Troubles of Biographers: P is for Perspective on Pavlova

Trouble: Is the best biography one told by an objective insider or by someone invested in the subject's life? 

Should a banker write about bankers? Should a biologist write about biologists?

In our current world, this type of literal match-up is often demanded. It can become distastefully absolutist as terms like "appropriation" and "cultural dominance" get thrown around.

In terms of commonsense, a person in a specific field can often communicate the particular problems of that field better than an outsider. Or at least use the terminology correctly. On the other hand, sometimes people in certain fields simply cannot communicate anything beyond their fields. A friend once asked me to write up a brief document instructing engineers on how to send emails that didn't assume knowledge by the recipients of what was going on in the engineers' minds. 

Of course, in a perfect world, the best communicator would be an insider who could communicate to outsiders.

Biography: Pavlova: Presentation of a Dancer. Presented by Dame Margot Fonteyn. Viking, 1984

The chosen book is a compilation of primary documents by Pavlova, her manager, various news reporters, interviewers, reviewers and so on. Dame Margot Fonteyn, a great ballet dancer in her own right, comments on the primary documents, which are gathered into four chronological sections, starting with Pavlova's childhood. The book ends rather abruptly with Pavlova's funeral (another section of primary documents by more contemporary, mid/late-twentieth-century commentators would have been a nice addition). 

The question immediately arises, "Is this a biography?" It isn't the story of a person told by another person. It is a collection of documents. 

In some ways, this approach comes across as more honest. Setting aside Fonteyn's commentary, which is interesting in its own right, the reader can assess each document independently. An image of Pavlova does emerge from the accumulated texts. She had a strong personality. In her art, she communicated an effortless depth of feeling that astonished even critical reviewers. Quick, expressive, and lively in her conversation. Friendly.  Sensible. Perceptive. Devoted to her craft. She was ambitious. She held strong beliefs about art and chose to leave Russia and become a citizen of the world to prove those beliefs. And she did, which is even more remarkable.

Pavlova believed that art generally, and dance specifically, was a great communicator. She also believed that countries, such as America, should develop their own art forms rather than borrowing from Europeans (Pavlova was, unfortunately, not a fan of the obvious American answer here: jazz). She states, "America lacks its own forms of art...because of two things: your too plentiful money and your general idea that talent and ability is genius" (123). 

The latter comment intrigued me. She goes on to state, "No one can arrive from being talented alone. In my life I have seen...brilliant-minded people...who had great talent for what they did, but they did not, could not last...I worked for seven years under iron discipline, under ceaseless toil. It is so with all true artists" (123). 

However, she goes on to say that America will produce great dancers: 

From where else than this melting pot of all the nations could come an international or universal artist to best interpret all moods? Your great country will produce a superb dancer not bound by old traditions and narrow nationalism...No other country represents every racial characteristic in the world. No other people feel the influence of nature so keenly...what counts most of all is your national trait, your American optimism. (123)

It is a classical liberal attitude that is enormously refreshing and welcome these days. Pavlova truly saw art as non-political, as an expression of the self: 

[I]n every one of us, no matter how deep it may be hidden, is a latent germ of beauty...and the more we give it outlet the more we encourage our own instinct for graceful forms...by the steady elimination of everything which is ugly...the whole progress of humanity proceeds. (150)

One can assume, to a degree, that Dame Margot Fonteyn shared these beliefs. In fact, to claim "lack of bias" due to the book's organization ignores a subtle truth:

Yes, the documents are primary. But the producers of the book and Dame Margot Fonteyn chose which documents to present. Fonteyn acknowledges this reality in the Introduction: 

[W]e have drawn first on her spoken word in interviews and the written words attributed to her in articles, bearing in mind that the latter have been edited and sometimes translated at least once. For that reason I have selected with very great care only those words that ring true to my ear, knowing, as I do, something of what it means to dance year in and year out, trying always to find within oneself that fresh inspiration that alone brings truth and spontaneity to the performance. (11)

In this sense, the book is a biography (and gorgeously illustrated with photographs) since it presents a subject from the point of view of another writer.

Since Fonteyn is an "insider," her commentary expresses connection with Pavlova. When discussing Pavlova's description of "daily life," Fonteyn remarks, "How little the daily life of a ballet dancer in a large, permanent company has changed since Pavlova's youth!" (31). She later commiserates with Pavlova's complaints about ballet shoes, pointing out how many shoes a dancer goes through and how a pair of shoes can feel differently from a previous pair, even from the same shop/maker, since so many factors affect them, including humidity.  

Still later, in reaction to a description of Pavlova preparing for an entrance, Fonteyn writes, "This...is like all the ballerinas in the world summed up" (133). I felt a flare of satisfaction since when I read Pavlova's passage, I was instantly reminded of a scene from Noel Streatfeild's Ballet Shoes.

The book's strongest "sell" is Fonteyn's transparency (and the gorgeous photographs). Transparency allows biographers/researchers/collectors to show their cards, exhibit their hand. I am attempting to convince you of the following. I will never deceive you about where I stand in regards to this person. 

The reader can then determine what to do with the provided information and commentary.  

Margot Fonteyn