Now eighty-two and still triumphant, still irrepressible, Rubinstein is much to be admired--especially for stopping in mid-career to reassess his approach and thereby answer the criticism that his playing was sloppy, his interpretation shallow. Success had come easily--at three he was rewarded with chocolates, at twenty with superlatives--but always there was contempt for accuracy per se, and festivities took precedence over practice. Miss Forsee, and Rubinstein, attribute the change primarily to marriage (at forty-five) and fatherhood. Thereafter--except for the loss of family and friends during the war--life has been good to Rubinstein, offstage and on. ""It is embarrassingly obvious to reiterate that Rubinstein is one of the greatest living pianists,"" a reviewer is quoted as observing, a remark that could be applied to the second half of this book. Accounts of incidents on tour, of advice to young aspirants, of popular and critical esteem, are hardly compelling en masse, and they change very little over the long years. But Rubinstein's zest for music comes across, and youngsters who can't read a note aren't ruled out.