Fall Challenge Update (Otherwise Known as "Ballet and Other Things")

Before I wrote my review of Apollo's Angels, I took some time to read other reviews, primarily from people familiar with dance, to see if I was the only one who had problems with it. I wasn't. In fact, many people said the same thing that I scribbled down in my notes. (Cuba? Kirkland? Ratmansky? FORSYTHE?!) One of the reviews that I read mentioned other topic-specific books that were a great balance to Apollo's Angels, and among these was Ballet's Magic Kingdom. As it happens, this has been sitting on my bookshelf for several months, so I've decided to add it to my Fall Into Reading Challenge list.

Additionally, I picked up two Josephine Tey mysteries at the bookstore the other day. (That money was just burning a hole in my wallet.) So I'm also adding The Singing Sands and To Love and Be Wise.

And...

Because I love ballet so much, I want to provide a little idea of why I love it and why I think Homans was off the mark in many areas. For the next week or so, I'll add a video each day. Feel free to ignore, unless you're interested. Ballet tastes vary, but you might discover something you like.

Book Review: Apollo's Angels, by Jennifer Homans

Reviewing a book like this is enormously difficult for me, because there's so much I want to say, but I'm not sure how to organize the information effectively. It's not a simple matter of "I recommend" or "I don't recommend"; the recommendation (or lack thereof) has to be far more nuanced, as the information in the book is itself far more complex. I finished the book yesterday and decided to give myself about 24 hours to think about it, write down notes, come up with some kind of plan. I'm still not satisfied with my thoughts on it, but I want to move on from the book at this point.

As the image indicates, Apollo's Angels claims to be "A History of Ballet." This isn't entirely inaccurate. The first six chapters are devoted to the early years of ballet and include an impressive amount of research on the author's part. She digs into the past and reveals a range of detail that suggest only a passion on the part of a writer for the subject matter. Homans makes an effort throughout to link the development of dance to the cultural influences of the day -- i.e., early ballet in France was the result of steps designed for court dances intended to honor the king -- and in this she manages to keep the book from becoming a dry tome exhausted with information. I should point out that in doing this, she also makes speculative leaps that don't always feel reliable. But at least it makes for great food for thought.

After chapter 6, the book moves on to the early days of ballet in Russia, and after this the rest of the book is more or less devoted to ballet in the 20th century. That's not an unfair balance, to be honest. Except in Russia (and, to a degree, in Denmark), ballet was always a somewhat peripheral activity that did not take off as an important and respected art form worldwide until the 20th century. Homans hones in (I totally had to write that...) on the early modern days in Russia, with Diaghilev's Ballets Russes, as well as on Soviet Ballet, ballet in England, and ballet in America. Oh wait, I'm sorry: ballet in New York. And you might guess that this is where I transition from summarizing the book to reviewing it more seriously.

There's a lot of good in Apollo's Angels. Homans does an exceptional job of providing information about pre-20th century ballet. But what this is not is a textbook about ballet. While this might sound like a good thing, the problem is that many people who are only vaguely familiar with ballet will read it like a textbook -- that is, a solid history of ballet and how it has developed. This book contains that information, but it is always shaping it and guiding it in one direction. It's highly opinionated, flagrantly biased, and containing frequent editorializing. It's no mistake that the last major chapter is about ballet in New York. (Because, you know, that's the only ballet in America that counts?) In fact, it's not unreasonable to point out that the entire book is leading up to the glorious moment when Balanchine arrived in New York to begin developing a ballet company (now the New York City Ballet) and choreographing his works for it. Homans's primary thesis, in fact, seems to hinge on this point. She appears to be using the theme of "Apollo" and "angels" to create a link between the aristocratic history of ballet and its occasionally otherworldly aura. But she makes the latter a necessity, rather than a contextual feature. For her, the courtly dances are no longer relevant, but ballet in the modern era should strip the art form from this background while still retaining the overall impression of the regal and balance it with the ethereal. Everything else, including the much-loved "story ballets" that are still performed, fails to appreciate this need and is a step backwards in the grand forward march of ballet. And only Balanchine accomplished this. Apparently, he gave the world an abstract vision of ballet's purpose, so his greatness is unquestioned.

In case you're wondering, I don't agree. In fact, I disagree emphatically. Balanchine created some extraordinary choreography, but I would simply place him next to many other excellent 20th-century choreographers who developed equally striking and significant work. Balanchine just happened to choreograph a lot, and people who do a great deal of work tend to strengthen their style over time. (He also gets credit for making ballet important in America; I'll give him that one. But he created a specific style that may or may not have longevity. It's a toss-up at this point.) More important, however, Homans fails to mention any of these choreographers, in part, I suspect because their work might conflict with her thesis. The result is a poorly balanced presentation of ballet, written by someone who worked with Balanchine and remembers the "good old days" that are no more. She actually concludes the book with a much-noted epilogue in which she argues that ballet is dead. But her reasons are vague and badly formed, and the impression is that she believes ballet is dead because it doesn't look like what she thinks it should look like. Remember the grand forward march, mentioned above. That's not really how ballet has evolved, after Balanchine's death, so she has only grim visions for the future.

How absurd. Ballet might be in a state of flux, but one of the arguments Homans makes throughout the book is that ballet has repeatedly gone through such stages. It would seem that she has forgotten this, or at least forgotten that a transition takes some time and is often difficult to recognize until after it has been completed. It might very well be that classical ballet is currently struggling to identify itself in this era, but it's still around. Ballets are being performed; people are attending and enjoying them; ballet schools are full of eager young dancers. We can't just throw up our hands and say, "Well, I don't see as much progress as I'd like, so ballet must be dead." That's just silly. Ballet will shape its 21-century identify because people remain involved in it and print their own vision on it.

What is more absurd perhaps is the amount of information that Homans leaves out. I mentioned choreographers above, and after Balanchine Homans only tips her hat to a few but comments that there is no good work being created now. Excuse me? She says this but completely overlooks Alexei Ratmansky and Christopher Wheeldon; both, I should mention, did not come from the New York City Ballet or the school that Balanchine created, the School of American Ballet. Ratmansky is a product of the Bolshoi and Wheeldon of the Royal Ballet. But both are widely regarded among the "first-tier" choreographers of the 21st century. Are all their works great? Of course not. But neither were Balanchine's (a point that Homans tends to pass by with her fleeing remark that even Balanchine had the right to create "kitsch" from time to time). The point is that they're still working and making strides to develop and give voice to the ballet of today.

More shocking is her complete failure to acknowledge the work of American choreographer William Forsythe who did study in New York at one point and even has a Balanchine-influenced past. His work pushes the boundaries, and even he noted that he might very well leave ballet behind at some point, but it should be noted that he has been actively creating vibrant new work for dance. The reason for ignoring him, I can only assume, has something to do with the fact that Forsythe's work doesn't quite fit Homans's thesis about "Apollo's angels." His work tends to be hard-edged and often earthy. Far from skimming the surface of the angelically abstract, it presents a more raw form of abstract that must not be acceptable.

Homans completely ignores the development and popularity of ballet outside her small vision of ballet's modern relevance. Alicia Alonso, the great Cuban ballerina who pioneered ballet in that country, established a tradition there that is still going strong. In fact, several years ago the Royal Ballet (from England) toured Cuba. (One of the Royal Ballet's male principals, Carlos Acosta, is a Cuban native.) The performances were so popular that they sold out, and the Royal Ballet then began erecting large screens outside the theater so that more people could view the dancing. Ballet is certainly not dead in places like that, where it is beloved by the vendor on the street. Beyond Cuba, there is no mention of ballet in China and Japan, which is odd because both countries send dozens of ballet participants to all the major competitions, and they are in the process of creating their own ballet identity. There's no reason to be disappointed by the results.

In terms of dancers, Homans fails to mention two female ballerinas, both of whom justly deserved to be called ballerinas and both of whom had a permanent impact on the aesthetics of 20th- and 21st-century ballet. The great French-born dancer Sylvie Guillem is completely ignored. I have to wonder if Homans does this, because mentioning Guillem might conflict with her argument about French ballet going into a permanent decline after World War II. The omission is startling, however. If nothing else, Homans should have acknowledged the impact that Guillem had and the fact that she's still dancing and being part of the evolving face of ballet. Yes, Guillem is controversial, but she's a major part of ballet history. The other omission is equally surprising and yet somehow not so much. American ballerina Gelsey Kirkland isn't mentioned once. The fact that she might be the greatest ballerina America ever produced apparently doesn't overcome the fact that Kirkland broke off her connection to Balanchine to forge a different path. My understanding is that after this the New York City Ballet removed her from their history, and it looks like the grudge is still being held. Nonsense. Utter nonsense, in large part because none of Balanchine's favored dancers could hold a candle to Kirkland in either technique or style. (Additionally, Homans seems to admire Balanchine's preference for having "no stars" in the company -- he had to be the only star? -- and Kirkland, who appeared on the cover of Time in 1978, was certainly a star.)

I'll wrap things up soon, but I want to make a further comment about Homans's approach in the book that left me very unsettled. She, somewhat begrudgingly, acknowledges the importance of Russian ballet and the contribution of the Russian style. But she seems to do this in large part to (once again!) point the reader in the direction of Balanchine, who was from Russia and to suggest that he really was the highest point in their balletic development. Of course, he then went to create ballets in America, so the focus on greatness must follow him. In terms of Russian ballet today, Homans essentially writes it off and has very little to say. But this too is a terribly biased approach. There are definitely problems in Russian ballet as it has moved past the Soviet era and into the 21st century. Russian ballet companies have created a mess of dancer hierarchies and ill-conceived reenactments. But Russian ballet schools are still producing some of the finest dancers in the world, and these dancers are creating spectacular work in Russia. There's a bit of sour grapes in this. Because Homans views the New York City Ballet during its Balanchine era as the pinnacle of ballet history, she remains fixated on this as the ultimate goal. Unfortunately, the New York City Ballet has recently relied too heavily on its Balanchine past instead of creating more new work, and as a result the company has been sinking into artistic irrelevance for the last couple of decades. Its dancers, though technically solid, don't have the strong classical background that dancers in other companies -- particularly Russian -- have, and they simply cannot handle the technical challenges of traditional ballets as successfully as we are made to believe they should. In other words, if I were Homans and I were coming from her background, I'd be disappointed to. The New York City Ballet, far from leading the way in 21st-century dance, has simply fallen back on regurgitated performances of Balanchine's work as well as adding mediocre productions of traditional story ballets. And their dancers aren't necessarily looking better for it. But in order to make her point, Homans has to overlook the good that's coming out of Russia and also ignore the fact that Russian dancers have taken on Balanchine's choreography much better than the dancers of Balanchine's inheritance can take on the traditional Russian ballets. No, Russian dancers don't always look like Balanchine-trained dancers, and they often get the "feel" of it wrong. But for me, Russians bring context and sense to Balanchine's choreography in a way that no Balanchine-trained dancer has ever done.

A final comment. The writing in the book is mediocre, and the overall flow can be choppy to the point of confusion at times. What saves this book is the passion that Homans infuses into her topics and the time she takes, particularly in the early chapters, with easing tiny historical details out of the past and making them interesting in the present. For this, and this alone, I can recommend the book. I want to make a gentle suggestion, however: if you are not a ballet dancer with a background in classical ballet and a familiarity with the different styles, if you see ballet as a beautiful art form and are interested in reading more about it, please read this book carefully. Homans has produced a decent history of ballet as seen through highly biased eyes. She has not -- and I repeat emphatically not -- produced a solid history of ballet that looks at it through purely academic eyes. She is telling the story as she sees it, and frankly as is the case with most writing you learn as much about author are her own views in this "history" as you do about ballet. Perhaps more.

Year of publication: 2010
Number of pages: 643

Book Review: Hand in Glove, by Ngaio Marsh

Well, it turns out this book was a lot of fun and very much worth the read. It also turns out that I saw the film version of it a while back and just didn't make the connection right away. Fortunately, there are some major differences between the film and the book, so I was able to appreciate the latter even after having seen the former.

What threw me off to begin with was the description on the back:

Lady Bantling had an inspired flair for outrageous parties. A treasure hunt seemed the perfect diversion for a gathering of gentry in the pleasant hills of the English countryside. But when the setting and circumstances inspired someone to murder a well-known barrister in a particularly brutal manner, then Inspector Alleyn from Scotland Yard must query the guests.

This isn't really a good summary. In fact, it's a terrible summary. Lady Bantling is a part of the story, and her party plays an important role, but...hmmm...how to put this without ruining the plot? This description is an imbalanced look at events and places too much weight where it shouldn't be. This is kind of what happens. But not really. This is sort of one way to put it. But putting it this way also puts things a bit out of order.

What's more, there's no mention whatsoever of Mr. Percival Pyke Period ("P.P." to his friends), who is one of my favorite characters from any Marsh mystery -- he also has a great role in the film version -- due to his bizarre obsession with family and ancestry. He's fixated on it, and he loves to tell everyone about his own past. It's actually funnier than it sounds. (Think Hyacinth Bucket, but with real manners and without the bad singing voice.) What is more, the murder victim is anything but a "well-known" barrister. He's just a curmudgeonly older man who was once a barrister in the area. He, along with his ill-mannered dog, has moved into a room in P.P.'s house, and the two (barrister and dog) have managed to irritate just about everyone within the postal code.

The murder is quite brutal, though. Harold Cartell, aforementioned barrister, is found is a ditch outside P.P.'s house. The village has decided to install sewage drains, so there's a handy ditch at the ready for Cartell's murderer. There's also a murder weapon: Mr. Cartell is smacked over the head to stun him and cause him to fall into the ditch, and the murderer then rolls one of the sewage pipes, sitting out while waiting to be installed, on top of him. Nasty business. No pun intended.

So Alleyn has to sort through all of this, as well as a complicated cast of characters that are fairly burdened with motives for killing Mr. Cartell. The "big reveal" wasn't such a surprise, since I'd seen the film (and in this, at least, it remains true), but if I haven't seen the film I definitely wouldn't have guessed the identify of the murderer. All in all, it's very clever and had a similar rhythm to Scales of Justice, which I reviewed a while back.

Another winner from Marsh.

Year of publication: 1962
Number of pages: 239

Book Review: A Mind to Murder, by P.D. James

Reviewing a P.D. James mystery should always begin with a quick statement:

P.D. James is an excellent mystery writer. Perhaps more important, P.D. James is an excellent writer. Full stop. I recommend this mystery, as well as any other that she's written. You won't be disappointed.

At this point, feel free to take exit the review. Because you know in advance how it's going to end. If you want to get a few tidbits about the book, however, feel free to stick around.

This is the second of James's Adam Dalgliesh mysteries, and it follows Cover Her Face in publication by about a year. There's a measure of continuity as well; in the beginning of the story, Dalgliesh sees someone from the previous case, and he struggles to work through his feelings about the experience. (For the record, I did read Cover Her Face, but I decided to wait on reviewing it while I could ruminate. I ended up ruminating for so long that I felt like the moment had passed me by. So no review. Good book, though, and definitely one worth reading.) Dalgliesh has to put the memories behind him in a hurry, however, because a fresh murder shows up soon.

The Steen Clinic is a psychiatric facility that specializes in helping those who are not dealing with severe mental problems but rather have minor conditions and desire discretion. The clinic tends to focus on wealthier patients, or rather those who some means and the preference for effective but noninvasive techniques. It's set in an old house in London, so the building is meant to be fairly warm for patients, if not entirely inviting for the public.

As the story opens, the body of the Steen's administrative officer is discovered on the floor of the basement. This particular area in the basement holds the facility's files, and she is surrounded by scattered files and documents. She also has a chisel driven into her heart. It's a nasty crime, directed at a woman whom no one really liked. She was overbearing and tended to run the clinic as she liked, to the extent that she pretty much managed to tick off everyone there at some point. In other words, the list of suspects includes...everyone.

Always a great place to start. At least Inspector Dalgliesh isn't short on motives. Within a couple of hours, he's wading knee-deep in them. Of course, no one admits to having a motive strong enough to kill her, so that's where Dalgliesh has to apply evidence and logic to discover who is responsible.

Oddly enough, this is another mystery in which the detective ultimately doesn't get it right. The mystery is certainly solved, but Dalgliesh hones in on the wrong person and gets dangerously close to not solving it. In this story (and unlike in the Tey mystery), the overall chain of events is smoother and doesn't feel quite so clunky at the end. The conclusion that Dalgliesh reaches is nearly correct, and with this he is able to get to the truth of what happened. The whole thing is more seamlessly done. But that's not surprising, because James is, by far, a superior writer.

I've mentioned this before, and I'll bring it up again. P.D. James has a habit of writing mysteries in which rather unlikeable people get murdered. That's the case here, certainly. The administrative officer Enid Bolam is pretty irritating -- at least, she is in presentation, because we never see her alive. There's no reason to doubt everyone's judgment, though. It's tempting to think, "Good riddance," but that is, of course, the wrong response. No one, regardless of how loathsome he or she may be, deserves to be murdered. It's a moral outrage, and Dalgliesh must remove himself from any opinions about the person and remember his responsibility. In a way, I appreciate this approach from James. It makes for a far more complicated story, and it provides more opportunities for revealing the complexities of human nature.

Two thumbs up from me. But then, you already knew that.

Year of publication: 1963
Number of pages: 252

Book Review: The Man in the Queue, by Josephine Tey

I love mysteries that start with the problem of the impossible and then provide a perfectly logical solution to it. This is one of those mysteries, although I'll acknowledge up front that the "perfectly logical solution" wasn't entirely satisfying. But more on that later.

The premise of this mystery is simple: a group of people are standing in a queue waiting to enter a show. Everyone is crammed in uncomfortably, to the point that no one can move around with ease. At last, the line begins to move, and as it does a man who had previously been standing up begins to sway. He collapses to his knees and then falls on his face. The initial thought is that he fainted, and it would hardly be surprising under those conditions. Those who look a little closer, however, realize that he is actually dead, and with a silver dagger plunged into his back.

Well, so much for the show that everyone came to see. Besides, this is significantly more interesting.

The police are called, and Inspector Alleyn takes over the case. The immediate problem proves to be one of identity. The man has none on him, and no one claims to know who he is. More bizarre, no one really admits to having noticed him, expect in the vaguest way, and no one is certainly admitting to having stabbed him or having noticed the stabbing. And he was stabbed in the back. In a crowded room with hundreds of witnesses. And no one saw a single thing.

Like I said, this can often be the best type of mystery, because it starts by giving the reader the most impossible of scenarios. At the same time, the impossibility of it all isn't necessarily lacking in believability. This sort of thing does happen. People die -- are murdered -- in public places. And no one notices it; no one sees anything. In The Man in the Queue, Inspector Alleyn has his work cut out for him, because he has to start with virtually no information and build from there. It's a challenging case from the start, and it never gets easier. As is noted at one point, the police are facing a serious conundrum: "A man whom no one professed to know, stuck in the back by some one whom no one had seen." The first step, of course, is to decide if the people standing around the man in the queue are involved or not. And if not, then who managed to get into the queue, stab this unknown man, and then disappear without being noticed?

Ultimately, the mystery is solved, of course, but Alleyn can't take all that much credit for it. He does arrest someone, but he has the constant feeling that he's wrong -- this man he arrested should be the murderer, by all rational thinking. But Alleyn grows to believe he's got the wrong man. And if he has, where to go from there? The solution, as I noted at the beginning, isn't the most satisfactory one. Basically, someone has to confess. Someone has to show up and tell the people, "I saw that man you arrested, and I just couldn't live with it. I had to tell the truth."

Well, it's one way of wrapping up a mystery but not necessarily the best way. I think the point of this story, however, wasn't so much to tell the cleverest of mysteries but rather to develop Alleyn's character a little further. The reader sees a little more about him, as a man and as a police officer, working through his opinions and dealing with the information. He gets cocky; and then he realizes he's wrong. It's great for character development, although not so much for the traditional approach to writing mysteries.

Then again, Tey's stories are all a bit unorthodox, so I shouldn't be surprised. She tends to do something a bit different with each story.

All in all, I do recommend this. It's a fascinating story and made for a fun afternoon read. Just don't expect all kinds of bells and whistles at the end. I'll say this, though: I definitely did not expect the person who confessed to be the murderer. In that much at least, Tey wrote a very good mystery.

Year of publication: 1929
Number of pages: 254

Fall Into Reading Challenge

I've decided to participate into the Fall Into Reading challenge, hosted by Callapidder Days. What with one thing and another, I got a bit lazy in reading and blogging over the summer, and that laziness is now threatening to seep into fall. So I need to light a fire under my derriere, and this challenge just might do it.

The challenge will start September 23rd and end December 21st, and I've made myself of the books I'd like to read (or finish):

Apollo's Angels, by Jennifer Homans. I'm halfway through it, and I've gotten stuck. As I'll explain in more detail when I do get around to reviewing the book, I'm finding myself having mental arguments with the author, so I have to read some and then put it down for a while. I just need to finish it, though, so I'm making this my primary fall reading challenge.

Hand in Glove, by Ngaio Marsh. I started this one some time back but then found myself more interested in other mysteries. The storyline does sound intriguing, however, so I'm adding this to my challenge reading list.

To Join the Lost, by Seth Steinzor. I have been given the opportunity to be part of TLC Book Tours by reading and reviewing this particular book -- a modern-day poetic version of Dante's Inferno. Very much looking forward to it.

The Fourth Part of the World, by Toby Lester. This one is a much-anticipated treat for me. I spotted it at a bookstore a while back and bought it based on the description and the reviews I found. I've been putting it off until I could sit and savor it, and it looks like the time to savor has arrived.

Hallowe'en Party, by Agatha Christie. I picked this up at Costco one day, but I decided to wait until Halloween time to read it. (Ambience, and all that.) Looking forward to it.

The Ascent of Money, by Niall Ferguson. Another Costco purchase. It just looked interesting, and after I saw an interview with Ferguson I decided that his opinion on this subject might be worth reading.

Manon Lescaut, by Abbé Prévost. I'm brushing up on my French this fall, so I'm going to read this little gem in its original language.

Crossing my fingers I'll be successful. Or better yet, buckling down and reading.

***I'm adding three more books to the list***

Ballet's Magic Kingdom, by Akim Volynsky. This is a collection of essays about Russian ballet between 1911 and 1925. I need to get the taste of Apollo's Angels out of my mouth.

The Singing Sands and To Love and Be Wise, both by Josephine Tey. Just (I hope) good mysteries.

Something Fun: Physical Evidence

I was tempted by Lisa's post, so I thought I'd try this one for myself.

1. What could serve as physical evidence that you sometimes lose focus?

How about the time that I locked the keys in the car with the car still running. Uh, make that both times.

2. What could serve as physical evidence that you are loved?

The pile of books that continues to sit on the kitchen table (where I work). My husband hates, loathes, and detests any kind of clutter. But he loves me enough to look the other way. For a while, at least.

3. What could serve as physical evidence that you’re from wherever you’re from?

Every summer I pull out a jacket to go shopping, because I'm so used to being blasted by the AC every time I enter a store. Tank tops outside; sweaters/jackets/coats inside. That's South Texas for you.

4. What could serve as physical evidence that you went anywhere this past week?

The spice bottle of cardamom, sitting on the kitchen counter to remind me that I'm out of coriander. (It's an alliteration thing.) I went to the market this morning and still forgot to pick up coriander. So the bottle of cardamom remains on the counter.

5. What could serve as physical evidence that you recently caved in to temptation?

The SheerinO'kho summertime face cream in my bathroom. A small fortune. And worth every penny.

Care to join? Consider yourself tagged. And have fun!