In "Piano Pieces," Russell Sherman treats the piano much the same way Robert Pirsig handled Zen and motorcycles: with deep consideration and love. "The breath, prayers and libido of the fingertips must somehow be transferred to the neutral indifference of the key," Sherman writes, in this astonishingly quotable book; every page drops a golden prose apple. Fingers arc like "a team of wild huskies." The thumb is "the black sheep who is forbidden to roam on the black keys." The piano offers "rare aphrodisiacs of sound."

A renowned classical pianist who teaches at the New England Conservatory of Music, Sherman comes at these 88 keys from the vantage of both performer and instructor. The book lacks a conventional narrative, opting instead for a butterfly strategy of quick exploration, then moving on. Hence the "Pieces" of the title; five sections enfold alightings on everything from the specific (the anatomy and musculature of playing) to the overarching (how music unlocks our hearts). The reader soon realizes Sherman's pedagogical style is holistic -- a term he would sneer at, having tagged himself "an old and unregenerate crust." (He's 66.) Here's his idea of homework, for instance: "I have asked one student to prepare a short discourse on the subject of chiaroscuro. . . another to. . . write an essay on the (plant) cycle, another to work up a list of twenty-five similes for the image of a samovar."

Such careening well-roundedness informs the text. The book cites everyone from Edward Steichen to Lenny Dykstra (the man's a big sports fan), Rilke to Ben Hogan, Gerard Manley Hopkins to Wayne Gretsky. "Life and music were full of sweet surprises and agreeable detours," as Sherman's own beloved teacher, Edward Steurmann, showed him. "The role and privilege of being a musician implied a life without gloom, without pedantry."

Of course, this Whitmanesque approach encompasses some bolt-the-door prose -- "One is either a bird or a horse or a muffin," writes Sherman. Come again? His advice can veer toward the flaky (all musicians should own a pet), and you might part company on his rants; he hates rock and roll and all musical competitions, calling the latter "derangements of values." But his musings on specific pieces (Chopin's G Minor Ballade), and composers (Mozart, in particular, and Haydn) positively soar. "Piano Pieces" is a jewel, a must for every serious musician's library. Sherman says he wants to explain "what it means to sit in front of a piano and dream, fret, rage, and give thanks." He succeeds, eminently.

-- Katherine Whittamore