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3.75 AVERAGE
3.75 AVERAGE
Reads like a disorienting fusion of high Modernist stream-of-consciousness, Kafka's psychological claustrophobia and the postmodern penchant for shifting personas and unreliable narrators. It could be considered a quite impressive (if impenetrable) literary achievement if stripped of its context-- that is, a record of its author's descent into the schizophrenia from which he would never reemerge. Basically, it's several hundred pages of this type of thing:
"I am the artist who loves shapes and all kinds of beauty. Beauty is not a relative thing. Beauty is God. God is beauty with feeling. Beauty is in feeling. I love beauty because I feel it and therefore understand it. Thinking people write nonsense about beauty. Beauty cannot be discussed. Beauty cannot be criticized. I am no criticism. Criticism is an attempt to be clever. I flaunt my beauty. I feel love for beauty. I am not looking for straight noses. I like straight noses. I like my wife's nose because it has feeling."
I fully expected to get a little ways into the book and have to skim the rest, but I have to say, once I adjusted to the general ebb and flow of Nijinsky's mental associations it became a fascinating read, especially when he'll wander, almost accidentally, into musings of his dancing career and the people associated with it (Diaghilev, Nijinska, his various patrons, etc). To my surprise, I ended up reading the whole thing. Those looking for Nijinsky to provide any kind of extended commentary on his dancing or career will be disappointed, however, because he barely mentions it directly (I'd wager just several pages worth in the entire volume), and the "unexpurgated" part doesn't mean juicy sex details, but rather long digressions on things like bowel movements.
In it's own way quite beautiful, but also ultimately, and inevitably, sad.
"I loved the Ballets Russes. I gave my whole heart to it. I worked like an ox. I lived like a martyr."
"I am the artist who loves shapes and all kinds of beauty. Beauty is not a relative thing. Beauty is God. God is beauty with feeling. Beauty is in feeling. I love beauty because I feel it and therefore understand it. Thinking people write nonsense about beauty. Beauty cannot be discussed. Beauty cannot be criticized. I am no criticism. Criticism is an attempt to be clever. I flaunt my beauty. I feel love for beauty. I am not looking for straight noses. I like straight noses. I like my wife's nose because it has feeling."
I fully expected to get a little ways into the book and have to skim the rest, but I have to say, once I adjusted to the general ebb and flow of Nijinsky's mental associations it became a fascinating read, especially when he'll wander, almost accidentally, into musings of his dancing career and the people associated with it (Diaghilev, Nijinska, his various patrons, etc). To my surprise, I ended up reading the whole thing. Those looking for Nijinsky to provide any kind of extended commentary on his dancing or career will be disappointed, however, because he barely mentions it directly (I'd wager just several pages worth in the entire volume), and the "unexpurgated" part doesn't mean juicy sex details, but rather long digressions on things like bowel movements.
In it's own way quite beautiful, but also ultimately, and inevitably, sad.
"I loved the Ballets Russes. I gave my whole heart to it. I worked like an ox. I lived like a martyr."
This is the first unexpurgated version of the diary in English - his wife heavily edited and rearranged the original printing of the diary, taking out anything that would make Vaslav or her look bad.
The best part of this book is the introduction, which gives a brief bio and puts the diary in context. The actual diary is a bit of a slog as Nijinsky was descending into mental illness as he wrote it, and while there are realistic passages of narration, a lot of it devolves into word salad.
Unless you're really, really interested in Nijinsky or memoirs by people struggling with mental illness (that was my main motive in reading this), read the Wikipedia article about Nijinsky and skip this book.
The best part of this book is the introduction, which gives a brief bio and puts the diary in context. The actual diary is a bit of a slog as Nijinsky was descending into mental illness as he wrote it, and while there are realistic passages of narration, a lot of it devolves into word salad.
Unless you're really, really interested in Nijinsky or memoirs by people struggling with mental illness (that was my main motive in reading this), read the Wikipedia article about Nijinsky and skip this book.
I always finish books, but can't make it through this one. Although it's interesting, after a while it feels a little sad and voyeuristic. Nijinsky repeats and contradicts himself constantly, there's no real constant train of thought.
Very sad, but a lot of updated information. Great introduction.
dark
informative
tense
medium-paced
reflective
medium-paced
I feel I could take on Finnegans Wake after this. Also, not unfamiliar territory, another on the 'I felt seen' stack.
nijinsky was a russian/polish ballerina who was most active during the 1910s. Hes considered one of the most talented dancers of the 20th century and helepd choreagrpah and create alot of subversive dances, like the faun, rite of spring etcetcetcetc. His carreer ended at age 29, when he was hospitalised for schizophrenia and spent the next 30 years through asylums. His life was actually pretty intersting, so read the wiki.
His diary is a real mess. It was written before he was hospitalised, and its pretty obvious he was going through a psychotic episode. It consists of 2 notebooks, 'life' and 'death'. Hes constanlty contradicting himself and fololwing associative trains of thought, and sometimes filling many pages with repeptive poetry to get his point across. Its sometimes very condusing.
Its interesting that most people described him, outside of when he danced, as a very boring quet person, while in his diary hes pretty wild.
i reccomend looking him up because his costumes were cool, also benois and bakst
sru its late im not correcting spelling
His diary is a real mess. It was written before he was hospitalised, and its pretty obvious he was going through a psychotic episode. It consists of 2 notebooks, 'life' and 'death'. Hes constanlty contradicting himself and fololwing associative trains of thought, and sometimes filling many pages with repeptive poetry to get his point across. Its sometimes very condusing.
Its interesting that most people described him, outside of when he danced, as a very boring quet person, while in his diary hes pretty wild.
i reccomend looking him up because his costumes were cool, also benois and bakst
sru its late im not correcting spelling