Selecting a violin is much like choosing a magic wand.
You drive to the middle of Diagon Alley (or in this case, Mac-Groveland in St. Paul). A picture of a violin hangs above the front of a tiny shop. The door creaks open. Inside the shop the walls are Kelly green and lined with ebony-colored instruments: cellos, basses, violas, and violins hanging from the ceiling. There’s a workbench by the window littered with glue, polishes, and wood shavings.
From the back emerges a tall, thin man in a worker’s apron. He is quite obviously a wizard who left his cloak and hat in the back room.
He studies your son. Which instrument will be best? Only the violin knows.
He brings one out from the back room.
“Curl your fingers around the scroll,” he says. The fingers don’t reach. The wizard shakes his head and carries the violin away.
He emerges a moment later with an old, tattered case. He clicks open the latch and pulls out a violin so small it must have been made by fairies.
Preston curls his fingers. A perfect fit. This is the one. The violin and the boy know. There is a mutual language here.
And the boys walks out of the magic shop with a song in his heart and music in his hands.