, however, much more than that. Enjoyed as a re-introduction to classical music, Instrumental is succinct and well judged. For someone whose classical music listening has been erratic at best, it was an awakening. As an account of the impact abuse has on children and the adults they become, this book is painful and sobering. For a clinician seeing the everyday consequences of childhood sexual assault, it represents a chillingly human account of trauma. Chaotically angry, generous and jarring, Instrumental is rewarding, if not entirely pleasurable to read. As a performer, educator and outspoken critic, James Rhodes has gained me as a new fan.