I got interested in this memoir because of Clifford's Facebook posts. Armed by those same Facebooks, I braced myself for "Balanchine's Apologist" rather than "Balanchine's Apprentice." What I got, because a whole book is a broad canvas, was more nuanced than social media post, but there is no question that whenever he treats of someone disobeying or disrespecting "Mr. B." Clifford has no objectivity; those people are disparaged, while Balanchine's own attitudes and actions are never questioned, only defended. Clifford also makes little effort to turn a critical eye on Balanchine's choreography (to be fair, he has little critical to say about any choreography). This is a chronicle of personal relationships, a discussion of personalities and how they operated in the hothouse environment of NYCB in the late 60s and early 70s. As such, it carries some interest.
Clifford does not whine, but it is clear he suffered major disappointment, thinking that Balanchine was grooming him as a possible successor, something that did not happen upon Balanchine's death in 1983. Clifford had been gone since 1975, running his own company in Los Angeles.
There is a good-faith effort in this book to describe the dance qualities as well as the personal qualities of Balanchine's ballerinas, including particularly Suzanne Farrell, who was Balanchine's muse in the late 1960s. Clifford also expands on the subject of other female dancers he particularly liked, notably Maia Plisetskaya, with whom he had a personal friendship. He has relatively little time for other male dancers; he does talk a little about his own strengths as an "allegro" dancer (short and fast) and how Balanchine slotted him into Edward Villella's roles as the latter grew older.
As expected, Clifford outright denies and dismisses claims, particularly those of Gelsey Kirkland, that Balanchine's NYCB was a hotbed of physical and emotional mistreatment of women. He takes particular pains to deny that Balanchine had "uppers" handed out to the dancers during the rigours of their Soviet tour, although with a curious type of honesty, he admits in the same paragraph that he had a personal stash of stimulants, albeit of the over-the-counter variety. Gelsey's principal sin, in his eyes and probably Balanchine's, was to move out of Balanchine's classes and in to the circle of a trainer called Maggie Black. I myself take a somewhat neutral line on this dispute. Kirkland and Clifford appear from their memoirs to have been living in entirely different worlds, or at least different versions of NCYB. Part of that is indeed gender-based; it is clear that Clifford believes himself to have been Balanchine's favourite son, in a position of privilege with insight into the management and direction of the company. Gelsey, on the other hand, was a feminine object - to be admired and choreographed, but not entitled to exert any particular agency outside the execution of the steps of her dance.
I am an admirer, not a fanatic, when it comes to Balanchine's choreography. I enjoy the patterns, the speed, the musicality. Going back to youtube to rewatch some ballets in conjunction with reading this memoir has been a real pleasure, and we must acknowledge that some of that youtube wealth is on Clifford's channel. But I part company with Clifford's hagiography. For me, this book is another voice, alongside many others, circling the reality of NYCB, not the final word.