A noteworthy, if melancholy, examination of the dancer’s life: years of suffering for moments of beauty.
A fine debut imagines George Balanchine’s last year—and depicts the elegant, often brutal world of ballet.
In New York in the early ’80s, we follow two young lovers, Adam and Sandra, as they struggle with the demands of dance careers—his on the rise, hers going nowhere. Adam was born to this world: his parents were dancers, as was his godfather, Randall, and Randall’s partner, Joe, is a choreographer. Adam, now 20, has just left Balanchine’s female-dominated NYC Ballet for Baryshnikov’s American Ballet Theater, where he is becoming a star, but at a price: Quaaludes and cocaine fuel his days, and his loneliness is quelled by the anonymous young men and women he takes to bed. As filled with promise and people as is Adam’s life, Sandra’s is conversely bleak. Her mother died when she was a baby (a fairy tale standby that goes along with the novel’s Sleeping Beauty motif), and she lives with her mentally ill father, a Civil War historian, in a rambling apartment her wealthy grandmother funds. After lingering in the corps for years, Sandra suddenly catches Balanchine’s eye, who plans to star her in Sleeping Beauty. Adam and Sandra’s turbulent relationship (their youthful lust is secondary to Adam’s jealousy of Balanchine, who plucks girls from obscurity, then wins their souls) is the heart of the narrative, but, as in fairy tales, it’s overshadowed by the far more interesting parent-child relationships Sharp (stories, White Swan, Black Swan, 2001) creates. Randall is dying of AIDS just as Adam is reconnecting with his philandering father. Sandra is unable to save her father from his depression, just as the childless Balanchine plans to make her his perfect daughter. At the center of all this is the dying Balanchine, slipping in and out of reveries of his past, pretending there is enough time left to mount one last production.
A noteworthy, if melancholy, examination of the dancer’s life: years of suffering for moments of beauty.Pub Date: July 7, 2005
ISBN: 1-57322-310-7
Page Count: 352
Publisher: Riverhead
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 2005
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.
“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.Pub Date: April 10, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018
PROFILES
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
© Copyright 2026 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
