Rupert Christiansen
The Premier Division
Seventy-five years of the Royal Ballet? The title of Zoë Anderson’s new book brought me up short with the realisation that I had been watching the company for over half its existence. Let me confess: I am a besotted fan of the sort that Nick Hornby described so wittily in Fever Pitch. The Royal Ballet is my team, very much the way that Arsenal is Hornby’s team: I rejoice at its triumphs, I despair at its shortcomings, I am the repository of useless information about its comings and goings, I queue all night and resort to bad things in order to get tickets. It’s a one-sided love affair, and probably not the healthiest aspect of my life.
Sign Up to our newsletter
Receive free articles, highlights from the archive, news, details of prizes, and much more.@Lit_Review
Follow Literary Review on Twitter
‘"I feel", Lowell told Hardwick ... "as if I were pulled apart and thinning into mist, or rather being torn apart and still preferring that state to making a decision."'
Richard Davenport-Hines on the letters of Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Hardwick.
https://literaryreview.co.uk/yours-unfaithfully-2
'To me, Elmore Leonard is as comforting in extremity as Pym, and as safe, in the last resort, as Wodehouse. The guys with the best lines are going to come out the other side; the dumb fucks are going to get it in the head or chest.'
https://literaryreview.co.uk/a-spoonful-of-elmore
'As we read, we know that in a short time the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and colour television will sweep that age over the balustrade and into the sea, but for now everyone is happy.'
Simon Baker is charmed by Graham Swift's new novel, 'Here We Are'.
http://ow.ly/uDL050ylh80