I think that ballerinas are
bad-ass. (Male dancers are, too,
of course, but that is not as relevant to the current topic.) They have to be both incredibly strong
and incredibly flexible. They need
to balance in improbable positions, maintain a strong sense of musicality, and
make everything nearly impossible look essentially effortless. Also, they get to wear satiny shoes and
tutus. In this context, it is no
surprise that when I ran across a copy of Margot Fonteyn’s Autobiography for $.99, I bought it.
Her prose is deft and her story
interesting, although I get the impression that she liked pretty much everyone,
or at least had good enough manners not to say anything nasty or
competitive. She certainly had amazing
opportunities created by her hard work to see the world and meet many powerful
people.
I admit I am a little obsessed
right now with the question of the responsibility of public figures in
sports/entertainment/arts when it comes to social issues. Given that, I was dismayed at her
account of her decision to perform in apartheid-era South Africa and by her
adulation for Imelda Marcos.
However, I have the luxury of forming an opinion after history has
spoken.
The photos are breathtaking. Then again, I could look at dancers all
day.
If you are looking for a fairy
tale, this book is up your alley.
(Do fairy tales ever happen in alleys?)
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