First up – Rupert Christiansen’s Diaghilev’s Empire: How the Ballet Russes Enthralled the World (2022). It is impossible to ignore the contributions that Diaghilev, the Ballet Russes, Nijinsky, Massine, (and others of the time) made to ballet and its history. Though truthfully, this period hasn’t grabbed my interest all that much over the years. Having said that, Christiansen’s book is very good, and well worth the read even if the Ballet Russes isn’t your thing. It’s incredibly well-researched, thorough, and moves along at a great pace. And a comment he made in the preface grabbed me right from the get-go, and I’m sure it will for other readers as well. Paraphrasing here, he shares with the audience that he’s not trying to write a dissertation, nor converse with other published materials. Instead, he is seeking to recount a specific history and in doing so, maybe uncover why folks are pulled toward this beautiful, physical performing art.
Over Diaghilev’s Empire’s nine chapters, there is much to enjoy. One of my favorite elements throughout the book, is Christiansen’s attention to the women of this story. Anna Pavlova, Tamara Karsavina, and many more – he demonstrates and notes their significance in this narrative, which other accounts skim over or omit altogether. Second, he also successfully and intriguingly unlocks the accomplishments, the personalities and character traits of the various players. The reader learns as they dive into Diaghilev’s Empire which individuals were never satisfied, who was a tinker-er, who was vengeful and who was obsessed with conflict and (off-stage) drama. While the attention to historical detail and chronological sojourn is beyond compare, Christiansen succeeds in peppering his writing with clever, humorous anecdotes – one ballerina’s penchant for hot champagne made me laugh out loud. The reader learns of the various productions mounted during this era, the collaborations with famed composers of the time, the development of new choreographic forms and structures and how the makeup of the ballet audience changed through the decades. And as Christiansen closes out his exploration of Diaghilev’s Empire, the lineage from the Ballet Russes to mid/late twentieth century is well underway, with George Balanchine, Lincoln Kirstein, Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo (and more!) arriving on the scene.
As I combed through Russ Tamblyn’s Dancing on the Edge, a 2024 publication by Blackstone Publishing, I found myself fascinated with the difference between a memoir and an autobiography. Looking up the distinction between the two terms, memoirs give attention to particular eras or arcs in one’s life while autobiographies reach wider and broader in scope. While that does draw some distinction, the space between the two feels undeniably tenuous. After reading Dancing on the Edge, I feel like it could be billed as either genre.
A commentary on the life and work of artist Russ Tamblyn, the book takes a deep dive into a talented, complicated and holistic person. From Hollywood musicals, where he would become a beloved dance lead - Riff in West Side Story and Gideon in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – to his personal orbit of the famous (and infamous) to his penchant for dramatic non-dancing roles. Via Tamblyn’s intoxicating prose, the reader learns of the twists and turns his life and career would navigate, including finding new creative pathways and outlets, which themselves would lead to considerable changes in scenery. Themes and throughlines emerge in the book’s sixteen chapters, like experimenting with the unknown, the primal need for artistic immersion and embracing new sides of the self.
As a lifelong fan of the big dance musical, I found the first third of Dancing on the Edge to be the most engrossing - all the backstage intrigue and behind the scenes stories that only someone who was there can impart. And equally potent were the moments of reflection. One that particularly resonated with this reader was when the author talked about confronting the misogynistic, violent story of Brides.
And with the third biography, Ruth Page: The Woman in the Work by Joellen A. Meglin and published by Oxford University Press in 2022, I encountered someone new to me. Based on her prolific career in 1900s American ballet (specifically in the dance hub of Chicago), it seems like I should have come across Page before, but honestly I hadn’t. Over 430 pages and 16 chapters (the endnotes themselves are almost 100 pages), Meglin more than remedied that by capturing many facets of this integral, powerhouse dance artist.
Meglin’s dissertation impressively recounted Page’s life and career: her notable colleagues and collaborators; her interest in different movement genres; the influence of jazz music on her work; the social and political realities of the times and their effect on her creative endeavors and performing career; her desire to upend artistic norms and conventions; the many dance companies and institutions that she helmed in Chicago; her major choreographic pursuits. A favorite line in chapter six captures her immersive-ness, “Page’s prime weakness lay in overcommitting her energies, whether by choice or necessity…” (p. 154).
Like most academic work, the book is very thorough and detailed, and if that’s the kind of writing that speaks to you, this book is for you. For me, it’s quite dense. I feel like much of the discourse about Page and the artists in her world, while fascinating, could have been abridged significantly.
