Julie Kavanagh - Rudolf Nureyev: The Life

Julie Kavanagh trained as a dancer at the Royal Ballet School, and is the author of Secret Muses: The Life of Frederick Ashton. She has worked as ballet critic of The Spectator; Arts Editor of Harpers & Queen; and London Editor of Vanity Fair and The New Yorker. She is married to the ex-Royal Ballet dancer, now dance film maker, Ross MacGibbon, and has two sons.

To Ross for everything

Magnificent This book is a definitive biography of a performing artist It gives one not just an enormous admiration for the genius of Nureyev, but also a renewed respect and love for the art of dance Spectator

A major accomplishment, the definitive biography of a major artist. It is a big book in every respect in its reach, in its scrupulous composition, in its detailed analysis, but particularly in its generosity of spirit. Kavanagh makes no attempt to whitewash the monstrous Nureyev. By the end we have encountered a most difficult man, but a man whose unique gifts raised him far above us all Brian Friel, Observer

Kavanagh is the ideal biographer for Rudolf Nureyev She writes about dancing itself so vividly, without technical fuss, that the reader imagines actually seeing it Richard Sennett, Literary Review

A meticulously researched and judiciously argued study which, as a record of Nureyevs career, will surely never be bettered Daily Mail

An engrossing study, sympathetic but clear-eyed Kavanagh writes with authority, clarity and eloquence true and honourable Clement Crisp, Financial Times

Impressive reveals the narcissistic Russian ballet legend to be the prototype of modern celebrity Evening Standard

An exemplary modern biography, an official biography that is also a tell-all biography, of great significance as a prism through which to view the social, sexual, cultural and political history of the second half of the twentieth century, as well as being highly entertaining London Review of Books

A magnificent example of the old school of biography a warts-and-all portrait of a flawed but intensely lovable human being who ranks as one of the great performing artists of the last century Rupert Christiansen, Spectator

Kavanagh writes thrillingly with flair and abundance John Carey, Sunday Times

An exemplary piece of work keeps the reader turning its pages even if sometimes in a trance of fascinated horror Irish Times

Julie Kavanaghs knowledge of her subject and her expertise in ballet work together to evoke Nureyevs every step Vogue

Kavanagh reveals Nureyevs character, warts and all, as she charts his rise from rags to riches in minute but gripping detail Tatler

Its unlikely that well need another study of Rudolf Nureyev after Julie Kavanaghs Daily Telegraph

Kavanaghs definitive biography draws for the first time on private papers, diaries and home movie footage, to create a portrait of this extraordinary and troubled man a fascinating read Daily Mail

Kavanagh tells the story of Nureyevs impoverished background, defection to the west and international superstardom with great verve Independent

Readable and revealing, a must for all ballet fans Saga Magazine

Superbly researched The New York Times

A rigorous and insightful look at a vital era of dance Time Out New York

The definitive biography of ballets greatest star whose ego was as supersized as his talent A luxurious winter read, full of Russian theatrics Tina Brown, American Spectator

A varied and vivid portrait [Kavanagh] proves a lively guide. She presents the intense minutes leading up to Nureyevs defection with energy and descriptive power The Washington Post

Julie Kavanagh distills the fabulous spirit of Nureyev, the ballet worlds first pop icon Vanity Fair

Early one morning when six-year-old Rosa Kolesnikova woke up, she remembered first of all that she was on the train, and then she noticed the three Nureyev girls sitting on the bunk opposite. The toddler was whimpering, and her eight-year-old sister was trying to comfort her. She saw to her annoyance that her friend Lilia, who was also six, had taken her toy and was clutching it. Their mother was nowhere to be seen. Something was going on. In the corridor people were rushing back and forth talking excitedly, but no one would say what was happening. Later she noticed that next door there were sheets curtaining off the Nureyev compartment and doctors in white coats were going in and out. Tyotya-Farida must be ill. Throughout the morning, making some excuse, she and the other children jostled to see if they could peek through a crack in the screen of sheets, but her mother would call them back and try to distract them. Look, Lake Baikal! Lake Baikal! Isnt it beautiful? she cried.

It was a cold, clear morning, and the lake, a sunlit ocean of ice, seemed to merge with the far-off white mountain ridges of Khamar Daban. For most of the day the train travelled along the southwestern shore beneath sheer cliffs and steep woods, offering sudden dazzling views of Baikal as it threaded through the tunnels. With its legend of the vengeful Old Man Baikal, who hurled a huge rock at his runaway daughter, the lake was a wonder for children: its size alone was breathtaking four hundred miles long and one mile deep in the middle. By late afternoon, however, its fascination had worn off, and everyone was glad to get to the Mongolian city of Ulan-Ude, where the train stopped for several hours.

Almost all the passengers went into town to shop in the trading arcades and the poplar-lined main street, Leninskaya Ulitsa. When they returned, one or two of the women came up to the children with a large box and told them to look inside. There they saw a tiny baby swaddled tightly: We bought him in Ulan-Ude, they said, laughing. Its a little Tatar brother for the Nureyev girls! Rosa found this hard to believe. It didnt make sense that a Tatar child would be for sale in a place full of people who looked so foreign, with their big foreheads and slanting eyes. Besides, before they arrived, she had heard the adults talking about a new baby on the train. Rosa had a six-month-old brother of her own, but even so she was full of envy of the Nureyev sisters and tremendously excited. We were all in ecstasies, and in the carriage there was such jubilation! It was like a holiday, with everyone happy and wanting to share in the celebration.

Word of the event spread quickly, and for the rest of the day people crowded into the carriage to see the new arrival: Rudolf Nureyevs first audience. His birth, he would later say, was the most romantic event of his life, symbolic of his future statelessness and nomadic existence. It was to be a life lived mostly en route to places, navigated by what he called his vagabond soul. To Rosa he was never Rudolf or even Rudik, its diminutive, but