I Was a Dancer Review

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I Was a Dancer ReviewIn the ballet world, there now exists a real cottage industry of what I call "Me and Mr. B" memoirs. Many former dancers/lovers/wives of Mr. B have written memoirs where the strong focus of the entire book is "I brushed elbows with a genius. Literally. And this is what it was like." The picture that has emerged from these books is remarkably consistent -- a man who was polite, calm, industrious, and distant, but also capable of surprising passion and even pettiness, especially for his various female "muses." Among these books, Gelsey Kirkland's is the most notorious (and mean-spirited), Allegra Kent's the most well-written and unique, Suzanne Farrell's the most opaque, and Edward Villella's perhaps the most emotionally honest. To this heap of books Jacques d'Amboise has added his own memoirs, entitled I Was a Dancer, and since many of Balanchine's dancers have passed away or are aging, another "me and Mr. B" memoir is always a great Event for balletomanes. What does this dancer have to add?
The difference between d'Amboise and, say, Suzanne Farrell, was d'Amboise's relationship with Balanchine was notably drama-free. In fact, d'Amboise's life (at least in the way he presents it) had little of the melodrama that is part and parcel of dance memoirs. While other "muses" were fighting/sleeping/refusing to sleep/falling in love/falling out of love with Mr. B, Jacques just showed up to work every day for 35 years and watched the drama from the sidelines. The result is a memoir that is sharp, pointed, detached, and perceptive. The negative to this lack of involvement in any of the drama is that the memoir at some points feels a bit impersonal, and at several times d'Amboise seems to have a slight but active contempt for the people he is writing about. Like "look at these crazy kids. So silly."
Jacques d'Amboise was born Joseph Ahearn in 1934, and grew up in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Manhattan. What anchored d'Amboise's life is the fact that he grew up with a strong mother figure, like so many dancers. His mother was an iron-willed French Canadian that Jacques affectionately refers to as "Boss." It was of course "Boss's" idea to get Jacques and his sister enrolled in ballet lessons. The confidence his mother instilled in him seems to be present even as he writes the book as an elderly man. Jacques has some good stories to tell from his childhood, including a time he had to escort an elderly and sick neighbor to the hospital and was panicked because that meant going into the "black" neighborhood of Washington Heights. To his surprise he was not robbed or assaulted by the "blacks," simply asked questions from concerned on-lookers about the health of Mrs. Sullivan. One might have expected a little more reflection on his part that perhaps he should not have held these prejudices to begin with, but as I said, d'Amboise consistently prefers to hold the mirror to others, and not to himself. Another time, he takes on a local gang-member named Farel and of course emerges victorious. It's somehow fitting that one of the stories d'Amboise tells of his childhood was his attempt to fly. Literally.
The book really takes off when d'Amboise joins the School of American Ballet and later, the New York City Ballet. d'Amboise's descriptions of his Russian emigre teachers at the SAB, including Pierre Vladimiroff and Anatole Oboukhoff is full of affection, and for once, lacks the slight condescension d'Amboise projects throughout the book for various other people. It is quite touching, to read that so many years later, he still has such respect and affection for his teachers. Of course, his experiences working with Balanchine, Lincoln Kirstein, Jerome Robbins, and most of the legendary "first generation" of New York City Ballet stars form the heart of the book, and what I like is that the book is candid and unsentimental. He's observant and his characterizations are sharp, and have the ring of truth about them. Very often, d'Amboise quotes liberally from his diaries. Yet the book is not just gossip (although there is plenty of that). Some of the best parts of the book are about the joys of creating ballets, dancing in ballets, touring (his description of the Italian and Soviet Union tours are priceless), basically the day-in-day-out life of a ballet dancer. And how wonderfully touching are his descriptions of Mr. B teaching him great roles like Apollo (pictured below). d'Amboise's love for the art form shines through every page.
If d'Amboise always treats the art-form with the utmost respect, he is considerably less gentle on the people behind the ballets. Because d'Amboise was not entangled in any personal drama, he can tell it like it is, without much whitewashing. The story of Balanchine's obsession with Suzanne Farrell is well-known, but never has Farrell been represented in such a negative light in print. d'Amboise nicknamed Farrell "The Princess" and it doesn't seem to have been a term of endearment. No one is shown off in particularly flattering light in d'Amboise's version -- Farrell seems manipulative and demanding, Balanchine infatuated and irrational. What is refreshing though is the detached, outsider perspective, as well as the unsaid but implied opinion on d'Amboise's part that Farrell and Balanchine allowed their personal drama to interfere with the health of the company, and the ballets. Farrell created a lot of jealousy and resentment among other female ballerinas in the company, but until now most of the males of the company have been reticent in offering their view of the whole drama. Later, d'Amboise comments that Farrell overreached when she worked at the NYCB following her retirement from the stage, and that even on Balanchine's deathbed she was demanding and entitled. The lack of sentimentality is a notable feature of d'Amboise's book. He saw a lot, and he remembered, and the memories aren't always fond. But even his sharpest observations never feel spiteful, just the candid reflections of an old man who no longer has anything to hide.
In fact, d'Amboise's observations about Balanchine, Lincoln Kirstein, Tanny LeClercq, Suzanne Farrell, Maria Tallchief, and other famous names are so compelling that one starts to forget that d'Amboise doesn't really shine the light on himself in such an unsparing, insightful manner. He talks about his wife, his children, his work with the National Dance Institute, but behind the jolly, chatty tone of the memoirs, one senses a deep reserve that is typical of people who on the surface are all sunshine and charm. d'Amboise is willing to share his stories and one can admire how colorfully he tells familiar events and how he has the novelist's gift for telling the reader everything a person is about in one or two sentences. An example: "Chabukiani was short, about fifty-four years old, slim, sinewy, and sort of ugly." About Lincoln Kirstein, d'Amboise attributes this memorable quote: "You're a dancer today, Buster, because I wanted to f__ Lew Christensen." But d'Amboise's not willing to really tell us about himself. Maybe there isn't much to tell -- maybe he really was just a guy who showed up to work for 35 years and happened to be a dance superstar, and was a devoted husband and father. He quotes his wife Carrie liberally throughout the book, so obviously he valued her opinion throughout his life. But his descriptions of other people show a man who had a deep understanding of human nature, warts and all. One wonders if more happened in d'Amboise than he lets on, that his book focuses so much on other people because he's profoundly uncomfortable scratching beneath his own surface. I had to remember Edward Villella's extremely unflattering picture of d'Amboise in Villella's own memoir, in which he described d'Amboise as pleasant on the surface, but two-faced.
Still, if you want a picture of what it was actually like to work with such legends as Balanchine, Robbins, and the legendary NYCB stars, d'Amboise's book is as good of a book as any, and his portraits of the people are, as I said, as sharply drawn as a Jane Austen novel. I like that d'Amboise respects the reader enough to give a short history and introduction to many situations, even if they are well-known, and to provide fascinating footnotes. He's taken care to write an interesting book, and not just to hear himself talk, or to flatter his own memory.I Was a Dancer Overview

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