A Novel Scored by Classical Music
Mozart & Mayhem is the first book of 'The Capybara House Quartet', a duology about four Classics-obsessed brothers, who are trying very hard not to live in a sitcom... and failing spectacularly.
Mikhail, exhausted Philosophy major and terrifyingly competent eldest, runs the rota with Aristotle in one hand and tea in the other. Riven and Terrence, the literature twins duel over whose story is better, while Halden, youngest and self-appointed court painter/music director, scores their chaos with perfectly chosen classical tracks.
The duology is, as the title suggests, inspired by classical music. From laundry crises powered by Offenbach and Beethoven-scored book crimes, this story is sort of a 'mirror' of my own habits.
I am classics-obsessed, unfortunately, and I score my life with Bizet, Rossini and many more depending on what the circumstances call. Coffee, obviously, gets soundtracked by chamber music.
Here is an excerpt from Chapter One:
THE CAPYBARA PILE HYPOTHESIS, PROVEN AND TESTED
Mikhail looked down at them—one on each side, all of them leaning inwards to the centre of the sofa without quite realising it—and felt that little tightness in his chest loosen. “You’ve been annoying for years,” he mumbled.
“Yeah,” Riven closed his eyes. “But now we’re annoying in one house. Concentrated.”
“Like capybaras,” Terrence murmured.
Mikhail blinked. “Like what?”
“You know. Capybaras,” Terrence gestured vaguely. “Those big rodents that just… pile on each other. Communal loafing. Zero personal space.”
“Unbothered,” Riven added. “Immensely unbothered. Just vibes.”
Halden hummed thoughtfully. “We are sort of like that.”
“We are not rodents,” Mikhail turned to him, affronted.
“You’re the tallest capybara,” Riven nudged their eldest brother’s foot. “The one the others use as a pillow.”
Halden nudged closer, testing this theory in real time. Terrence stretched his legs out until his feet rested against Mikhail’s shins.
Mikhail could have complained. He could have pushed them off, reasserted boundaries and the sanctity of personal space and the moral value of sitting like individuals. Instead, he let out a slow breath and leaned his head back against the worn cushion.
He looked around, their belongings already making the house feel like home, their presence filling the once-empty room with warmth and breath.
He would deny it later. He would call them rodents and menaces and walking catastrophes.
But for now, with his brothers piled casually against him, limbs draped where they fell, the radiator humming, and the old shelves already beginning to sag under the their literary obsessions, Mikhail let his eyes drift closed.
Capybaras, he thought, with a helpless, unspoken fondness.
The theory, quietly, thoroughly, proven.
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