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784 pages, Hardcover
First published November 1, 2022
He instinctively turned back to Russia and the imperial past. Tchaikovsky, Glinka, Petipa, early Stravinsky, and the full-length narrative ballets of his childhood at the Imperial Theater. It was a conservative turn, not nostalgia so much as a way of giving his young dancers the education he had received. (p.431) […] He was a great builder for the same reason that he was a great artist: he gave them all a purpose greater than himself. Greater than themselves.” (p.436)
that the body could itself be made divine, not through magic or the touch of the gods but through work—rhythm, harmony, and dissonance; joint, muscle, flesh, and clay in hand.” (p.273)Adagio Lamentoso was performed only once, and later
no one could quite remember these dances, or what they had all done that night. […] It was as if the tissue of the ballet dissolved in their bodies as they performed it, leaving no trace…” (p.603)
He gave himself to women by making love to them in dances. It was in this sense a secondhand heart, or at least a heart once removed from the source. For a dancer, it was irresistible. For a woman, it was not quite enough. (p.153)
We could say that sex is power, but that would only be an inch of the truth. The mile would be that the whole premise of the NYCB was that Balanchine’s love of women, of them, including the ones he didn’t love or court, promised to give to them their best possible selves in dancing, a seduction few refused. This didn’t mean their most moral selves, or their most pure selves, it meant their deepest “Yes, that’s me” selves. The real allure lay in the work, their bodies daily before him, his soul nightly before them in his dances. These were women willing to give everything for that.” (p.442)